Secret Lives of Men: The Christians Book Two

By BJT Ledet

Follow the second phase of The Christians from the honeymoon of Rev. Donald and Mary Jean Grant through the scandalous entanglements of Rev. James Mical, his deacons, and female friends--all who set out to destroy Rev. Grant and the church.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jozef Syndicate
• Release date: Dec 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781944155070

BJT Ledet

B.J.T. Ledet is a retired Hurricane Katrina survivor who worked at Tulane University in New Orleans. She attended Southern University and A&M College and Tulane University. Currently, she gives back to the community by tutoring children and their parents. She enjoys writing from her Baton Rouge home where she lives with her spouse, a dog, and a cat.

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Table of Contents

New Love

Fred’s Fine Dining

Shelia’s Recovery

Returning from the Honeymoon

Jealous Deacon Tomas

Bar-B-Que at Rev. Douglas’s House

Gail Calls Mrs. Agnes

Lallia’s Desires

Past Comes Back to Haunt

Mrs. Agnes Confronts Rev. Grant

Mrs. Agnes Calls Mary Jean

Mrs. Agnes Calls Sister Joyce Smith

Mary Jean and T.P.

T.P. and Carla Visit Mary Jean

Carla Tries to Convince T.P.

Getting Members to Leave T.E.A.M

Problems Between Lawrence and Donna

Carla Confronts Rev. Mical

Stella’s Warnings

Mary Jean Confronts T.P.

Stella Slows Down

The Day After Stella Gets Sick

Lawrence Calls Mary Jean

George Tries Again

The Seductress Returns

Deacon Tomas’s Wife Meets Rev. Mical

Quilting Club Tells Rev. Grant About The Plot

Rev. Grant Confronts Rev. Mical

Third Time’s a Charm

Beauty Shop Gossip Brings A Little Truth

Monday Night With George

Lawrence Asks to See His Sons

Stalking Donna

T.P. and George Become More Serious

Rev. Mical Visits George Work

George is Triggered

Stella Dies

Stella’s Homegoing

Community Responds to Granny’s Death

Mrs. Agnes Offers Late Condolences

Mason’s Family Visits Shelia

Bronner Brothers Hair Show

Another Mugging

Investigation into Mrs. Agnes Mugging

Investigation Continues

A Visit to Heaven

Thanksgiving Dinner at T.P.’s

Kidnapping and Rape

Oscar Gets Out of Jail

Leaving the Hospital

Meeting with the Deacons

Deacon Miller Reveals Rev. Mical’s Sexuality

Secrets Revealed

Lawrence is Murdered

Lawrence’s Funeral

Jazz and Donna Talk

New Love

George told the kissing newlyweds to buckle up as he backed out of the Basin Reception Hall’s newly paved parking lot. His brother, the Reverend Donald Grant, and his new sister-in-law, Mary Jean, embraced on the backseat of his deep brown Lincoln Continental. Mary Jean’s sister and best friend T.P. sat in the front seat. For a moment, George watched them in the rearview mirror, longing for the innocent love his brother now possessed.

Hey, you two save all that for your honeymoon. Let me hurry up and get you to the airport! George said, and everyone laughed.

For the forty-seven-minute ride, George hummed and nodded to the evening music mix by A.B. Welsh on Q106.5 FM. Man, that A.B is smooth tonight.

George glanced at T.P.

He smiled when he noticed she too was enjoying the music. By now, she had gotten comfortable and removed her wedding heels. She loosened the two hair clips decorated with lace and fresh-cut baby’s breath. Her curls bounced with the car. George admired how feminine and soft she appeared. The scent of her and Mary Jean’s perfume filled his nostrils and sealed the moment in his memory. He loved the scent and feeling of new love.

When they arrived at the New Orleans International Airport, George helped Rev. Grant get their luggage out of the trunk. T.P. helped Mary Jean get out of the backseat without tearing her wedding dress. They had struggled for nearly thirty minutes trying to remove the gown’s train and reveal the simply laced dress. Damaging it at the airport was not an option.

Once they were situated and the luggage had been checked in, Mary Jean hugged T.P. and promised to call her as soon as they were set up in Paris.

Girl, you better not call me! T.P. joked. Enjoy that man of yours.

The brothers shook hands, and the newlyweds walked into the airport. George held the car door for T.P. and caught the tail of her dress to help her slide onto the seat.

Thank you, George, she said, catching his eyes and his broad smile. At first, T.P found his stare distasteful and ogling, even though she was accustomed to men leaching over her.

And, why are you looking at me like that, Mr. George Grant? She asked.

George smiled.

You are a very pretty lady. He closed the door before she could respond. T.P watched him walk around the front of the car. His stride was confident, quick, and bold.

When he sat in the car, he slammed the large car door and adjusted the radio. I would like to get to know you better if that’s okay with you. He said as he pulled away from the airport drop-off ramp.

T.P. didn’t respond.

They rode in silence through four songs until George asked, So, Ms. T.P., what do you do for a living?

I work out of my house as a beautician, and I’m working longer hours to open my salon soon. Half-heartedly, she hoped that would deter him from asking her for a date.

Um, George said with a grin glowing across his face. I find beauticians to be artists. Did you do your hair for the wedding today?

She touched her curls and said Yes. I did mine and Mary Jean’s.

George watched the road carefully although he wanted to look into her eyes. It’s beautiful, he said.

When T.P. didn’t respond, he continued, You have to have gifted hands to create all the different hairstyles and then customize them to your clientele’s faces. This time, he glanced at T.P.

She had never thought of herself as an artist with gifted hands, but the sound of it felt good; so, she decided to use that term when describing herself next time.

Silently, they cruised down I-55, both of them wanting to say more.

So, Mr. Grant, what is it that you do for a living? T.P. asked.

Right now, I’m working in a men’s merchandise store. Have you heard of Lloyd’s Men’s Clothing Warehouse on LaSalle Avenue?

Yeah, I have heard of that store. It’s extremely popular. What’s your position?

George was not proud of his position and thought that he should be a manager by now, but to expect that as a Black man in Louisiana was a lot to ask. He was lucky that old man Lloyd liked him.

Right now, I’m the assistant manager of sales.

How long have you been working there? I heard your words ‘right now and that means you are really saying ‘for the time being, but I have something else on my mind’.

George thought for a moment and then he could not believe that he had been there so long. I’ve been there ten years. I never thought about the time until I just said it to you. I’ve been thinking about opening my own boys’ and men’s clothing store. Honestly, it’s time for me to find another job because I’m not ever going to be the manager. Right now, Lloyd’s son is the manager. You and I both know there is no way they are going to hire a Black man over a white man’s son to manage a store whose main clientele is white men. What’s worse is that I can’t do a darn thing about it, George shook his head and switched lanes to exit towards Basin/Port Hudson.

T.P. knew exactly how he felt. She worked for herself so that she did not have to face the racial discrimination and intimidation that many Black people had to deal with daily, especially since those Southern University students were murdered on the Baton Rouge campus four years earlier. Things were still tense throughout the state. The conversation made the remaining drive to T.P.’s house a quiet one.

When they arrived at her home, George was still quiet. The large car swallowed the parking space in front of her home. Rosemary and lemongrass grew from two shining navy-blue rustic pots which sat on each side of the concrete steps leading to her front door. Night was falling and he didn’t want to keep her out longer than needed. He pulled a used envelope from the car’s visor and asked T.P. for her phone number. She wrote the seven digits and gave them to him without writing her name.

George got out of the car and opened her door then he followed her up the steps to her door. He quickly surveyed the street and the perimeter of the houses nearby.

T.P. fought the two deadbolts. The door was sturdy but worn. George noticed how easily the door could be kicked in and didn’t like the thought of a pretty lady like T.P. having such flimsy protection. He decided to fix the door as soon as she would allow him.

There! T.P. said when the lock clicked.

Once the door opened, the house released its natural scent of sweet shampoo and burnt hair.

It’s been nice getting to know a little about you, Pretty Lady, and I will be getting in touch with you soon, George said quickly before she stepped into the house.

T.P. turned and studied his eyes.

Sleep well. Goodnight, He said and rubbed her shoulder and arm, afraid to attempt to hug or kiss her.

She stepped into the small house, locked the door, and flicked the outdoor lights to let him know that she was safe.

———————————

After giving George her phone number, she expected a call from him the next day; however, he did not call, nor did he call the following day. By the third day, she stopped anticipating his voice every time the telephone rang. On the following Saturday morning, her phone rang.

Good morning, T.P.’s House of Beauty, she declared.

Hi, Pretty Lady, George responded. I’ve been thinking about you since we met.

Yeah, I can tell, T.P. said laughing.

Well, you know, George chuckled. I didn’t want you to think I was desperate.

T.P. shifted the phone to remove an earring.

But, on a serious note how are you, Pretty Lady? Were you busy?

T.P. thought about how thoughtful it was for George to genuinely inquire about how she was doing. He appeared to be a perfect gentleman, but then, of course, he is Rev. Grant’s brother and an apple from the same tree.

To answer your questions, I’m doing well and yes, I am busy. I am in the process of curling a client’s hair, T.P. said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Oh, let me be quick. I called to see if you would be free later tonight. I would like to take you out, that is, if it is okay with you, George said hoping that T.P.’s answer would be yes.

It depends.

Depends on what, Pretty Lady?

From under the hairdryers, Mary Lou and Cassie stopped laughing and talking with each other to hear what T.P. had to say and to try to guess who was on the line. T.P. balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear while she rolled her client’s hair with the smoking curling iron. She stared back at the ladies in a way that told them to mind their own business. Then, she answered George. It depends on where you are taking me.

We are going to paint the town. You will be pleasantly surprised! George said as he tried to think of what they would be doing later.I’m going to let you get back to your clients and I’ll pick you up at seven.

Okay, T.P. said.

She turned Mary Lou to the mirror to see the finished style, then motioned for Cassie to take the chair next.

Bye, Pretty Lady, George said smiling.

Bye, T.P. said as Mary Lou stood from the chair, admiring the length and bounce of curls.

Girl, you are something else with those curlers! I wish I could do this to my hair. It’s beautiful, T.P! She gave T.P. two, twenty dollar bills and added a five for two bottles of rose oil. I can’t wait to see this oil in the stores, T.P.! Mary Lou said as she sashayed towards the door like a new woman. T.P. smiled with pride. This was exactly why she loved the life she had created for herself.

When she finished with her last customer at five-thirty, she decided she would have to leave the shop unclean—something she had never done before--if she wanted to be dressed and ready by seven. She rushed into her bedroom and looked in the closet to find something sexy, but not too revealing.

She selected the pink dress that always brought compliments. She laid it across the bed and grabbed a pair of green heels from the closet floor. She dropped them near the dress and walked to her dresser. Her top drawer squeaked open and she selected a pink, lace bra and panty set along with a pair of hosiery and tossed them on the bed. She decided to take a quick shower.

Within ten minutes, she was back in the bedroom applying a light coat of Fashion Fair foundation to her face. She mixed lotion and lemongrass oil inside her left palm and then rubbed her body making sure she did not miss a spot. She slid on her panties and hosiery, then gently sprayed perfume between her thighs.

The time was 6:45 PM. She had fifteen minutes to be ready. She clipped on her bra and lifted the dress off the bed, raised it over her head, and let it slide down her body. It clung to her curves and fit her perfectly. Feeling sexy, like Mary Lou had been feeling earlier, T.P. smiled and then walked to her dresser.

She unclipped her hair, grabbed a wide-tooth comb, let her hair fall to her shoulders, and ran the comb through it from front to back. She threw her head forward and then back as her hair fell into a full bounce style.

George knocked on the front door.

This man is right on time, she whispered to her reflection, raising one eyebrow. Walking toward the front of the house, T.P. kicked off her slippers and grabbed her heels off the bed. She slid on the left heel in rhythm with her stride, then the right one. Once on, they lifted her three inches off the floor.

Out of habit, she peeked out the window. This time she lingered to admire the fine man whose head nearly touched the porch’s overhead light.

He held a bouquet of sunflowers and daisies. That’s quite a unique bouquet, Mr. Grant. She smiled at her thoughts then quietly closed the curtain. She opened the door and stepped backward, allowing him entrance to her home which she normally did not do on a first date.

You look amazing, he said, offering her the bouquet. She smiled knowing they would make a perfect flower bath.

Thank you, she said. They are beautiful.

George looked around the small beauty shop as she walked quickly into the kitchen to put the flowers in water.

You’re welcome! He shouted behind her.

I’ll be right back, she said.

T.P. rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a ceramic vase from the windowsill, filled it with water, and quickly re-arranged the flowers into a wider spread. She would give them more care when she returned. She walked back into the beauty shop and found George standing in the same spot. When he saw her, his body warmed at her beauty. He opened the door for them to leave and followed her out. He closed the door which shook on its hinges. The constant opening and closing by T.P.’s clients had worn the entire frame. T.P opened the door again. When it caught its hinge, she jerked it and slammed it securely. Then she locked the deadbolts. George moaned out his disgust at the shape of the door and became more determined to fix it.

He scanned the street as he followed T.P. down the steps. The porch light sparkled on the blue flower pots sitting against the porch.

It is a perfect night for a date.

The sky was clear.

The moon was full, illuminating the sky.

He was ready for new love.

From the front seat of George’s Lincoln, T.P. noticed the stars shining and twinkling off the hood of the car. She could tell that he spent a lot of time detailing the car inside and out. She held her smile when she noticed her reflection on the dashboard. As soon as he started the car, Reunited by Peaches and Herb poured from the speakers and filled the car.

George chuckled and said, I thought this song would fit our first date. What do you think? He stretched his long arm behind her seat and drove with one hand.

T.P. smiled but didn’t quite agree. I like Peaches and Herb. And, I have that cassette.

How about jazz? Do you like jazz? George asked.

T.P. thought about it for a moment, trying to name a jazz artist just in case he asked her which one she liked. Instead of waiting for a response, George continued, I thought we would have dinner at Fred’s. He stopped at the light and looked T.P. in the eyes. And after that, if you are not too tired, I thought we would go by Club Maxima and catch a live show where I can get a chance to hold you in my arms as we dance.

This man is serious and cocky.

It made her interested in him even more. She could not remember another man who had ever taken her to so many places in one night, and places like Fred’s and Club Maxima were high-class. Fred’s Fine Dining was one of the most upscale restaurants in north Basin, and Club Maxima was a jazz place where the most popular musicians randomly sat in on other musicians’ gigs. With all the work T.P. does, she had never had the chance to enjoy a night out at either place, but she had heard a lot about them.

Fred’s Fine Dining

Fred’s Fine Dining proved to be a very exquisite restaurant with a variety of ethnic foods. T.P. was surprised to see such a high-scale establishment serving collard greens and spicy fried chicken but under the names Kallad Greens and Deep-Dipped Peanut Chicken.

The round, cherrywood tables were decorated with gold-plated chargers, golden vases holding fresh-cut magnolias, and shiny gold utensils. Posters of the owner and celebrity guests donned the walls. T.P. recognized the pictures of Rev. T.J. Jemison and Gus Young from Baton Rouge but couldn’t quite put a name to the women in the other photos. George led them toward the private booths on the left side of the restaurant farthest from the entrance.

T.P. flipped through the menu and quickly decided what she would try, thanks to the photo on the menu. When the waitress walked up with hot buttered rolls and cornbread, George motioned for T.P. to order while he served them each a roll.

I’ll have your strawberry barbecue turkey wings, your Kallard Greens, and a slice of peach-n-apple pie, along with a glass of water.

George smiled at her decisiveness. I’ll have the country-fried, lamb steak and the special Fred’s salad. What’s in it?

It has our homemade dressing, lettuce, tomato, almonds, and apple cubes.

Sounds good to me, George said. I’ll have that and a slice of chocolate pecan doberge cake.

After the waitress left, they looked around the restaurant.

Both of them watched as their waitress carried meals to the couple one table from them.

Look at that! He said.

After the couple said their grace silently, George gave them a moment to taste their first bites. Excuse me. I hate to bother you but your food looks so good. Can you tell me what it is so the next time I bring my lady back here we can order those dishes? George asked politely.

Sure, the older man wiped his mouth with the gold cloth napkin. His hands shook unnaturally.

For starters, we are having chitterling sausage with apple slaw and cornbread brioche. She’s coming back with our oxtail rillettes with foie gras mousse, pickled vedalia onions, muscadine gelee, and truffle toast points.

His wife raised her cocktail and said, And we have the Green-Eyed Bandit.

Oh, is that what that’s called?

Yeah, man, and it’s delicious, the older gentleman said.

Everything at Fred’s is delicious, his wife said. T.P. noticed how she gently touched his hand then squeezed it.

No doubt, George said with a head nod that show appreciation and ended the conversation.

T.P. smiled at the couple and hoped they would be leaving before her food arrived. She took note of how George enjoyed having people’s attention and extending any conversation that he can—much differently than she did.

As more customers arrived, the more uncomfortable T.P became. She whispered, George, Why did you choose this booth?

George was caught off guard.

I don’t like feeling like I’m being watched, especially when I eat, she tried explaining.

George tried to reassure her. It’s the best seat in the place. I love this booth. I get to see the people as they pass by and they get to see me enjoying an exquisite meal with the prettiest lady in all of Louisiana. Seeing that his words offered no comfort, he asked if she wanted him to pull the privacy curtain or select a table.

She shooked her head. No. It’s okay. She leaned towards the table and added butter to her roll. Looking into his eyes, she said, Thank you for asking. I’ll be fine. She declined mostly because closing the curtain would appear too intimate for her liking although she wanted the privacy.

George tried switching the conversation to something he knew T.P. would enjoy: history. Fred’s has a strong commitment to our culture. When you taste this meal, you will see how much respect and pride they put into preparing the food. The chef tonight has inventive ways to elevate the flavor without it being too overbearing. George bit into his second roll. T.P. watched—Damn his teeth are beautiful—and waited to hear more.

You’ll be able to tell that the food is just a higher class of culinary art, T.P. It represents the soulful recipes that we know and love.

I like the sound of that, George.

She wondered if Mary Jean and Rev. Grant knew about Fred’s or if they knew that this was one of George’s hangouts. She watched the way he sat upright in the chair. He was in his element. Solid. Comfortable. Sure.

The waitress walked over with their food and George was relieved at the timing. He didn’t know how much longer he could talk to T.P. with the discomfort he saw on her face.

Her body seemed stiffer and he desired to see her softer side. The waitress gently placed T.P.’s meal on the charger and uncovered the plate.

Wow, T.P. whispered.

She moved her water glass away from the plate. This is beautiful and it smells divine.

Wait until you taste it, George said and smiled at the elderly couple as they left.

The old man rested his hand on George’s shoulder. Take it easy, young man.

Yes, sir, George said proudly.

Throughout the rest of the meal, they ate silently only speaking to share how tasty the food was. T.P. found it to be more modern than necessary for a restaurant in the smallest incorporated city in south Louisiana, but man was it delicious.

They savored their entrees and T.P. resisted the urge to mix her cornbread with the Kallard Greens. She became more comfortable through the quietness of the meal especially when she could not recognize any of the faces in the restaurant.

As they waited for the check, George complimented her looks again. He imagined touching her face and pulling her toward him for a kiss.

This was so very nice, George.

He paid the check and tipped the waitress before gently moving T.P.’s chair for her to stand and leave.

Are you ready to enjoy a little jazz, Pretty Lady?

That would be great.

For the fifteen-minute drive to Club Maxima, they listened to a series of Rhythm and Blues on the radio. They tried guessing the next song and artist before it aired. T.P. won each time. Listening to music was a standard at the beauty shop. She enjoyed having melodies playing in the background of the beauty shop while she worked. Most times, she was the only one who could hear the music over the continuous chatter and laughter of her female customers. It was a pleasure riding with George and singing new and old songs. So far it was a date unlike anyone either of them had ever experienced, and George was looking for more.

They settled into a booth against the wall to sit as close as they could get to the right stage. George could tell that T.P. was exhausted. Nervous that she was ready to end the date, George quickly walked to the bar and ordered drinks for the two of them. T.P. felt a little put off that he was ordering a drink for her and had not asked her preference. She decided not to say anything considering all that he had done to make the night special.

She glanced around at the people filling the club and the band setting up for the midnight set. She hadn’t realized that even though it was late for her, most of the adults in the city were just getting started for the night. She was glad that she still had not bumped into a client, yet.

Pictures of Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, Steve Reid, and Billy Harper decorated Club Maxima’s blue walls. There was a section to the right of T.P. with tables and chairs just beyond the dance floor. The seating was placed in a circular design so patrons could equally view the band and dancers while being served. T.P paid more attention to how businesses were designed now that she was seriously looking to design her new beauty shop. She had never seen a place set up like this, but she liked it.

Large, oval, gold chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Each section of the chandelier held ten candlelight bulbs that reflected small kaleidoscopes. She knew the light bouncing off the walls of the chandelier would cause amazing color changes. At the far back of the building, large mirrors hung behind the bar, and she could see George talking to a lady who sat wide-legged on a bar stool. By his body language, T.P. could tell that George knew the thin, light-skinned lady. T.P. initially thought the woman was pale and fragile.

While she and George talked at the bar, he touched her shoulder twice during their brief conversation. T.P. adjusted her body, rocking her hips in the seat to release the tension she suddenly began feeling.

Okay, T.P. girl, you just met the man. Do not start getting jealous now; you don’t even know him and you don’t know if you even like him.

A barmaid placed a brown bowl of nuts in front of her and quickly walked away once she realized that T.P. was distracted and not ready to order. When George returned to their booth, he placed a small tumbler filled with brown liquor, two ice cubes, a slice of lemon, and a cherry. T.P. took the drink and sipped the thin liquid.

This is nice. What it is?

It’s my favorite drink. Whiskey sour. I thought you might like it, so I took the liberty of ordering one for both of us. That was okay with you, right? He asked raising his glass for a toast.

T.P. clicked her glass against his. She knew she should have responded; however, since she had already had a date like none other, she decided not to say anything at least not at this time.

She sipped the drink again, this time tasting it fully and feeling a slight burn in her throat. She could hear Mary Jean admonishing her: Since you do not drink hard liquor, Sister, why didn’t you tell him that so he could have gotten you a glass of wine?

She watched the disco ball spinning above the dance floor and sipped her drink. George rocked slowly to the music. When they finished their drink, George took her hand and guided her out of the booth and onto the dance floor where they swayed to the slowest jazz she’d ever heard.

T.P. could smell his cologne and the strength of his embrace was the comfort she desired. He moved his right hand a little lower down her back to her waist area and pulled her closer. Feeling his manhood against her waist, she took her hand and gently pushed his hand back up to the middle of her back as she stepped half a foot away from his waist.

Oh no, my brother. She didn’t want to feel him so soon and did not want him to think that tonight would end in bed. Who does he think he is? I don’t care if he is Rev. Grant’s brother who, at this moment, he is not behaving like. I’m not going to allow him to disrespect me.

Her shift reminded George that she is a minister’s daughter. George quickly understands and in order to apologize, he adjusted the way he held her. His behavior allowed her to relax more in his arms.

After the dance, they move back to the booth and T.P. watched the strobe lights once more at the ceiling as George ordered another drink for them.

No. I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay or any white wine you have.

T.P. spoke up.

George smiled, knowing she’d pass his first test. From the moment T.P. sipped his whiskey sour, George wondered if she had a mind of her own or if she was going to allow him to run her as so many other women had before her. T.P.’s quick response to the barmaid was another indication to him that she was her own woman. And, he liked it.

As the club filled, guests began to share booths which gave George the perfect reason to move closer to T.P. and wrap his arm