And You Call Yourself A Christian (13 page)

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Authors: E. N. Joy

BOOK: And You Call Yourself A Christian
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Chapter Twenty-three
“If I have to get rid of my tats, then I guess I just won't be joining the dance ministry,” Kiki said as she and Unique sat in their tiny cell.
Unique couldn't help but burst out laughing. Why? Because that is the same thing she'd said when someone at New Day had mentioned to her about joining the dance ministry. And now, as she sat there trying to minister to Kiki, she couldn't believe her cell mate had said the exact same thing.
Still chuckling, Unique replied, “But girl, after watching you just dance to that slow jam like you were telling a story, I can only imagine if you were telling a story for the Lord. You'd have everybody up in the church catching the Holy Ghost.”
Not just five minutes ago Kiki had been listening to the radio. When one of her favorite slow jams came on, she began to move and sway like a ballerina.
“You flow like a butterfly,” Unique had complimented. “When you get out of here, you should come visit my church and see about joining the dance ministry.” Unique had eyeballed the thin white girl with blond hair that was French braided down her back. Although thin, she had slightly muscular arms. Not the Venus and Serena Williams kind, though. More like the Madonna kind. Her long legs did straight and perfect kicks. Her body twisted in ways Unique didn't even know a body could twist.
“Dance? In a church?” Kiki had replied.
“Yes, girl. I know; I thought the same thing when I first started going to church, and they introduced the dance ministry. I was like, ‘Word? Oh, I'm gonna like it here. I didn't know the Lord be gettin' crunked.'” Both women laughed. “But no, for real, it wasn't even that kind of dance that people do at parties and clubs. It was . . . it was ...” Unique searched for words to describe it, but she fell short. “You'd just have to see it, and you'd have to see it done right. Because some folks just get out there to entertain. But, honey, when you get someone out there whose mind is set on ministering the Word of God through dance ... let me tell you ...”
Kiki had been hanging on to Unique's every word. Kiki had thought about how much church sure had changed since her mother would drag her there on Easter Sunday when she was a little girl. They would have never allowed any dance in the old Baptist church she'd gone to. But then again, if times are changing like that, then, who knows? That old Baptist church on the hill could have the best dance ministry in the country for all she knew. But she wouldn't know. She didn't want to know. She was in prison. To Kiki, she might as well have had the word “sinner” stamped on her forehead. So church was no place for a sinner like her ... was it?
“You can't just go out there and dance though,” Unique had told her. “Just like with any other type of dance, there is some training involved. There is practice. They even have rules.”
“Rules? Like what?” Kiki wasn't one to follow rules, or laws, obviously.
“Well, not actually rules, more like bylaws.” Unique had sat back and recalled what some of the bylaws were she'd been told when she looked into being on the New Day dance ministry. “There are certain garments you have to wear to dance in. You can't wear jewelry while you dance ... or makeup. And you can't have loud colored polish on your nails. If you do wear polish or rings, though, you can cover them with gloves, but other than that ...”
“And what is the deal with makeup? Wouldn't you want to look pretty out there on the dance floor?” Kiki had questioned.
“If you were dancing for the world, maybe. But when dancing for the Lord, you'd rather look like Jesus than look pretty.”
Unique could tell by the way Kiki scrunched up her face that she didn't get it, so she tried to explain it the way it had been explained to her. “A praise dancer, which is what the dancers are referred to, has to humble him or herself when she goes to minister. It's not about them. It's not about whether they look cute. Jesus didn't look cute hanging on the cross. And when the praise dancer is telling that story about Christ through song, the audience needs to see Christ in that dancer, and they shouldn't have to see it through layers of makeup or long, multicolored acrylic nails. That's a distraction.
“Instead of looking at the dancer's eyes and finding the emotion of the song in facial expressions, all you see is how cute her dual eye makeup looks, or how perfectly lined her lips are. You start making mental notes to ask her where she bought the makeup from. Your mind gets diverted from the Christ in the dancer and the message she's trying to relay. Same with jewelry. You don't want the audience to see the bling-bling in your ears or on your wrist or neck. The only light you want to cast is the light of Jesus. It's just about humbling yourself—going out there naked before the Lord, giving Him yourself plain and simple, just as you are.”
“What if you go out and get your nose pierced or something? They expect you to take that out every time you dance?”
“Piercings ... And tattoos can't show either.”
That's when Kiki made the comment that had Unique laughing and reminiscing in the first place. “If I have to get rid of my tats, then I guess I just won't be joining the dance ministry.”
“That's exactly what I said,” Unique laughed. “But if you already have tattoos, you just make sure you try to cover them up as best you can.
“One day this dance ministry from a women's shelter came and ministered at our church. One of the women had a tattoo on her neck. To this day, I can't tell you what song they ministered to, how they danced, or anything. I was much too distracted and focused on that tattoo on her neck.”
“But what was she supposed to do about that?”
“They have turtleneck bodysuits you can wear under your garments.”
Kiki shrugged. “Yeah, I guess that does make sense. But still, that's too many rules. Why can't a sista just go to church?”
Unique gave Kiki the once-over. “Sista?”
“Yeah, mama. White girls can be sistas too. I thought you knew.” Kiki twisted her neck and snapped her fingers.
“Oh, I know. Our pastor is white, but I say she's more like a chameleon. She can transform into being like whomever the person is she's trying to minister to. If she's ministering to a black person, a white person, an Asian, a Latino, or whatever, it's like she knows how to relate to their world. She's kind of like Apostle Paul.”
“Paul? Apostrophe? Who's that?”
Unique stifled her laugh and just smiled and shook her head. “How about I introduce you to him after lunch?” Unique had been given a Bible by the prison minister. She was going to read to Kiki about Paul from it.
“He's in here?” Kiki's eyes lit up as she looked around the cell.
“Silly, let's just go eat lunch. I'll show you later.” Unique got up, and she and Kiki prepared to go eat. “But even if he were in here, what would you do with a man? After all, you did say you had a girlfriend.” Unique shot her a knowing look.
“Girl, please. Man, woman—I can handle either/or.” Kiki chuckled. “I guess I'm like Apostrophe Paul too.”
Unique rolled her eyes up in her head. “Girl, come on before you get struck by lightning before I can even get you saved.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Initially, Lorain was going to work straight through lunch. She'd only been back to work a few days since taking off after the boys' death. She'd been promoted six months ago. The promotion included additional duties than what she was used to, so her workload had almost doubled. Her pay didn't double, but the workload did. Still, she was grateful for the pay increase that she had received. It came in handy raising two kids.
Hunger ended up creeping up on her in a mighty way. When her boss came into her office to update her on some things, Lorain could barely hear what he was saying over her growling belly. She was so embarrassed. Evidently, though, she was more hungry than embarrassed. After apologizing every few seconds to her boss for the loud interrupting rumble, her boss finally left her office and she realized she wouldn't accomplish much working through lunch as starved as she was. She wouldn't accomplish much for the entire rest of the day if she didn't get something in her stomach.
Deciding she had a taste for the Olive Garden, but not the time to sit down and actually eat her meal there, she decided to order carryout from the Italian eatery. Within a half hour after her boss had left her office, Lorain was up at the Olive Garden picking up her order.
“It will be just five more minutes,” the hostess told Lorain when she arrived at the restaurant.
“No problem,” Lorain replied. There was a bench to sit on and wait, but Lorain stood instead. She didn't want to sit and get too comfortable, giving the appearance that she was okay with the wait. She decided to stand. With her arms folded, she stood as the hostess escorted a couple of patrons to a table. Lorain observed the décor of the place. She'd never taken the time to do that before. It was beautiful. By just looking around the place, really taking it in, one might have thought they actually were in a garden smack in the middle of Italy. Within moments though, Lorain noticed something that made her heart drop to her stomach. No longer feeling as though she were in a garden in Italy, she felt like she was in the Garden of Eden, like Eve, about to do something she might regret. But she couldn't help it as a sheet of steam rose up in her body.
Lorain blinked her eyes at the vision her eyes were glued to. No way did this familiar side profile belong to the person she thought it did. And if that was the person's face, who did the pair of legs on the opposite side of the table belong to?
“Your order is ready,” the hostess told Lorain, extending the carryout bag to her.
The steaming aroma rising from the bag made Lorain's belly growl its loudest yet. That wasn't the only thing that was about to get loud. That wasn't the only thing that was steaming.
Not taking her eyes off of her subject for a single moment, Lorain passed right by the woman while saying, “Just one moment, please.”
She proceeded to walk over to the table where her eyes had been fixated on for the last few moments. The closer she got, the more she was convinced that she was right on the money; that this familiar-looking person was
exactly
who she thought it was.
“Nicholas?” Lorain said once she was at an angle where there was no doubt it was him. That angle just happened to be right smack in front of him.
“Well, hello—” He went to stand.
“No, sit.” She held her hand out, stopping him. She looked over at the woman sitting across from him. “Oh, so she gets lunch at the Olive Garden, and all I ever got was hospital cafeteria food?” Lorain spat out of pure jealousy. It was jealousy, and she knew it was jealousy. She knew that emotion was not of God. Right about now, though, she wasn't trying to be about her Father's business. She was about giving Nicholas
the
business.
Still recognizing the fact that she was on her lunch break, Lorain didn't have time to dance around the situation; the situation being that she was appalled to see Nicholas out with another woman just days after their breakup.
“Excuse me?” Nicholas appeared baffled. This insulted Lorain even more, because she thought Nicholas was about to pretend he didn't even know who she was in front of this other woman.
“Oh, you're excused all right. Excused and dismissed!” Lorain spat. She folded her arms across her chest, and then stood there waiting to see what Dr. McHottie had to say for himself.
“Look, Lorain, I think you might be confused about what's going on here.” Nicholas looked at the woman dining with him and smiled. “This is—”
Lorain cut him off. She didn't care who this woman was. Well, she cared, but she didn't want to know. She didn't want to know who this woman was that he'd just smiled at differently than he'd ever smiled at her. He smiled at her so knowingly. Like he knew her well, and she knew him. Like they knew each other better than any two people possibly could. Someone who Lorain felt Nicholas knew far better than he had known her.
“No need for introductions,” Lorain spat. “I'm sure the chances are slim to none that I'll ever come into contact with her again anyway.” Lorain only nodded toward the woman. She didn't want to just look at her; she wanted to look at her
real
good. She wanted to give her the once-over to see just how beautiful the woman was who'd captured Nicholas's eyes in a matter of days. The last thing she wanted to do, though, was have visions of that woman in her head the rest of her days as she perhaps wondered about what could have—should have—been between her and Nicholas. She shook her head. No no no! She was not going to look in that woman's direction.
Staring Nicholas down as if her eyes were shooting daggers, Lorain had no problem with looking at him. “Anyway, I won't keep you, Doctor. I'm not even sure why I came over here in the first place. I guess just shocked that you'd be entertaining the likes of another woman only days after breaking it off with the woman who you'd proposed to—several times.”
Finally, the other woman gave some sign of life as she jerked her head toward Nicholas. “Nicky, you proposed to her? Why didn't you tell me?”
In the first instant, Lorain was all giggly inside. She'd gotten a reaction out of the broad. She figured Nicholas hadn't told her he was fresh out of a serious relationship. But then something the woman had just said put a halt to Lorain's celebration.
Nicky
, Lorain repeated in her head. Already this woman had given him a pet name? Something told Lorain that Nicholas and this woman knew each other beyond a mere few days since their breakup. A hot, scalding lightbulb went off in Lorain's head. Could Nicholas have been seeing this woman on the side? Did he have her waiting in the wings all along just in case Lorain never came around and married him?
Now Lorain was more furious than jealous. “Yeah,
Nicky
, why didn't you tell her?” Lorain questioned. “Why didn't you tell her you practically begged me a million times to be your wife? You told me you could see yourself being with me forever. You told me that ...” Lorain pointed an accusing finger at Nicholas as she went on and on and on, tears building up with every word she spoke.
It felt as if Lorain had gone on forever, running down a list of everything Nicholas had ever said to her pertaining to her being his wife. The entire time Nicholas just sat there looking at Lorain unfazed.
“Are you finished?” Nicholas asked calmly.
Swallowing tears and humiliation for acting out in a public place like that, the only words Lorain had left to say were, “Yes, ... Yes, I am.” She'd said it as though she'd just received an award for her performance; with confidence and grace. On the inside, though, she wanted to crawl up under a rock and die.
“Good,” Nicholas stood, “then Lorain, I'd like you to meet my sister, Sherrie.” He looked at the woman sitting across from him. “Sherrie, this is Lorain, the woman I've been dying for you to meet.” There was definitely a little sarcasm and humor with Nicholas's last statement.
“Shh, Shh, Sherrie?” Lorain stuttered. “Sherrie, as in the sister-who-is-always-out-of-town-on-business-with-her-job Sherrie?”
“That would be me.” Sherrie extended her hand and smiled.
It was then that Lorain recognized her from the family portrait that hung above Nicholas's parents' fireplace. Lorain had been to his parents' house for dinner a couple of times to meet his family. Usually, everyone was in attendance at one time or another. It had been his sister Sherrie who had never been able to make it due to her work schedule. She was out of town more than she was in, which is why she'd opted to still live at home with her parents versus buy a home or pay rent on a place she'd never get to enjoy.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Lorain covered her hand with her mouth. Humiliation didn't begin to explain how she felt. She stared down at Sherrie's extended hand. Too ashamed and too embarrassed at this being how their first meeting turned out, she ran off, leaving Sherrie's hand hanging, Nicholas's face hanging, and the hostess hanging on to her food.

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