A Good Man (49 page)

“On the Charpentiers’ front porch in a red rocking chair. You almost home?”

“Almost,” John said. “Red, huh?”

“Don’t bring up the bikini.”

“You just did.”

I did, didn’t I? “Is your place clean?” Why did I ask that?

“Sort of. The to-do list at the church was pretty long, especially when they found out the world was going to see the church on TV. New Hope folks say they don’t mind cameras inside during the service, by the way. We had to take a vote, and for the first time at probably any AME in world history, the vote was unanimous. They can’t wait to meet you, except for maybe Sheila’s mama.”

And that makes me feel nervous. She heard a door open and close. “I didn’t hear any keys, man.”

“I never lock the door.”

Never? What section of Mayberry does he live in?

“I always leave my door open in case I get any late-night visitors,” John said. “Do you have access to a car? It’s almost midnight.”

“Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’ll be the guy with the big hands lying on the couch.”

I miss those hands so much! “And by the time I get there, I’ll be exhausted. We have been going nonstop since I got here, and the cameras just won’t leave us alone. I want to talk to you nonstop with my cell plugged into something, but the cameras are everywhere. And now you’re down to one bar. And why don’t you have voice mail? I called you a hundred times.”

“Small town,” John said. “We just holler to each other. No need for voice mail. I can walk outside any night and still hear the echo.”

Funny. “Promise me that when I get there we can take some escapes together.”

“They’re coming to rig my house tomorrow,” John said. “I’ll watch where they put the cameras. I doubt they’ll put any outside. The bugs are bad right now. We might be able to lose them in the woods. I’ll work on it. There is an old metal shed at the church.”

Sonya heard crinkling sounds. “What are you doing now?”

“Taking the plastic from the furniture downstairs. I kind of sealed this floor off after Sheila died. We had just gotten this furniture. Still looks new. Smells new, too.”

“So … you’ve been living upstairs all these years?” Sonya asked.

“Yeah. There’s even some outside stairs that go up there. Closer to heaven, that kind of thing. Warmer in winter, better view.”

“Take me upstairs.”

“Okay.”

“Is your battery bar flashing?”

“Not yet.”

Good. And bad. “You upstairs yet?”

“Yes.”

“Give me a tour.”

“You’re getting heavy,” John said.

“What?”

“I carried you upstairs, Sonya. You’re in your SpongeBob pajamas, by the way. They have to have the thinnest material ever made.”

“Well, put me down somewhere.”

Sonya heard silence.

“John?”

“I put you down, but you pulled me down on top of you. We’re necking, cheeking, nosing, and hipping. You’re pretty insatiable.”

Sonya bit her lip. “Where’d you put me down?”

“On the kitchen table. Solid oak. Built to last a lifetime.”

I will love being in the kitchen with this man. “You have two kitchens?”

“It’s just a kitchenette,” John said. “Little cooktop, sink, and a table for two.”

“Sounds cozy. Take me to the bedroom.”

Sonya heard more silence.

“John?”

“You had a cramp in your foot. I had to massage it. Then I had to do the other foot since it was jealous. And then your calves got mad, and your thighs. I had to massage them, too. And then your booty started talking to me …”

“We may never make it to the bedroom.”

“Yeah. You sure have a lot of cramps all of a sudden.”

Sonya heard even more silence.

“John?”

“I set you on the bed, and now I’m taking off my shirt, pants, and drawers.”

I’m talking to a naked man. And now water’s running? “Are you taking a shower?”

“I have to,” John said. “You smell so nice, and I smell so not nice. You know, it’s going to be hard holding the phone outside the curtain while I soap myself.”

“Put me on speaker, then. You do have a speaker on that phone, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” John said. “I’ve never used that button.”

Sonya heard a loud click.

“Can you hear me?” John asked.

“Yes. You’re echoing a little. Are you using both hands?”

“Yeah.”

I’m talking to a man taking a shower. What do you say to a man who’s taking a shower? “You missed a spot.”

“Got it.”

“Almost done?” Your battery’s running out, and I need you to sweet-talk me! Oh, yeah. I also need to ask you a few questions.

“Just need to wash my hair. Oh, hi, Sonya. You’ve come to help me wash it.”

His imagination staggers me! “You’re too tall for me to reach.”

“That’s why I’m kneeling in front of you. What … a … view.”

Dag. I should be in my bed at the hotel.

“Wow, you really like that. I’m making you dance. Your legs just won’t stay still.”

“C’mon, man,” Sonya said. “I’m on a rocking chair, and my ride to the hotel won’t get here for two hours.” She heard several squeaks and didn’t hear the sound of water. “You done?”

“Just have to dry you off first. Slowly. I’ll start with your shoulders and work my way down. Um, you can turn around now. Hallelujah!”

“John, please stop.”

“But you’ll still be wet when I put you on the bed.”

“I am already wet,” Sonya whispered. Sonya heard bedsprings. “Am I finally on the bed?”

“Yes. And you just want to snuggle with me.”

That isn’t what I want to do. “You’re kidding.”

“Wait. Um, what are you doing? You want me to do what? We are definitely not snuggling now.”

I need to get to my hotel so I can enjoy myself more. “Listen, I’m going to call for my ride now, okay? I’ll call you back when I get there. Turn off your phone as soon as I hang up and turn it back on in an hour, okay?”

“You’re interrupting our fornication now?”

Sonya giggled. “Just … I’ll call you back. Bye.”

“Bye.”

But when Sonya called him back from her hotel bed an hour later, John didn’t answer. And I’m not even wearing my pajamas! Did he forget to turn it on? Or did the battery finally run out?

Sonya tried his number for the next hour and came up empty.

All undressed, worked up, horny, and no one to talk to.

Maybe if I just close my eyes I can see us … Yeah. There we are. Oh, John, sure. You can start there …

John didn’t answer his phone on Thursday either.

Kim, dressed in a denim miniskirt and tight frilly white blouse, looked over from her hotel bed. “What are you doing, Sonya?”

“I’m calling John, but he isn’t answering his phone, and I keep getting calls from telemarketers. How did they get this number?”

Kim held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

Sonya flipped her phone to Kim.

Kim scrolled through Sonya’s calls. “These have three thirty-four and two fifty-one area codes, Sonya. Telemarketers usually have eight hundred or eight-eight-eight numbers. And they normally don’t call back ten times.” Kim smiled. “I’ll bet John’s been trying to call you, and you haven’t been answering.”

Oh no! “But three thirty-four and two fifty-one aren’t John’s area code.”

Kim shrugged. “I’d call these back.” She tossed Sonya the phone.

Sonya studied her phone. “The last call was over two hours ago. He might have tried to use a payphone or—” She groaned. “I have three voice messages waiting.”

Kim rolled out of bed. “Yeah. My mama’s a genius.”

“C’mon, Kim. No one ever leaves me messages. I live alone, and other than you, nobody calls me. I can’t remember the last time I got a voice mail.”

Kim looked through the peephole in the door. “Tony’s here. I’ll leave you to your Alzheimer’s.”

“Where will you be?” Sonya asked.

“Bourbon Street.”

“Again? Aren’t you worried you’ll be seen?”

“I love to dance with him, and those places are so packed and dark, no one will recognize me. Don’t wait up.” She opened the door, Tony’s hand shot in, she took it, and she flew out of the room.

Sonya dialed her voice mail, put in her pass code, and listened to the oldest message first:

“Sonya, it’s John. My cell phone died last night. I turned it on fifty minutes later, and it died. I should have waited the hour, right? Luckily, I wrote down your number first. I’m over in Thomasville looking for a new charger, but my phone was so old they don’t have my charger in stock. They had to order me one. I’ll keep calling till I get you. No, I don’t want a new phone. Sorry about that. Um, I’ll keep trying you. I’m really sorry about last—Yes, I’m on that show, but I’m on the phone. Can you wait a sec? Look, I know it’s your phone, sir, and I’ll pay you for the—Gotta go. They want autographs.”

John called me just after nine AM probably just after that store opened. He tried. But why is the next call two hours later?

“Sonya, it’s John again. Sorry about that first message. I’ll explain later. Um, I was wondering if you were a gold or a platinum kind of woman. I’m hoping gold. Bye.”

“What?” She looked in her call history and found the number, dialing it immediately.

“Tim Watts Jewelers, Tim speaking. How may I help you?” Oh … man. “Um, hi. Um, this is going to be a strange question, but did a man named John Bond come into your store recently?”

“You mean the guy from that Hunk or Punk show?”

“Yes.”

“He sure did. And he worked me for a great deal, too, and that included the long-distance phone charge.”

Sonya swallowed. “What was the deal on?”

“Is this Jazz?

“Yes.”

“Yeah, John thought you might call here eventually. I didn’t believe him when he told me, but … here you are. He left you a message, too. He said, ‘If Jazz calls, tell her I bought her some accessories for her red outfit.’”

Accessories for a bikini?

“He also said he’s real sorry about his phone dying on you. I let him use mine, you know.”

“Do you expect him to come back today?” Sonya asked.

“Nope. He completed his transaction.”

“Oh.” I have to know. “If I ask what he bought, will you tell me?”

“Nope.”

I am so sick of hearing “nope” from Alabamans! “Um, thanks for the information.”

A jewelry store. Gold or platinum. It has to be a ring. Or John wants me to pierce something else. I’m going with the ring.

Sonya listened to the last message, staring at her left ring finger.

“Sonya, I’ll talk fast. I’m at the last payphone in Alabama that actually takes money, and I don’t have any more change and your phone might not take that long of a message, so here goes … After I massaged your entire body for twenty minutes while you lay dripping wet on the bed, I turned you face down, and kissed and rubbed you for twenty minutes more, shouting hallelujah while you—I’ll be off the phone in a minute, ma’am. One minute, that’s all I ask. I don’t believe it. There’s a line forming beside me that begins with the oldest-living woman in Alabama. This must be the only phone in this town. I would have called you from a neighbor’s house, but you can’t make this kind of call from a neighbor’s house, right? I would have called you from the church, but phone sex isn’t, um, biblical. I can’t wait to see you. If you stop and think about it, this whole situation is the most ridiculous—”

Sonya dropped her phone on the bed. Why didn’t I answer the phone? To think that he drove all over southern Alabama looking for a way to talk to me. He always has me on his mind. God, thank You for a man who always has me on his mind.

But why … didn’t … John … buy … himself … a new cell phone or at least get an upgrade? Geez! Spend a little money so you can talk to your honey!

Sonya, Kim, and their film crew arrived in Burnt Corn two hours late on Friday, the sun already setting. When their van pulled into the New Hope parking lot, there were only a few cars and a huge man in a gray three-piece suit sitting on the steps.

That would be Reverend Wilson, Sonya thought. And he doesn’t look too happy.

Sonya stepped out of the van. “Reverend Wilson?”

Reverend Wilson’s frown turned into a genuine smile. “You must be Jazz.” He gave her a bear hug. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”

“I’m so sorry we’re late,” Sonya said. “We got lost several times.”

The van’s driver, Marty, came over to them. “GPS doesn’t function down here or something.”

Reverend Wilson sighed. “Ever think of using a map? It’s at most a two-hour trip down sixty-five from Montgomery.”

Marty squinted. “Sixty-five?”

“Yeah,” Reverend Wilson said. “Big highway. Signs all over the airport to tell you how to get on it. What route did you take?”

“Well, we rolled into Selma just fine,” Marty said.

Reverend Wilson stepped back. “Selma? That’s straight west from Montgomery. That van have a compass?”

“Yeah,” Marty said, “but I didn’t even look at it until we got to Demopolis.”

Reverend Wilson shook his head. “Demopolis? Another thirty miles and you’d have been in Mississippi.”

“We’re so sorry, Reverend.” Now where’s my man and why isn’t he giving me a bear hug, too? “Were a lot of people waiting on us?”

Reverend Wilson sighed. “Yeah. They all ate up the potluck and went home. Think there’s only some three-bean salad left.”

Those were some seriously hungry folks. And why is there always three-bean salad left at the end of a potluck? “Where’s John?”

“It’s youth night,” Reverend Wilson said. “After them chaps ate everything up, they were chompin’ at the bit to go play some basketball. John drove them over to Monroe County High.”

“Where’s that?” Marty asked.

“Monroeville,” Reverend Wilson said. “Y’all had to go right through Monroeville comin’ down from Demopolis. You might have even passed the church van on your way here.”

Shoot! When I was trying to call him, I should have been watching the road.

“Monroeville is where the hotel is, Jazz,” Marty said. “I think I can get you there.”

“No,” Sonya said. “You go on. I want to get there sometime this week.”

Marty got back in the van.

“Reverend Wilson, can you take me there?” Sonya asked.