Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [102]
"Hello."
Saphronia recognized the low, deep voice of Precious Powers. Her own throat was almost too dry and tight to let her speak. But she choked out, "Precious, I . . . found . . . your number and . . . I . . ."
"Saphronia, girl. That you, ain't it? You know you shocking me to death calling me like this. I got the feeling when we was talking earlier, you wasn't happy about me calling you."
"No, Precious. I wasn't happy to hear from you. Why would I want to hear, firsthand, that my fiancé is sleeping with not only one but two women?"
"Then why would you call me if your self don't want to know anything?"
Saphronia sighed loud enough to be heard clearly on the other end of the telephone. It was absurd—here she was, a well-respected speech teacher, feeling intimidated by talking with a woman who probably barely finished high school. She said, "I don't think Marcel has been very honest with me about a lot of things. I thought that talking to you would help me think better about all of this—clear my head a bit."
"Well, you need to forget about all of that head-clearing talk. You wasting your time there. Like I said, I think we should fix his sorry behind."
"Huh?"
Precious sighed with exasperation. "Revenge, Saphronia, revenge. Girl, the right kind of revenge could be even better than hearing Marcel groan when he—"
She stopped talking as it occurred to her that she was talking to Marcel's fiancée. That revenge thing had gotten so good to her until she forgot to watch her mouth.
"Uhh, sorry, Saphronia. I . . . kind of . . ."
Saphronia laughed softly into the phone. She knew exactly what Precious was talking about. She had heard that groan only once when things got a bit out of hand between her and Marcel and she figured out a way to give him some relief without going all the way. That groan had sounded so good when he let it out with her, she couldn't wait until things got out of hand between them again.
"There is no need to apologize to me. I know exactly what you are talking about." She laughed some more and then her voice got breathy when she said, "And Precious, you must agree with me when I say the man has some wonderful kind of a groan."
This time Precious laughed. "Girl, girl, girl! You sho' do know what you talking about. I'm telling you. Sometimes, I think that groan can get to me more than some of the other good things that rascal can do to a woman."
"Me, too, Precious. Me, too."
Saphronia was surprised that she was comfortable being this candid with Marcel's girlfriend. She had never talked to anyone like that—never dared to tell a soul about her complex feelings for Marcel. She knew that she must have hit a serious impasse with Marcel to be able to have this conversation with Precious Powers.
"Precious, the idea of revenge is beginning to sound appealing to me. Tell me, just what do you think we should do? You know whatever it is, it has to surpass anything Marcel is capable of doing."
"Girl, you sho' is right. And that there is a problem. You know, anytime a preacher working with that crook, Cleotis Clayton, by bringing that jive-timer business for his funeral home ho' club, he'll do just about anything."
Saphronia felt a cold wave of shock run through her chest and down to the pit of her stomach. She thought she heard Precious say that Marcel had something to do with a prostitution service with Cleotis Clayton, of all people. Everybody knew Cleotis Clayton was shady, but his mother, Sister Willie Clayton, had only recently testified about his return to the church. Surely she was mistaken about what she thought she heard. But the clear, straightforward tone in Precious's voice let her know that she was not. She started breathing hard into the telephone without even realizing it.
"Saphronia, you all right? You sound like you having a asthma attack or something."
She sat down on the couch and tried to steady her breathing. She was sweating and looked around for something to fan herself with. She