Jeremiah quickly folded the memory somewhere inside himself before the thing could find it, devour it.
Other memories he would have loved to forget, could let the thing have them. The day his daddy kicked him out of their Alabama house saying he refused to let any “got-damned cock-sucking sissy faggot” live under his roof. The first time he watched old Pastor Morgan preach against the evils of fornication, that there was a special place in hell for homosexuals, Jeremiah just getting his footing at Ebenezer as a young pastor. The night when his favorite bar, Bachelors Mill, was raided by the police due to a drug bust, Jeremiah thanking Jesus that he managed to slip out the back. An arrest at a gay bar? What that would’ve meant for his career behind the pulpit? Unfathomable.
The thing that was inside Jeremiah wasn’t interested in the ugliness. It was content to let awful memories linger in Jeremiah’s mind for as long as they’d like.
The thing wanted the moments where Jeremiah felt special. When he was talking about God’s love to his congregation or taking a simple walk in a park, connected to firmament without churchly pageantry and hoo-ha.
The thing wanted the moments where Jeremiah felt beautiful and desired. When he was in the arms of Douglas.
It had taken several years after the police raid for Jeremiah to return to a gay venue, the Fireplace on P Street being the chosen spot. It was always a risk, to go to gay spots in the district, which was why he favored evenings that weren’t so busy. One Tuesday night, he passed by a man sitting at the bar upstairs, the space’s brick walls tinged with a spectral lavender light. The man was handsome, with shaved head and deep-mahogany skin. A wide face. Pink feather earrings dangling from each lobe. A scent, some sort of cologne, that had a note of ginger. Dark purple nail polish. A salt-and-pepper beard, like Jeremiah’s. An indication of middle age. A relief. The sixty-four-year-old pastor could be sure he wasn’t robbing the cradle, which is why he’d chosen Fireplace to begin with.
Jeremiah worked up the courage to sit next to the man and said, “Good evening.”
“Evening,” the stranger responded. His voice, Barry White deep. As Jeremiah took in the man’s face, recognition set in. “You’re Douglas Atkins,” he said, barely managing to contain the excitement in his voice. As someone who considered himself a devotee of the arts, especially when it came to Black creators, Jeremiah was mortified he hadn’t recognized someone as famous as Douglas from the get. He’d just had a huge show at the Phillips Collection, covered by local and national press. The luminescence to be found in an Atkins oil painting… transcendent.
Jeremiah also remembered that Douglas had been wed to his husband for well over seven years.
“You’re traveling solo tonight?” Jeremiah asked. He searched for Douglas’s wedding band on his left hand. Nothing was there. “Aren’t you married?” Was his question too blunt, getting into the man’s business?
Douglas shook his head and gave a rueful smile. “No… I’m… we’re separated.”
“So why was he with you at the opening of the Phillips show?” Jeremiah’s question had an underlying motive.
“We were already separated but didn’t announce it. I still wanted to have him by my side… for appearances.” Douglas hung his shaved head low, as if admitting such a thing brought on a heavy weight. “I’m a punk, I know, I know…”
Jeremiah laughed. The gentle, earnest chuckle that parishioners had come to adore from dear Brother Jerry. “Mr. Atkins, let’s just say I know a thing or two about keeping up appearances.”
The two exchanged numbers, and Jeremiah soon embarked on an unexpected, quiet adventure. Once Douglas found out what Jeremiah did for a living, understood that Ebenezer Memorial wasnota progressive church where an associate pastor could strut around with his new man, he helped to make sure that their time together was discreet and out of the way.
Driving to Michelin-starred bistros in Arlington or Alexandria? No problem. Going dancing at an underground spot in Baltimore? Even better. Having simple dates at each other’s homes with Chinese takeout? A relief. (Jeremiah finally came to understand what “Netflix ’n’ chill” meant when Douglas leaned in for a kiss and then placed Jeremiah’s arousal in his mouth while the biopicRustinplayed on.) Giving each other small, unobtrusive trinkets and mementos? Better than fine. All to eliminate any chance that Ebenezer congregants would stumble upon Brother Jerry in the company of a flamboyant artist with feather earrings. Jeremiah had even managed to attend with Douglas some sort of new age retreat run by a Rayo Courant, a beautiful fellow who displayed nothing but care for his attendees. His energy made Jeremiah feel a tad less guilty for daring to attend a non-Christian gathering.
Still, his favorite part of the secret life that he’d created was when Douglas asked him to pose for a series of portraits. A surprise. “You’re one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met,” Douglas said in the silkybaritone that always made Jeremiah feel like he was a college boy about to swoon, that made him want to drop his drawers quick. “I know why all those widowers at church like to be all up in the service, to look at you.” Douglas grabbed him by the waist. “But you’re mine,” he purred. The devil was in his eyes and grin, in the kneading of his fingers.
“But you… you can’t show my portraits in any of your shows,” Jeremiah replied, even as he folded himself into Doug. The sensation, like a drug. “You know that.”
“I have more than enough work for my next show, which is about abstraction. New portraiture… this will be for us. Foryou.”
For their first sessions, Doug executed quick five-minute charcoal sketches of Jeremiah in his studio. Jeremiah knew he was stiff at first, though he soon loosened up and began to create fluid poses in a manner befitting an art model, or at least how he thought an art model would move. “I want you to decide how you want to be presented to the world,” Doug said upon declaring that it was time to move on to oil paintings.
Jeremiah pondered Doug’s question for days. The answer came to him in a divine spark as he sat onstage in front of the congregation, Pastor Morgan presenting the parable of the talents.
“For to everyone who has will more be given, and he will have an abundance. But from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away…”
As Pastor Morgan preached, Jeremiah noticed how the congregation looked fondly upon him and the other Ebenezer officiants, sitting up there behind the pulpit in gilded chairs, golden embroidery woven into thick, plush cushions. Like they were damn royalty. He’d never liked the setup, never thought that was how he was supposed to serve the Lord.
“I want to be seen as a man of Spirit,” he said the next day to Doug when they met in his studio. Jeremiah was confident, no-nonsense, like he was about to share Easter Sunday oratory. Divine spark at work.“Because… because I am a man of Spirit. I want to be holding a Bible, because I truly, truly love the Lord. I really do, Doug. But I want to be wearing something casual, like a T-shirt or tank top. No shoes, no socks, pants loose… but something that looks nice. I want you to reveal what life could’ve looked like if I didn’t have to choose.” Jeremiah kissed his man to seal the deal. Really, what he did whenever he and Douglas hung out behind closed doors so the taste of his lover’s lips would linger for as long as possible when they were apart.
After several days of posing, Jeremiah saw the finished product, the way Doug had captured him. The sheen of his skin, the quiet, solemn dignity in his eyes, on his lips… even how he showcased the curvature of his biceps and pecs… sublime. “I want to do another one,” Jeremiah said, fast as lightning after he’d fully absorbed the painting Douglas calledMan of God. Jeremiah suddenly remembered one of his favorite works from Diego Rivera, a nude woman crouched in front of a humongous basket of lilies. “I want you to paint me like I’m surrounded by flowers, a child of heaven,” he declared, breathless. His need to be captured on canvas, for all time… Had he known what was to come?
“Yes, yes… you deserve to be among the flowers,” Douglas agreed. “In the fields.”
During their next session, Douglas seemed surprised by how quickly Jeremiah took to being painted in the nude. He got a space heater, placed topaz satin sheets on the floor of his studio, and draped Jeremiah’s body strategically after he lay down on a bed of pillows, Douglas doing everything in his power to make sure his man was comfortable. The music, a soothing mix of Luther Vandross slow jams. The flowers were to be added on the canvas as the final touch. Both artist and model, inspired by the brilliant yellow and Jeremiah’s ever-increasing joy, decreed that they should go with sunflowers. When the portrait was finished, a paint-spackled Douglas turned off the heater, crawled on all fours onto topaz, and spooned his muse on coolsheets. He placed his man’s supple palm on his heart. Luther crooned, “If only for one night…” and Jeremiah imagined the smell of earth and petals all around them, imagined that the stars twinkled above. He then turned, wanting Douglas to rest on top of him, wanting to feel his solid weight, to see the smile that glowed from his midnight skin. To stroke his head as Douglas kissed the inside of his wrist. To nuzzle the blanket of silver hair that covered Douglas’s chest, his huge nipples a protrusion. One of many treats that Jeremiah needed to savor, that he would savor for as long as he could before the memory was devoured by shadow.
Three nights after the Ghost Equinox, one night after Ebenezer held an all-night prayer vigil for those who’d perished in the northern city where so many members had relatives, the two men sat together and held hands in the pews. Douglas was shocked when Jeremiah asked him to swing by and help him close down the church, when no one would be around. Jeremiah, upon seeing reels of ghosts gnashing God-fearing folks in all sorts of horrible ways, realized that life was too short. He wanted to know what it would feel like to sit with his special somebody under the stained-glass windows depicting a beautiful green garden with apple trees and lush lilac bushes tinged red by the setting sun. A scene meant to represent the exalted state promised to humanity before man’s fall from grace.
One thing led to another, as it always did with Douglas, and the two made love in the pews. Jeremiah’s memory of the moment, crisp, perfect. The cushions soft under his back and behind. Douglas’s kisses all over his body, his nipples, his arms, his crotch, the inside of his thighs, his toes. Celestial, to gaze upon Douglas losing himself to skin and then peer at the sprawling arches of Ebenezer. Jeremiah knew in his heart that what they were doing was lovely, that God looked upon them with favor.
He should have never had to choose.
