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  “Yeah. Kim and I went shopping. She bought one too.” Ginger wondered if he was going to broach the subject again. Well, she’d tell him about her decision when the time was right. “I’m going to check on the kids’ clothes for church tomorrow. You going?”

  “Yeah, set my suit out, will you?”

  Ginger felt her anger rising, but said nothing. She didn’t want to start fighting yet.

  Later, as Ginger slid into bed, she tried to neutralize the anxiety now stirring inside her, and she prayed for the spiritual peace that fellowshipping in church the next day would surely bring.

  Jackson cussed and shouted as the Pistons’ lead over the Cleveland Cavaliers narrowed. Cleveland had two chances to tie the score after Steve Kerr cut Detroit’s lead to 92 to 90, but it wasn’t to be. Isiah Thomas hit a three-point with 2:34 left to make it 101 to 96, and finished with nineteen points. The Pistons were victorious, 105 to 100.

  Pushing the remote, Jackson turned off the set and climbed in beside Ginger. He pulled her close, smelling the scent of the China Rain cologne and Shower to Shower body powder that was forever present on her pillow. He lifted a tendril of hair and kissed her neck. Shrugging him off, she moved to the outer edge of their king-size bed. He got the hint. He turned his back, and replayed the Pistons game, over and over in his mind until finally, he drifted off to sleep.

  “Shhhh, Autumn. You’re going to have to be quiet while the pastor is speaking, otherwise you’ll have to go with the children to the children’s section next time.” Where you should have gone today if your daddy hadn’t been so insistent that you had a little sniffle and needed to stay with us, Ginger added to herself. Autumn’s small hand continued to tap her mother’s leg as she tried to prompt her mother to let her speak. “Okay, Autumn, what is it?” asked Ginger, wondering why Jackson never seemed to notice how much trouble the child was when she stayed in the service with them. Autumn pointed to the elegantly dressed woman, clad head to toe in black, sitting next to Jackson, and whispered that she hadn’t put any money in the collection plate when the usher passed it down the row. Ginger patiently whispered to her observant baby daughter that not everyone who looked like they had money always had it.

  “The good Lord wants his children to come to church whatever their circumstances,” she explained in a whisper. Autumn seemed satisfied and sat back quietly.

  The pastor wiped his sweaty forehead, hesitating for effect as he continued his sermon. “These young people around here talking about ‘fresh.’ They don’t know God’s got his own interpretation of fresh.” The preacher patted the perspiration raining down his forehead and continued his fiery message. “F-R-E-S-H. The Lord wants his saints to be fresh. You want to know how the Lord wants you to be fresh?” The congregation chorused a resounding yes.

  “To be reverent, respectful, positive. ‘F’ meaning being focused — ‘R,’ having responsibility — ‘E’ for developing a level of efficiency, something to distinguish you from everyone else — ‘S,’ meaning self-sufficient, having self-esteem — and finally ‘H,’ being holy, having hope.” Sister Staten stood up, clapping and uttering a loud “Amen.”

  “A man worries about dying while he’s living, but he should be worrying about what dies in him while he lives.”

  When the choir marched down the aisle robed in flowing gowns, singing the postlude, led by Jackson’s cousin’s wife, Mae Thelma, a nodding Jackson suddenly became wide awake. Ginger felt a tinge of jealousy, wishing with all her heart that she were blessed with such an amazing voice.

  Mae Thelma’s soprano voice, melodic, and spiritual, left the entire congregation misty-eyed, filling their hearts with supreme pleasure.

  5

  The Love I Saw in You Was Just a Mirage

  As Mae Thelma gathered her boys from the children’s church, several of the sisters stopped to compliment her on her wonderful solo. With a thick, southern drawl she answered softly, saying, “Why thank you, Sister Washington, Sister Armory, and may God bless the both o’ ya.” Mae Thelma shook their hands, smiling from ear to ear, gold crowns glittering on her two front teeth.

  “Robert Earl Jr., David Earl, you chillins come on heah now. We gotta hurry afore we miss the church van.”

  “Mama,” her eldest son, Robert Earl Jr., said, “when you gonna learn how to drive Daddy’s car? I’m tired of riding that bus. We can’t even stop and get some goodies afore we go home. You promised us three months ago you was gonna take driving lessons. Why can’t Uncle Jackson teach you how to drive?”

  “Hush boy, here they come now.” Mae Thelma had already secretly appealed to Jackson for help. She had some knowledge, but was scared to drive in the unpredictable Michigan weather. Back home in Guntown, Mississippi, where she and Jackson grew up, she’d never even seen a flake of snow. But she didn’t know how long her husband, Robert Earl, would be in jail. She was all alone now with two young boys who needed a man to set an example of how to grow up Black in this White man’s society.

  Mae Thelma stood five feet eight inches tall, with hair that tumbled to her petite waistline. Beautiful black wavy hair that she always wore in a french braid coiled atop her head like a halo when she was in church, which was five out of seven days a week. Her skin tone was the color of a ripe Georgia peach, as smooth as the finest leather, and thick black eyelashes bordered her slanting, exotic eyes.

  She moved quickly toward Jackson, smiling provocatively. The heavenly essence of honeysuckle floated around her. “We’ve been looking for you,” said Jackson, hugging Mae Thelma and patting her boys casually atop their heads.

  They were always happy to see their Uncle Jackson, as they called him, even though their father and he were only first cousins. He drove a motorcycle. How could anybody who drove a motorcycle as fast as he did be anything but cool?

  Jackson looked immaculate in his charcoal gray double-breasted pinstriped suit. His eager smile as he admired his cousin’s saintly wife looked somewhat devilish, like that of a young man with silent temptations. “Ginger and I would like to invite you and the boys over for dinner next Sunday after church,” he offered. The shouts of glee from her boys elicited a smile from Jackson. But the children beside Ginger stiffened and whispered among themselves.

  Ginger prodded Jackson to answer her questioning eyes as to when all this inviting had been decided. Besides, she’d already made other plans.

  “Sweetheart,” said Ginger, getting in the car and buckling her seat belt, “I already invited Kim, Bill, Aunt Jewel, and Mama over for dinner next Sunday. You could’ve asked me first before you extended invitations. After all, we both know who is going to be doing the cooking, and it certainly ain’t you.”

  Jackson wove the Bronco through the maze of cars lined up behind the church. He stopped at the light and turned toward Ginger. “You could’ve also mentioned to me that you’d invited your cousin and her fiancé over. Katherine, Kim, and her mother I can deal with, but Bill — You know perfectly well I can’t put up with Bill and his militant speeches for more than ten minutes.”

  “Well, bucko, an afternoon with the sanctimonious Mae Thelma talking about God every two minutes is a little more than I can tolerate myself. And those bad-ass little heathens she’s got. She needs to stop spending so much time praising the Lord and whip their little asses. I swear I’m gonna slap that little David Earl one of these days.”

  She paused for a moment. “Have you forgotten the last time they were over he knocked that ivy hanging plant on my white carpet?” The sound of leather crunching as Jackson shifted uncomfortably sliced the mounting tension in the air. He loved his precious plants; if anything got his attention, that would. “And you know I’ve tried everything, and that stain still won’t come up.”

  “Baby, the boy’s only three years old. Give him a break, will you? I’ve heard this story every time I’ve mentioned Mae Thelma’s name. How many times are you going to repeat it? I get the point, okay?”

  “I’m only telling you because they’re eatin
g dinner with the kids downstairs. After dinner they can play in the basement, not in the kids’ bedrooms, and when they finally come up for air, it’ll be to go home sweet home.”

  Christian spoke up to complain that Robert Earl had gone in his room and taken some of his experiments out of his chemistry set. “If he goes in my room again, I’ll kick his butt,” Christian added. Jason joined in, saying one of them stole one of his tapes. Sierra and Robert Earl, who were the same age, were secretly in love with each other and always got along well. So she said nothing.

  “And David Earl stole the batteries out of Suzy Scribbles,” Autumn chimed in. Everyone turned to look at her, knowing she was fibbing, except Jackson, whose eyes were focused on the sluggish traffic.

  “Where was I when all this thievery was going on?” Jackson asked. “I don’t want to hear any more complaints.” He gave Ginger a quick look. He meant her, too. “You all are going to have to get along. I promised my cousin I’d keep an eye on his wife and kids while he was in jail. So everyone might as well tuck in their lips and get used to them being around.” An angry silence descended over the vehicle as they drove home over Palmer Park and through the woods.

  “Sierra, are you almost finished?” Ginger called from the family room.

  “I can’t get these creases straight.” Sierra’s long, delicate fingers were frantically straightening and restraightening the fabric of her baggy Used jeans.

  As Ginger closed her book and gathered up the pile of wrinkled clothes lying next to her, she felt a sharp pain stab at her temple. She walked toward the laundry room, trying to shake it off, massaging her forehead with her free hand.

  Jason caught a glimpse of the grimace on her face as she walked past the exercise room. “Ma, you all right, Ma?” He set down the hand weight and put his arm around her shoulder. A shock of black hair and funk hit her at nose level. She patted him off. “I’m okay.” Pushing him back into the room, she returned, “You got fifteen more minutes to work out and I want to see and smell you showered and fresh for school tomorrow.”

  After showing Sierra for the fiftieth time how to match all four seams together and steam in a hard, razor-sharp crease, Ginger ironed her own clothes along with Autumn’s. Next year, she thought to herself, when Autumn turned six, she’d be joining Sierra down in the basement to iron her school clothes, too. Jackson had babied Autumn long enough. It was about time to let her do some of the chores along with the other kids.

  Ginger spied Jackson in his familiar napping position as she gathered her nightclothes. Running a few minutes behind schedule, she elected to take a quick shower before the hot water ran out, instead of the relaxing bath she desperately craved.

  By 9:01 P.M. Ginger kissed a loving good night to each of her children, who were bathed and dressed in their PJs, and issued last-minute orders that they knew by heart: lights out, TV off by 9:30.

  Closing her bedroom door, she rested her head against its smooth oak surface. Her headache had subsided after she took two extra-strength Tylenols and a cup of strong Lipton tea.

  After cleansing and moisturizing her skin, she brushed her teeth and finished preparing for work the next morning. Then, sitting across from Jackson’s slumbering figure, she prodded him with her feet.

  After several kicks, he sat up straight and scooted to the front of his seat. “What time is it?” He checked his watch and jumped up, quickly peeling off his clothes. “Honey, I asked you not to let me sleep so long. You know I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

  She coiled a long auburn lock of hair around a pink plastic roller, clasping the cover between her lips. Through clenched teeth she answered, “I was busy with the kids, I forgot to wake you.” She watched him peeling off his clothes, leaving a trail behind him.

  Within minutes he’d showered and slid next to Ginger between the freshly powdered sheets, his cologne mingling with the fresh scent of the talc. He pulled her close and planted kisses along her shoulder. “It’s okay with me, baby, about the real estate thing.” She turned to face him, surprised. “I don’t want to feel any guilt about holding you back. If that’s what you want, and you’re sure about it, I won’t give you any more arguments.” She kissed him on the mouth, silencing his next comment.

  “But,” he said, after coming up for air, “I want you to promise me. And mean it this time. Because this is the last time I’m going through this — promise me that this is it. That this is the last time you ask me to go along with any more of your ideas, okay?”

  “I promise. I promise,” said Ginger, hugging him.

  “You’ve got a year. That’s it. A year . . . to get this out of your system and see if it’s for you or not.”

  “That’s all I need, honey. You’ll be proud of me, you’ll see. You and the kids will be proud of me. I know I can do it. All I need is a chance. Just a chance.” She whispered the words more to herself than to her husband.

  She felt him pushing down his underpants hurriedly and kicking them off, and turned to pull her gown over her head full of curlers. Plastic curler clamps landed on the floor alongside the discarded gown, but were unnoticed. Kissing her passionately on the mouth, he guided her hand to his growing sex. She stroked him gently at first, massaging the tip artfully, as he sucked the tips of her breasts until they peaked with desire.

  He felt a tiny drop of clear liquid ooze from the source of his heat. His excitement mounting, he teased the mounds of her breasts with his tongue, while his hands toured the satiny landscape of her buttocks.

  Her breasts rose and fell with the erratic beat of her heart. She inhaled the scent of his cologne, her breath becoming shallow, as he continued to explore the softness between her thighs.

  She knew that neither could wait another minute. After years of lovemaking, their bodies were perfectly in tune. Each time they made love, their desire increased, taking them to a higher level than they thought possible — each time was better than the last. Jackson shifted his weight, positioning his long body above her.

  She whispered “Let me” and kissed the nipples of his breasts. Guiding him to lie back against the feathery pillows, she stroked his sex until she felt his veins straining for release. Easing her leg over his lap, she straddled him, and bending her head to kiss his full, sensuous lips, caressed his luscious mouth with her tongue. She guided him inside her. Slowly, she felt his pelvis move with a quick assuredness that rendered her more helpless with each stroke.

  Her heart pounded as if it were a talking drum of Africa. She met each stroke with a rhythmic thrust of her hips. Her eyes were closed, her mouth half-open, whispering his name. Her breasts swayed as strands of sweat ran down them and clung to the nipples, cold mingling with the heat of her passion. The warmth of Jackson’s mouth closed around her taut areola, sucking, licking, loving. Her entire body felt so relaxed, yet desperate for total sexual fulfillment.

  She uttered a soft scream that told him she was near to release, and he lifted his lean hips to drive deeply against her, giving her the pleasure she needed. Holding back his own release, he felt the hot juices of her love crown the head of his manhood.

  Her blood was making explosions through her body. She cried out in release, feeling as if a strange spiritual intoxication had taken control of her. . . . Her eyelids closed tightly as a kaleidoscope, swirling, eddying, appeared to dance before her eyes.

  Jackson cupped the velvety halves of her bottom, guiding her to the final moment of rapture. He felt it his job as a man, to satisfy his woman first before he indulged in his own gratification. He’d finally met a woman whose sexual desires matched his own.

  Knowing that his climax was imminent, she whispered “Faster.” She felt his body arch beneath her, gyrating his pelvis, lifting her higher with the ease of a thoroughbred stallion. His breathing ragged . . . hers in soft pants . . . their bodies in exquisite harmony . . . his raw sensuality carrying them to greater heights.

  “That’s it baby . . . deeper . . .” cried Ginger as she felt the power of his t
hrobbing penis. She worked the muscles of her vagina, relaxing then contracting, suckling him, grabbing hold of his shaft.

  Timing their orgasm to catapult them to another place in time, they rode the waves of carnal passion together. They shuddered simultaneously.

  As Ginger lowered her head, her eyelashes grazed his face while he massaged the center of her back, kissing her lightly on the tip of her freckled nose.

  “Baby, it don’t get —”

  “ — no better than that. I know, sweetheart,” said Ginger, lying exhausted beside him. His strong arm tightened around her, pulling her close.

  Polishing the white Formica counters and chrome fixtures until they gleamed, Mae Thelma harmonized “Tomorrow” along with her favorite tape by the Winans. Satisfied that the kitchen was sufficiently clean, she gathered her sponges, polishing cloths, and mop bucket and lined them in precise order in her immaculate utility closet. As she paused for a final inspection, the phone rang.

  “Yes, hello.”

  “It’s me, Mae,” said Robert Earl. Her husband’s deep voice was instantly recognizable. “I’m calling to make sure you’re coming down to see me in the morning.”

  Annoyed at the pleading tone in his voice, she wiped the sweat from her forehead. She untied the diaper-style scarf from her head, allowing her hair to cascade down to her waist. She ejected the Winans’ tape and dropped it into her apron pocket. Her southern accent offered a sweeter tone. “Why Robert Earl Collins, I do declare. Don’t I visit my husband dutifully every Monday morning?”

  He didn’t bother to answer; instead he asked, “Did you and the boys go to church this evening?”

  “Yes, Robert Earl, we went to church tonight, and after dinner I read the boys a Bible story before I put them to bed. I wish you’d call early enough to speak to them— they can’t come and visit you like I can.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to hide her emotions with her voice. “You know how much they miss you, honey.”