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  “I need to leave for a meeting,” he announced, snapping his fingers to get the check. “First, you were late, and then you wasted more of my time flirting with that ghetto housing specialist, Lamont Green. Now my time with you this evening has run out.”

  “But, Parvell, I’ve known Lamont for years,” Theresa protested. “You know we grew up together in the Cashmere.”

  “My Uncle Big Gold once told me that the hardest thing to get out of a project Negro was the need to connect with another project Negro who should have been long banished from their memory bank. I didn’t bring you here to bask in the past. I brought you here to tell you something important.”

  “But I thought you had a meeting,” she said evenly.

  “I do. But the reason I wanted to see you, and then was so disappointed when you were late, was that I wanted to give you this.”

  Parvell reached into his pocket and pulled out what was obviously an expensively wrapped ring box.

  “Parvell . . .” Theresa gasped.

  Parvell had originally intended the gift for Charmayne, to cement their partnership. But now he could see that Theresa, who didn’t yet know much about his ambitions—and who was a respected member in the church—might easily be swayed to support Lamont Green.

  “Desperate times call for drastic measures,” he told himself as he placed the ring box in her hand. He could see that Theresa was shocked—that she never dreamed that Parvell might like her that much. He worked hard to suppress a satisfied smirk, as he thought, “Who runnin’ this thang now, Lamont Green? Who da man—who da man?”

  Theresa unwrapped the box as Parvell paid the bill, but then he stopped her and pulled her up, helping her into the butter-soft, lavender leather swing coat that matched her leather pants. His eyes ran over her fast and efficiently, not missing the contrast of that black silk turtleneck next to her beautiful cocoa skin.

  “Sweetheart, wait to open the box. I have to go and don’t want you to see my gift without me.”

  “Okay,” was all Theresa said. She sat back down as he walked away, now totally confused.

  Lamont saw Parvell leave and immediately shifted his focus to Theresa. He became so absorbed with that lavender leather outfit and those black leather, spike-heeled boots that he was not even aware that Chablis was talking to him.

  Chablis was fed up. Slipping her black suede poncho over her head, she rose from the table.

  “Where you going, baby?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “We were supposed to have dinner and then—”

  “And then what . . . ?” Chablis snapped.

  “Uhh,” Lamont said, knowing they couldn’t go back to her place, because her mama, Miss Shirley, was always there cleaning and bumping around in the yellow rubber gloves she loved to wear.

  Chablis snatched her purse off the table and started storming out, making sure that Lamont got an eyeful of her big, high behind held captive in those tight designer jeans.

  “But, baby,” Lamont began, trailing after her. Watching Chablis walking all mad in those jeans kind of gave him a need to put a hit on that thang.

  “Negro, don’t you baby me,” Chablis said, whirling to face him. “There are men in Durham lined up to date me. And your old butt all up in ‘Hallelujah Street’ girl’s face.”

  “Holy Ghost Corner,” Lamont said. “That is the name of Theresa’s store. But why are you worried about her?”

  “Worried?” Chablis exclaimed and waved the palm of her hand up in his face. She turned to leave and Lamont followed, grabbing her arm.

  Lamont could read Chablis like he did his twenty-three-year-old son, Montavous, when the boy thought he had one up on the old man. He really was too old for this girl, and he was going to have to straighten her out just like he did Monty.

  “Let me tell you a li’l somethin’ somethin’, Chablis. Don’t you ever get so caught up in how you look, what you do, and who you know, you begin to believe your funk don’t stank. You got some good stuff, baby. But there ain’t no coochie good enough for me to take some trifling street mess like this off of you.”

  Lamont could tell a cussing was bubbling up on Chablis’s lips. He stopped her dead in her tracks so that he wouldn’t have to get real down and dirty with her.

  “Go home. Find your Bible and open it. Go to the Book of Esther. There’s a whole segment on what happened to Queen Vashti, who was a ‘Hoochie Royale’ if there ever was one.”

  “Quoting scriptures now, Lamont?” she scoffed. “’Cause ’bout the only time I’ve ever heard you mention the Lord’s name is during one of those moments you are definitely going to miss out on tonight.”

  “Well, at least I have called on Him a few times,” Lamont said in a hard and cold voice. “What’s your excuse?”

  Chablis didn’t say a word. She just stalked off, mad at herself for wanting to cry.

  Theresa watched them, feeling sad that a man like Lamont Green was running after Chablis. She had never been one to appreciate getting what Miss Queen Esther always called “a man’s bread-crumbs”—or, whatever time and affection he had left over after doing whatever or being with whomever he believed deserved the bulk of his time and attention. Tonight, both Parvell and Lamont had made her feel like they had tossed her scraps from stale pieces of bread.

  “Though, to his credit and my surprise, Parvell did give me a ring,” she marveled. Picking up her purse, she got up to leave herself.

  James, too, had been watching while taking orders from a table of four. As soon as he entered their orders into the kitchen computer, he came up to the front of the restaurant where Lamont was standing, his eyes still glued to Chablis’s departing form.

  “So you gave Table Wine her pink slip?” James asked.

  “Did you hear all that?”

  “I got the gist of the conversation.”

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” Lamont said. “But there’s a lot I’m going to miss.”

  James shook his head, then said, “Well, I be doggone. It looks like half the place is clearing out.”

  Lamont turned just in time to be face-to-face with Theresa.

  “Dinner over so soon?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I need to get home. Been a long day,” was all Theresa said. She was feeling very confused. Just when she was sure the Lord had provided her with all the information she needed to stop seeing Parvell, he’d put a jewelry box in her hand. Now, here was Lamont in her face acting very concerned.

  “You okay?” James said. “From where I stood, it looked like a whole lot was up back in that restaurant.”

  “Well, I guess . . .” Theresa really didn’t want to say too much around Lamont, since that Chablis girl was his “boo.”

  “Where’s your date?” Lamont asked.

  “He had an important meeting.”

  Lamont wanted to shake that girl. What in the world was wrong with her, going out with a chump like Parvell? He didn’t understand it.

  James could practically read his brother’s mind. And if he were able to speak openly, he’d tell him why a woman like Theresa was dating a knucklehead like Parvell Sykes, who didn’t even have the home training to make sure the girl got to her car safely.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” Lamont offered, not really interested in hearing anything about Parvell.

  “That’s all right, Lamont. You don’t have to trouble yourself like that.”

  Lamont didn’t respond to that nonsense. He took hold of Theresa’s hand and began to pull her out the door and in the direction of the parking lot.

  James looked around to make sure there weren’t any white folks hanging around, put his hands up to his mouth, and gave a loud “Q-Dawg” bark. Heading back to check on his customers’ orders, he passed the window table where Theresa had been sitting. And there he spotted it—a silver ring box.

  That would explain Theresa’s weird mood—being angry at a man and then not knowing what to do about it because he put an unexpected gift in her hand.r />
  “A chip off the ole block,” James whispered, thinking how much Parvell was like his uncle, Big Gold Sykes. Big Gold could write a dissertation on how to manipulate a woman. It was a miracle that he’d only been cut once, in the parking lot of Evangeline T. Marshall University (or Eva T.), when a woman discovered him cheating on her. “I will not be number two,” she told him; and he replied, “What makes you think you that high on the list?” Livid, that old girl pulled out a straight razor and sliced his suit to rags, lopping off a good hunk of his freshly Jheri-curled hair in the process.

  James flipped the box open and whistled when the light bounced off the huge diamond. He held the ring up to the light to get a better view. “Some people have too much money on their hands,” he thought. “Because this is one ugly ring.”

  Lamont helped Theresa into her car, holding her hand a bit longer than necessary. At first Theresa felt comforted, but then she remembered his touch on her shoulders and how he chased after Chablis. No doubt about it, he was a playa, an expert at getting next to women, as nice as he seemed. And it was Parvell, not Lamont, who had given her a ring.

  “Thank you for walking me out to the car, Lamont,” she said.

  “Drive home safely.”

  She nodded, and before she could stop herself said, “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “No maybe,” Lamont said, “because you’ll definitely see me at your store sometime. I want to check out this famous Holy Ghost Corner.”

  “I’m sure Miss Queen Esther would like that,” Theresa managed to stammer. Then, with a wave, she put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, just as James came rushing out with the ring.

  “What are you doing?” Lamont said. “You gone get fired from this job.”

  “It’s all good, my co-workers got me covered,” James said and handed the box to Lamont. “Look at this.”

  “You didn’t waste any hard-earned tip money on this thing, did you?”

  “It’s not mine. It’s a ring that Parvell gave Theresa tonight.”

  Lamont examined the ring carefully.

  “Yes, it’s definitely something Parvell Sykes bought—big, hideous, country, and shamelessly expensive.”

  “We better call her and tell her we have it,” James said.

  “Nahh, not yet.”

  James raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think Theresa would miss this? The ring couldn’t have cost any less than fourteen or fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “Fo’ real,” Lamont said solemnly. “So you’d best put it away.”

  “Put it away?”

  Lamont stroked his chin, grinning. Getting hold of one or two of Parvell’s possessions felt good.

  “Yeah, li’l bro, put it away for Theresa’s sake. Let’s say we keep it a day or two, or three for that matter. She doesn’t need this ugly mess confusing her about something she needs to be clear on—like kicking Parvell to the curb.”

  “But what about our sakes when she discovers the ring missing, calls ole boy, and he runs to report the loss to the insurance company?”

  Lamont looked at the ring again. “Why not have me take the ring to her store?”

  “No, better yet,” James said, “have her come by your office. That way the ball will be in your own court.”

  “I like your thinkin’, playa,” Lamont said as he held out his fist for some “dap” from his brother.

  “But you do know that if you really want to get next to Miss Theresa Hopson that would mean no sleeping around. You’d have to get rid of all the honeys and definitely stay away from Table Wine.”

  Lamont shrugged with some reluctance.

  “I can understand keeping clear of Chablis—she’s high-profile and high-maintenance and hard to resist when you want some loving. But I’m a man. And a seasoned man at that.”

  “Look, if you want a woman from the world, go call Table Wine. She’s beautiful, witty, and sexy,” James said.

  Just then, a sister in a short, black leather skirt, black lace stockings, black pumps, white T-shirt, and short black leather jacket bounced by. She smelled delicious in Coco by Chanel. Her short natural hair had a reddish tint, which was gorgeous with her beautiful butterscotch-colored skin. She pushed out her chest to reveal some natural D cups and smiled at Lamont.

  “Evening, gentlemen,” she purred.

  “And a good evening to you, baby,” Lamont said, sucking on one tooth.

  She looked him up and back down from the ground to the top of his head, taking note of the size of his feet and hands, along with the rest of him. Then she opened her purse, pulled out a business card, and put it in Lamont’s hand.

  “I’m Prudence,” she said. “I work in the admissions office at Eva T. Marshall University. Call me and I’ll get you some season passes for the basketball team. My baby is a sophomore guard and starting this year.”

  Lamont read the card and said, “I just might do that.”

  “Good night, gentlemen,” Prudence said and walked away slow to make sure Lamont got an eyeful of what he’d be missing if he didn’t call.

  “That’s somebody mama, Dawg,” Lamont said to James.

  “Prudence,” was all James could say. “She wouldn’t know caution and discretion if her life depended on it.”

  “Who is concerned about caution and discretion if you’ve got a handful of that?” Lamont said, grinning. “Did you see the way she was workin’ that thang?”

  “That just what I mean, bro. If you’re thinking about seeing Theresa Hopson, you can’t even get a taste of that. Not even a whiff.”

  Lamont bit his knuckles as if that would help him. “Umph! Help me, Jesus.”

  “Tell me, Lamont. You’ve been down this road for a while. Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that the lovin’ you get from a good and saved woman, from an anointed wife, is beyond anything you might find out here?”

  “No, I’ve never given it a single thought.”

  “Well, maybe you should.”

  “Maybe so, li’l bro—when I get ready.”

  “Okay.” James threw up his hands. “But let me call Theresa about this ring business, since I was the one to find it in the first place.”

  “Okay,” Lamont said. “And Rev. Quincey—what should I do about him?”

  “We’ll go see him. You know, Rev. Quincey has four other black churches working with him, and two white churches have come on board.”

  “Oh really? I would think they’d throw their lot in with Winters.”

  “Nahh, Big Bro. Neither of the pastors at Canaan Christian Church and Mount Sinai Baptist Church like Jethro Winters or his wife, Bailey, and her family, for that matter. They have had several members complaining about the poor quality of the homes he’s built and not being able to get any justice because Bailey Winters’s father and brothers represent Jethro’s corporation. And they are some ruthless attorneys. Rev. Quincey told me that Pastor Roy Lakefield at Canaan said that only Jesus is keeping him from punching Jethro Winters in the mouth.”

  Lamont started laughing. Jethro Winters was a big man who had played defense for Duke back in the early 1970s. Roy Lakefield was small and slender.

  “Don’t laugh. Rev. Quincey said that Lakefield and Winters have come close to blows on several occasions, and his money was on Pastor Roy. Plus, there’s one other thing about Lakefield. The chair of the DUDC, Craig Utley, is a member of Canaan and one of Pastor Roy’s staunchest supporters and closest friends.”

  Lamont smiled. “That’s about the best news I’ve received all day.”

  “Yes, it is,” James said. “But you don’t have a lock on the situation. You need to start coming back to church. The Lord has brought you this far and He will give you victory all the way to your groundbreaking at the new Cashmere Estates. All you have to do is put Him first.”

  Lamont sighed. Sunday morning was about the only day he had to rest.

  James started to press some more and then switched gears, as the Lord laid a simpler and more appealing pla
n on his heart.

  “We could use some help with our annual Christmas Festival. It’s on December 18 and it will be a lot of fun.”

  “Now, what would I do at a Christmas Festival?”

  “Be Santa?” James asked tentatively.

  Lamont laughed out loud and said, “Me, Santa? Negro, please.”

  “Negro, please, nothing. It would spoil it for the little kids if Santa was someone they recognized. You could pass for Santa, and you’d get the inside track with Rev. Quincey. And besides, you’d have fun dressing up and sitting a bunch of smart, fast-talking, hip-hop-dancing, grown-acting little black ‘chiddrens’ on your lap. It would be good for you.”

  “Santa, huh?” Lamont said, grinning and patting his flat, muscular stomach. “I think I could do a pretty good job at that. How about this? ‘Come here, baby, and sit your fine self down on Santa’s lap.’”

  “You wrong,” James scolded. “But . . . uhh, come to think about it, Theresa has agreed to play Mrs. Claus this year. And she loves working with the Christmas program.”

  “But won’t they recognize her?”

  “Mrs. Claus is different. She’s not the one kids are coming to see.”

  “Hmm,” Lamont said, stroking his chin. “I just might be the right man for the job after all.”

  “Be at church this Sunday for our first meeting. We meet right after service.”

  “Well, li’l bro, maybe I’ll take you up on that offer. How’s this? ‘Ho-ho-ho sweet thang,’” Lamont said in a silky smooth Santa voice.

  James laughed. “You’re exactly what our church needs, Playa-Playa Santa.”

  Chapter Three

  THERESA PULLED INTO HER GARAGE. HOT TEARS HIT her cheeks just as the garage door pounded down with a heavy thud on the concrete. It had been the most trying evening. Parvell had heaped a helping of reproofs on her head when she first arrived, then practically dismissed her during dinner, only to twist all of that around into more confusion with the presentation of a ring box. And if that were not enough, Lamont Green had to invite himself to her table, get all engaging and cozy with her, only to flip over when that Chablis threw a hissy fit at her expense.