Diary of a Mad First Lady (9 page)

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. My heart and stomach simultaneously did somersaults and my palms became sweaty. I calmly walked to the front, and with my award-winning smile of the day shining brightly on my face, I opened the door.

Immediately, my enthusiasm was drained out of me, and without having to look, I’m sure that my color followed close behind it.

“Can I help you?” I asked, not disguising my disgust.

The man at the door was dressed in a dusty black suit, a white shirt that held a crooked black tie, and had two gold teeth in the center of his mouth.

The ’80s-old Jheri curl had strands of his hair stuck to his face, causing his skin to shine from the grease. He had a wide smile, and was looking at a piece of wrinkled paper in his hand. Then, he allowed his eyes to do a once over of me.

“Are you Ms. Daphne Carlton?”

“Who wants to know?” I said with my attitude still intact.

His smile no longer there, he said, “Ma’am, I’ve been sent here to take you to Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Church.” The man grew impatient. “Are you planning to go or not?”

A slight grin turned the corner of my mouth at the thought of Darvin sending a driver for me. I realized that I’d struck gold—literally—and hadn’t even been in the Peach State for an entire week. I looked up to the invisible heavens and gave God thanks for hooking a sister up!

“Forgive me. Let me get my purse.” I grabbed my Prada bag from the couch, and turned to meet my driver. “Ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, let’s go then.” I locked the door to my apartment and could hardly wait to see what type of car Darvin had sent for me.

As I walked gleefully down the corridor to the elevator, the man must have noticed my sudden excitement.

“It’s been a while since I’ve picked up anyone that’s been this excited about going to church.” He pressed the down arrow on the elevator control panel. “I can’t wait to tell Pastor. He’ll be glad to know that.”

“I must admit, God has certainly been good to me, and I’m thrilled to be standing in the direct flow of his blessings.”

The man just smiled as the elevator door opened and we stepped inside.

I could hardly contain my excitement on the short elevator ride to the first floor. I was completely consumed by my thoughts of Darvin. He barely knew me, and already he was making some impressive moves. His interest in me must have been just as intense as mine was in him.

We stepped off of the elevator and walked through the revolving doors that led from the lobby to outside. Had it not been for the van that was blocking my view of the car Darvin had sent for me, I probably would have floated right to it.

The man in the dusty suit stepped up to the van, opened the door, and extended his hand toward me. I looked at him with eyes of confusion, and the smile on his face suddenly looked sickening to me.

“Ms. Carlton, your chariot awaits,” he said as he pointed to the vehicle.

The big white blob parked in front of me was in no way a chariot. The oversized red letters boldly displayed on the side of it read:

MOUNT
ZION
BAPTIST
CHURCH
. . .
A
CHURCH
WITH
A
VISION
.

I blinked my eyes over and over in hopes of making the van and the man disappear. I simply could not believe that Darvin would send this man, who looked as if he had just stepped out of the
Soul Train
line, to give me a ride to church. The nerve of him.

“Ms.,” he said impatiently, “I wish I could stand here all night, but I have other people to pick up. Are you going or not?”

If visions of Darvin and his kindness earlier in the day hadn’t suddenly come to mind, I would have marched through the same doors that I’d just exited, and gone back to my apartment. But I figured that the least I could do was go to his church to pay him back for giving me a ride home. And besides, he was as fine as the day was long. Surely, there was a good explanation behind this whole thing.

So, I reluctantly entered the van and was immediately greeted by an elderly woman wearing a dress that looked as if it dated back to the ’70s, and a small boy who appeared to be her grandson.

I returned the greeting with a simple nod of my head. Had it not been for the fear of wrinkling the expensive suit that I was wearing, I would have sunk deep into the seat with no regard for anyone noticing that I existed.

I was so grateful that no one knew me in Atlanta, because I wouldn’t have been caught riding in a van to church.

I survived the ride and was in awe when we drove up to the massive edifice. I don’t know why I was expecting anything less, because Darvin didn’t seem to be the type to be affiliated with anything other than the best. On the other hand, I didn’t think he would send the church bus to pick me up, but he did. I thanked God that the ride home would be different, and it was that thought that brought the sunshine back into my day.

The driver came around and opened the door for all of the passengers and I carefully stepped out. Since it was my first time attending, I had no clue where to go. The other passengers seemed to be so familiar with what to do, so I followed everyone else.

I walked into the spacious foyer of the sanctuary and beheld the expensive chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I admired the marble tile that appeared to have been flown in from another country, as well as the life-size statues of lions that were protected by chain ropes. I was more than impressed with what I saw, and I was eagerly looking forward to the service that was yet to begin. I’d been in church all of my life, but had never really gotten involved. I felt a change coming on, and from the looks of it, Mount Zion Baptist Church would benefit from my plethora of talents. My mother used to always tell me that if I didn’t start using the gifts God gave me, He would eventually take them away. Now that I was about to have me a churchgoing man, I certainly didn’t need that to happen.

I followed the signs that led to the sanctuary and walked inside. If the foyer wasn’t enough to capture your attention, the sanctuary didn’t disappoint.

With TV cameras, special lights, and the plush carpet, the atmosphere was breathtaking. Mount Zion was definitely the opposite of what I was accustomed to seeing at home in Florida. The church that I grew up in was a small white church that had wooden floors and pews, yellow jackets buzzing in the summer, and the smell of fried chicken in every room. So, this was a new perspective of church, and I was enjoying it already.

I took a seat in the back of the third section about midway down the row, hoping to catch a glimpse of Darvin before the worship service began.

I also took a moment to survey the environment. There were women pacing the floor, microphones in hand, praying for the pastor and his wife, praying for the flow of the service, and for all of the souls that would soon come to Christ. Admiration filled my eyes at the sight of those women, and hope filled my heart, that maybe one day I could pray with such power and conviction.

Other parishioners filed into the sanctuary as the service prepared to start. The musicians took their places on the instruments, and before long, we were all standing and swaying to the sounds of rich gospel music. I kept scanning the audience for Darvin, but he was nowhere in sight. I’d purposely sat in the back so that I could get a good look at everyone who came in, but even after twenty minutes, Darvin was not one of the ones sitting amongst the worshipers.

I was frustrated, to say the least. Not only had he invited me to his church and failed to pick me up, it looked as though he’d decided not to attend. That meant I would have to ride that silly van back home. All of a sudden, neither the service nor the appealing features of the sanctuary were enough to calm my nerves. Darvin had lost major points in my book, and I intended to let him know if I ever saw him again.

I tried to assure myself that since the church was so large, maybe I’d missed seeing him come in.

Before long, the entire sanctuary had filled to capacity, and it was getting harder and harder to maintain my view of the front. Lost in my thoughts, I heard a man come to the microphone and call everyone to attention.

“Brothers and sisters of Mount Zion, we want to thank you for coming out tonight to our weekly worship service. We certainly hope that something has been said or done thus far that will richly bless your life in the days to come, and for those of you visiting, we pray that you will come back to worship with us again.” He took a brief pause as members began to respond to his comment with hand claps. After things had calmed down, he resumed speaking.

“Well, saints, it’s time.” The church erupted in shouts and screams as the musicians played louder than they had previously. I hated to admit that their outburst scared me half to death.

The man continued. “It’s time to hear a Word from the Lord! It’s time for your breakthrough! It’s time for your healing! Now, are you ready?”

People all over the building stood, shouted, and applauded their agreement.

“Let’s prepare to receive the man of God who’s been sent to Mount Zion to lead us and deliver this life-changing Word.”

Everybody stood to their feet and I followed suit.

“Let’s give it up for our pastor, Pastor Darvin Johnson!” Before he could get the words out of his mouth, the screams erupted again. Except mine.

I was convinced that the Earth had ceased turning on its axis and that I was in one of those nightmares that went in slow motion. Did he just say Pastor Darvin Johnson?

As Darvin approached the podium, the screams got louder. And as for me, I wanted to reduce myself to a liquid and pour myself down the nearest drain.
Shock
was not the word to describe my emotions. As a matter of fact, there were no words in the English language to describe how I felt. Why didn’t Darvin tell me that he was a pastor?

I tried to shake away all of this newfound information with a motion of my head, but it didn’t work. Darvin was still standing in the pulpit in what appeared to be a tailor-made suit, and he was preparing to speak. Lord knows he looked good; however, it was no excuse not to enlighten me on his occupation.

Would this change anything for us? I had never met a pastor other than the one who’d baptized me when I was nine years old. But wait a minute; didn’t every pastor have a first lady?

My heart started skipping beats. Was he married? Sure, he wasn’t wearing a ring earlier, but was that because he forgot it at home?

Once again, with a motion of my head, I tried to dismiss the thought of him being married. He couldn’t be. He was supposed to be my man, not anyone else’s.

“First, I give honor to God, who’s the head of my life,” he spoke. “And second, I give honor to my beautiful wife, Michelle, who’s the love of my life.”

The remainder of what he said, as well as the service, whizzed by in a blur. All I could think about was the fact that some woman named Michelle was married to my man. God, this was so unfair. If this was God’s idea of a joke, I didn’t find it funny at all.

Somehow, when the service was over, I managed to unglue myself from my seat and exit the sanctuary as everyone else. Still in a daze, I bumped into a man who I didn’t have to see to know who he was. By the smell of his cologne, I knew that it was Darvin. Pastor Darvin.

Realizing that it was me who’d bumped into him, he said, “Sister Daphne, I’m glad that you made it.” He then nudged his wife, who was greeting other parishioners, and said, “Honey, this is Sister Daphne Carlton. She’s the woman I told you I gave a ride home today.”

She turned, and immediately my eyes grew big. It was the woman from the diner! Looking like she’d just come back from shopping at a yard sale, her smile vanished.

Michelle extended her hand, and if it weren’t for all the eyes on me, I would have tried to break it off and slap her with it. Instead, I extended my hand to her as well. However, my handshake didn’t symbolize a greeting; my handshake was a sign of battle.

And secretly, with my eyes, I told her that the best woman would win.

Most women were intimidated by me; she was no different. I could feel it, and it showed in her eyes. My smile returned because getting my man from her would more than likely be a breeze.

“It’s nice to see you again, and don’t you look. . .” I took a moment to scan the likes of the yard-sale outfit. “Lovely. You look lovely.”

Her nose flared. “You look rather, um, nice yourself,” she said, trying to mask her apparent irritation.

I guess Darvin could feel the tension brewing between us and decided to intervene. “Ladies, I’m going to step over here and finish greeting the others. Daphne, please don’t leave until I speak with you further.”

Michelle could have choked on her tongue.

“Sure, Pastor. I would love to speak with you in private,” I said, hoping to irritate Michelle even more.

It seemed to work. The fire in her eyes would have consumed me if the water of my confidence hadn’t put it out.

Chapter Nine

Daphne

I had been waiting to speak with Darvin for more than ten minutes, and my patience was wearing thin.