Fool and Her Honey (9781622860791) Read online

  A Fool and Her Honey

  Kimberly T. Matthews

  URBAN

  Renaissance

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1 - Candis

  Chapter 2 - Candis

  Chapter 3 - Celeste

  Chapter 4 - Candis

  Chapter 5 - Candis

  Chapter 6 - Candis

  Chapter 7 - Dina

  Chapter 8 - Candis

  Chapter 9 - Dina

  Chapter 10 - Candis

  Chapter 11 - Celeste

  Chapter 12 - Dina

  Chapter 13 - Dina

  Chapter 14 - Celeste

  Chapter 15 - Dina

  Chapter 16 - Dina

  Chapter 17 - Candis

  Chapter 18 - Dina

  Chapter 19 - Celeste

  Chapter 20 - Celeste

  Chapter 21 - Candis

  Chapter 22 - Candis

  Chapter 23 - Celeste

  Chapter 24 - Dina

  Chapter 25 - Dina

  Chapter 26 - Candis

  Chapter 27 - Dina

  Chapter 28 - Candis

  Chapter 29 - Celeste

  Chapter 30 - Candis

  Chapter 31 - Celeste

  Chapter 32 - Dina

  Chapter 33 - Celeste

  Chapter 34 - Candis

  Chapter 35 - Dina

  Chapter 36 - Celeste

  Chapter 37 - Candis

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Candis

  Give me a head full of curly hair and call me Joan Clayton from Girlfriends, because I was pretty desperate for a man. I came to this realization a few weeks ago as I was sitting at my desk, browsing through a thousand e-mails, sipping a cup of made-at-home gourmet coffee, and reviewing my priorities calendar. I was supposed to be designing and sending out my electronic invitation for my thirtieth birthday bash, coming up in just four short weeks, but I got sidetracked when I realized I’d be entering my thirties without a love interest. Yeah. I was about to say good-bye to my twenties and greet the big three-o, and I just knew I’d have a steady man in my life by now.

  Every single birthday for the past eight years, I’d spent with my girls Celeste and Dina. There is nothing like being celebrated by your best friends on your day, but just once I’d like to spend it being romanced by a man who actually loved me. Hell, at this point, I’d settle for one who just liked me a lot. Unfortunately, this year looked like it would be like all the years that had come before it. Hot lovemaking and cuddling substituted for the buzzing sound of a battery-operated adult toy.

  “Oh well, maybe next year,” I sighed as I reached for my vibrating phone, already knowing it was Dina calling to see if I’d still make our weekly brunch. “Hey, girl.”

  “Hey. You are still coming, right?”

  Dina knew me well. I had a habit of burying myself in my photography work and forsaking my friends. I’d always have good intentions of going, but more often than not, something would prevent me from following through, something like, I just didn’t feel like getting dressed. “Yep, I’ll be there.”

  “You always say that, Candis. I already talked to Celeste, and she’s coming, so you better come,” she chided.

  “Dina, I’m going to be there,” I replied, committing myself again. Honestly, I could use some time with my girlfriends after the week I’d had. I finally decided to completely break it off with Russell about a month before, and I was currently suffering through withdrawals.

  The last night Russell and I were together was simply for convenient sex. After he left, I must have cried for about an hour. I was feeling empty, defeated, useless, and unhappy because, overall, the relationship was completely unfulfilling. Actually, Russell was probably quite content, but our relationship left a lot to be desired as far as I was concerned. Did I not deserve happiness and success? I wasn’t one to embrace karma, per se, but I’d heard forever that you reaped what you sowed, and God didn’t like ugly. So I had to wonder, what had I done so ugly in my life that God was getting me back with a string of relationship failures?

  Okay, there was that one time that I slept with Cynthia Parkinson’s husband. And by one time, I mean I’d messed with somebody’s husband only one time. Chad and I had a full-blown affair that lasted more than a year. Yeah, I fell for that typical stuff men say when they are trying to land an extra piece of ass instead of going home to their wives:

  “She doesn’t pay me any attention.”

  “She’s not attentive to my needs.”

  “We are having problems and are about to divorce.”

  “We’re together only for the kids’ sake.”

  “We’re separated right now.”

  I believed every word of it, and before I could stop myself, I was pulling down my panties for Chad on the regular and waiting for him to leave his wife.

  Then it didn’t help that sex with Chad was some of the best sex I had ever had in my life. And I had had quite a few lovers that I could compare him to. Chad had me sprung. He was sensitive and skillful; he stayed tuned in to my reactions to his touch, his kiss, his speed and his stroke. Chad loved me up so good that just the thought of him made me run to get my Silver Bullet toy. I even showed him how to use it on me once, and like an honor roll student, he mastered it in a snap and combined it with his own tricks and turned me out something terrible. Sex that good was hard to come by, so I had to wonder what the hell was wrong with his wife that she couldn’t get her act together and keep her man happy. If I were Chad’s wife, I’d be doing whatever he wanted me to do all day, every day.

  Feeling guilty but believing his lies, I did try to hold out to become Chad’s new wife. With the way he was coming over to my place all the time and rolling around in my bed, it was like we were married. I convinced myself that they had to be separated, because what wife wouldn’t have a whole lot to say about her husband being gone all the time? Wouldn’t she eventually follow him or have him followed to find out what the hell was going on with her missing man? During the time that we dated, that man brought me flowers, told me I was beautiful, and gave me all kinds of gifts, from jewelry to furniture to cold, hard cash to line the inside of my purse. And did I mention the sex?

  It was all good, until his wife found out and showed up at my door one day, looking for a fight. Even if I hadn’t been caught off guard, I could barely stomp a spider without running scared, so fighting someone was out of the question. She beat my ass good. Hair snatched out, eye blackened, lip busted up, earring yanked out—all of that. I’d never been so humiliated in my life. And even with that said, I couldn’t even blame the woman. I had it coming. I was screwing her man, I knew it, and I knew better. Needless to say, I never gave Chad another thought after that, even after he left me a million voice-mail apologies and came over multiple times, ringing the doorbell until I thought it would fall off the frame of the house. Wasn’t that much good sex in the world to take another beat down like his wife gave me that day.

  I was grateful that she used only her fists and feet, instead of showing up with a gun or crowbar. I swore off dating after that, while I tried to get myself together both physically and mentally. I was scared for a long time, not knowing if Cynthia was satisfied with the punishment she’d given me, or if I’d be out shopping somewhere or, God forbid, meeting a client, and she would decide that what she gave me wasn’t good enough. My worst nightmare was to have her pop out of the bushes and go whaling on me all over again. I did think about pressing charges, but I couldn’t do that in good conscience, knowing the damage I
’d done to her marriage and probably to her self-esteem.

  I did take some safety measures, though. Right away I had a security system installed at my home and my photography studio, and I looked into some martial-arts-based self-defense classes. I never did go to them. Owning a gun, even if it was only to fire a warning shot into the air to scare her if I needed to, seemed like a better use of my time and money.

  Anyway, like I said, after that fiasco I swore off dating altogether for a long while. It just wasn’t worth the drama to me. And as long as I kept a few batteries around the house, I was able to take the edge off of my private sexual tension. If I ran out of good batteries, I knew how to use my fingers. But real talk, a toy, and a finger wiggle were no substitute for a nice, thick, warm-blooded man, and I got tired of lying up in my bed with a buzzer all the time. We all want someone to love us and love on us, right? I didn’t know a single person who didn’t appreciate the words of the late Teddy Pendergrass: “It’s so good lovin’ somebody and somebody loves you back.” Which was what I’d been hoping for when I met Russell, but that turned out to be a waste of my time and my emotions.

  I had to come up with a better strategy for getting and keeping a real man. Maybe if I would just pray about it, God would have somebody in mind that He wouldn’t mind hooking me up with. If anybody knew about a good man, He did. And I had to have asked God to forgive me for the whole Chad thing at least one hundred times. So was it that He didn’t hear me or He didn’t forgive me? Or was it that I just never took the time to ask Him to give me a man who was tailor made for me? And how many times had I heard that He could do the impossible, or that nothing was impossible with Him? Lots of times.

  I knew He still made good men who were capable of loving a woman, because look at Dina’s man, Bertrand. If there had ever been such a thing as a man in love, Bertrand was the perfect example. With a smile as wide as the ocean, he said he fell in love with Dina at first sight, and all Dina had been doing was standing in line at the post office to get a book of stamps. He saw her, he approached her, he swept her clean off her feet, and he proposed to her in less than six months’ time.

  Had he not come along, I didn’t know if I would have thought that men like that were still out there. To date, none of them had ever come my way, that was for damn sure. I was almost convinced that attached somewhere to my body was a sign visible only to the most doggish of men that read FOR A GOOD TIME, STOP HERE. Every last one of my relationships involved a man who was absolutely no good for me, but I was always too foolish to see it, giving them my all and getting almost nothing in return.

  I couldn’t take another year of this mess. Obviously, I didn’t know how to pick a man, so why not let God do it for me? He orchestrated a couple of hookups in the Bible, didn’t He? Well, if He did it for others, He could do it for me. With nothing to lose, I decided to ask Him.

  I’ll make a deal with you, God. I’ll go to church, and you bring me a good man. One that loves you and will love me the way I need to be loved. Deal?

  All right. Now let’s see what happens.

  Chapter 2

  Candis

  Dina had been worrying me to death about visiting her church with her, and since I’d made this deal with the Lord, I decided to go with her one Sunday and see what good picks were available in the congregation where she worshipped. Who knows? I might just meet Mr. Right.

  I slipped into a white maxi dress that had large, bold red, orange, and yellow flowers and paired it with a matching shrug. My French pedicure still looked pretty fresh, although it had been weeks since I’d gotten my feet done, so I strapped on a pair of red four-inch sandals. I kept my makeup to a minimum because in the heat of the day, it did nothing but slide off my face. A little mascara to make my eyes pop, a little gloss so my lips did the same, and a little bronzer so I looked gently kissed by the sun, and I was ready to go.

  I pulled up to her church about ten minutes before the service was scheduled to start, found a seat midway in the sanctuary, one not too close but not too far from anyone, then sent Dina a text.

  Where are you?

  I’m in the lobby. You here?

  Yeah. I’m sitting in middle section, kinda close

  to the front.

  K. On my way.

  Dina didn’t reach me until just before the praise and worship part of the service started, which required everyone to stand.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked. Dina was looking a little crazy in the face.

  “Nothing. Just had a stressful morning,” she answered with a quick shake of her head. “I’m fine.”

  I didn’t believe her, because almost as soon as the people on the stage, altar, or platform, or whatever it was called in church, started singing, Dina began to cry. Her tears started off slowly but were soon traveling rapidly down her face, even though she tried to hold it together. Her shoulders were trembling as she kept gasping and sniffing into a wad of tissue handed to her by a passing usher. Whatever it was, she was pretty torn up about it, but I let her cry in peace and not gawk at her and force her to tell me what was going on.

  I was trying to concentrate on the words, the music, and the worship. I couldn’t quite get my mind on that particular track with Dina quietly sobbing on one side of me and my thoughts circling around who I could possibly find as a suitable mate. My eyes kept scanning for available men, even though I tried to stop myself at least four times. Shameful, I knew, but it was what it was.

  They sang maybe three songs, then went through announcements and a welcome that required me to stand unwillingly again to be acknowledged as a first-time visitor. During this time, Dina seemed to pull herself together, but she was still looking right sad. I wanted to pinch her on the leg for all this standing up and carrying on, but I had to remember my deal with God. I didn’t want to give Him any reason to renege.

  It wasn’t until the choir was preparing to sing that I saw a gentleman who caught my eye. He stepped to the front of the choir, picked up a microphone, and flashed a smile that was worthy of magazine print. He was dressed in charcoal-gray slacks, a slate-blue shirt, and a tie that blended well with both.

  “Praise the Lord, everybody!” he yelled, to which the congregation mumbled a response, repeating his words. He said it twice more, and the congregation grew louder with their response each time. “I’m a little nervous this morning, but He’s still worthy, amen.”

  “That’s all right, baby,” a woman replied from behind me.

  I leaned over and whispered to Dina, “Who is that?”

  “His name is Hamilton Taylor.”

  Hamilton. Hmm. Nice.

  Hamilton opened his mouth and let out a singing voice so soulfully beautiful, it gave me goose bumps.

  “Take my heart and mold it. Take my mind, transform it. Take my will, conform it to yours, to yours, oh, Lord!” he sang with his eyes tightly closed and his brows scrunched down over his eyelids. He sounded amazing.

  “You better sing, Hamm!” Dina shouted beside me, clapping her hands wildly. “That boy can sing!”

  I felt like I was in the Eddie Murphy movie Coming to America, in the scene where the three men were listening to the group Sexual Chocolate botch Whitney Houston’s “The Greatest Love of All.” It made me laugh out loud, but the difference was that Hamilton, Hamm—whatever his name was—really could sing, and I was moved and impressed. When the song ended, about two thousand people were standing up all over the sanctuary, clapping, crying, holding up their hands, and waving their arms in the air, along with shouting words of praise.

  “So what’s his deal?” I whispered to Dina as most people were getting resettled in their respective seats. A few remained standing and carrying on.

  “I’ll tell you later,” she blurted under her breath.

  I didn’t know if that meant something bad or if she just didn’t want to be bothered right now. I decided to assume it was the latter, and because I was anxious to hear all about him, or whatever Dina knew, the service seem
ed excessively long. Finally, the last amen was said. I grabbed my purse and followed Dina toward the door, ready to get outside and hear what she had to say about Hamilton. Instead of her beating a path to the exit, Dina stopped along the way to hug and say hello to what seemed like every single person there.

  “I’ll meet you at the house,” I interjected between her chitchatty lines with another woman about an upcoming women’s conference. I made my way through a mini throng of people, some moving, others standing and talking, and finally reached the foyer. Much to my surprise and luck, Hamilton was standing by one of the exits, handing out some kind of flyer to passersby. I eased my way over there pretending that my only intention was to leave the building.

  “How’re you doing, sis?” he said, pushing a flyer my way.

  “Good, thank you. What’s this?”

  “Oh, we’re having a community day the Saturday after next, and we need a few more volunteers. You were one of the first-time visitors, right?” he asked while others rushed past me, grabbing flyers from him, patting him on the back, and speaking a few words.

  “Yeah,” I answered, half looking at him and half reading the flyer.

  “Well, thank you for visiting us. How’d you enjoy the service?”

  “It was great.” Then I looked at him directly. “I really enjoyed your song. You have a beautiful voice.”

  “Thank you, sis. It’s nothing,” he said, looking bashful.

  “No, it was awesome,” I replied, complementing him further.

  “Well, thank you.”

  “I’m going to have to see what I have on the calendar for this day,” I commented, holding my now rolled-up flyer in my hand. “It would be nice to give back to the community.”

  “Yeah. We can use all the help we can get. If you have any questions about it, feel free to give me a call at the number that’s up there.”

  I thanked him again and almost skipped to my car, impressed with how fast God worked. Premature excitement, I knew, but what was wrong with that?

  Brunch was at my house, so I rushed home to make Mediterranean chicken wraps, cut up some fresh fruit, and prepare mimosas for us ladies. I broiled hot dogs and set out chips and lemonade for the kiddies. I had a few board games to keep them occupied, as well, but normally Celeste’s boys kept themselves occupied with handheld video game systems.