The Devil Made Me Do It (17 page)

The Wiley dinner was a hit. The smell of fried chicken, beef brisket, mashed potatoes, collard greens, and corn bread still permeated the air.

After dinner, everyone moved to the heart of the home, their family room. The burnished hardwood flooring gleamed with pride, and the striped wallpaper boasted mounted porcelain plates illustrating scenes from early African American life. The overstuffed olive-green couches, striped olive-green and lavender chairs, and the wide-screen television invited, “Come on in and sit a spell.”

“So how are you getting along in Detroit? We treating you well?” Charles asked as he got up and gave Briggs the universal brother handshake.

“Man, I've been so busy I really haven't seen the city.”

“That may be a good thing,” Phyllis said. “Just kidding. I love my city.”

Briggs made his way to an overstuffed chair when he noticed Wiley family portraits lined across the cherry wood fireplace mantle. Esther's high school graduation picture glowed like a pot of gold compared to the others that surrounded it. And like a miner in the California gold rushes of old, he was getting feverish being near it. Looking at her back then sent memories sweeping through him like currents from a raging river: smells, sounds, lips. He frowned. If he couldn't control his thoughts he needed to leave.

“That dinner was the best I've had, Mrs. Wiley,” Briggs said, determined to turn his attention elsewhere.

“Don't make me smack you, Briggs,” Mrs. Gregory threatened playfully.

Briggs blushed at his error. “Oh, right! The only equal to this meal is when Mrs. Gregory cooks dinner. You're both superb cooks.”

Mother Reed joined in. “So, what you saying about the meal
I
fixed you?”

Briggs turned redder and stammered, “
All
the home cooked meals I've eaten since I've been here are exceptional.”

Everyone laughed and teased him about his new skill in diplomacy.

Phyllis tapped her fork on her dessert plate to change the subject. “Pastor Stokes, I found your topic of forgiveness an important one. Often, people won't let their past mistakes go. We live in an Internet society where your business is on front street every minute of the day. People are so punitive. No wonder society is depressed and lonely.”

Briggs was passionate in his answer. “Many spend time in a desolate place, trying to search for what's missing. In many cases, being depressed and lonely leads us into making more mistakes, because we're trying to appease our appetites with empty calories like alcohol, drugs, sex, gossiping, and bitterness. What we need is a spiritual eraser to remove the mistake so we can begin again.”

Mother Reed clapped her hands. “Say that . . .” She pointed at Briggs. “We were given the eraser long ago, son. Jesus supplied it with His blood. We have to stop being people pleasers and vow to please God. You know what the hardest thing was when I learned to walk in God's obedience?”

Elizabeth Wiley encouraged, “Tell us, Mother.”

“Blocking out what seemed like God. Yeah, that was hard. Remember back in the Garden of Eden?” Mother Reed clasped her hands and rocked.

“What happened in the garden, Mother?” Reverend Gregory egged her on.

“Well, that old serpent sounded right, he walked right. Surely, he couldn't be wrong, right?” Mother Reed chortled in glee. “Took two saints and all of mankind straight into sin, listening to what seemed right. Adam had the Word of it by God Himself. Yet, they faltered. How many of us falter doing what seems like the right thang?”

Reverend Gregory nodded. “I've been trapped and made that mistake myself. I still have to be watchful that I'm following the will of God and not the will of my congregation. Sometimes the pressure to give in is so great, I just fall to my knees and seek His face.”

Phyllis added, “But how many men fall on their faces? Not many. I've seen enough of these religious television shows to know something is wrong. How come you can only get a blessing if you in the one hundred-dollar line? What I get for my two dollars?”

Mr. Wiley interrupted. “See, y'all done started something . . . now . . . here we go.”

Everyone began to talk and throw their opinions across the room. Dessert was served and forks and spoons clicked against bone china. Over the loud din Briggs and Esther sought each other and smiled.

As the evening set, people gathered in clusters talking. Briggs and Charles had hit it off and exchanged phone numbers. Over by the entertainment center, they had a lively discussion on sports and the stock market.

Mother Reed had a knowing look on her face when she called out in a loud voice, “Elizabeth, just because I'm down here quiet 'bout it don't mean I'm over that meal you gave me. I know I was sick, and you believe you helping, but, chile, I needs to have something to look forward to. I don't believe in speaking darkness; otherwise, I'd tell you something 'bout this tasteless gelatin dessert. You'd best know that.”

“Yes, Mother, I know. I'm sorry, but I love you enough to be okay with you being mad at me. It's not as bad as you think. You just have to get used to it,” Elizabeth said.

“Oh, I ain't mad at you. I'm gon' save my wrath for the enemy. Get ready, y'all, 'cause he trying to come to a party he ain't been invited to.” Mother Reed shook her aging fist.

“There you go being all mysterious. I ain't scared, bring it on!” Phyllis laughed. “This cheesecake is wonderful, Mama. Real tasty, um yum, real good.”

“We ain't friends no more, Phyllis,” Mother Reed said giving her a mock glare.

The crowd howled with laughter as everyone enjoyed themselves into the evening.

 

 

The Leader sat outside and peered through the window. He looked down at his imps lined across the outside wall and cursed the Wileys' daily prayer life. He hated being on the outside looking in. “Imp One!”

“Yes, my leader,” the imp answered as it scurried to his leader's side.

“You did read the plans?”

“Yes, O Mighty One. Brilliant, just brilliant,” it lisped.

The Leader started to scream at the sycophant's empty flattery, when he remembered Most High's previous annoyance with him, so, he was calm when he said, “Then what happened at the church?”

“I can explain it all. Everything was set; the old gossip was moving through the congregation filling all the right ears. Ears that we knew would twist and turn new lies into slanderous mudslinging. It was so good, the sanctuary was heavy with the stink of it.”

“How do you know?”

“We were able to get in once the maliciousness started. You should have seen them, Leader. This one ran to this one, and then this one approached that one. Only a handful turned and walked away, shaking their heads. The majority of those so-called Christians got right down in the dirt and played.”

“Watch what you say, you've been warned before. We don't call out that name in any form here. Then what happened?”

“The pastors and the praise and worship team weren't in the room; they were somewhere closeted off, praying. When they came in and the praise and worship team started singing, I could see the fabric of our influence begin to tear. Then the smaller imps began to call out in agony and disappear from the room.”

The Leader spoke in a soft voice mindful of Most High's lecture, “Continue.”

Imp One began to relax in his storytelling. “Then our assignment, the Briggs human, got up and began to speak. His voice filled the sanctuary and soon a perfumed ambiance saturated the air. Bit by bit, my subordinates shrieked out their distress, and then vanished. I hung in there, O Great One; there was fire singeing my scales, and painful sores materializing on my upper torso, but I stayed. All of a sudden, one minute I was standing inside the sanctuary, and the next minute, I had joined my legion writhing on the outside.”

“Imp One?”

“Yessss . . . Leader,” he lisped.

“You're fired!” The Leader said as a ball of fire previously known as Imp One exploded in front of him. “No pun intended,” he smirked while bringing his tail up to circle his shoulders in an intimate caress. He needed the comfort of self-love. Already he could feel a demon-size headache coming on.

After loving on himself, The Leader then turned to the shaking throng of miscreants, “Imp Two!”

Imp Two was hesitant, but all of the other imps reshuffled around him, leaving him open for display. He finally wobbled before The Leader, ever mindful of the ashes strewn at his feet. “Yes?” he squeaked.

“You have been promoted. You'll now answer to your new level, Imp One. Familiarize yourself with the plan . . .”

Later, The Leader lay warming himself before a raging furnace. He had studied everyone involved. He knew his plan was a good one. Soon, he would be able to destroy them all.

Esther sat at her desk frustrated by the government bureaucracy that was stifling her at every turn. This zoning problem was becoming an albatross around her neck. She'd reach someone, only to be told to call someone else, and then so on. She noted her lunch hour was over, blew a silky strand of hair out of her face, and closed church business.

The buzz of the phone interrupted her musing. “Yes?” she answered as she hit her intercom.

“A tall, fine, upstanding citizen is here to see you, Ms. Esther. 'Bout time too,” Simone giggled.

“I can do without the descriptive narrative, Simone. Does the gentleman have a name?”

“Now you know, you know who this hunk is,” whispered Simone, “however . . . your game, your rules.”

Esther sputtered as she heard Simone say to her visitor, “Sir, may I have your name?”

“Lawton,” he answered with a smile in his voice as he flashed his law enforcement identification.

Simone repeated into the intercom. “His name is Lawton. As in . . . the law—he can lock me up anytime. You know—law, as in let his justice be served. As in book me and hook me, Dano, as in—”

“I get it, Simone. Please ask Lawton to have a seat; I'll be right with him.”

Esther turned the intercom off. She rambled to an empty room as she cleared her desk. “I will have a long talk with her about professional decorum. She is back on my prayer list. That child need Jesus.”

Esther peeked out the door and saw Simone leaning toward Lawton in a too familiar way.

“Can I get you anything, anything at all while you wait?” She then whispered, “Me?”

Lawton hid a grin at Simone's blatant invitation. He appeared to be used to this type of attention and to be unmoved by her boldness. “No, thank you. I'll just sit over here.”

Esther stepped back with a satisfied grin and opened the closet door in her office; she peered into the long oval glass and fluffed out her hair. She was impressed he didn't flirt back. She rummaged in her purse, pulled out a lipstick and gloss, and touched up her lips. She then spritzed perfume in the air and walked through it, after which she opened her office window and tried to fan out the residue. After putting lotion on her hands, she was ready.

The door to Esther's office opened and a calm and collected vision walked out of the door, summoning Lawton. He strode toward Esther without hesitation. Esther kept her eyes trained on this fine specimen of God's handiwork. At his approach, she backed into her office, and lay back against her door so he could pass by her and enter. Before she closed the door she stole a peek at Simone. She smiled at her reaction and her statement.

Simone remained seated with her mouth open. “Dang, you work it, girl. Still waters do run deep.”

Esther motioned for Lawton to have a seat. Instead, he kept coming forward. Her early finesse began to dissolve as he invaded her personal space. “You smell really good.”

Esther stuttered. “Um, th-th-anks.”

“You look really good,” Lawton said emphasizing the word,
good
.

“Oh, well, yes, thank you,” Esther stumbled backward.

“And . . . you look . . . uncomfortable,” Lawton said with a Cheshire grin.

“Well, you're all up in my personal space,” Esther replied with false bravado.

Lawton folded his arms. “You did summon me.” Esther shook her head in the negative. “No, I just invited you in.”

“Felt like a summons,” Lawton said, rubbing his chin.

Esther tapped her foot. She was now on the defensive. “No, I was being polite, and, by the way, I didn't invite you to visit me today. You came here on your own.”

“Man doesn't live by bread alone,” Lawton advanced toward her.

Esther pushed out her hand for him to stop. “Lawton?”

“Yes?” he asked with a sneaky grin on his face.

“You're about to aggravate me,” Esther said in a singsong voice.

Lawton gave a full belly laugh. “Then I'll stop.”

Esther sighed in relief. “Good. I don't know why you like to do that. Now please have a seat.”

Lawton sat. He looked around the office and liked the small personal touches he saw reflecting Esther's warm personality. He folded his arms and came to the reason for his visit. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”

“This is kinda short notice.” Esther looked down at her calendar.

Lawton exhaled. “Look, I'm a straightforward person, and I'm not into playing a lot of games. I'm hungry, and it crossed my mind earlier, you might be hungry—if so, maybe we could get something to eat together.”

Esther paused. “I am hungry. You're in for a big bill,” she warned.

Lawton stood. “Baby, you just let me worry about the bill. How about six?”

“Make it five-thirty and we got a date. I told you, I'm hungry,” Esther snapped saucily.

Lawton laughed and opened the door. “I'll pick you up at your house.”

“Good enough,” Esther replied, “Oh, Lawton?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” she said with a splash of impishness and sass.

Lawton grabbed his heart. “Lord, hav' mercy!” he exclaimed as he exited the door.

Esther bit her lip with a secret smile as she watched Lawton leave. Her eye feast was interrupted by someone blocking her vision as they moved down the hallway—fast. It looked like John, her housing manager. She wondered if he had been waiting to see her. If so, why did he leave in such a hurry? Esther wondered at Simone's irritated face as her eyes followed John's retreat.

She waited on her to say something about John. Instead, Simone nodded after Lawton. “Girlfriend got skills,” she said in admiration.

Esther's eyes stretched wide in disbelief. “Simone, come in my office please.”

“Uh-oh . . .”

 

 

Roger sat in the bus depot in front of Esther's building. He frowned as he saw the same police officer from the previous week skip down the front steps. He cursed his displeasure. “What the heck is he doing here, again?”

He pulled his hood over his head and scooted down the worn bench in the opposite direction. Quickly, he picked up a discarded newspaper and peered over it as he ambled down the street. As he camouflaged his exit his chest felt on fire. The burning was becoming unbearable, and he had not slept. When he did sleep, his dreams were of Esther cringing in fear from him, begging him to take her back. In his warmest visions he never showed her mercy. Instead, he watched the blood drain slowly from her face. Roger thrust the visions away from him. He had to make it home before the landlord did his weekly evening rounds. The deadbolt lock he stole had done the trick and had kept the landlord out. The problem was he had to get inside before he ran into the old geezer. He still didn't have his rent. He did have a plan. Soon, Esther would take care of his cash flow issues.

Hours later, night descended. Outside, a short distance away from the stench of Roger's apartment, garbage trucks could be heard removing the refuse of wasted lives on a street that was a way station for the lost and tormented. As Roger turned in his slumber, his dreams were those of lust, greed, and revenge. Flies flew around his unshaven face, and his roughened hand swatted them away. His snores batted out loud rumblings from the awakening sounds of morning and were interspersed with an incoherent mumbling of his obsession. “Esther.”

 

 

“
Well, Imp One, you seem to be lining things up quite nicely,” The Leader reviewed Imp One's latest log entries.

“Yessss . . . Leader; I am using finesse to destroy them all. I feel it is a much-better move to yank happiness away then to never know it. Let Esther feel joy, and then steal it—that's my plan. It worked so well when she wanted to be Cinderella. And, then again, when she fell in love with Briggs. She faltered for years after each event. Let history repeat itself,” Imp One bowed in humble regard.

The Leader stood on his tail. “And I like that. You may leave me now, but continue to stay on top of things. I grow tired of training new help.”

Imp One scurried out of The Leader's sight without answering. He hated The Leader, hated his assignment, and even more, he hated this place. There were times when he had glimpses of others lives and the peace called to him. But the feeling was fleeting. He remembered once trying to rub against the silkiness of perfumed hair as a faint voice sang of love, but there was a hedge of protection and he could not connect. In the past, he would concentrate on the song and try to make out the words, but he could only make out, “For the # tells me so.” No matter how hard he concentrated, the middle word was always garbled, and then he would feel hot, searing fire across his face and chest. Over time, he had learned to let the thoughts and memories go. Somehow, he felt he was better off without them.