60
Doctor’s Orders
“Doctor? Doctor?” The pretty, petite brunette nurse hurried to Gabriel Livingston’s side. “Good work. You were amazing in there.”
“Well, thank you. Good assist.”
“Look, you must be exhausted and hungry. Do you want to grab something in the cafeteria? Or maybe shake this place for half an hour and go across the street for a bite?”
“Thanks, but no, Amber. I’m still on call for another four hours. I think I’ll just go shower and take a quick nap.”
Gabriel wearily rubbed his eyes and chin as he continued down the hallway. Being an oncologist brought him great joy. He considered it a privilege to be at the forefront of the fight to stave off and eventually find a cure for one of the nation’s most insidious diseases. His beloved grandfather had died from colon cancer, and Gabriel had sworn then, at the age of sixteen, to do whatever he could to help others not feel the pain he’d felt at the loss. At other times practicing medicine brought the immense challenge of trying to remain impersonal in the operating room. The woman they’d worked on tonight was a fighter, and even though her ovarian cancer was in a critical stage, he remained optimistic. He always did.
He stepped into his office and dropped into the swivel-back leather chair. Taking a long swig from a bottle of water, he tapped on the computer and brought up his e-mails. Then he quickly checked his phone messages. He was pleased to find Frieda had left a message both places. The girl had moxie, he’d give her that.
He and Frieda had spoken on the phone several times, but Gabriel’s schedule had been too full for them to go out.
“If you don’t have time to go out with me, you’re too busy,” she’d said.
“You’re beginning to sound like my mother,” he’d responded.
On more than one occasion, Mrs. Livingston had reminded him that she wasn’t getting any younger and expected to be able to hold grandchildren from him soon.
“I’m only thirty-seven,” he’d said the last time she went into the grandchild mantra.
“And when
I
was thirty-seven,” she’d responded without missing a beat, “you were ten years old!”
Gabriel smiled as he shot off an e-mail response to Frieda:
Just finished surgery. Need a nap. Will call you later if it’s not too late.
PS: Stop talking dirty. It’s not ladylike. :)
He answered a few more e-mails, returned a phone call, took his phone off vibrate, and placed it on ring so that once he stepped into the shower he could hear an emergency call. Then he walked out of his office and down the hallway to the locker room where the shower stalls were located. He quickly stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the steamy, hot water. He stood directly under the pulsating shower head until he felt his shoulder muscles relaxing. Then he lathered and washed, mindful not to waste time showering that could be used for sleep.
Back into his office, he walked past the fluorescent overhead light switch, opting instead to turn on the orange Himalayan salt lamp he’d recently purchased. According to the colleague who’d talked him into buying it, the lamp had been scientifically proven to increase the negative ion count in the air, which was supposed to boost the room’s air quality and make you feel more relaxed. While he wasn’t ready to offer up his own personal testimony, he did like the subtle lighting and the chilled-out mood it created.
Gabriel checked his watch, placed the phone on the table next to the sofa, and stretched out on his back. Almost immediately, he fell into a light sleep, an ability he’d honed as a sleep-deprived intern. A slight, clicking sound caused his eyes to flutter.
The next thing he knew there was a knee on his chest and a hand on his crotch.
“Don’t move, doctor. I’m getting ready to operate.”
Gabriel’s eyes shot open as he sat upright. “Frieda!” he whispered harshly. “How did you get in here?”
“Never mind that. It’s not where I came from but what I’m getting ready to do that’s important.” She dropped down on the floor and buried her nose in his chest. “Mmmm, you smell like soap. Clean. That’s good.”
Without hesitation, she reached into his drawstring pants and wrapped her hands around his penis.
“What in the—Frieda, really. You can’t be in here.”
“In here? Or in
here
?” she said, expertly massaging him into a quick erection.
“Look, I’m still on duty—”
“Well, baby, you better get ready to work!”
Frieda whipped off the white nurse’s dress she was wearing that zipped down the front. She was naked underneath. She almost sat on his face as she buried her head in his pants and let her mouth replace what her hand had been doing.
“For heaven’s sake, Frieda,” Gabriel gasped. “What—are—you—doing?”
I think you know.
His hips began grinding of their own volition, and while he willed himself to push the luscious buttocks away from him, his hands had a mind of their own. Before he knew it he was pulling Frieda’s furry paradise toward him.
“Ooh,” Frieda gushed as Gabriel proved his oral skills matched those of his scalpel. “Yes, baby, do that, do that!”
Frieda flipped around, yanking Gabriel’s pants down in the process. She lay on top of him, and before he could protest, drove her tongue into his waiting mouth. Gabriel gave up the fight and wrapped his arms around Frieda’s taut waist, moving his hands to cup her breasts and thread his fingers into her hair.
Knowing they didn’t have long, Frieda reached into the pocket of the white dress and pulled out the strawberry-flavored condom she’d placed there. She placed it on his tip and, with surgical precision, used her tongue to unroll it, sending shards of sensation racing through Gabriel’s body as she rolled the condom into place. And then she began to ride.
Their lovemaking was frenzied and desperate: Frieda reached toward tomorrow as she filled the empty places left by Giorgio and Shabach, and Gabriel released a month’s worth of tension and patient concerns into the willing heat of this willful, savvy sistah. It was just what the doctor ordered.
Frieda gasped as she experienced a mindshattering orgasm. Gabriel climaxed hard, with an extended shudder, then dropped heavily on top of Frieda.
“Thanks,” he whispered. And fell asleep.
Frieda rubbed her hand over his sweaty body, feeling his slender shoulders and small, firm butt. She tried to move, an impossibility with his dead weight, but she didn’t care. She’d come to the hospital determined to see the doctor. And he had most definitely filled her prescription.
61
Lover of My Soul
Derrick leaned back against the leather love seat in his executive office. His eyes were closed, and his head bobbed to the beat. The sound was clean, simple, almost acoustic; the slow tempo—poignant—and Darius’s pure, baritone sound floated between the musical notes effortlessly, filled with passion and yearning:
“Jesus, lover of my soul, let me to Thy bosom fly. While the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high.
Hide me, O my Savior, hide, till the storm of life is past,
Safe into the haven guide, oh, receive my soul at last.”
Darius sat in the chair opposite his pastor, also listening to the sounds. At first he listened professionally, detached from the song itself. But by the time the last verse rolled around, he got caught up, just like he had when God had dropped this song into his spirit. Darius sang along with his CD:
“Plenteous grace with Thee is found, grace to cover all my sin,
Let the healing streams abound, make and keep me pure within.
Thou of life the fountain art, freely let me take of Thee,
Spring Thou up within my heart, rise to all eternity.”
By the time the last note sounded, both Derrick and Darius were wiping away tears. They sat in silence a moment, letting the presence of the Holy Spirit wash over them. Finally Derrick spoke.
“Man, I can’t remember the last time I heard that song. I think it was back at my grandmother’s church when I was, oh, I don’t know, nine or ten years old. And I’ve never heard that last verse. It’s beautiful, man, simply beautiful,” Derrick said.
“Charles Wesley, 1740. People these days are happy if a song lasts ten years, twenty. But these English brothahs were putting it down almost three hundred years ago and counting—and still powerful. Now
that’s
when you know your words are anointed. Let them be singing ‘Looks Like Reign’ in 2310. That’s what I’m talking about.”
“How’d you decide to put this on your CD and to go this route? This is the most traditional I’ve ever heard you sing, and I like it.”
“God dropped it on me, man, when I was at a low point. I was praying, and before I knew it, these words were pouring out of my mouth. They sang it at my grandmother’s church too. I’d forgotten I knew it.”
“Well, I’m not one who’s quick to give a word of prophecy. But I wouldn’t be surprised if this classic, and not one of your R & B contemporary numbers, is your next hit.”
Both men jumped as the door burst open. Mrs. Anderson, followed by a harried Lionel trying to overtake her, rushed into the room.
“Pastor, I told her she needed to make an appointment,” Derrick’s assistant stated. “She just barged right past me. Should I call security?”
“You don’t need to call nobody,” Mrs. Anderson said. “I’ve come here with something to say to Pastor Derrick, and I’m gonna say it. And then I’ll be on my way, never to darken these doors again.”
Lionel gave his pastor a haggard look. Derrick nodded slightly and waved Lionel away.
Darius rose from his chair. “I’ll wait outside,” he said.
“You might as well stay. It concerns you too.”
Darius looked at Derrick and returned to his seat.
“Would you like to sit down?”
“I won’t be that long.” Mrs. Anderson took a moment and softened her demeanor. “I’ve come to ask you, to ask both of you, to accept my apology.”
Darius sat up straighter in his chair.
She could not have said what I think she said.
“I stand by my Christian beliefs. Sin is sin, and some sins are more dire than others. But even so, in these past few weeks I’ve said some things and did some things that are not becoming to a child of God. And, Darius.” she turned to look directly at him. “While I don’t agree with your lifestyle, and will never agree with it, two wrongs don’t make a right. And I was wrong. This is hard for me to say, but my daughter—” Mrs. Anderson paused as tears threatened to erupt.
Pastor Derrick reached for a tissue and handed it to her. She took it and continued.
“You said something one time in this here office, Pastor. About my daughter. I told you I knew her, and you said I
thought
I knew her. Well, now, I know my child. But I didn’t know everything
about
my child. Sin is sin, and lying is sin. And my child has lied on this man here.” She pointed at Darius. “And come first thing Monday morning, we’re getting with our lawyer to set it right.”
Derrick looked from Mrs. Anderson to Darius, too stunned to reply.
“That’s what I came to tell you,” Darius said to Derrick. “That the tape proves it’s not me on there. Whoever ra—violated Melody had a specific tattoo on his back. I don’t have any tattoos.”
“So that’s what I came here to say,” Mrs. Anderson continued. “And now I’ll be on my way.”
“Bernadette—Mrs. Anderson—let me just say that while we don’t always see eye to eye, you have been a staunch supporter of this ministry for almost thirty years, and it would be a shame to lose you. The body of Christ has different parts for different reasons. The arm can’t do what the leg does, and the eye can’t work for the nose. What I’m trying to say is you have many choices of where to worship, many fine churches in this city run by some of my very good friends. You would be more than blessed to join any one of them. But I want you to know that you are also more than welcome to stay right here.”
“Well, Pastor, I appreciate that, surely I do. Clyde, he sure doesn’t want to leave. But I’ve caused such a ruckus, I don’t know if I can come back here.”
“Oh, a good old ruckus never hurt nobody,” Derrick said, rising and coming over to hug this church mother. “You talk it over with Mr. Anderson. Better yet, let me call Vivian and see what her plans are for dinner tomorrow night. We normally try to keep the schedule pretty light on Saturday evenings, so it should be all right if you two join us. And I for one would really enjoy that.”
It took determination and a dip in her pride, but Bernadette also shook the hand of the man she’d sworn never to touch—Darius Crenshaw. She couldn’t quite look him in the eye, but she didn’t beat herself up too badly. This was new territory, and she’d have to take one step at a time. In her mind touching him, and not knowing where his hands had been, was already a huge leap of faith.
Walking to her car, Bernadette let the tears fall. Her heart felt lighter already. She’d be forever grateful to Faye Moseley, the member in whom she’d confided after being unable to bear the burden of Melody’s actions alone, afraid to tell Clyde lest he die from the pain. Melody was his little girl. To know she’d been raped had almost killed him. If he found out she had been the initiator, he might kill her. So she’d turned to Faye—Mother Moseley, as she was called—and Faye had given her straight-up, sistah-girl advice.
“Bea, you ain’t the only one who’s ever acted a fool in church, and if you be truthful, this ain’t your first time acting one. Like my boy Donnie says: fall down, get back up. That’s what saints do.”
“But where did I go wrong, Faye? I tried so hard to keep Melody from making the same mistakes I did, tried to keep her on the straight and narrow, to know where she was and who she was with. I don’t even know how long she’s been lying to me! How could she do that?”
“Girl, please. You told your parents everything? That’s what kids do. Lie, cheat, steal, do whatever they can to break out of their parents’ shadow and come into their own. I’m not trying to say you shouldn’t be hurt and angry. But you can’t blame yourself either. At any given moment, we’re all doing the absolute best we can. And who knows? God can turn this thing around and still get glory!”
I hope you’re right,
Bernadette thought as she headed back to her house. The apology to her pastor wasn’t the end but the beginning of the actions she was taking to make things right. And what she was getting ready to do now would be the hardest.
She opened the door and climbed the steps quickly before she lost her nerve. She stopped at the door to Melody’s room. It was quiet.
Probably got that iPod stuck in her ear.
She tapped once and then opened the door. Melody, bobbing her head and text messaging, pulled out the earbuds when she saw her mother at the door.
“Hey, Mommy.”
“Melody.”
Oh, Lord. What’s that tone about?
“Are you okay? You seem tired.”
Bernadette walked into the room and closed the door. “No, Melody. I am not okay. But I will be, and so will you. Everything is going to be all right.”
Melody began to get a bit nervous. Her mother was acting weird! “Why? What’s going on?” she stuttered.
Bernadette sat on the bed, reached into her purse, and pulled out a brochure. She silently handed it to Melody.
Melody took it and saw a picturesque country scene with trees and flowers. Inside a caption box were the words she read aloud, “Angel House. What’s this?” She looked at her mother, who only stared back at her. Melody’s nervousness deepened. She opened the brochure and began to read. The nervousness was replaced by fear. “Boarding school? Why are you giving me something about a boarding school?” Her attempt to sound lighthearted failed miserably.
“Because, Melody, that’s where you’re going.”
“Mommy,” Melody whined, falling into the familiar voice she’d used to wrap her parents around her finger for years.
Mrs. Anderson held up her hand and spoke in a stern voice. “My heart is fixed, and my mind is made up. I can’t give you the guidance you need. There’s too many things here to distract you, too many temptations to help you fall. Now, I’ve been on the phone with the people at this school, and they are powerful men and women of God. They’ve got a program to get you back on the right track. Once you turn eighteen, you’ll have to decide which track you stay on.”
“Eighteen! You want me to go away for two years? No, Mommy! I won’t! I can’t leave you and Daddy. How could you send me away?”
“You left the night you lay under that man and asked him to do those nasty things to you.”
“But, Mommy, I was raped—”
“Stop lying to me! I saw the tape, Melody.”
Melody’s eyes widened.
“Uh-huh, sure did. Hurt me to my heart too, but I watched enough to learn the truth.”
How did she get her hands on the tape?
And then a worse thought followed. “Did Daddy . . .”
“No, thank God, because it would be the death of him as sure as I’m born. And that’s why you’re leaving. I don’t want him ever to see it. And I don’t want you to put no more hurt on him than you already have. For twenty-five years, I bowed down on my knees in prayer and supplication for a child. And God answered my prayer. And while this will hurt me to my heart, I’m going to give you back to Him now.”
Now both women were crying.
“He can do for you what I can’t. And I’ve got to trust that when the time is right, He’ll give you back to me again. It’s a good, Christian school, founded on Christian principals. I’ve talked to the head of the school, some of the teachers, and the pastor of the church that you’ll be attending while you’re there.”
Melody looked at the brochure again. “Mommy, this place is in Louisiana!”
“Yes, in the South, where you’ll be surrounded by Christian people with strong Christian values.” Bernadette almost wavered as she watched the tears roll down her daughter’s cheeks. “Plus it will give you a chance to learn something new, live someplace different. You might like it, Melody.”
“But, Mommy, I don’t want to go!”
Mrs. Anderson stood and looked down on her daughter. Love mixed with pain filled her eyes. “In life, we don’t always get what we want. But God always gives us what we need.”