Hope declined but said yes to a cola. “And I’ve got some chips and dip. You hungry?”
“Yeah, bring it all in. I want to go over the wedding, get your final opinions. And don’t try to get all crazy on me. I’ve decided to keep it simple. Oh, and I’ve finally settled on the colors—different shades of blue. What do you think? Frieda!”
Frieda came around the corner loaded down with chips, dip, leftover chicken wings, cookies, soda, and a wine cooler. Hope jumped up. “Dang, you took me literally, huh? What’s all this?”
They placed the food on the coffee table and loaded up plates. “Anytime we talk about men and matrimony,” Frieda answered around a mouthful of chips, “it’s a party.”
They spent the afternoon fine-tuning Hope’s plans for the ceremony. She’d dreamed of this for so many years one would think the details would have been easy. Now that the time was actually here though, she’d changed her mind more than once, wanting everything to be perfect. She had switched color schemes three times, but felt her idea of using various shades of blue was going to look beautiful against the scenic ocean backdrop. Cy’s custom Carlo Scotti tux was a deep navy made from extrafine merino faille wool. Hope’s dress was a white halter-necked, dropped waist satin wonder accented with light blue Swarovski crystals to match Cy’s light blue silk shirt. Frieda was the maid of honor, her dress a mix of turquoise, aqua, and light blue. The best man, Simeon, Cy’s equally fine cousin, would wear a light blue suit. Hope had snagged the Musical Messengers to provide the music, a blend of jazz, R & B classics, and contemporary gospel for both the ceremony and sit-down dinner afterward, as the boat cruised around the marina. She and Cy had decided to recite traditional vows and keep the ceremony simple: a duet of “their song,” Eric Benet’s “Spend My Life With You,” a recitation of The Lord’s Prayer, and a poem Hope wrote, titled simply, “The One.” Knowing how close their pastors were and how much church meant to them, it was easy to decide that both pastors, Derrick Montgomery and King Brook, would officiate.
“Do you think his wife will come?” Frieda asked.
“I don’t know,” Hope answered. Frieda was talking about Tai Brook, first lady of Mount Zion Progressive Baptist Church, Hope’s former church in Kansas City. Hope had told Frieda about how Tai once suspected Hope of wanting her husband, King. Being a single female in a church with a fine pastor wasn’t always easy. Some had thought Hope’s exuberant praise was for the King of Mount Zion instead of the King of Kings. King was very attractive, but Hope could never have imagined stepping out with Queen Bee’s man. And then go to church and dance with the ministry’s dance troupe, the Angels of Hope? Twirl around to the melody of “My God Is an Awesome God”?
“It is your wedding, after all,” Frieda continued, sipping on her cooler. “You’d think she’d come just to make sure the deed got done.”
“I like Queen Bee and I know she and Sistah Vivian are best friends. I included a personal note with the invitation, saying how much I wanted her there. She seemed to warm up to me toward the end, so I hope she’ll come.”
“Vivian’s your new pastor’s wife, right?”
“Uh-huh, the one you met on your one and only visit.”
“Now, don’t give up on me, cousin. There’s some fine brothahs in that building; I’ll be back.”
“And you didn’t even see Darius. He was out of town the Sunday you visited.”
“Darius…who’s that?”
“Kingdom’s newest most eligible bachelor since Cy got engaged. He’s our minister of music. He’s got a new CD coming out and it’s supposed to be fire. Cy says some major record labels are trying to sign him.”
“Oh, he ain’t signed yet? Tell a brothah to hollah when he gets that advance check!”
“Frieda, you should marry for love, not money.”
“Don’t worry. If he’s got money, I’ll love him.”
Hope just shook her head. “Maybe God has other plans for you. There are some fine associate ministers at Kingdom. You might end up a pastor’s wife.”
“Ah, hell no. Ain’t that much holy water in the world!”
Hope laughed. “Remember, they’re men first and foremost. Look at Cy; he’s a minister.”
“Yeah, and he’s marrying yo ass. I can’t be hooking up with somebody who wants me in church every Sunday. Give me a hit every now and then, maybe a song at Christmas and an Easter egg, and I’m good to go. Feel me?”
“No, I don’t feel you, but it’s all to the good. God is with you no matter where you are.”
“Ooh, don’t tell me that. ’Cause there’s some places I’d rather He not tag along. Let a sistah roll solo, okay?”
Hope looked at Frieda, her countenance serious. “No, Frieda. God is with you all the time.”
“Shut up, girl. Next time I’m fuckin’ I’ll be lookin’ up at the ceiling expecting to see a big ass pair of eyes staring down at me.” Frieda drained her wine cooler bottle and jumped up to get another.
Hope almost spit out the soda she was swallowing. “You are a bona fide fool,” she said, laughing so hard her sides hurt.
Frieda returned from the kitchen. “No, I’m a bonin’ fool,” she said. “There’s a difference.” She sat on the couch, leafing through pictures of the yacht Cy was leasing for the wedding. “And speaking of fools, I wonder what happened to that girl who went gangsta on your boy, showing up at the church with demands and what not.”
Hope’s humor dimmed. “Millicent?”
“Yeah, her. I know what she did was whack, but that was some bold shit.”
“I don’t know where she is, nor do I care,” Hope said with finality. She didn’t want to discuss Millicent. Hope didn’t want that woman, or even her name, anywhere near her wedding plans.
3
From Dreams to Reality
The hustle and bustle of LAX, Los Angeles’s busiest airport, greeted Millicent as she stepped through the Jetway. Hard to believe she was back in Los Angeles. When she left four months ago, whether she’d return at all was anyone’s guess. Even now, she felt vulnerable, not sure if she was ready to step back into the real world. But she couldn’t hide out at her mother’s forever. Her therapist had encouraged her to accept the marketing contract she’d been offered, felt that working would help her life return to normal. Problem was, Millicent wasn’t sure she’d recognize normal when it arrived.
Millicent made her way to baggage claim, keeping her hat pulled low and sunglasses firmly in place. The last thing she wanted was to be recognized. That was the main reason she’d decided to return to California but not live in Los Angeles—she did not want to see or be seen by anyone she knew. Before coming back from her mother’s home in Portland, Oregon, Millicent decided to sell her condo and had enlisted her real estate agent to find another one in La Jolla, about a hundred miles from the City of Angels, near San Diego. Based on her therapist’s diagnosis, she’d gotten disability through her insurance company and was thankful she’d played it safe with her investments.
