The First Lady Page 4

  “Well, you were a little more forward than I’m used to, Sister Monique.” It was not exactly the response I’d hoped for, but at least he didn’t sound angry; just surprised.

  “I just wanted to let you know how I feel.”

  He didn’t comment either way about the kiss. He just made it known it was time for him to leave.

  “Have a good evening, Sister Monique,” he said as he turned the doorknob to let himself out. “Oh, Sister Monique,” he said right before exiting.

  I knew he couldn’t leave without just one more little peck, so I subtly leaned my head toward him. “Yes, Bishop?” I said eagerly.

  “I’ll see you at Bible study this Wednesday?”

  “Huh?” He caught me off guard.

  “Bible study. You’ll be there this week?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. “Bible study. Wednesday. I’ll be there.” On that note, he winked, nodded his head, and was on his way.

  “He winked,” I said to reassure myself as I closed the door behind him and leaned my back against it.

  That Bishop T.K. Wilson is some kind of fine, I thought. He’s got it all, the full package. He’s only missing one thing—me.

  Although the evening didn’t end with as much romantic promise as I’d hoped, I thought he might have at least gotten some kind of sign that he could definitely find the qualities of a first lady in me. He did say that I was perfect, and he did let me kiss him. It wasn’t a French kiss, but it was a start. The evening wasn’t totally in vain. In fact, while I might have used it as a ploy to get the bishop into my house, I was serious about the bookstore. Running the store would mean spending lots of time at the church. And who spends more time at church than anybody? The headlining man of God, of course. Yes, this would all work out just fine.

  4

  BISHOP

  I left Monique’s house and drove home feeling a little vulnerable. I don’t know who I’m fooling—I felt a lot vulnerable. Monique had awakened feelings in me that I thought I’d suppressed over a year ago when Charlene went into the hospital. Monique brought out the weakness in me, the one part of being a Christian that I found the hardest to control. She brought out the lust in me. I could still feel the soft tenderness of the kiss she gave me. My mind couldn’t block the images of Monique’s beautiful body or the way her backside looked in those tight pants as she bent over to retrieve her cell phone. And I wondered if she’d felt the chemistry I’d been feeling throughout the evening, or if I had just become paranoid because of the seeds planted by James’s words.

  I picked up my cell phone and plugged in my hands-free device, then dialed James’s number. He answered on the second ring, sounding out of breath. “Hel … lo?”

  “James, it’s T.K.”

  “What’s up, Bishop?” he huffed. “You think I can call you tomorrow? I’m a little busy here, if you know what I mean.” There was no doubt in my mind James had a woman at his place.

  “Look, I’m sorry to call you so late, but I really just need a minute. This is important.”

  “Aw’ight, Bishop. Hold on a second.” I knew he’d covered up the phone because the background noise disappeared. But he came back right away. “What’s on your mind, Bishop?”

  Now that I was on the spot, I was at a loss for words. Having lustful thoughts was one thing, but expressing them to someone else, whether he’s your best friend or not, was another.

  “Bishop, you there?”

  “Yes, James, I’m here.” I took a deep breath before I spoke. “What do you think about me seeing Monique Johnson?”

  His answer did not come as quickly as I thought it would.

  “Are you talking about big-tittie Monique Johnson?” James finally asked.

  “That’s not very nice, James. And I think you know who I’m talking about. There’s only one Monique Johnson that we both know.”

  I could hear him sigh into the phone, and I knew his answer before he spoke. “Are we talking about seeing her behind closed doors or publicly?”

  I did not like the way he asked his question, nor did I like his tone.

  “Publicly, of course.”

  “What are you, crazy?” he hollered into the phone. “Do you have any idea what that woman could do to your career as bishop of our church? If you have a death wish, Bishop, why don’t you just put a fucking gun to your head? It’d be a lot quicker.” I had to hold the phone away from my ear. I’d never heard him speak to me like this.

  “What exactly is that supposed to mean? She’s a good Christian woman, James.”

  “Yeah, she’s a good Christian woman, all right—with a reputation for screwing every man with Deacon or Trustee in front of his name. And now it looks like she’s set her sights on one with Bishop in front of his name.”

  “Oh, really?” I snapped. “Have you slept with her? ‘Cause everyone knows you’re the biggest male whore in our church.” I regretted the words as soon as I uttered them. What was it about this woman, whose reputation was every bit as bad as James said it was, that made me jump to her defense so quickly? True, as a man of God, I would defend any member of my congregation against unproven rumors, but perhaps not as vigorously as I was defending Sister Monique. Something about her intrigued me, and it was more than just her shapely figure. I would need some time to sort out these feelings.

  There was silence on the line for a few seconds. I knew I’d hurt James’s feelings.

  “I resent that, Bishop,” James finally replied. “And no, I haven’t slept with her.”

  “My point exactly. So what makes you think everyone else has?”

  “I hear things, Bishop. People talk.”

  This time I chuckled. “They talk about you, James, but that doesn’t stop me from hanging around you. What did I tell you about listening to unfounded rumors? Even if they did sleep with her, what self-respecting deacon or trustee would go around bragging he’d slept with Sister Johnson? I hate to say this, James, but I’m pretty sure this rumor was started by my wife … God rest her soul. Sister Johnson and Charlene never got along. Matter of fact, Charlene hated her.”

  “Nonetheless, Bishop, the rumors are still planted inside the heads of the women in the church. Showing up with her at church one Sunday would be like dropping an atom bomb on Manhattan. Nothing will ever be the same.”

  “Well, then I guess I’ve got something to think about, don’t I?”

  “T.K., as your friend, I’m telling you right now, don’t do anything stupid. If you wanna roll in the hay with Monique for a little while, I’ll point everyone in the opposite direction. But you can’t take that woman out in public.”

  “Can’t—” I stopped myself before I spoke to my friend more harshly than I wanted. “You know what, James? I’m gonna say good evening. And in the future, don’t tell me what I can or cannot do!” I hung up the phone angrily.

  I was tempted to call him back. I shouldn’t have yelled at him that way. I just hated the judgmental attitudes of some of the more vocal members of my church. I hadn’t even made a decision to move on after my wife’s death, and already tongues were wagging—or at least James’s was—about my taste in women. I know James thought he was protecting my reputation and my career from the churchpeople who would be scrutinizing my every move, but who were they to tell me who I could or couldn’t see? I knew Monique Johnson had a bad reputation. My own wife helped create it because of her jealousy. What James, Charlene, and the rest of the church needed to recognize was that despite her faults, Monique was a good Christian woman who participated in every church function she could, unlike others in our congregation.

  I pulled into my driveway. Just as I got out of the car, my phone rang. I quickly answered, thinking it was James. I was glad to have the opportunity to apologize and explain myself.

  “James?”

  “No, Thomas Kelly, it’s not James. This is Marlene. How’re you doing?”

  “I’m good, Marlene. How are you doing?” I was happy to hea
r from her. I could talk to Marlene about almost anything. “I saw you in church last Sunday. Why didn’t you stick around and say hello?”

  “Oh, I left Aubrey at home alone, and I had promised him we could go buy some sneakers on the Avenue.”

  “Okay. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” I checked my watch. “It’s pretty late. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine. I was just thinking about you, and I was hoping we could get together for dinner. I’d love to sit around and chat. I miss talking to you, Thomas Kelly.”

  “I miss talking to you, too, Marlene. With Charlene gone, I miss having a woman to talk to about something other than church business.”

  “That’s exactly why I thought we should talk. So, when are you free?”

  With the seeds of change planted in my head by James’s words, I could use someone to talk to. Marlene and I had a history together, and she knew me before I was Bishop T.K. Wilson. She knew me when I was just a man, and she accepted me with all my habits and flaws. Maybe she would be able to advise me on how I should proceed if I decided I was ready to start dating. At least I knew Marlene wouldn’t be concerned like others in the church about the reputation of whichever woman I chose. If anyone understood the ability of the human spirit to redeem itself after past mistakes, Marlene did. I knew she wouldn’t judge Monique as harshly as James had.

  “The only day I’ve got free is this Wednesday night after Bible study,” I told her. “How about we take a ride over to City Island and get us some crab legs and shrimp?”

  “Mmmm, that sounds good. I love crab legs.”

  “You sure do. Remember the time we went to Captain George’s in Richmond and you ate so many crabs from the buffet they wouldn’t bring any more out?” We both laughed.

  “Uh-huh, that’s when I started to eat all the shrimp they had.” “Girl, you sure could eat back then. I still don’t know how you could eat so much and stay so skinny.”

  “I wish I could do it now, ‘cause everything I eat goes right to my hips.”

  “Trust me. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. I think you have nice hips.” Now why did I just say that? I wondered. Because it’s true.

  “Thomas Kelly, have you been looking at my hips?”

  I was silent for a while; then I decided to tell the truth like you can do only with a woman you’ve had a child with. “Marlene, I hope you don’t take offense to this, but I’ve always looked at your hips. It’s been a very bad habit since we were kids. Please forgive me.” For the last sentence, I put on my most sarcastic voice.

  “Please forgive you, huh? Negro, please.” She burst out laughing, and I joined in. “Thomas Kelly Wilson, you are a trip. I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor and let this bishop stuff go to your head.”

  “I’m still the same man inside that I’ve always been, Marlene. I just let the Lord guide my heart,” I said sincerely. “Look, why don’t you meet me at the church on Wednesday just in case I’m running late? I really can’t wait to see you.”

  “Wednesday night after Bible study. It’s a date.”

  We said our good-byes, then I hung up the phone. For a second there, I had to admit I got a little nervous when I heard the word date. James had me paranoid, I guess. Then I realized it was my good friend Marlene, and there was no way she would be caught up in this church nonsense about finding a new first lady.

  5

  SAVANNAH

  I was standing in the kitchen thumbing down the dough of the crust that would hold the best peach cobbler I’d ever made. Before pouring in the filling, I scooped up a little with the tip of my index finger, just to confirm what I already knew.

  “Delicious,” I said as I licked every drop off my fingertip. I had used just the right amount of each ingredient, although in doing so I went against the way my mama had taught me to prepare the family’s favorite recipe. I used measuring cups for this one. No way was I chancing too much of a pinch of this and too little of a hint of that. After all, this cobbler was for the head of the church himself.

  I still could hardly believe that my daddy had set it up for me to have dinner with Bishop T.K. Wilson. It wasn’t that I didn’t think Bishop Wilson was a fine man. It was just that I had no interest in him in the way Daddy wanted me to—at least not yet anyway.

  “Umm, umm, umm,” my daddy said as he entered the kitchen, nostrils flared, inhaling the aroma of the splendid meal I had prepared. “If you ain’t good for nothing else to a man, you going to be good for taking care of his appetite. The bishop is going to be back every Sunday after he gets some of your cooking, little girl.”

  “If there’s any left by the time he gets here,” I said, stepping away from the cobbler and smacking the back of Daddy’s hand, which held the ladle that had just fed him a mouthful of my homemade chicken and dumplings. “Mama never liked it when you ate out of the pots while she was cooking, so what makes you think I wouldn’t mind?”

  “Oh, you can hardly compare your cooking to your mama’s,” Daddy said as he stared off, thinking back to when my mother was alive and how she’d start preparing Sunday dinner at six in the morning. “Now, you might have her on that cobbler of yours, but as far as everything else? Humph. Not even close. You got some years of practice before you’ll even be fit to lick the bowls she cooked in. That’s why you need to work on getting you a husband. What better practice than cooking for your husband every day? Your mama loved cooking for me. That woman gave me everything I needed.”

  “Everything,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes as I put the top dough across the filling and placed the cobbler in the oven.

  I must admit, it was good to see a smile on Daddy’s face as he reminisced about him and Mama. I just wish he didn’t always have to put me down in the process. But that was Daddy for you. I think the only time he ever spared me a compliment was when it came to my peach cobbler.

  “Girl, you put your foot in this one,” Daddy said as he licked the bowl that had held the filling for the cobbler. He headed toward the kitchen door, but not before stopping to steal one more bite from the pot of chicken and dumplings.

  “Daddy, what did I just say about eating out of the pot?” I playfully scolded.

  “Is that the real reason, or you just don’t want nobody else besides the bishop getting any of your cooking?” Daddy asked.

  “Cut it out and give me that,” I said, smiling at him and taking the ladle from his hand. As I stirred the chicken and dumplings, I couldn’t help but start having doubts about the bishop’s reasons for wanting to share a meal with me. “Daddy, you sure this was all the bishop’s idea, wanting me to prepare a dinner for him?”

  “He said himself that he just loves that peach cobbler of yours,” Daddy said, nodding toward the oven.

  “Oh, yes, the cobbler. Thanks for reminding me,” I said as I hurried over to set the timer.

  “Timer? Your mama never cooked with no timer. She could wake up out of a deep sleep and know that it was time to take the food out of the oven.” He shooed with his hand. “But anyway, why wouldn’t the bishop want to have dinner with you, Savannah?”

  I shrugged. I mean, certainly I could think of a few reasons, but if I dare got started, the list would certainly take us into Monday morning’s breakfast. Of course, there was my age to consider. Being thirty-five years old didn’t make me a spring chicken, but with the bishop being ten years my senior, it still pushed me into the “younger woman” stereotype that most men try to avoid after a divorce or the death of their spouse. Oh, that would definitely give the church gossipers something to talk about. Some of the other folks in the choir already commented about all the solos I did, solos of which I felt I was most deserving. I might not be able to reach five octaves like that Mariah Carey, but I knew that God had indeed anointed me with the vocals to minister His word. But just imagine if the bishop were to show me any special kind of attention. Oooh, them heifers would sure enough have something to say then.


  And there was the fact that I was not nearly as outgoing and aggressive as some of those other women at the church. Of course, the bishop appeared to be oblivious to the fact that ever since the first lady passed away, the dresses had been getting shorter and the slits in the skirts had been getting higher. I’ve always been a quiet girl, though, and I didn’t plan on changing to get no man, either. But then again, we weren’t talking about just any man; we were talking about the bishop.

  “I can’t think of a reason why the bishop wouldn’t want to have dinner with you, either,” Daddy said with conviction. “Savannah, sweetheart.” Daddy walked over to me and took my hands. “Don’t doubt who you are. You are worthy. Look what all you’ve been through. The Bible says the suffering can’t be compared to the glory. Well, now it’s time for you to partake in the glory. You deserve this.”

  I couldn’t believe this was actually my father holding my hands and speaking to me with such heartfelt sincerity. I had almost forgotten just how critical of me he could be. But it didn’t take long for him to remind me.

  “I mean, sure, every now and then you hit a bad note during your solos, and you could stand to change that hairdo of yours every once in a while, but overall, you’re a good girl, Savannah. A good woman. And you’re gonna make a good wife someday, too, with a little hard work. I mean, ya gotta start doing more with yourself. You know what I mean. A woman’s gotta use her body to get what she wants sometimes.” He slugged me on the shoulder as if I were one of his pals.

  “Yeah, well"—I sighed—"you know the Lord gives us a spirit of discernment, and something just tells me that—” Before I could finish my sentence, the doorbell rang.

  “It’s him!” Daddy said, sounding more excited than I felt that the bishop was coming for dinner. Come to think of it, he probably was more excited, because nervous more accurately described the emotion I was overcome by. “You go on to your room and get dressed. I’ll keep the bishop company.”