Almost There, page 11
You gonna pay.
Even though it had come from an unidentified number, I knew it was Zander.
I tossed the phone onto the seat next to me. He was angry. Probably more so at himself for losing his sister than he actually was at me. He’d realize this situation was not my fault. But just in case that fool didn't know...Rufus wasn’t the only one that had my back. I knew how to watch my own.
“Let’s toast again.” Benxi’s giggle broke through my thoughts.
I cocked an eyebrow and refilled her glass. “To what this time?”
A smile brighter than the full moon outside the window filled her face. “To being almost there, baby. What else?”
I clinked my glass against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”
Coming November 2016 – Shame On You
More Samaria, Mekhi and Benxi...
R&B PRINCESS, BENXI, is a rising superstar. When the man she loves marries someone else, she rebounds from hurt with one of nastiest rappers in the business. Will the choice she makes cost not only her stardom, but her life?
Samaria Jacobs is paying her debt to society. She’s trying to live right, but challenges are coming from all sides. Will she come out of prison a better woman or revert to her old shameful ways?
Chapter 1
“You got some dark days ahead of you, baby.”
Benxi’s grandmother, Lacy’s words echoed in her mind like they were written on a flashing neon sign in her brain. She nearly choked on the painful sob that she’d been fighting. She twisted her lips, shook her head and whispered, “The heck with it.”
Tears sprang from her eyes. She had promised herself she wasn’t going to cry again. She’d been crying for the last two days. She wanted to be poised and dignified. She wanted everyone in Tampico, Georgia to remember that she, Bonita “aka Benxi” Jones, the platinum recording star was no longer the whining little, country hick girl who cried. They’d seen enough of her tears. They’d made sure she shed them every day after school when they teased her about everything from her red hair to her big behind.
“They just jealous,” Grandma Lacy would say. “‘Dem’ girls wish they had pretty hair and skin like you. You gonna have a lovely figure one day, and you gonna sing.”
“Grandma, I can’t sing,” Benxi’d cried. She refused to let her grandmother make it better by forecasting her bright future. Her present was way too unbearably painful for that and she was only thirteen then. She had a lot more years to do in the Tampico school system before that bright future began.
“I don’t sing any better than Rachel Hartley and all those other girls in the choir. They’re always telling me I should be an usher. They tell me I can’t carry a note at every rehearsal.”
“Shush now, “Grandma Lacy had said. “Yes, you can sing and they knows it. “The whole world is going to know it one day. You gon’ be as famous as Reverend Shirley Caesar.” She had a smile in her voice and a smile on her face when she’d proclaimed it.
Benxi’s lip trembled. She remembered that smile like it was yesterday. Her grandmother always had a smile for her. Benxi wished she’d been smiling on the day she died, but she wasn’t. Grandma Lacy’s heart was heavy. Rumors of Benxi’s recent acts of divadom on her tour had gotten back to the ears of her sick grandmother.
“You can’t treat people any kind of way. You can’t always have everything you want. I don’t care how big of star you become, Bonita Lynnette, don’t start thinking more highly of yourself than you ought.”
Benxi was filled with guilt that she had been such a disappointment to her grandmother. First with her choice of music, R&B, not gospel music and now her behavior. “You was raised to know Jesus and His ways, but you done forgot that. You living your life without God and I promise you, I don’t care how much success you have, you got some dark days ahead of you, baby.” Her grandmother closed her eyes and took her last breath without ever opening them again.
Benxi raised her tissue to swipe her tears. How could her grandmother do that to her? How could she make the very last thing she said to her a warning? “That was unfair, grandma.” she whispered. It was a betrayal. Just like her will not to cry.
“You say something?”
Benxi looked to her right at her best friend and ride-or-die Yasmin. The rims of Yasmin’s eyes were red. Benxi appreciated her support, but the girl had never met her grandmother before this week, she could have dispensed with the dramatic touch of tears.
“I didn’t say anything,” Benxi replied. “I was mumbling to myself.
Yasmin nodded understanding. “That’s a pretty casket,” she whispered. “As pretty as a casket can be.”
Benxi looked at the casket. She got Yasmin’s meaning. It was gorgeous. She’d paid more than twenty thousand dollars for it and had it bought in special. Delayed the funeral for two days waiting for delivery. It cost more than most of the people she knew in Tampico made in a year. She wiped her eyes. That’ll show ‘em. Haters.
“Benx.” Yasmin pushed her hand gently and nodded in the direction of the preacher.
“Bonita, would you come now?” Reverend Morris said.
One of the ushers approached her and helped her stand to her feet. She’d agreed to sing. She wanted to sing. She wanted to sing her grandmother’s favorite song and the last song she had sang in this church before she quit the choir and left Tampico for Atlanta in search of a record deal.
Benxi took the usher’s hand. Her five-inch Christian Louboutin shoes sank into the plush carpet as she moved leg over leg on the four steps to reach the microphone. The organist began to play. She extended her hand with dramatic flair. The motion sent a message that said stop. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sing it the way my Grandmother preferred to hear it. Acapella.” The young man nodded, closed the cover to the piano, crept to a pew behind him and took a seat.
A hush of whispers filled the sanctuary. They must have thought she was rude? Because surely they weren’t murmuring about whether or not she could pull it off. Her Grammy Award winning, non-mechanized vocals were the evidence that she would pull it off. She tossed her mid back-length strawberry blonde hair off her shoulders. She didn’t care. This wasn’t about them. It wasn’t about her. “This is for you, Grandma Lacy,” she said, and then she began to sing.
Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come, Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heav’n and home,
When Jesus is my portion? My constant Friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free,
For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
Benxi did not over-sing, because this was to be remembered as a dignified performance. But she made sure to hit every high note in her range. When she was finished, she looked out at the attendees and nearly every eye in the place was filled with tears.
A few of the old church mothers still had stoic, disapproving expressions on their faces. They had not wanted someone who sang that heathen music to stand in their church’s pulpit, even if it was the heathen singer’s grandmother. They fought it with Reverend Morris, but Benxi’s five-thousand-dollar check to the church building fund had completely drowned out the bellows of those old hens. Reverend Morris was no fool.
Besides, he’d also reaped the benefits of the extra money in the collection plate at last Sunday’s service. People had driven from hours away to steal a glance at her. Word had spread in South Georgia that she was here and gawkers filled the sanctuary in anticipation. She hadn’t disappointed them. She understood what it was to want to see something in South Georgia other than onions and peanuts.
The usher assisted her down from the choir area and she reclaimed her seat.
Early the next morning, Benxi and her entourage that included three bodyguards, a makeup artist, Yasmin, who’s role of friend occasionally included hairstylist, and herself piled into the limo. Benxi had requested a private, sunrise burial and now that her grandmother’s casket was in the ground, they were headed back to Atlanta. She had decided not to stay a second longer.
She’d done what she was supposed to do. Rushed to Tampico as soon as she got the text about her grandmother’s grave condition, held her hand for a week and stayed until she’d been properly buried. She’d hired a property management company to pack up the house and send the things to Atlanta that she’d requested.
Her no good, greedy cousins had been vying for the job, but she’s decided it was best not to mix business with blood, particularly in the case of her grandmother’s things. She couldn’t take the chance that they’d take the money and the key she’d given them and have a good old fashioned, country house party. Drinking and laughing and smoking that would go on for days in a house that had never had any of those things done in excess. No, she didn’t trust them and every single one of them knew it.
Benxi wore a headset and listened to the music on her iPod. They were new songs that her producer, Mekhi Johnson, had developed for her third album. The music didn’t have her full attention. Thoughts of Mekhi Johnson did. Thoughts of Mekhi Johnson always did. As did the words he’d spoken just before she’d gotten the news of her grandmother’s condition. That was a horrible evening. She closed her eyes against the memory of both events, but her mind would not stop replaying the conversation with Mekhi.
She attempted to kiss him, and he’d stepped back. “Benx, I told you. This relationship between us is strictly business.”
She looked at him and tried to find one imperfection in his appearance. One thing that could turn her off and cool her fire for him, but there was nothing. “Why are you making me beg?”
“I’m not making you beg. You’re choosing to beg, and you really can do better than that.”
“Better than you?” She laughed. “You can’t do better than the man you love.”
“You can if he’s not right for you. You can if he’s married.”
His marriage. She didn’t have time to discuss that because a text came in. Dread filled her as she read it. “I gotta go home. My grandmother is sick again.”
Mekhi was sympathetic. He offered to help her in any way he could.
“I just want you to make love to me,” she said.
Mekhi was silent.
“You asked what you could do? I’m hurting. You won’t even be a friend and soothe my pain.”
“There are other ways to deal with pain.”
“When you’re hurting, there’s nothing better than having someone hold you.”
Mekhi’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I can’t do that.”
“Yes you can, and you will.” She gathered her things. “We had a deal, Mekhi. You owe me. Even if it’s just once.” She blocked out his words of protest as she swept out of the studio.
Benxi opened her eyes, looked out the window at the stretch of fields fly by as they drove. A tear leaked from under her lid. Her heart was broken; broken by Mekhi and now broken by Grandma Lacy.
She moaned heavily, then felt Yasmin’s hand on her forearm. Yasmin was trying to comfort her, but nothing would make her feel better. She moved her arm out of Yasmin’s grasp, turned her body closer to the limo door and squeezed her eyes tight again. How in the world had she left Tampico, found world-wide celebrity, fame, and riches, yet become so perfectly miserable?
Other Books in the Samaritan Woman Series
(In order of release)
An Inconvenient Friend
What Kind of Fool
Righteous Ways
Almost There
Shame On You
About the Author
Even as she earned degrees in Textile Technology, Organizational Leadership and finally Adult Education, Rhonda McKnight’s love for books and desire to write stories was always in the back of her mind and in the forefront of her heart. Rhonda loves reading and writing stories that touch the heart of women through complex plots and interesting characters in crisis. She writes from the comfort of her Atlanta home with black tea, Lays potato chips and chocolate on hand. At her feet sits a snappy mixed breed toy dog. She can be reached at her website at www.rhondamcknight.com and on social media at www.facebook.com/booksbyrhonda and www.twitter.com/rhondamcknight and www.sistersoffaithbooks.com where she has joined with nine other Christian fiction authors to introduce her stories to the world.
Rhonda McKnight, Almost There
