Leslie Esdaile Banks

Meeting the POTUS was…

Surreal. Yesterday was one of those magical moments that defy words. I may be an author but I’m struggling to capture the magnitude of this experience.

Here I was, sitting at home, reading through health care insurance bills, trying to digest what they were telling me, and I reached a personal tipping point. I was so upset and frustrated that I was crying. The fat cats in the executive offices and the big wigs who make the monster salaries had moved the goal post on me again and were laughing at me. Yep, sitting at the table with a pile of household bills in front of me, my kid’s tuition bills scaring me, while trying to compile FASFA information—student financial aid stuff, which meant I had to get my taxes done early to meet their March 1 deadline… and Independence Blue Cross was saying that my rate would go up from $301/mo to $659/mo and my kid’s insurance coverage cost would also double, unless I wanted to purchase their really BAD policy that has a $5,000 deductible (versus the one I had with a $500 deductible.)

Slowly my outrage turned to rage when I realized that the insurer was holding me hostage—and being from Philly (smile) the “fight” in me rose up. I got up from the dining room table and said, “Aw hell to the no!” I knew that since I had type 2 Diabetes, I probably wouldn’t be able to get another insurer to take me. I’d be denied on the basis of a pre-existing condition, but my daughter was in the clear. So, my first move was to find her a policy. In my mind, at least the rat bastards at IBX wouldn’t get my money for her. But I was still really, really, really angry. And the more I watched my favorite news shows—yes, I admit it, I’m a news junky—and I watch Hardball with Chris Matthews, The Ed Show, then Keith Olberman, and Rachel Maddow to stay up on current events—the angrier I got when I realized that the issues in Washington weren’t about policy disagreements; this was all about power and not allowing our current President to appear to have “a win.”

That realization translated into a flaming email supporting health care reform and supporting their drive to get it done sent to the White House – through their website… then to the websites of my Senator, then my Congressman, then my Governor… then to MSNBC. It was a morning of email venting, LOL. When I was done I felt slightly better albeit my life was still the same. So, I went about my daily business, trying to figure out what this self-employed, divorced single mom was gonna do.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the luxury to go into a deep funk. I had to keep it moving. As an entrepreneur the first thing you learn is that, there are no “sick days,” no paid vacation days, no disability, or other benefits of being employed by someone else. If you don’t go to work, you don’t get paid—and I had book deadlines looming. I’m not complaining, just stating this as my reality. It’s a blessing to be able to work for yourself. But it’s a blessing that cuts both ways. The good news is you work for yourself. The bad news is that you work for yourself. All employer benefits are paid by you—because YOU are the employer of yourself. I know, I know, it sounds a bit Alice In Wonderland-esque. But you get my point.

Anyway, the fateful day when I had my meltdown was February 11th. Weeks went by and I had truly forgotten all about it. The moment I pushed send on the electronic White House form, I had already accepted that I was one of MILLIONS of people with the same problem, one of countless others who had a long story, and one of an unfathomable number that probably vent on their elected officials’ email—that I assumed never got read by anyone anyway.

But one day I happened to get a call from a lady claiming to be from the White House. Initially I laughed, thinking I’d been pranked. Then when she remained serious, I thought—Uh, oh, Homeland Security maybe didn’t appreciate the tone of my email outburst… am I in trouble (?) However, Ann assured me that they found my letter interesting and compelling… and, explained — with many caveats about not being able to promise anything – that “if” I passed vetting, then “maybe” I could introduce the President of the United States at his rally.

When the call ended, I set down the phone very slowly and very carefully. I told my daughter, but wouldn’t allow her to get all excited or to tell anyone in the family, because I thought, “Yeah, right, me vetted. I write vampire novels and about werewolves in the US Military—FAT CHANCE!” Then I laughed out loud at the absurdity of my writing genre and that “I” would get a call from the White House. I figured, no way. I put the “incident” of the call out of my mind and went to my stepmother’s party that she was having in Trenton for her 90 year old mother’s birthday.

Thoroughly enjoying myself, I’m sitting at a lovely banquet with friends and family all around. My sister and daughter are cutting up with my aunt and cousins and my cousin’s husband, and then my cell phone goes off. Initially I was annoyed at myself, having forgotten to put my phone on vibrate. But when I pulled it out of my purse and I saw the number with a 202 area code, instinct kicked in and I answered it.

Y’all… to hear the words, “This is so & so from THE WHITE HOUSE” is deep. It creates a moment of cognitive dissonance, a surreal otherworldly feeling like you’ve been zapped into a TV or movie script, or an episode from The West Wing.

The ebullient young woman who I’d spoken to the first time was on the line with a very cheery voice. She said, “Well Ms. Banks, you’ve passed vetting and we’d like you to introduce the President.” Mind you, the whole time, my family is telling me to get off the phone so we can take pictures, and I’m trying to shoo them and shush them while mouthing the words, IT’S THE WHITE HOUSE! And they think I’m playing, LOL!

The moment the call ended, I started squealing (low timbre, just for the table—because a whole program was going on and the outburst would have caused a big disruption.) But after several tries, the word ripped around the huge banquet table and all ten of us seated were on the same page. Then the outburst began in earnest. A gazillion questions hit me, and I had no answers. My daughter and I floated on the ride home with my cousin and her husband, who drove. All I could think was… this is really happening. But then I braced myself thinking—plans change at the last minute. Some big wig with a lot more juice than me might get picked to ultimately do this. I’m just honored that somebody up the food chain heard my little cry in the wilderness.

I got home and sat down and took a deep breath. My daughter was already on Face Book telling her friends. Then the phone began ringing with instructions from the White House – Ms. Banks we’ll need to see your remarks via email by 2PM. Ms. Banks we’ll need you to come up to do a walk through and security check. Ms. Banks you’ll need to pick up your tickets from your Congressman’s office. THAT’S when I knew it was real. That’s also when I started lobbying to get my daughter, my sister, and my stepmom in, LOL. I shamelessly begged for more than the one ticket they had set aside for my child. Yes, groveled, BIG GRIN—ain’t too proud to beg. This was HISTORY. And the angels above must have heard me because I was able to get them, much to the screaming delight of my family members.

It was a day of days. Butterflies consumed my stomach. The night before I couldn’t sleep. I pressed my suit twice. I put too much hairspray in my hair. I kept hard candy in my mouth, because I kept feeling like I was having a hypoglycemic crash. I couldn’t tell if it was nerves or if I was really going to do a diabetic pass out thing and mess up really badly.

On the ride up to the event Monday morning, my family was chatting excitedly but I was trying to memorize my short speech, the whole time thinking… my binder will touch a podium that has the Presidential seal on it. I will be standing where President Obama will be standing. Even if Secret Service doesn’t allow me to actually meet him, I’ll have stood there where he’ll stand, right in front of the American flag. Wow.

When we arrived at Arcadia University it was organized chaos. My family got to park in the VIP area, which had us screaming again in the car. We’d be cool, pass a security checkpoint. I’d give my name and ID—the Secret Service guy would say, “All right, Ms. Banks, right this way,” AND WE’D SCREAM… after we drove away, of course.

However, my sister, stepmom, and daughter had to go get in a line that was two blocks long—and with trepidation we separated. I told them not to worry and that I didn’t even know if I was going to meet him, but since they had “blue” VIP tickets that guaranteed them a chance to be in the front section, it would be okay. The rest was up to God and prayer.

With my heart beating out of my chest, I waited to be collected at the side door by the designated staffer, Sally. Like Ann and Joelle, she was wonderfully nice. Before too long, the pleasant, smiling staffer came and got me. She beamed and said, “Are you ready, Ms. Banks?”

Ready? Ready? OMG, who could be READY! But I smiled back at her, nodded, and then stepped into the building and waited as my purse was searched and my body was wand scanned. The staffer apologized, but said that it was a necessary formality for those in close proximity to the President. I was almost in tears with excitement and would have submitted to a strip search if they’d asked!

After that brief delay she ushered me through to where people would sit behind the velvet rope and I watched as other staffers began putting down name pages on seats for senators, congressmen, et al. My ears were ringing and my face was flushed as the gymnasium began to fill and elected officials started coming into the section where I sat very quietly, clutching my handbag and my binder, in shell shock. I was going to meet the President. I was going to speak before the President.

From the corner of my eye I saw my family and then that broke me out of the trance. I waved at them and blotted my nose, then grabbed my compact—my face had oily t-zone and there was no glamour in that. Nerves made my voice stick in my throat. People began wondering who I was and a few elected officials came and shook my hand. But when the staffer came to collect me and I stood up, it was all I could do not to pass out.

It was a total out-of-body experience as Sally pressed back the blue curtain and led us behind the stage. Me, a young man giving the invocation, a professor leading the Pledge of Allegiance in sign language, and a choir that would sing the Star Spangled Banner all filed behind Sally nervous and excited. Once behind stage we’d stepped into a frenetic scene with Secret Service guys, TV monitors, folks buzzing around with headsets, walkie talkies, and people murmuring into their watches. Everyone had a wire in their ear and every guy in a suit seemed like he’d stepped out of the movie, Men in Black.

After the others went on stage I was told to stand alone in an alcove. The President was going to meet and greet the VIPs from the University and other dignitaries, and then I’d hear my cue to go on. But then a really kind staffer, Tim, said to the very nice woman that had been giving me instructions, Sally, “After that, bring Ms. Banks back in, she’ll have a private moment with The President, then cue her up for the stage.” I almost fainted.

The guys who surrounded the President must have seen that look of deer in the headlights before, because one of the “Men in Black” said in a completely deadpan expression, “Ma’am, when you meet the POTUS, there are two things you cannot do.” Eager and breathless, I said, “What?” He smiled and said, “Don’t puke and don’t faint.” It took me a moment to realize that he was just trying to loosen me up, and then I laughed. That’s when six burly guys came forward—two in front of President Obama, two on his flank, two behind him, and a couple were behind me, I think.

I just stood there, mouth slightly agape, frozen, and the President walked forward with that big ole, dashing smile of his and said, “You must be Leslie.” The warmth he exuded was authentic. Then he said, “I want to thank you for doing this,” as he shook my hand. But I shook my head and told him, “No, Mr. President. Thank YOU for all you’re doing for US—for fighting for us and for being you.” Then he just hugged me and told me to “Knock ‘em dead” with my speech.

The handlers then hustled me to the curtain. But my speech had gone out of my head! Things I’d wanted to say—like telling the President how I took my father’s tie and my mother’s ring into the voting booth with me because they didn’t live to see him get elected… or how my daughter had just turned 18 years old and how she and I went together early in the morning to vote for her first time by pulling the lever for him. I didn’t get to say any of that. It was an amazing, ephemeral moment that went by in a flash like a dream.

The only thing I had to hold onto to steady myself were the encouraging words the President said. Then I thought of my parents who’d gone on to Glory. I thought of my Dad and my Mom, and then my grandmothers and all my dear aunties as the announcer made the preamble introduction. I whispered a little prayer to them—“Please don’t let me mess up. Please let me do you proud.” Then I asked God himself, “Please let me say what You want me to say in a way that can help people.” Then I stepped through the curtain into the bright stage lights. Truthfully, it felt like a near death experience.

But the only thing that I could focus on was, I had said a prayer and I was gonna tell the truth. Millions of people were suffering because some politicians were playing games, and the man backstage who I met—the honorable man of good character who was also a husband and father, who’d watched his own mother die while insurance companies made her last days a living hell, was behind the curtain waiting for me to say something real that would warm up the crowd. I was being given the honor to warm up the crowd for the most important individual in the free world—a global leader.

Outright panic set in as I put my binder gently on top of his. I’d been instructed to be sure not to move his and to take mine away when I was done. My family would either witness my success or my humiliation, if people booed me or if I made a terrible gaff. Then I took another deep breath and from somewhere Divine calm fell over me. I realized in the back of my mind that someone really big—like up in Heaven kinda big—had to make so many dominoes fall “just the right way” in order for someone on the President’s staff to pluck me from obscurity, then to put me on that stage. That’s when I knew the Most High was not going to allow me to mess up. Couldn’t happen. I had work to do.

And as I said the words, and as feeling started to build in my speech rhythm, and folks started nodding, then clapping, and shouting, “Yeah!” — I knew it was going to be okay. I was almost there; all I had to do was say what an honor and a privilege it was to introduce President Barack Obama… and it was! THAT was the TRUTH!

When I said it, I felt the tips of my toes tingle. I felt my fingers tingle. I felt like light was shooting out of the top of my head. Then they played the Presidential anthem as the crowd roared and I was frozen where I stood. They’d told me to wait for him to get to the podium before I took my leave. And… when he finally reached me, after shaking hands with as many people as he could along the way, I was expecting maybe a formal handshake, but he opened his arms and gave me a big hug and said “Thank you, Leslie.”

I collected my binder and tried to walk away with as much dignity as I could muster, but tears blurred my vision. I couldn’t see the first step down off the platform and said another prayer—“God, please don’t let me misstep and mess this up for the President. Just get me down and into a chair without passing out or hyperventilating.”

I made it to my seat, I can’t even tell you how—and then promptly put a piece of hard candy in my mouth because “that feeling” of wooziness was back. I think I shook several hands in my section on the way to my seat. People were congratulating me after the event for seeming calm and poised, and I was asked if I had I done lots of rallies before.

No. There is NOTHING that can prepare you for an experience like this. Nothing.

Once the President’s FABULOUS speech was over and the crowd thinned, and the POTUS had cleared the building, I found my family. Reunited, they were squealing and hugging, and he’d shaken their hands too! THAT really made my day! My daughter was waving her hand around saying, “Mommy, he shook my hand!” LOL! Then somehow along the way and in the midst of the personal pandemonium I managed to answer the questions of a wonderful reporter from The Philadelphia Inquirer (Annette Hall) – she saw the tears, she saw the excitement—she understood what I was saying.

Now on a mission to find lunch and celebrate, in the parking lot I turned on my cell phone. My phone had BLOWN UP with messages, BIG SMILE. My daughter, who has one of those sexy new gadgets, she went on Face Book and just burst out laughing.

In a huge booth in TGI Fridays we toasted and celebrated until we all realized just how emotionally exhausted we were—and went home. I took off my shoes and suit and sat down heavily on the side of the bed, and then began going through the messages on both my home and office phones. One particularly urgent one, however, made me stand up. The call was simple: “Ms. Banks, this is The Ed Show on MSNBC. We need to have you in the studio at the top of the six o’clock hour. Please call us back.” Then came a second call. “Ms. Banks, this is The Ed Show again—”

I didn’t even listen to the rest of it, but called the number that had shown up on my caller ID. Meanwhile I was yelling to my daughter, “Don’t get undressed, they’re sending a car!” She screamed in the background as the call connected and I got the details, all the while hopping into my suit one leg at a time.

A big black Lincoln Towne Car pulled up to my house and we were on our way to a studio uplink location. But then my cell rang in my purse and it was local news channel NBC 10. They wanted to know what it was like to introduce the President and wanted an interview that would air on the 11 o’clock news. So we made arrangements for them to meet me back at my house when the car brought us back.

Quick in the chair at the studio for a hit of make up, then into the camera room to be wired for sound, and it was five, four, three, two, one, “You’re on after a four minute intro, Ms. Banks.” OMG!

Breathe, breathe, I kept telling myself. The questions came fast and crisply, then they told me through the ear wire that I was done. Whew!

Back in the car, my daughter was laughing as we sped our way home—and when we got there a huge NBC 10 News van was parked in front of my house! But, of course, someone had let their dog leave a pile right in front of my steps. On all days!!!! My daughter was mortified as the lovely news anchor, Claudia Rivera, stepped out of the news van with her camera man.

Being mom, I told my kid to run in the house and to get me a plastic bag and a paper towel—and I talked to the anchor while I cleared dog poop from the path in my suit and designer handbag and heels, then tossed the refuse in the can in my side yard and welcomed her in. The anchor laughed as I explained that I needed to wash my hands first—and said, “Hey, this is Philly, ya know… some things aren’t glamorous and most things like this don’t change.”

One more interview down. I was too weary to worry about the fact that I’d been on book deadline and my house had dust bunnies. We laughed when I told them to make it a tight shot so folks wouldn’t REALLY see how I kept house while writing. Miraculously, the phone didn’t ring during the entire interview process, but the moment the van pulled away from the curb, again, my phone went crazy.

Until well past midnight and then beginning again at 5AM my phone has been ringing off the hook. Face Book is crazy. My deadline discipline is shot—so sorry to say, this book I’m working on may be a little behind schedule, but with good cause. It’s not every day that one’s dreams come true.

Ironically, the news anchor made me realize that I’d had a collage on my wall for a couple of years – one of Obama and his family that my cousin’s friend Larry had made for me. You know how you have stuff in your house or on your walls that you see everyday but that are so part of the environment they no longer register in your mind? Yeah… like that. The collage was just a part of the living room wall.

But that was the first thing the news anchor went to and asked, “Did you just put this up?” I told her, “No…. wow… I’d put it up when he was running for office and really it’s just like a fixture on the living room wall. I’d forgotten about it.” Just like I’d forgotten about the little campaign flyer I’d taped to my front door window and the bumper sticker that’s on my car.

Hmmmm…. Very fortuitous. Maybe there are no coincidences after all?

I believe in this President, like no other before. I believe in what he’s trying to do. I believe in health care reform and I’m willing to fight for it. I believe we ARE our brother’s and sister’s keeper. I believe that what happens to the least among us IS important. I believe that food, shelter, clothing, education, and access to health care is a fundamental human right. No person should go hungry or homeless or be left to die because they don’t have the money to pay. To not make a way – especially in the richest nation on the planet — for people not to die in the streets or be crippled by bankruptcy for the sake of their lives, is frankly barbaric to me. I never dreamed in my wildest imagination that I’d get a chance to stand up somewhere and say that on behalf of so many whose voices have not been heard. And to do so before the person we elected to make a difference… there are simply no words. I am humbled and grateful, and completely blown away. I say a prayer for President Obama and his entire family.

THANK YOU ALL for the wonderful words of encouragement, support, well wishes, and for allowing me to share this story and this fantastic journey with you!

Much love and a BIG PHILLY HUG, Leslie!
May we ALL stay in the Light!

Hi good people… below I cut and pasted in an announcement from the following University event that will be happening later this month. If you are in the Nashville area, come on and check us out. But in the meanwhile, for those in the northeast–stay safe and warm during this pending blizzard!

HUGS, Leslie!
Stay in the Light!

Fisk Univeristy’s Academic Success Center and Office of Career Services, in partnership with Vanderbilt University’s Bishop Joseph Johnson Black Cultural Center Presents New York Time’s Best Selling Author L.A. Banks Thursday February 18 and 19, 2010.

On Thursday February 18, 2010 Ms. Banks is the featured guest on a panel entitled “Black Sexuality” co-hosted by Vanderbilt University’s Black Student Association (BSA). Later that evening, the Bishop Joseph Johnson Black Cultural Center will host a reading and book signing of Ms. Banks award winning novels.

On Friday February 19, 2010 Ms. Banks will host a writer’s workshop on the campus of Fisk University and will also do a book signing and reading. She will then be joined by Kemetic Yoga Master Yirser Ra Hotep, Melanin Scholar T. Owens Moore and Pranic Healing and Qi Gong Master and author of Ancient Future Wayne B. Chandler for a series of lectures and a panel discussion in Fisk University’s Appleton Room located in Jubilee Hall. This starts off a Wellness Weekend of Free and Open to the Public Yoga and Qi Gong workshops sponsored by the Fisk-Meharry HBCU Wellness Program.

For more information on these events, please contact Dr. Jeff Menzise at 615-329-1389 or jmenzise@fisk.edu.

Hey, everybody… I hope you are all enjoying this Labor Day and have a safe and fun holiday! Well, a little down time helped my brain, smile… had a chance to write a new BTB and I hope you enjoy!

Hugs, Leslie!

PS: If you have not read book 12, The Thirteenth, this BTB post below contains a SIGNIFICANT SPOILER–so WARNING–READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!
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Submerge…

The New Compound—Post Armageddon

Carlos put on his headphones and lowered his shovel, then threw his full weight behind the task. Trees had been cleared and some of the huge stones still had to be moved before he could whirl in a tractor. One year in and food was getting scarce. It was either grow it or steal it from the already famine-stricken masses. Nobody in the compound would vote to do that, especially when they’d been blessed with resources.

The other Guardian brothers had offered to help, but at the moment, he craved solitude. Nobody took offense; there was plenty of other stuff to do and each brother found his solo sanctuary among the never-ending chores. Building maintenance was ongoing, just like reinforcing demon barriers was an all-consuming project. Then there was constantly looking after little ones who were beginning to crawl and getting into everything imaginable; that was an around-the-clock affair. God Bless Mom Delores, Mom Stella, Marj, and Marlene. They took a lot of the weight. Soon he’d also have to think about creating a school of some sort. There were other teams around the world that were dug in, living off the grid, and needed a haven for their kids.

The old Greenbriar Hotel was two football field lengths away and filled with the lively hubbub of household activity. He stared at the building for a second before sinking his shovel into the rich, dark earth again—he and his Guardian brothers had somehow gone from warriors to organic farmers… lovers to fathers, and yet he knew that he, among all men, was truly blessed. He wouldn’t complain.

Still, there was something to be missed about the old days, as insane as they were. This time, however, he wouldn’t make the mistake of pining for what had been. He’d damned sure learned that lesson the hard way, and wasn’t about to bring disaster on his family by hoping for things of the past. He simply admired those old memories for the mental relics they were, and kept digging.

There was an easier way to do what he was doing the old fashioned way. Manual labor helped him think, though. If he got his Tactical brothers out there with Big Mike, they could clear a field and have it plowed in a few hours. But on days like this, the physical labor felt good. He needed to break a sweat. Needed heavy bass tones, needed to feel the music thump in his veins. But his playlist seemed like it had a mind of its own.

Carlos stopped to adjust his iPod and thrust his shovel into the earth, annoyed. The only logical explanation for the music jumping from his workout list to his slow jamz list was that he was throwing off crazy energy. It was lucky he hadn’t fried the damn thing. Had taken JL a week to get everybody hooked up with contraband music.

However the small break in the action allowed him to stand back and see just how much he’d actually accomplished in the brief hour he’d been outside. Felt like only a couple of songs, and he’d practically cleared a hundred yards. Damn. It reminded him of how quickly mortal time flew by. An hour… a year… it went by in a flash. It was all a blink. A breath.

Sweat made his t-shirt cling to him and he wiped thick beads of perspiration off his brow with the back of his forearm. Slow, sultry tunes filled his ears, causing him to walk away from his shovel and farther away from the house until he stood at the very edge of a high precipice. There was a blackened ring of trees below and beyond that was a small town. Life was clawing its way back from the ashes, just as he had years ago. Time… time was so fleeting, so misunderstood. One moment his wife was in his arms and the next moment she was filled with life… then there were two new little people looking up at him needing the world, and he didn’t have time to get it all done before their needs changed again. Time was a beast.

How did a mere mortal make sense of any of it?

He closed his eyes and opened his arms, not asking a question—he’d stopped arguing with God a long time ago. This was an embrace of all there was, feeling the breeze enfold him, remembering life before it got so complicated, even though one could argue that it was now simpler than it had ever been… remembering Damali’s voice… remembering when she’d brought him back to life over and over again with her touch. A man with no heartbeat had become a father. A man with no future had been able to live forever and see the Light. A man trapped in perpetual night had been blessed to see the sun.

The totality of it overwhelmed him. When had there been time to step back and assess any of it? They’d been on the move, pushing forward, fighting, surviving. Then time had jumped, just like his playlists, and there were kids to feed, clothe, and shelter. There was an entire world to protect. Was there a place left among any of it for a Scorpio to find solace? Where was there a quiet sanctuary from his thoughts? Was there a place he could go where all of it would stop clawing at his mind?

He missed her voice… her performances. That had been his sanctuary—Damali. When she crooned low and sweet her voice stopped the world imploding in his mind. She blotted out the darkest shadows of his night. Stopped the terror that lurked down deep within—because he knew how bad, bad could be. She made him know there was something greater than the evil that tracked them. Her wings were testimony to that, just as her soft kiss had always been. He missed his wife. Missed how she took him to a place where there was nothing but her. Missed her blue-white heat, that tidal wave of Damali that drowned out past, present, and future… missed drowning in her love.

Carlos shook his head as Maxwell’s Submerge: Til We Become The Sun entered his earphones and took over his mind. He could almost hear Damali’s voice replace the soulful crooner’s, could hear it fuse with the lyrics, fuse with his pulse. Then he suddenly felt her behind him. She didn’t speak, just continued that soft harmony that entered his head as her arms enfolded him, sending visions through him as though metal video for the song. Yeah… he’d go down with her wherever she wanted to go. Take me under, baby.

He let go and mountainside wildflowers crushed in Tibet soon stung his nose, the visual was so real. Her touch arched his spine, her voice marrying every note, pulling him under deeper with the music. He could feel the rush of sudden wind against his face as she mentally took him plummeting over the rail of the Australian Master’s lair. Together they hit the desert floor, him landing on his back in the cool night’s heat.

This was his sanctuary.

White wings enfolded him as a shea-butter soft cheek nuzzled his old vampire bite wound at his neck. He was going under hard.

This was his sanctuary.

Her mango-stained breath laced with mint followed the line of his jaw and captured his mouth. She hadn’t forgotten who they’d been before children and change. She remembered the warrior… remembered the vampire… remembered the man.

This was his sanctuary.

She’d saved a little piece of heaven just for him, clutched it in her palms that tightly held the back of his shirt. Gave it to him redux, pulling away his earphones and replacing them with her soft whisper and the tip of her tongue.

Fair exchange was no robbery; he’d be her sanctuary, too.

Would make her remember who the young girl was that first stepped up to the mic. Would make her remember ripening as a new Neteru. Would let her know that he’d never forget that she was always the one. Would never let her forget that she was a woman.

Oh, God, yes… submerge into the light… see if I’m breathing… I don’t know if I’m alive.

This was Damali’s world and he’d saved it just for her.

All she had to do was tell him with her body, with her breaths, the hitch in her voice, her touch… what memory she craved and he’d replay it. He was definitely going under, submerged in her spell and needing to be inside her. Fire and water, Scorp and Leo.
His hands traveled over the swell of her hips, over the fabric of her jeans, damning it as he knocked her head back with the edge of his jaw. Remember the vampire… till we become the sun. Both burning, on fire in the light. Is that what you want?

Her sharp gasp confirmed it, lengthening fangs in his mouth as he breathed her in, his nose trailing up her jugular.

Everything came back in an instant, like riding a bike. Hands in her hair, the vein strike was blind-lightening. Pleasure poured into the open wound, emptying him from the center of his soul, and causing her to climb up his body with a shrieking gasp.

Sound, blessed be her voice. No more quiet creeping in the middle of the night. Two football fields away, there were no infants to wake. Not today. He remembered when her soprano could shatter glass… shatter me, baby.
A man without a lair, the forest became their sanctuary. Soft moss broke their fall. White birches and her white wings stood guard against the sky. Boots and sneakers then sweat-slicked fabric shed slowly like snake’s skin; bodies writhing out of its hold.

The compound and the mundane evaporated. There was no time, just the present. Just the two of them… original man and original woman in new Eden, naked without shame. His dirty angel; her barrios bad boy. He stared up at her with tears of appreciation in his eyes. She bit her bottom lip, her own tears streaming. Words would only complicate the uncomplicated. They both understood. Each in his and her own right needed to be heard, needed to be seen in their original forms before parental titles blurred them out to each other. It had been getting harder to remember. Today it all came back in a flash-flood of passion.

His fingertips gently traced their way up her torso, reading the Braille of gooseflesh that rose for them. To have time just to see that again made him shudder. Her exquisite cinnamon brown skin soaked in the sunlight that dappled through the trees, her breasts warm, heavy, and ripe… beautiful fruit made sweeter by motherhood. He wanted to experience every nuance of her body, but she closed her eyes and hung her head, covering her exposed belly with her hands. He wasn’t having it and gently pulled them away, then leaned up to cradle her face.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, and then stopped her protest with a deep kiss.

He could feel it bubbling within her, about to steal a sliver of her joy. A few battle scars from carrying his babies to term were badges of honor; she didn’t understand.

Hands on either side of her head, he showed her what he saw, sliding her to lie back, submerging her into bliss. His mouth coveted all that his twins so freely indulged. For just this moment, she was no longer mother, team seer, Neteru… she was his lover. His special sanctuary and he’d be hers.

Light made of flesh, blood, and bones made woman arched beneath his kisses that took a path from her throat to her pendulous breasts. Solar heat filled her palms that spread over his shoulders… her body was lush, plentiful, and he laved her tight brown nipples until they wept for him. Then she wept for him as the side of his face paid homage to every stretch mark her body was made to endure. Trembling fingers traced them, followed by his reverent kiss, deepened by desire, knowing what each one meant, also knowing how they scared her soul. He’d erase them all in her mind once and for all the only way he knew how. She had to remember why they were given to her; he’d take her back to Mid-heaven and show her.

His palms spread beneath her and then held her hips firm as his face submerged into her dense thicket… her sweet, pungent forest… the darkness he could never fully wrest himself from… the only rapture he’d ever known… the only angel he’d ever prayed to, prayed for, the only one that had ever saved him from everything, including himself. She had to know that she was his world, still, after it all. She was his sun, had always scorched him, left him a dry husk when she was done.

The moment she heaved and called him by name, it was as though she’d summoned him home. It was reflex to slide up her slickened body and sink deep within her. An agonized moan stopped his breath. Pinpoints of light danced behind his tightly shut lids. Damn… it had been so long. Just let it go, echoed in his soul. He shook his head. That’s not who they were, but only how it had recently been due to time, life, and kids.

He took her mouth hard like he took her body—old school, roughneck, then broke it down smooth. Master Vamp, Council master, he had time eternal, was eternity itself… wasn’t about rushing, was only about stroking, easy, taking her back to mist. Hell, yeah, he remembered—just like it was yesterday. Too much time had gone by, too much water under the bridge, too many other people’s needs to fulfill. But not today.

Right now she was his bad habit, his narcotic, the one that made him chase the dragon, made him lose his mind and not care… made sweat drip off his nose and roll down his back, made old blood hunger uncoil in his groin even though his eyes now turned silver. She could bring it all back and did in a flash-fire of skin-against-skin, wet slap. Would have him calling on his Maker, por Dios. Would make him stutter in Spanglish, forgetting both his mother-tongue and his new tongue, all behind her tongue… just eating him up and sucking out his marrow.

“’Mali…” Damn… “Mi corazon…” She had… to… slow… down… shit, yeah. But that’s what he loved about her most; she never listened, not even when he begged, por favor.

Soft hands griped his ass, swept up his spine, spread over his shoulders so silky… fingertips played over working muscles, separating them out, singling them out, giving each one a command to do her bidding. Mango-lacquered kisses, shea butter, and woman, his woman, sent instant delirium into his brain. She owned his nose, always had, just like she’d branded him forever. Satin calves twined with his, then anchored around his waist, pulling him in deeper, harder. Feathers were everywhere.

But it was her voice that was his ultimate undoing…

That melodic wind-chant that sent birds into flight and stopped deer in their tracks.

That urgent whisper, “Just let it go,” that stole his reason.

That demand that broke his name into long syllables peppered with “Papi…”

That, that, that, “Oh, damn…” command.

It hit him like a blinding wave out of the blue. He knew it was coming, had early warning sac contractions, but just couldn’t get out of the way of it fast enough. It took him under, over, inside, and out. Left him sprawled, trembling, sputtering, trying to catch his breath. The force of it wiped his memory clean for ten seconds when it dredged him bone dry.

Only her kiss brought him around. He looked up at her bewildered and sated. She looked down at him and smiled, her eyes warm and filled with mischief.

“We didn’t have all day,” she murmured against his mouth.

Still mind-stunned, he didn’t even struggle to sit up or argue.

“The kids started giving Marlene fits almost as soon as I came to find you.”

He closed his eyes. Damn… he hadn’t even heard them.

“I know,” she said, laughing softly and then kissed him again, this time longer.

He threaded his fingers through her locks and stared up at her. There was so much he wanted to say to her but didn’t know how to express it, and definitely didn’t want her to take offense or to get an attitude. Right now it was all good, all peace, and was rarely that any more.

But rather than her eyes flashing with anger the moment she picked up on his unguarded thoughts, her quiet stare became gentle while her fingers stroked the edge of his jaw.

“It won’t always be like this,” she whispered.

His arms surrounded her and he rested his head on her shoulder, knowing that two other people now had more right to her body than he did. How could he argue? How did one even begin to claim any ground against that? And, yet, it was as it was supposed to be. Deep conflict tore at him as he released her.

“We’d better get dressed… I have to finish the field.”

Her palm cradled his cheek. “Oh… baby… I…”

“No, D, it’s cool. It is what it is. I’m just glad you came and found me for a little while, anyway.” He looked out into the distance toward the direction of the compound. “I’m also glad you can still hear me in your heart sometimes,” he added more quietly.

“I hear you all the time,” she murmured and then kissed him softly. “It’s just so hard to…” She looked down at her hands, now holding them in her lap as she shielded her body with her wings. “They’re always in my head. The babies.”

He sat up slowly wishing that she didn’t hide her body from his view. She didn’t used to do that and it made him sad.

“I know, boo.” There was nothing more he could say. He reached out and summoned his pants into his grip and then stood, pulling them on in defeat. “We should get back.”

Turning slowly, he held out his hand to Damali to help her up, mesmerized by how the sun still kissed her pretty brown skin with gold and red highlights. Her amber dreadlocks were all over her head, freshly tousled by him. But he shunted that out of his mind as he handed Damali her clothes, wondering when it had happened that she now turned away from him to put on her bra and tank top. As she drew her wings back into her delicate shoulder blades, he remembered how they’d sleep beneath them for hours, how the downy texture held the fragrance of their love. Then they’d bathe or shower together, which would start a whole new round of lovemaking.

Now, there was never time. Damali’s lithe body seemed so resolute as she slid on her panties and her jeans that it was like standing outside of himself to witness it.

“I’m sorry,” spilled from his lips before he could catch the words, not even sure what he was apologizing about. But a sadness claimed him in a way that he couldn’t express beyond that.

She turned and stared at him. “I was going to say the same thing.”

Instinct made him open his arms and she filled them, and then she began to cry. It was a hard down rain type of sob that he didn’t fully understand but knew he really didn’t have to. Something told him that right now all he had to do was hold her, so that’s what he did.

“This is harder than fighting demons,” she finally said with a sniff, burying her face against his chest.

He held her tighter and nodded with his eyes closed. It was the God’s honest truth—the Gospel according to Damali, but he dared not say amen.

“It’s like… don’t get me wrong,” she said on a thick swallow. “I love our children, I’m so glad we have them, but sometimes, I miss me. I miss us.”

This time he was the one to bite his lip as he petted her back and began to rock her.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m just a host,” she said, beginning to cry again. “Just a body for them to suck everything out of… and after carrying both of them for nine months, now I’m a feeder entity. There’s no time for anything. Time just goes by in a flash and I look up and the day is gone, I’m beat, and it feels like I close my eyes and then the next day is here to do it all over again. Every couple of hours, I have to stop everything I’m doing to pull out a boob and feed somebody!”

He knew better than to comment, knew that whatever he was feeling had better wait or her memory would lock in his reply forever… and that wasn’t what he wanted going into her female vault. The only thing he could think of to diffuse a solar meltdown was to tell her everything she’d already told him.

“It won’t always be like this, baby…” He spoke into her hair, sending love and warmth into it. But he truly understood what she meant about the vagaries of time.

She nodded. “I love our kids, don’t get me wrong—and I love being a mom… there is something so special about feeding them when I look at those little faces or see them sleeping and realize how easily it would have been to lose them… They’re such a gift, but I need time for me, too… time for us.”

“I know, baby…” His voice had become a refrain of gentle reason, saying everything by saying nothing really at all.

“But I’m just so tired, Carlos,” she said, her voice wobbling before it finally stumbled and fell.

Guilt lacerated him. Clearing a field was obviously nothing compared to the physical and emotional demands of what his wife was trying to describe. Everything he had to do was task-oriented; he did whatever and then it was done and over with until there was the next task… but having little people literally dependent on his body like tiny love parasites. Damn. Women deserved a special place in heaven.

“I don’t want to go back to the compound and listen to screaming babies and give over my body to breast feeding right now, but I have to. I want to be here, resting quietly in your arms. I wanna feel like I used to. I remember it all, Carlos—BC, before children.” She looked up at him with a tear-streaked face. “Does that make me a bad mother?”

He stared into her eyes, his palms cradling her face, trying to give her back a little bit of heaven and realizing how selfish he’d been. “No, baby,” he murmured. “It just makes you human.”

She slid her palms over his as she closed her eyes. Two big tears rolled down her cheeks and he kissed them away.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to ever think I forgot about you or don’t want you.”

Her confession stabbed his soul with a new pang of guilt. She might as well have gored him with her Isis blade.

“Oh… baby, te amo,” he said, pulling her more closely against him. “I never thought that.” The lie was a necessary one, a practical one.

He felt her body relax within his hold as she released a heavy sigh.

“Good.”

He kissed the crown of her head. “I’d better get you back.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking up at him now, searching his expression for any fraud.
He made sure she found none.

“I’m storing up big to collect big. I’m talking jackpot. Gonna double-down on you next time, girl,” he said with a sly half-smile. “You know I have a good memory.”

He was glad that his comment made a smile come out of hiding on her face.

“So do I,” she said with a sexy wink.

“Maybe in a few months when they’re weaned… you and I can go somewhere overnight, even for the weekend?”

It was a hopeful suggestion, a pretty lie he’d let himself believe in for now, one he’d thrown out there as much for her sake as for his own mental health. Where were they gonna go, truth be told? Away from the compound and the kids with the Anti-Christ on the loose and old Lucifer pissed off enough to spit nails—not likely. But he’d thrown out the concept like a man having a seizure. It was sudden, erratic, with no intelligent comprehension behind it. Still, a man had to have hope.

“Promise?” she said, unfurling her wings again to allow the dazzling sunlight to catch in them.

Hope sprung eternal. One day. Better yet, one night.

He stepped back and nodded, watching her turn back toward the compound as the bleating sound of baby wails finally cut into his psyche. Once again the twins were in his head, too, even though too far away for his normal hearing to have picked up their cries.

“I promise, mi corazon,” he murmured as she flew away. “Bank on it.”

Hi, Everybody! Looooooong time no write… I know, I know Been finishing a monster project–setting up the young adult series that will follow the beloved VHL. Had to get all the kids’ characters right, make sure in that first novle in the series I blended in conflicts with the parents… I promise you, you’re gonna LOVE Carlos as a Dad–yeah, that guy is having fits with his teenage daughter and about to “vamp snatch” his son.

So, that’s why I’ve been in hiding. Starting a new series needed total concentration to set the foundation correctly, just like it did when starting the VHL. Now I feel like my brain is about to leak out of my ears, OY, ha ha ha!

Gonna go on vacation, but will definitely be back in time for the LA Black Book Expo… so any of you guys who are out on the West Coast, hopefully I’ll see you on 8/22 in LA!

I hope everyone had a fabulous summer… I’ve definitely gotta get back on the boards and back to the blog… maybe even get a BTB done, ya know? I miss everybody!

BIG HUG, Leslie!

PS: And while I was away, the spammers came out to play–sorry folks