Lady Elect (14 page)

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Authors: Nikita Lynnette Nichols

BOOK: Lady Elect
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Arykah stood in the middle of her office gaping at Mother Pansie.
I know this broad didn't just walk into my office without knocking and try to front me off
. “First of all, this is
my
office. When my door is shut, you knock, then wait to be invited in.”
“To heck with knocking on a door.” Mother Pansie was hot. “Did you tell Miranda not to stand before the church?”
Arykah placed her hands on her hips. “Yes, I did. Miranda's pregnancy is her personal business. She doesn't owe this church an apology.”
Mother Pansie stepped closer to Arykah. “You can't come into this church and start changing the way thangs is done around here. That young girl needs to confess her sins.”
“Yes, she does. But to God, not the church.”
Mother Pansie had enough. She pointed her finger at Arykah. “You know what? I'm just about tired of you.”
“Hold on now, sister,” Myrtle interjected from the sofa. She sat quietly for as long as she could. Now she must rise. She stood on her feet and positioned herself next to Arykah.
“Lady Arykah is correct,” she said in Arykah's defense. “It is not up to the church to judge.”
Mother Pansie snapped her head back. “And who in the heck are
you?
”
“I'm Myrtle Cortland. I'll be joining the Mothers Board real soon.”
“I don't
think
so,” Mother Pansie countered.
Myrtle stared into Mother Pansie's eyes. “I
know
so. And I got your number six ways from Sunday.” That was Myrtle's way of informing Mother Pansie that she knew all about her and the dirty deeds she had done against Arykah.
“Mother Pansie,” Arykah said, “I know you're old school. You may not like me or some of the decisions that I make. But unwed mothers will no longer be made to stand before the church and ask for forgiveness. That's one of the changes that you and Mother Gussie will have to accept. And please do not walk into my office ever again without knocking. I'd hate for you to catch me and the Bishop in a compromising position. We're still newlyweds, you know.”
Monique hollered and Myrtle chuckled.
Mother Pansie exited and slammed the door behind her. She left with the same storm that she brought into Arykah's office.
Myrtle looked at Arykah. “Sugar Plum, I'm so proud of you.”
Chapter 11
Lance
tried not to stir. But the motorcycle was working his last nerve. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 4:45
A.M.
It was pitch-black outside. He looked up at the ceiling and saw the lines the streetlights made through the mini blinds. The noise from the motorcycle became louder. The idiot was coming down the street again. Lance glanced to his right and didn't see Arykah lying next to him. The motorcycle's engine revved. Angrily, he threw the covers from his body and rushed to the window to see what fool was on the side of his house making the noise so early in the morning. He didn't see anyone on a motorcycle. Then Lance realized the noise was coming from behind him on the opposite side of the master bedroom door.
He turned from the window and walked to the door and yanked it open. Once in the hallway on his way to the living room, he concluded the noise was coming from a vacuum.
Didn't Arykah know what time it was? What would possess her to want to vacuum before daybreak? His intentions were to pull the cord to the vacuum cleaner from the socket and grill his wife about her eagerness to clean house in the wee hours of the morning, but his vision stopped him in his tracks.
Hair pulled back into a tight twenty-inch long ponytail, and an
extremely
short red silk camisole revealing oversized breasts that gave a bowl of Jell-O a run for its money caused Lance to pause. But it was the thigh-high, five-inch cheetah-print boots that looked as though they had been painted on Arykah's legs that brought drool to Lance's lips. He swallowed. Then he swallowed again. Arykah literally made Lance's mouth water.
Arykah had seen the boots in a
Frederick's of Hollywood
magazine. The skinny chick that modeled the boots had to be a size double zero, and Arykah knew there wasn't a chance in heaven the boots would wrap around her legs and thighs the way they wrapped around the extremely thin model's legs and thighs. So, Arykah did what she did best. She purchased the boots, paid extra for overnight delivery, and took the boots to the tailor who had, on many other occasions, altered boots to fit her proportion. When she was told that a whole yard of material was needed to carry out the task, Arykah wasted no time heading to the nearest fabric store.
Truth be told, Arykah thought the boots were trashy. That's why she had to have them. She wouldn't be caught dead wearing the boots out in public. But in her mind, nothing was too trashy for the bedroom, her and Lance's playground.
If the congregation at Freedom Temple knew what kinds of toys and gadgets their pastor enjoyed playing with, they'd shame him and leave the church.
The boots were just another prop that would stay hidden from the outside world. When the fun was over, Arykah would be sure to lock the boots away in a treasure chest she kept hidden in her closet. The boots would be an addition to the handcuffs, whips, and feathers already stored there.
She knew Lance was there. Knew he was watching. Arykah didn't acknowledge his presence, but she decided to put on a show for him. With her right hand on the vacuum cleaner handle, Arykah pushed it forward. She also stepped forward seductively with her right foot. Then she stepped backward with her right foot and brought the vacuum cleaner back to its starting point. She repeated the motion over and over again.
Arykah seemed to be doing the cha-cha. Lance had never seen someone vacuum so sexily. She pushed the vacuum, then pulled it back; pushed it forward again, then pulled it back. She had a rhythm going, but all Lance could concentrate on were the thigh-high cheetah-print boots and the Jell-O
.
Arykah looked at the grandfather clock next to the fireplace. It was time. She shut the power off on the vacuum, stood it upright, then turned toward the laundry room. Lance watched as she sashayed in the boots and followed her like an obedient puppy. Her hips swayed from side to side as she walked.
Swoosh, swoosh
. It was like she was wading in water.
He didn't know where Arykah was going, but Lance wanted to remain in her company. He trailed her through the kitchen to the laundry room.
Lance saw Arykah use a stepping stool to climb on top of the washing machine and sit down. He was intrigued. “What in the world are you doing?”
As soon as he asked the question, the spin cycle on the washing machine started.
Her body vibrated.
Oh my God
. Lance couldn't believe his eyes. The Jell-O, the boots, the Jell-O, the boots.
Arykah was wiggling uncontrollably. “You have about three minutes,” her voice was slightly above a whisper.
“To do what?”
“To shake with me.”
Lance never knew that love so early in the morning could be so good.
Hours after the fun in the laundry room, Lance had left for church. Since Arykah didn't have any appointments the entire day, she decided to devote her time to searching the Internet for Italian drapes. Jeremy Montahue's offer for the estate in Belfor had been accepted, and Arykah was keeping up her end of the bargain to redecorate the home office.
In the master bedroom, she propped her pillows against the headboard, then sat on the bed and rested her back against them. She extended her legs forward, then set her notebook on her lap. She logged on to the Internet to Google Italian drapes when her cellular telephone rang. She grabbed the telephone from her nightstand and saw Monique's number on the caller ID.
“Hey, doll,” Arykah greeted.
“Hey, yourself. Your voice mail at the realty office informed me that you wouldn't be in the office today.”
“That would be true,” Arykah stated.
“So, what's going on? Are you feeling all right?”
“Yeah, I'm fine. I don't have any appointments today, so I decided to stay home and work on designing the home office in the Belfor estate. I have to present Jeremy with wood flooring samples and paint samples. I'm searching the Web for Italian drapes right now.”
“Oh, wow,” Monique said. “You're at home, but you're just as busy as you'd be had you gone into the office.”
“For the commission that I'll receive for selling the Belfor estate, I truly don't mind. The closing is in three weeks, and I promised Jeremy that the home office would be complete and to his satisfaction a week after closing.” Arykah exhaled. “So, what's going on with you?”
Monique was driving on the Dan Ryan Expressway heading north to WGOD radio station where she worked as a senior executive producer. “I got a call from Amaryllis last night. She said that she and Bridgette can't make the fat girl party next Saturday night.”
“Are you kidding me, Monique? What is their issue?”
“According to Amaryllis, her guy, Charles, bought tickets to see Steve Harvey and Nephew Tommy at the Arie Crown Theater for next Saturday. Charles didn't know that we had scheduled the party for that night.”
“Okay. But why can't Bridgette come?”
“Bridgette will be out of town on business.”
Arykah was disappointed. She looked forward to the monthly fat girl parties. They were when she could be herself, act a fool, and not worry about being judged or criticized for her behavior. “Well, I guess Bridgette's gotta do what she's gotta do for her job.”
“And we can't expect Amaryllis to stand her man up,” Monique added.
“So, it'll be just you and me, huh?”
“Unless you want to invite someone else.”
Bringing someone else into the circle had never crossed Arykah's mind. Since the first fat girl party almost a year ago, the parties had only consisted of herself, Monique, Amaryllis, and Bridgette. “Someone like whom?”
Arykah couldn't see Monique shrug her shoulders. “I don't know. Is there anyone else you'd like to invite?”
Arykah thought about Monique's question. “You mean like women from the church?”
“Well, a handful of ladies have warmed up to you, right?”
“Just a few, but I don't feel comfortable bringing anyone from the church into my personal world. You know I likes ta drop it like it's hot, and I don't want, nor do I need, any witnesses.”
Monique laughed. “I know that's right.”
Suddenly, Arykah had an epiphany. “You know what, Monique? Inviting a few of the women from the church may not be such a bad idea after all. But not for the fat girl party. I'd rather keep that part of my life separate.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Yesterday, after church, I told Chelsea that I'd be in touch with her to be a part of something I wanted to do. Ever since Lance made me realize that it was partly my own fault that the women shunned me, I decided to do something about it. How do you feel about postponing the fat girl party until Amaryllis and Bridgette can come?”
“That's fine. What else do you have in mind?” Monique asked again.
“I thought it would be nice if I hosted a spa day and invited Chelsea, Gladys, and Darlita.”
“Who is Darlita?” Monique asked.
“You know Darlita. She's the woman who came to me for counsel. The woman whose husband had been cheating and wouldn't stop.”
“Oh yeah,” Monique said. “How is she doing?”
“Darlita is doing great since she left that fool. I know she's having a hard time with the separation, but she knows it was for the best. I'm sure she can use a spa day. So can Gladys, because she has an unexpected grandbaby on the way. There's gonna be a lot of changes in her household. I want to invite Chelsea simply because she's the only woman who apologized for treating me so cold.”
“I'm not sold on Chelsea,” Monique stated.
“Why would you say that?”
“I mean, I think it's all good that she apologized for allowing the mothers to influence her as far as you are concerned. But I have to wonder if she would have apologized if you hadn't given her the hookup about the boots. She just seems kinda suspect to me.”
“Well, I thought about that too,” Arykah admitted. “When Chelsea reached out to hug me, I almost took a step back because I didn't know what she was doing. But I believe her apology was genuine.”
Monique didn't comment. As the first lady of the church, Arykah had to be forgiving and openhearted. Monique would just have to watch Chelsea closely. She seemed like an opportunist. A coattail rider. Someone who lived to benefit from other people's accomplishments.
“A spa day sounds great, Arykah. I know the ladies would love it.”
“I think so too. But I want to take it a step further. I want to give Chelsea, Darlita, and Gladys a gift.”
“Arykah, don't overdo it. You're trying too hard. You shouldn't try to buy friendship. If the women like you, then they like you. If they don't, then they don't. Treating them to a spa is more than generous.”
“I know, but I still wanna get them each a gift.”
Monique rolled her eyes at no one in particular as she exited the expressway at Pershing Road. “Just don't spend too much money.”
Arykah had already decided what gifts she wanted to buy the ladies. And she knew Monique would have a stroke when she told her. Arykah took a deep breath, then rushed the words, “I'm buying each of the ladies a pair of Christian Louboutins.”
Monique slammed on the brakes and veered from the left lane she was in. She came within an inch of crashing into the car ahead of her that had stopped at a red light.
 
 
After a long half hour of listening to Monique moan and gripe about her spending too much money on women that she probably couldn't trust, Arykah ended the conversation by telling Monique that she really needed to focus on finding Italian drapes.
“I know you're rushing me off the phone, Arykah. But we're not done talking about the Christian Louboutins.”
“You made your point, Monique, and I'll take into consideration everything you said.”
Monique didn't believe her. She knew Arykah was going to do what she wanted.
“Uh-huh. Okay. I'll give you a call later on.”
Arykah was glad that conversation was over. Now she could focus on the matter at hand, which was to earn her commission check. She settled back against the pillows and browsed the Internet. When she double clicked on
www.italiandrapery.com
, her cellular telephone rang again. She hoped it wasn't Monique calling back to discuss the Christian Louboutins.
Arykah didn't recognize the number on the caller ID, but she answered anyway.
“Arykah speaking.”
“Howa? Ees thee Howa house?” a man asked.
Arykah frowned. She pulled the telephone away from her ear and glanced at the caller ID again. The number was not a familiar one. She brought the telephone back to her ear.

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