Live And Learn. Niobia Bryant

I ever dated or slept with was listed with a brief bio, and a photo if I had one. I used dollar signs to rate how free giving they were with their money, and stars to rate how good they were in bed. Five dollar signs was a true spender, and five stars was a too-good-to-be-true lover. A combination of both and he was almost a true keeper. I had only one or two of those.

      The man I chose to call had absolutely nothing to do with making me climax until I fainted. This call to Townsend Lakes was all about the Benjamins, baby.

      I met the defensive tackle for the New York Giants about a year ago at one of the label’s release parties. I was not able to get any passes for the girls, and I definitely did not want to carry sand to the beach, so I went alone.

      Looking ever so fine in a red silk Diane von Furstenberg strapless dress that originally retailed for $1,250.00 (I caught it on clearance for a mere $300.00), I stood out in the crowd of half-dressed groupies and overdressed industry elite. That dress drew Townsend straight to me.

      Better known as The Enforcer, he rated two stars and five dollar signs. He was a wall of muscles except where it counted. Unfortunately for him, a four-star, five-dollar-sign man had beat him out; thus ending our five-month relationship.

      It was only Tuesday. I had until Friday morning to get him eating out of the palm of my hand…again.

      “Cristal, we’ll save money if you just drive your whip,” Dom offered.

      I shook my head. “No, thank you. I am not putting all of those miles on my ride. Why not yours?”

      “It’s a coupe.”

      True, but I still was not driving, and my face showed that. Not even bothering to address the issue further, I turned my back on them and picked up my cordless phone.

      I had not spoken to Townsend in a few months, but I knew he would remember me well. I made sure of that…if you know what I mean.

      “Whaddup.”

      “You as always, Huggie Bear,” I purred into the phone, quickly referring to my black book for the nickname I gave him.

      He paused for only a brief second. “Long time no hear from, Cristal,” he said, pleasure obvious in his deep, Barry White like tone.

      “I was so hurt when I heard you were getting married. I decided to help you be faithful to your future wife,” I lied, twirling a lock of my bone-straight auburn hair around my finger.

      “Married?” Townsend balked. “Who told you that lie? Marriage ain’t nowhere in my vocab.”

      Ahem, yet another reason why I dropped him. Even though he loved to spend the money, three hundred pounds with a short penis and no sight of legal commitment did not make me a happy woman.

      “Just a little rumor I caught in the wind,” I told him, turning to wave my hand at the girls as one of them muttered something about me being a good liar. “As soon as I found out it was a lie, I knew I had to call you,” I said softly.

      “You shouldn’t have ever stopped calling me.”

      Okay, my big fish took the bait.

      “I regret listening to that rumor now.”

      “I regret it, too, baby.”

      He was nice and hooked. Now it was time to reel him in. “I guess we have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

      “You damn right.”

      I gave my girls a thumbs-up.

      7

      Moët

      No one could deny that The Greater Temple of Jesus Christ is one of the most grand and beautiful churches in Newark. Massive stained glass walls depict religious scenes straight from the Bible. The pews and woodwork are a gleaming mahogany. Brass adorns every possible accent piece.

      The grandest of it all was the pulpit. It took up the majority of the front of the church and had a feel that was more royal than religious.

      Every Sunday our charismatic leader, Reverend DeMark, held two services to accommodate his ever-growing congregation. Leave it up to my parents to attend both, as well as devotional services and Sunday school. Of course, that meant I was supposed to go to it all as well.

      On the inside, I smirked as he preached on being a good Christian soldier. Mind you, he’d already given me our special signal from the pulpit for me to meet him in his office between services.

      My mother was ushering today, and my father was on the front pew with the other deacons, so their hawklike eyes weren’t on me. I eased off the pew and slipped out of the back door five minutes before his first sermon began to wind to an end. The sound of the organist backing up his ever-increasing words followed me down into the basement level apartment that served as both his office space and parsonage.

      Using the spare key he gave me, I shivered in anticipation as I entered his domain. The door opened directly into the converted living room that served as an office for both him and the part-time secretary. A locked door—for which I had no key—led to the rooms farther into the apartment that were for his private use.

      I moved freely about the spacious and elaborately decorated room as the shouts, stomps, and organ music filtered down through the floor. Everything in his place spoke of wealth—a testament to the money he made from shitting innocent people.

      His wealth. His people. His flock.

      They paid for it all. The sprawling house in Maplewood. The Lexus. The tailored suits. The jewelry. The trips to the Caribbean. The cash he so generously gave me. All of it.

      Not that the Rev’s money was all that drew me. At first there was a lure associated with his position that I couldn’t resist. I enjoyed his heated hands and cold hard cash.

      I walked over to the mahogany Italian leather sectional in the corner. I remembered the day I lost my virginity and my faith on this couch.

      When Reverend DeMark mentioned to my parents that he wanted to hire some additional help to clean his offices, my parents readily volunteered my services; another testament to their devotion to God, their church, and their minister.

      They made the task seem like such an honor that I was actually nervous about doing it. I wanted his praise. I considered it the start of my paying tithes to my church. It wasn’t money, but it was my time, and at seventeen time was all I had to give.

      That first afternoon, I used the key my mother had proudly pressed into my palm and unlocked the heavy door leading into the office. I was shocked and surprised to find the Reverend sitting at his desk, his reading glasses in place on his long aquiline nose as he read from the leather-bound Bible open before him.

      “I’m sorry, Reverend DeMark. I didn’t know…I mean your car wasn’t out—” I stammered, edgy in his presence because I thought I made a mistake.

      “No, no, Latoya. Come in, come in,” he said, removing his glasses with a serene look on his face. “My car’s at the detail shop. It’ll be delivered when they’re done. I hope I didn’t scare you?”

      “I can come back another time—”

      “No, Latoya. You’re okay. Did you walk over from school?” he asked, leaning back in his chair slowly as he tented his fingers beneath his chin.

      “Yes, my daddy’s going to pick me up on his way home from work.”

      “Good, good,” he said, resting those deep eyes on me as I nervously stood there. “I was waiting on you.”

      “Yes, Reverend?” I asked, shy and nervous, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

      He had a way of looking at me that made me feel that way…shy and nervous.

      “God is good, isn’t he, Latoya?”

      I nodded, still standing in the doorway with one hand holding the knob and the other tightly grasping my book