She placed her hand on my head and said, “You’re working. You’re writing books. You’re doing well enough to survive.”
“Josie, I got one book out. I won’t get another advance until I turn in the next book and if it gets accepted by my editor. And the first book only made me twenty-five thousand dollars. My agent’s shopping deals for me. And even if I do get paid more on my next advance, I’ll have to pay taxes, my agent, my transcriber, and marketing and travel expenses. Really, I won’t see much more than I’m seeing now.”
“Shari, I hear you, but the only thing I’m saying is you need to find a way. You’ve got to make Dillon understand that you’re not going to live like that, ’cause you see men dog out women, leave women, and cheat on women because they feel that we are just weak. And you are not weak, Shari. You have a degree. And if you gotta do something other than write them books, girl, you need to figure it out. Don’t let that man hold you hostage. Particularly when he ain’t treatin’ you right. You’ll be in that house and continuing to be unhappy, and the next thing you know your girls will be bitter kids. You’ll pass that stuff on directly down. You might as well leave. If y’all are supposed to be together, then shoot, it’ll work out. However, if you want the same results,” she leaned in and sternly said, “keep on doing the same thing. Be a fool and stay.”
I dropped my head. I was a wimp.
“Maybe I need to back off and not tell you what to do. I won’t push. I just love you, girl. You’ve got to do something different to make him stop that. Live in an empty house for a while. He’ll get the picture. He just can’t treat you any kind of way. I don’t know, girl, you might get out there and not want him back.” She was smiling. “There are plenty of other men that will treat you right. Can’t you just imagine a hunk treating you special and making you feel really satisfied.”
She was a mess. But maybe she was right. Some changes in my marriage needed to occur.
Josie went on to tell me that her insecure husband was trippin’ as well. She made more money and he was resentful. It seemed to say, united in matrimony may not be in the cards for either of us. As we headed to our cars, we gave each other a warm embrace of encouragement. That let me know that if I did make a bold move, Josie would be there.
After talking to my mother on Sunday and then my girlfriend on Wednesday, by Friday I was really confused. Do I stay or do I leave? Do I stay for the kids or do I think of what’s best for me? I needed some counseling.
Thankfully, my scheduled lunch with my pastor’s wife, Mrs. Kindle, who also happened to be an author as well, was perfect. I never had to hold my tongue with her either. I was just amazed that over the years she and I had spent so much time together. I’d grown to love her and depend on her so much. Her answers were never as rigid and one-sided as my mom’s. Nor were they as out there as my girlfriend’s. They were sort of well thought out and actually in the middle. As we talked in-depth about my marriage, her counseling gave me a clearer perspective.
“It sounds to me like you’re saying you still do love your husband. You admire all he does for your family. There might be a few things you need to work on with his physical appearance, because that’s making you less attracted to him. But all in all it seems like he’s the one you love,” she said.
“I do, but lately it feels like I don’t.”
“Don’t confuse frustration for not being in love with him. There are certain things that you want him to do that he’s not doing. Before you decide you need to leave, Shari, I’d say make a list of the things he’s doing right. Then write a list of the things that irritate you. Also, make a third list of what you think would be idyllic between the two of you.”
“And then what am I supposed to do with these lists?”
“Sit down and go over them with him.”
“Believe me he’s not gonna do that. Anytime I voice my opinion or say how I feel—I don’t know. He’s just not gonna do that.”
“Don’t think negative about it. You’ve gotta really get at the root of what’s bothering you. Maybe after you two talk, if things still aren’t resolved before you look at him leaving or you leaving, maybe you guys should have professional counseling with my husband.”
“Please. Dillon wouldn’t sit with Reverend Kindle. It’s a great idea and I know that’s what we need to do. We do need counseling, but he’s just—I don’t know. He says one thing, and then he does another,” I said, gritting my teeth, wishing this wasn’t so. “He’ll communicate with everybody else maybe, but he won’t even talk to me. Why can’t our life be perfect?”
Our server came and gave us our pasta. I ordered a shrimp Alfredo dish, and she had a marinated chicken over a bed of fettuccini. As we ate, we made the conversation a little lighter. She said life is far from perfect for most of us. She talked about her son who had recently gone to jail on drug-related charges. She told me about her younger son who had just gotten married, but was already having problems getting along with his wife.
“These young people are rushing into marriage,” she told me. “He didn’t need to marry that girl in the first place. He’s trying to be the president of a college and she dropped out of college years ago.”
I always thought her world was perfect. You know being the pastor’s wife usually meant always having things together. But then she confided that women in the church want private prayer with her husband for anything but prayer. Then I started to realize that I would be all alone. Maybe it was too soon for me to make a decision about whether I was to leave or stay. Dillon and I had issues that needed to be dealt with. But hey that was okay.
As if her discerning spirit felt my confusion, she held my hands and said, “Lord, please guide this lady. She’s got a good heart. She needs Your help with her marriage and with her writing career. Lord You are precious and we honor You. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.”
I didn’t expect things to automatically be changed with my marriage. But for some reason I did have hope that I never felt before. Maybe I wouldn’t have to leave. Maybe things were going to be better soon. God could work miracles.
It was June 18th, my thirtieth birthday. It seemed like it should be such a happy time, but I had no plans. There was no real reason for me to celebrate. I didn’t make much money as an author but I was thankful for the few pennies I did bring in. Dillon and I agreed that I could put that money into myself. Therefore, from 8 AM to 2 PM everyday, Stori and Starr were in day care, and I needed to be productive. But as I sat behind my big mahogany desk in my leather swivel chair, fit for a president or CEO of a big corporation, I couldn’t come up with one word.
I knew I had to write something down on paper. I was only halfway through my novel that was due to my editor a month ago. My untraditional way of writing books was dictating it all on tape. It was an effective one when I actually had something to say. But on those days when nothing came to mind, nothing was put on tape. I was getting further and further behind. The book had to get done. My little assistant, seventeen-year-old Malika Avery, a rising senior in a nearby high school, lived not too far away in an apartment complex.
Lord, I silently prayed, if I could just have one birthday wish it would be…Okay, let me at least be honest with you. I want more than one birthday wish. I need to finish this book. I need the desire to spend more time with my girls. I’m sick of being depressed. And Lord, I’m so unhappy. I need a miracle in my marriage. I woke up this morning and Dillon was gone. No “happy birthday,” no kisses, and not even a small good-bye. I don’t know what to do. I keep on panting after him. But not again. This morning I am thirsty for You. Fill me up, because I feel so drained and so empty. Thoughtoday I’m only thirty, it feels like I’m eighty. Help me, Lord. Give me some good—
The loud ring of my office phone interrupted my prayer abruptly. I twirled my chair around toward where the computer and fax machine were located and took my left hand and placed it over my heart. My chest skipped a few beats when I noticed it was my agent. She was well-known,
and I’m still amazed that she had taken me on as a client. But then again it didn’t surprise me that much. She worked with my pastor’s wife and I believe Mrs. Kindle pulled a few strings and got her to take me on.
My first novel, Luv Right or Git Left, hit the Essence bestseller’s list. Word of mouth was making it fly off store shelves. Even though I was with a small Christian publisher, my distribution placed the book in mainstream bookstores like Barnes & Noble and Borders, mass-market stores like Target or Wal-Mart, and most Christian bookstores like Life-Way or Family. Released last year, it had sold almost fifty thousand copies. For a new author that was very good. So my publisher was eagerly awaiting the release of the next one.
“Don’t answer the phone,” I said out loud to myself, although I knew I had to.
My book was a month late and I was nowhere near finishing the first draft. It wasn’t like I’d been on extensive tours or anything, but I did have a new boss. Starr was a year old now and I knew when I signed the deal that I’d be having a baby. I felt more depressed than I thought. Whoever said that creative writing was a way to cope with life was lying.
Truth be told, a part of my depression was because I had wanted a boy both pregnancies. I never considered myself one of those ladies who were into girly stuff. After all, I married an NFL player. I liked sports and I think deep down I was closer to my dad than I was with my mom. I just didn’t think female bonding was possible and I guess in some ways I shied away from totally giving my all to my girls.
But as so many people have told me, every time I looked into the eyes of my precious daughters, I realized God knew what He was doing. I was handling the barrettes, bows, dolls, hula hoops, ballet, and tap. I knew even my husband had wanted Stori and Starr to be Dustin and Dawson.
“Shari, are you there?” she said when I pressed the speaker button.
“Hey, Tina.”
“Dear, it rang eight times. I can never get a hold of you when I want to. I called yesterday and you hadn’t responded. We can’t operate like this, honey. You need to respond more promptly and be more accessible.”
“I didn’t get your messages, sorry.”
She spouted off sassily, “Well, you need to check them. Do something.”
“I’ve been really, really working on the book,” I said, looking up in the air as I knew to myself that that wasn’t the truth. “Okay, I’ve been really trying to work on the book, but nothing is flowing. I have true writers block.”
“Well, you need to get to working. But, honey, that’s not why I’m calling.”
All of a sudden I sat up in the chair, took the phone off the hook, and listened intensively. “What’s going on? You’re not calling about the new book?”
“No, baby,” she said.
I could imagine her making things happen very comfortably from her big New York office. She was probably sitting back with her feet up on her desk, laid back in her, even bigger than mine, chair. I really admired Tina for all she had accomplished. I just wished she wasn’t so hard on me. A lot of people said that was for my best interest.
Even Mrs. Kindle felt that though Tina got results, her harsh tactics could be toned down. Yes, she was the agent, but she wasn’t my mom. Every time we talked she was ordering me around. I was intimidated. However, I knew she was able to make me the impactful author that I wanted to be. Her message was always blunt. I guess if I was going to continue to deal with her, I was going to have to get a little more backbone.
Breaking my thoughts, she said, “You remember what I was telling you about before?”
“Yeah, the play guy?”
“Yes,” Tina said. “I told you he was interested in buying the rights to Luv Right or Git Left.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Probably like in January.”
“Yeah, what about that?”
“Well, because I didn’t want to come to you until I had something really firm to bring to you, it seems we’ve struck a nice deal. Not only will you get a nice payment for the acquisition, but the play Luv Right or Git Left will go on the road in a month.”
“What?” I said. “That’s so soon.”
“I know, girl, but it seems they’ve been rehearsing since March. The presales were strong enough for them to stop trippin’ over money and close the deal. They’ll have a packed house.
“So the script still reads the same?”
“They changed a few things here and there, but the premise of it is your story. Bottom line, they are paying twenty thousand dollars.”
“Are you serious?” I screamed, very excited as I stood up from my chair.
“Yes, I’m such a good agent that you solely own your play rights. The publishing company won’t be getting fifty percent.”
I still had to pay my agent fifteen percent. But what I’d be left with was a nice amount. This was such good news.
“But that’s not all,” Tina said, as if I could see her patting herself on the back. “You will also get five percent of the play’s profits. Listen, they are about to hit the road soon. The publishing company has agreed to pay for you to go on tour and sell your books. The producer, Trey Colon, will get ten percent of the book sales. So we have enough room for everybody.”
“Well, how long is the play going on?”
“Through September.”
“I can’t do that, Tina! What am I gonna do with my girls?”
“I don’t know, sweetie, but you have to figure it out. It’s the summer. It would be a really nice opportunity for you. Getting away for a while might help you finish that book on the road. You won’t have no husband, no babies. All you have to do is sign during the day and sell books at night. And then while you’re traveling, you can be writing and when you come back to the hotel you can be writing.”
“But I talk on a tape recorder. I wouldn’t have anybody to transcribe for me.”
“Girl, send them tapes home to that little girl you have over there, the little fast high school girl.
“Or you just gotta be like all them other writers, take that laptop with you and do it yourself. Just think about it. But I do need an answer tomorrow because I’ve got to put all your accommodations in to get you ready to go out. The first tour goes to Atlanta. Either way, you’ll get something. That’s cool with you, right?”
“Yeah, yeah that’s fine. Thank you, Tina.” How could I ever even think of getting rid of her? This was definitely good news.
“Call me tomorrow now. I’ve got to go into another meeting and figure out a way to tell them their book is horrible. I thought I had a deal for it but now I gotta go over here to this publishing company and try to sell them to somebody else.”
“Alright, well, take care.”
“Shari, call me tomorrow, please, with an answer. Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, and happy birthday.”
“Tina, you remembered!”
“Of course I remembered! Consider this bonus as your present.”
“Sounds good.” I hung up.
All of a sudden, I got down on my knees and just praised God. I ran upstairs and found a CD from my favorite gospel artist, John P. Kee. Playing the song “Show Up” really spoke to my situation. God let me know He was there. He had showed up and shown out in my life. My blessing was on time. I played Kee’s song four times repeatedly.
I ran a hot bath, sat down to soak in it, and closed my eyes. In heaven was I, as I imagined Dillon and me making love in our king-sized bed. I thought that if I told him the news he’d be real proud of me. And he’d express his gratitude by pleasing me. I could almost feel his kisses all over my neck. Taking my index finger and sucking it passionately with his tongue. Yes, my dream was good. But my whole body longed for it to be reality. Getting my groove on was going to be my birthday present to myself. The real thing was going to be much better than the dream. I was sure of it. Well, at least I hoped so, because it was my birthday wish.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2007 by Stephanie Perry Moore
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ISBN: 0-7582-4555-6
Stephanie Perry Moore, Chasing Faith
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