Reverend Feelgood (15 page)

“Here you go, girl. Congratulations.” Destiny shifted Benjamin into her other arm and gave Melody the gift-wrapped box.

“You got me a graduation present? Thank you, Destiny!” Melody hurriedly ripped off the paper and removed the box top. Inside was the Prada handbag she’d gone on and on about at the Mall of Louisiana a few months before. Melody screamed, jumped up, and hugged Destiny. Her abrupt actions scared Benjamin, who started to cry. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“He’s all right.” Even so, Destiny turned Benjamin away from Melody and began cooing and walking him back and forth. Destiny had noticed that for some reason, Benjamin wasn’t too fond of her best friend.

“I can’t believe you brought me this, girl! I’m still trying to figure out how you’re living so large.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Look at you, with your own house, a Mercedes, a nanny for your baby. You’re going to college full-time, and you don’t work. Why are you holding out with the info? What’s his name?”

Destiny knew she’d never tell Melody or anybody else about Nate, and how he showered her like a tsunami with money and gifts. Guilt money, Destiny had told him once. To make up for the fact that during the past year, he’d rarely come to visit.

“I told you, Melody. I received scholarships. Plus, Kiki helps me.”

“Dang, your grandma must have hella paper.”

“It’s not that big a deal, Melody.”

“Yes, it is.”

“So tell me, girl,” Destiny began as she put her seven-month-old brown-skinned beauty into his playpen. “What are your plans? No, don’t tell me. Now that you’re free at last from the prison otherwise known as Angel House, you’ve probably already got a one-way ticket back to LA.”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking about moving to Dallas.”

“Dallas? What’s in Dallas?”

“That’s what I’m thinking about finding out. I don’t have the paper to live like I want in LA and I sure as hell ain’t moving back in with my parents. You remember Roxanne?”

“The girl with the braces who says ‘praise the Lord’ after every sentence?”

Melody laughed. “Uh-huh, that’s her. Well, her sister was here a couple weeks ago and I met her. She lives in Dallas, has a two-bedroom condo, and is looking for a roommate.”

“And you’d want to room with one of Roxanne’s relatives?”

“Don’t get it twisted. Susie is nothing like Roxanne. Girlfriend took me to get some Asti Spumante and next she was asking if I knew where she could cop some weed.”

“No way!”

“If I’m lying, I’m dying!”

“But have you been to Dallas, Melody? I think it would be pretty boring for somebody like you.”

“Maybe, but I could hang for a minute. Plus, it would give me the opportunity to go to Palestine and check out that fine Thicke preacher. And don’t think I ain’t still mad at you for not driving us to his anniversary. We could have met Yadah!”

“You could have gone. I had finals.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have a car. And if Bobby don’t buy me one like I asked, I’m gonna pack up the pussy.”

“Bobby? What happened to Josh?”

“You didn’t know? Josh is getting married. Some girl back in New Mexico, where he’s from.”

“Wow, that was quick.”

“Not really. I guess they’ve been off and on for years and I was just a diversion. He didn’t have enough money for me anyway. I’ve got bigger fish to try and fry—Thicke fish.”

Melody’s fixation with Nate was the main thing about her that bugged Destiny. She’d tried to dissuade her, telling her about the long line of women trying to hook up with her pastor. But Melody wasn’t fazed. She believed she had what it took to move to the front of the line.

“Whatever, Melody. I’m trying to save you from a little heartache, but if you want to become a Nate Thicke groupie, you just go right ahead.”

“Please, you know you’re one too.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because of the way you try and act like you don’t have an attitude when I talk about him. But you do.”

Destiny hid her shock. She thought she covered up her love for Nate brilliantly, but obviously she had so much of it that some was seeping through the cracks in her mask.

“Yeah, I’m a groupie,” she said nonchalantly. “That’s why I’m here, in Louisiana, getting my degree and taking care of another man’s baby. Because I’m
so
in love with Nate Thicke.”

“Well, maybe not. But don’t try and act like you wouldn’t let him hit it if he wanted to.”

“And risk giving Benjamin a sibling? I’ve got plans, Melody. Men are the last thing on my mind right now.”

“Well, I tell you one thing, that chocolate chip is on my mind, and if I ever get the chance, I’m gonna get me some of that.”

Destiny didn’t respond, and soon after Melody changed the subject. But what she said stayed on Destiny’s mind, even after she’d dropped Melody off at school and returned home.
So many women.
With Nate, she knew it had always been like that. But did it have to be?
I’m uncommon, I’m unusual, I am not the status quo.
No, she resolved, what Nate had done in the past did not have to dictate what they did in the future. Destiny decided she didn’t want to be just another woman. She wanted to be the only one. If Nate wanted to marry her, there’d be no more covering. The other women, including her mother and grandmother, would have to get out of his bed—and stay out.

Jennifer was heartbroken. It had been three months since the anniversary, and Nate still hadn’t made love to her. He’d taken his keys back in June. This was September. How long was he going to stay mad? She’d said she was sorry! When it came to her acting as his manager, things hadn’t changed. His schedule was busier than ever, and she still traveled with him. But now, at any given time, so did almost a dozen other people. He was almost always surrounded by a large entourage. And not only was her hotel room no longer right down the hall, as it often had been in the past, now she was usually in a different hotel altogether. She’d been downgraded, gone from first class to the business section. It wasn’t coach, but she still didn’t like it.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. For a second, Jennifer hoped it would be Nate.
Maybe he’s finally over his anger, and is here to make me feel good.
But a quick glance through the peephole killed that fantasy. Jennifer sighed, opened the door, and took the hamburger and fries she’d ordered from room service. “Maybe I should have gone with Kirk,” she said out loud. But at the time, hanging out with him and the assistant from the
New York Times
hadn’t sounded like her idea of fun. It’s not that she didn’t love traipsing through the streets of the Big Apple. It’s just that she’d rather have done so with Nate.

Jennifer set the tray on the table and grabbed the remote. She munched on her fries and idly flipped through the channels. On one station, a well-dressed Black man was being interviewed. Jennifer turned up the volume, put down the remote, and took a bite of her burger.

“They’re pimps,” the Black man said. “Masquerading behind the Word of God.”

“But you’re a preacher too,” the interviewer said. “How can you say such things about your peers?”

“Those megamoochers are no peers of mine. My peers are the handful of men and women in this country who still preach the unadulterated word of God!”

Jennifer rolled her eyes and reached for the remote. But the man’s next sentence stopped her from turning the channel.

“There’s one out there now, calling himself a motivational speaker. Lying to people about what they can have, getting their hopes up by saying they can have anything they want. As if God were Santa Claus and you just have to make your list and check it twice. But there’s a catch,” the man continued. “You have to buy his book first, see. You have to follow
his
magic formula. Well, does his formula come with a guarantee? If falling for his scheme and giving him your money doesn’t get you what you want, can you get your money back?”

“Who is this fool?” Jennifer asked out loud. She knew the man was talking about Nate. Anyone familiar with his ministry or book would likely come to the same conclusion. As if the television heard her, the guest’s name appeared at the bottom of the screen: “Reverend Ed Smith, Pastor, First Baptist Church.”

“These are pretty powerful words coming from someone of your stature, Reverend Smith. But as always, you’ve been an engaging guest, leaving us with plenty to think about. Until next time I’m…”

Jennifer turned the channel and finished her meal. Then she sent a text message to Nate about what she’d seen.
Maybe by cleaning up any messes made by this Smith guy spouting nonsense, I can get back into Nate’s good graces,
Jennifer thought.

Nate was quiet as he perused the portfolio in front of him. In it were broadcasting entities with which he was familiar, and names he recognized. Dana Owens was top-notch, no doubt about that. She was easy on the eyes too, which always helped.

“You’ve been busy in the years since graduating at the top of your class. You built all of this business up from your base in Dallas?”

“No, Reverend Thicke—”

“You can call me Nate.”

“Thank you, Nate. I honed my chops and garnered a large share of my clients while working in Atlanta. I was part of a megaministry there, as you know, and that is where I got a foothold into the religious community. You see, I want my firm to cover every area of our society, secular and spiritual. Although as a Christian myself, I am always pleased when I can use my talents to advance a member of God’s kingdom.”

“It’s obvious your talents are sizable,” Nate replied, once again browsing through a folder that along with her résumé and letters of recommendation from prominent clients, also included newspaper clippings and magazine articles she’d been able to secure for those she represented.

“What I’m really excited about,” Dana said, as she continued to watch Nate page through her collection of accomplishments, “are the inroads I’m making internationally. The Internet has made this a small world indeed, and ours is now a global marketplace. I’ve developed solid connections in London, Paris, Germany, and specifically for my religious clientele, I’m working on several networks in Africa. Has your book been translated?”

“They’re releasing versions in Spanish, French, and German next year,” Nate replied.

“My contacts would allow you easy access to those markets, speaking engagements where you could get in front of the international audience. They can be pivotal to book sales. Not that you need my help with that. You were on the
Times
top ten for what…six months?”

“Seven, not that anyone’s counting. I’m definitely interesting in expanding internationally, but I have to tell you,
yo hablo español y francés muy poquito
.”

Dana laughed. “You don’t have to be able to speak other languages. The audience that comes to hear you will be able to understand English just fine.”

Nate and Dana continued conversing, about both public relations and each other. Nate liked Dana. She was no-nonsense, and at forty-five, a seasoned professional with a plethora of contacts and associates in almost every promotional arena imaginable. She’d come highly recommended, and after their two-hour meeting, Nate knew he’d found what he was looking for. He held out his hand.

“Dana Owens, congratulations. As of this moment, you are my new manager.”

Patricia was tired. After months of burning the candle at both ends—working for the church during the day and the post office at night, with five hours of sleep in between if she was lucky—Patricia was feeling the strain. She eyed the clock angrily as she turned off the alarm, as if the situation was its fault.

Dragging herself out of bed, Patricia trudged to the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, and headed for the shower. While under the invigorating flow of tepid, almost cold water, she replayed in her mind the afternoon’s meeting with Deacon James Robinson.

“Well, now, Sister Cook, I appreciate your enthusiasm, your desire to help advance the kingdom. But I really don’t see any type of paid position being created in this department, not in the foreseeable future, if at all.”

“But what about once the actual building starts? Won’t there be a need for a liaison between the church and the construction company?”

“Uh, Sister Cook, that would be me.”

“Oh.”

“Like I said, I admire your zeal for the Lord, but you’ve got a pretty good thing going at the post office. You say you’ve been there fifteen years?”

Patricia nodded. “Going on sixteen.”

“I heard the post office paid well. How are the benefits?”

“They’re pretty good.”

“And the retirement package? Can you retire after twenty years?”

“Their program takes several factors into consideration, including age. I’m a long way from being able to retire, what with raising a daughter alone, and having to put her through college, starting next year. But the thing is, Deacon Robinson, working for the post office is just a paycheck, a means to an end. Working for the church, and with you, makes me feel like I’m doing something worthwhile, contributing to the greater good of not only the Christian community, but the community at large. Building this church will benefit more than Gospel Truth. It will bring in jobs, and open up opportunities for our young people. It blesses me to be a part of something like this.”

Deacon nodded and stroked his chin as he listened to Patricia. She was a hard worker, and he admired her zest for the things of God. It was a pity he couldn’t do anything to help her. “I tell you what,” he said after a pause. “Why don’t you bring your résumé the next time we have a meeting. I’ll talk with Nate, and while I know there’s nothing available right now, we’ll put your information in our employment database so that if something comes that’s a fit, you can be considered.”

“I appreciate that, Deacon Robinson. My administrative skills are good and I’m an excellent organizer. I know I can be of some benefit to the ministry if given the chance.”

That part of the meeting went okay,
Patricia thought, as she finished dressing and packed her lunch. It was what happened during the final five minutes of her and Deacon’s discussion, which, if she had it to do over again, would not have happened.

“Is there anything else?” Deacon Robinson had asked.

“Well…” Patricia hesitated, not sure if what she was about to do was appropriate. Her heartbeat quickened and she chewed her lip nervously. Unlike Jennifer, dealing with people in general and men in particular was not her forte. “Could I ask you a personal question, Deacon?”

“Sure, you can ask it. There’s no guarantee you’ll get an answer, though.”

“I was just wondering why you never married.”

Deacon Robinson’s eyes widened in surprise. Patricia knew she’d overstepped her bounds.

“I’m sorry for asking, just wondered—”

“Well, now, that’s a good question, Sister Cook. I guess you might say it’s because I haven’t found the right woman yet.”

“Do you ever…I mean, there are a lot of nice women here at Gospel Truth.”

Deacon’s eyes had narrowed then. “There’s one or two.”

“Would you like to, uh…What I’m trying to say is…when was the last time you had some good home cooking?”

Another long pause had preceded Deacon’s answer. “I like my own cooking just fine, Sister Cook.” And then he’d smiled. “Is that how you got your last name?”

“No, marrying a fool and taking his name is how I got it. Kept it because of my daughter. But I can cook.”

“Well, now, one of these days I’m sure the Lord will bless you with somebody who will appreciate your meals.”

With that, the deacon had stood, shook her hand, and walked out of the meeting room.

Patricia pulled into the post office parking lot. She was ten minutes early and, instead of going inside and chatting with coworkers, she kept the radio on, listening to Willie Nelson sing about faded love. Few people knew that Patricia loved country music, but her mother was a big fan. Willie’s words soothed her, and she tried to stop feeling sorry for herself. She knew she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world, but she thought she cleaned up pretty good. She loved God, had a decent head on her shoulders, was a hard worker, and when she had one, treated her man like a king. There had only been a couple steadies in her life since birthing Carmen seventeen years ago. And aside from Reverend Thicke’s occasional pity covering, there was no one now. Patricia wanted to change that.

If it had been Jennifer, he would have been all over the invitation, would have jumped at the chance to go to her house.
But as Patricia clocked in to begin her shift, she reminded herself that while the deacon thought that Jennifer was “powerful pretty,” to him she was obviously just “plain Pat.”