Lavender When I saw Deacon Gray greedily unzipping my husband's pants in the pulpit, I knew he wasn't kneeling before him in prayer. There is one quintessential moment in a woman's life when she realizes she never really wanted the proof that could support her intuition. Except this time, my intuition didn't give me fair warning. The dinner I'd eaten at Tripps suddenly climbed and lingered in my throat. I swallowed hard while the deacon did the same to my husband's growing dick. My husband, Pastor Quincy Wallace. *** Quincy, my "better" half, commanded the attention of the crowd for the majority of his life. He'd certainly caught mine the first time I saw him. I was a sophomore in high school, perusing the football field as most teenaged girls do after they've reached puberty. My deep-set eyes followed the skyscraper making his way around the track. Quincy's legs were pistons pounding the hot asphalt. I wondered what led God to make a seventeen-year-old boy look like a man. Dark as sin. Faint mustache. Determined lips. "Don't even waste your time!" I jumped when I heard Corinne's voice behind me. My best friend since the age of six stood there with a hand on her hip and a crooked smile on her lips. I hoped the way I watched the sweat trickle from his flat top haircut down his forehead to his muscular torso wasn't obvious. "What?" "What?" she mimicked in a high nasally voice. "Girl, you know who I'm talking about! Quincy Wallace. Star athlete. Straight-A student. And did I forget fine as hell?" I rolled my eyes. "Okay, so I was checking him out. And? After all those things you just named, what's not to like?" Corinne shook her head sympathetically. She placed an arm around my shoulders and put her lips to my ear as though she was about to share a CIA secret. "I hear he's not into pussy." I pulled away to look at her. "Bullshit!" "It's true! I heard Fruit Rollup sucked his dick. And I'm a cheerleader so you know I hear all the good gossip first." "And that's exactly what it is, Corinne. Gossip. Don't tell me you believe everything you hear. Furthermore, who the hell is Fruit Rollup?" Corinne cocked her head to the left and looked skyward. "Never mind. You don't know him." "Besides, who could turn down all this?" I did a little spin as we walked along the fence, an afternoon ritual we shared whenever Corinne finished practice. "Well, you ain't all that," she joked. "Let me stop, you know you're beautiful. Out of all the girls at this school, I think you have the best chance. After all, he is a deacon's son and that's probably why he's turning down all these fast-ass chicks left and right. He has standards. And you have more to offer than just your looks. Plus you're the new girl." That's why I love Corinne. Not because she strokes my ego, but because she doesn't mind giving props to another black girl when they're due. Even a "high-yellow" one. My parents taught me a long time ago not to rely on my face as soon as I was old enough to realize that everyone thought I was "cute". I followed their cue. I applied myself to my studies and even though I started modeling at the age of nine, I wasn't thinking about investing my money in a Reese's peanut butter cup. I wanted my own beauty salon one day. Maybe my modeling height was what really drew me to Quincy. When you're a girl that's sixteen and stands almost six feet tall, it's hard to find a boyfriend who reaches your chin while you're wearing heels. Or one that doesn't joke about being so short that he stands at pussy levelósupposedly, that was the advantage to being vertically challenged. I had never tried to lure a guy with sex, because unlike most of my friends, I was still a virgin. I would run to every base but the last one for fear that I would get pregnant and ruin my dreams. And I made that clear from the beginning with any guy I messed with. But as Quincy rounded the track and headed towards us, I realized for the first time I was willing to make an exception. "Are you going to say something to him, or do I have to embarrass you?" Corinne teased. "Shutup." The mime-like smile I plastered on my face felt phony and stupid. Quincy didn't seem to notice as he stopped at the fence. He panted harshly before finding his voice. "Hey." "Hey," Corinne and I said in unison. *** Now, I can't remember what happened after that. I just kept hearing what Corinne said when she first saw me watching Quincy Wallace. I hear he's not into pussy. The words were just about as annoying as a scratch on a cd I wanted to hear without all the skipping. But what really made me sickóbesides the fact that I could hear another man maintaining a rhythmic slurp on my husband's dickówas that I chose to believe what I wanted to back in high school instead of listening to Corinne's "scratch." Some women would have screamed if they saw what I was looking at. Some would have heaved the vase sitting in front of the stained glass window at the two menóit was within arm's reach. I chose to back quietly out of the church. The way Quincy gripped the deacon's collar. The moaning. The biting of the lip. I couldn't take it. One of my hands leaned heavily against each pew that I passed while the other covered my mouth to barricade the vomit. When I made it to the front door, I bolted down the church steps into the moonlit night with my undigested dinner spraying out around me. I dropped to my knees and placed my hands flat against the asphalt until I was done throwing up. Once I finished, I stood and stumbled towards my 2008 Lexus SC 430. Any other time, I wouldn't have gotten into that psychotically clean convertible smelling the way I did, but I was suddenly oblivious to everything. The only sense that I maintained was my hearingóI wanted to make sure that I wasn't replaying what had hurt my ears a couple of seconds ago. Shuffling feet. Jingling of keys. Smooth ignition of the car. That's all there was. I slammed my foot against the accelerator with my Jimmy Choo and sped out of the parking lot. Wet and sticky fingers gripped the steering wheel and nearly turned manila. As I sped down 264 West, I glanced into my rearview mirror and realized that I had started crying and didn't even know it. I have never looked as horrible as I did in that reflection. I don't know who that woman was. She couldn't be the successful owner of Salon Terai. Or the ex-model with the button nose, puckered lips, and hair as long and black as an unlit and unmarked road. My breasts are full apples that would put any orchard to shame and after I gave birth to Jalen, sure, my hips got a little wider but the men kept looking. Hell, I was only thirty-four. So what had I done to make Quincy want to stray to another man, no less, after sixteen years of marital bliss? We hadn't had sex in two months, but I assumed it was because the church had expanded and the member phone calls grew. My husband was always tired and what kind of wife would I be if I didn't support his calling? I sobbed until my breath caught and the salty snot ran down my lips. I took the Brambleton Avenue exit into Norfolk and headed towards my pre-war home in the historic neighborhood of Ghent. The car swerved about, mimicking my unbalanced emotions. I made a sharp right and gasped when I saw the small car sitting at the sudden red light. The Lexus was moving too fast. I swung the steering wheel to the right but I still gave the small car a light smack with my fender. The car jumped forward, and soon, the driver jumped out. My car came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street, and the first thing I noticed was the angry crease in the forehead of the other driver. He moved towards my door with a calculated pace. "What the hellÖ" he started. His handsome face seemed to relax as I climbed out of the car to survey the damage. Maybe it was my disheveled appearance that distracted him. I was trembling and I smelled like sewage. Any other time I wouldn't dare put myself in danger in the presence of a stranger, but like I said, I wasn't thinking clearly. I sensed that he had been about to ask me how I couldn't see his car but he changed his mind. Instead, he asked, "Are you alright?" Tai She didn't answer me at first. She simply stood there like I was speaking German. I had approached the car with my hand near my hip as any seasoned detective would do. Even though Zoe had her hand in my jeans just a few minutes before, I had noticed the car approaching quickly and erratically in my rearview mirror. Thinking of Zoe, I glanced back towards my 2000 Honda Civic to make sure she was okay. She poked her blonde head out of the passenger window and I saw the fear marinating on her freckled face. I met her three weeks before in a downtown Norfolk bar. It was just supposed to be a piece of drunken ass after one year of working cold cases and taking cold showers. Maybe my colleagues at the police department were right. I wasn't the same after my wife left me and took our daughter. I turned my attention back to this crazy-looking woman standing in front of me. I asked her again. "Are you okay?" Slowly, she nodded her head. Her clothing was soiled, her hair was all over the place, and she had obviously been crying, but there was no mistaking the fact that underneath all that she was very beautiful. "Have you been drinking?" "No, I justÖI'm okay. My husbandÖ." Her voice disappeared. Alright, so she wasn't mute. Or mentally challenged. She didn't smell like alcohol. Just throw up. She had probably had a bad fight with her spouse that night and it was obvious she didn't want to talk about it. I'd been solving crimes long enough to know when somebody had been through some shit. But after all the shit I'd seen, I'd never seen a woman looking quite the way she did. "Well, it doesn't look like you caused too much damage to my car. And it looks like you didn't cause any damage to yours." "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing andó" "Look, don't worry about it. Let's just exchange information. We can take care of it tomorrow." "Are you sure?" "Trust me, miss, if I wasn't sure, I wouldn't say it. Besides, no matter what you say, you don't look too good." She glanced at her feet. "My car's still driveable." "Should we call the police?" "I am the police." I flashed her my badge. The woman raised her bloodshot eyes back up to mine. I managed to crack a small smile. "That doesn't mean I'm going to take extra measures against youÖhold on, I'll get my info now." She seemed to calm a little, but something was still bothering her. I went back to my car and scribbled my information on a piece of paper while she did the same. "Is she okay?" Zoe whispered. I gave her a brief nod. After everything was over, I was taking her home. When I returned, the woman stood there with shaky hands and gave me a sticky note with her insurance company information on it plus a business card. Salon Terai, it read. Her name was Lavender Wallace. "You can reach me on my cell at any time," she said. "Alright. Like I said, we'll take care of this tomorrow." I decided against asking about her condition one last time. "Well, if we're done, I'm going to go." She seemed eager to leave and so was I. I hadn't planned to get into a minor accident tonight, but Lavender had brought me back to reality without even knowing it. She had interrupted my hand job and even though most men would have been upset about that plus the dent on the bumper, I had to wonder what I was doing letting Zoe jerk me off at the light. The twenty-one-year-old was way too whiny and needy and I had only worsened that by allowing her to keep my bed warm. Lavender left me standing there not caring whether or not I responded. She jumped into her Lexus and was gone as quickly as she had appeared. Zoe kept twisting around in the passenger seat like an impatient newborn waiting for its mother.