Sex in the Sanctuary (5 page)

“Missed ya at church Sunday.” Mama Max’s stare was speculative and penetrating as she gazed at her daughter-in-law over a cup of coffee. “Feeling better?”

“Not really,” Tai replied, leaning forward to refill her cup from the carafe on the living room table. Mama Max remained silent. So did Tai. They both sipped their coffee, each deep in thought. Finally, Mama Max drained her cup, cleared her throat, placed the cup down on the table, leaned back and folded her hands across her stomach. She turned to eye Tai with compassion.

Tai felt her stare. “I can’t go on like this, Mama Max. Before, the babies were small, I was younger; things were different. I was different.”

“Different how?”

“Stronger, more positive. Before, I felt like each woman was one of the devil’s little flies and I was the fly swatter. I don’t feel like swattin’ anymore. I’m tired. So the flies are just buzzing around and around, getting on my last nerve.”

“You know I talked to King,” Mama Max replied, again
filling her cup, adding two teaspoons of sugar and a generous helping of cream before continuing. “And he tells me there’s nothing going on between him and that Hope girl.”

“Famous last words…”

“Maybe, but do you think it’s possible that there isn’t anything happening, that you’re imagining things because of how active the girl is in the church, how enthusiastic she is about the ministry? Now, I admit she’s a bit feisty and she could let out the hem of those skirts an inch or two, but, baby, she’s never given me a reason to believe that something was actually going on with her and my son. And you know Mama can usually smell that kind of thing coming.”

“Well, something’s going on,” Tai replied, then walked over to the big picture window that almost covered the entire front wall. She watched the neighborhood children playing with abandon, unable to remember how such innocence felt. She turned back to Mama Max and crossed her arms. “King is different, and he’s been this way for a while. It’s nothing major; it’s the small things, things that only someone who’s been with him as long as I have and loved him as much as I do would recognize. “And,” Tai added, smiling at Mama Max, “I can smell pretty good myself.”

“Look, I’m not one to doubt a wife’s intuition. I’ve been right about something with only a feeling to go on too many times. I was just thinking that…” Mama Max’s voice trailed off, and she took another small sip of coffee.

“Thinking what?” Tai quizzed.

“Well, I know with the twins in school you’ve had more time on your hands, feeling a bit, less involved. Trying to find your place again. In the meantime, this Hope girl has come in like gang busters, and it seems like every time you look up at the church, there she is. And she is a pretty girl.”

“One of many with stars in their eyes every time they look at King.”

“Maybe it’s just admiration.”

“Maybe it’s just infatuation.”

Mama chuckled. “Tai, I’m gonna give you some advice that you haven’t asked for. Don’t fear something into happening. King is your husband, and in the name of Jesus, it’s gonna stay that way. You, in the meantime, need to get with God and find out what you’re supposed to be doing for
Him.
”

Mama Max shifted in her chair. “I also know you’ve been feeling down on yourself for gaining weight. And I’m one to talk with my big butt spread all over your love seat here, but you could drop a pound or two.”

“Now, look,” Tai began, walking over to the love seat and plopping down beside Mama. Mama reached out her hand and placed it on Tai’s arm to stop her response.

“Darling, I love you no matter what size you are, and I know King does, too. It just might make
you
feel better, more confident, that’s all. You know Mama Max loves you. I’m only trying to help. And I’m not thinking you should do this alone.”

“And just who do you suggest should do this with me?” Tai asked, grinning broadly.

Mama Max just pointed to herself, and smiled.

The Full Workout Fitness Center was one of the newest exercise facilities that the suburb of Overland Park, Kansas, had to offer. Not only did it have every type of equipment known to man, but there was also a full line of workout classes including regular aerobics, step aerobics and water aerobics in their Olympic-sized swimming pool. There was kickboxing and Tae-bo. There was yoga, jujitsu, karate and tai chi. On the other side of the building was a full-line spa complete with a variety of massages and body treatments, a hair and nail salon and juice bar. The center was relatively quiet but still busy for a weekday, with a group of twenty or so women milling about, waiting for some type of aerobics class to begin, and others spread out on the various fitness
equipment. A way-too-cheery employee with a perfect smile, size four body and flawless face literally sang out her greeting as Tai approached the counter.

“Welcome to the Full Workout Fitness Center. My name is Daphne. How may we help you become the best body you can be?”

Tai suppressed a wide range of sarcastic responses to say politely, “I’m interested in starting an exercise program to lose weight.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place!” Daphne continued in her singsong voice that in another time and place may have been nice but was presently grating Tai’s next-to-last nerve. “We’ve got a variety of programs available to fit just about any need one wanting to become physically fit could have. In addition, we have a nutritionist and full-time psychologist on staff to balance your exercise program with healthy eating habits and a positive mental focus.”

Tai stifled a laugh as she remembered who this woman reminded her of, one of the robotic Stepford wives.

“What I’d like to do,” the robot named Daphne continued, “is give you a tour of the facility, explain our programs to you and when we’re finished, have you answer a questionnaire that will help us place you in a regimen that will best suit your needs and goals.” Daphne-robot bounced from behind the counter, grabbed a clipboard, then turned and with a dazzling smile back at Tai said, “Right this way, please.” Another employee behind the counter nodded encouragement as Tai turned to begin the tour.

An hour, a smoothie and a manicure/pedicure later, Tai left the land of physical fitness behind, actually feeling better having joined. She’d decided on a beginner’s program since it had been a while since she’d exercised, and also with Mama Max in mind, that included water aerobics and calenetics, a series of stretching and toning exercises. She also scheduled a session with the nutritionist but passed on the psycholo
gist. She was going to work on some of the machinery for abdomen toning and, if she really got into it, hire a personal trainer.
Thank you, Mama Max,
Tai thought as she returned to her car, turned on the radio and bobbed her naturally auburn curls to the sounds of 91.5, the Oldies Station. Tai felt a little better, but even as she sang “I Can See Clearly Now” with Johnny Nash, that sixth sense feeling in her stomach would not go away.

King sat at the head of the table in the church’s tastefully furnished conference room. A committee of Mount Zion Progressive members joined him. Associate ministers, deacons, his personal secretary and others waited to give their progress reports on the upcoming conference.

“As you know,” King began after a lengthy “Baptisized” prayer by Deacon Nash, “this year’s leadership conference will be the largest and I believe best one so far. The speakers are dynamic, the workshops specific and explicit, and it seems that most of the details are in place. If anyone disagrees, now’s the time to voice what needs to be done. I don’t want any surprises at the last minute. Is everybody with me?” Everyone nodded or said yes. “Charles, let’s start with you. How are things looking with respect to our speakers and other guests?”

Charles was the church’s director of business affairs; organized, detailed and concise. His report reflected these attributes. “As you all know,” he said, directing his gaze at King, “we’ve had a few challenges. But as of today, almost
all of the leaders we’ve invited have been confirmed. We’re still waiting on final word from a few session speakers and from Dr. Myles Monroe out of the Bahamas. And we’ve not finalized the contract for Dr. Hayden’s Economic Empowerment course. That is proving to be one of the more popular sessions.” He checked his notes quickly and concluded, “Everything’s falling into place.”

“Good, good,” King intoned, pleased as always with Charles’s work. Quick and to the point, that was what King liked about him. Deacon Nash could learn a thing or two from him, especially where “quick” and the deacon’s long prayers were concerned.

“Remind me to put in a call to Myles when we get back to the office,” King directed Joseph, his assistant, before turning to his secretary. “Denise, let’s have a rundown of the conference schedule to date.”

Denise Williams, who had been taking notes, opened her folder and shuffled a few papers before beginning to read. She was an attractive woman in an understated way.

“Okay,” she began, sitting up straighter and taking a deep breath. “The preconference begins Tuesday night with a dinner for the guest pastors and their wives, special guests and others on the list to be provided by Pastor King. Registration begins Wednesday morning at 10:00
A.M.
in the church lobby. Over five hundred people have preregistered already, so we hope there’ll only be a few stragglers who don’t make the deadline. The first worship service is Wednesday night, and on Thursday morning, there are four sessions available: Follow the Leader, Strategies for Spiritual Success…”

As Denise continued with her report on sessions and special guests, Youth Minister Mark found himself paying less attention to the words being said and more to the mouth the words were coming from. He’d always found Denise attractive, and he loved her quiet, sweet spirit, but here, seated at the conference table with only a few chairs between them,
it was as if he was seeing her lips for the first time. They were full and thick, not so big as to be soup coolers, but in perfect proportion to her face, which was heart shaped and glowing. She wore an almost translucent lipstick, a whispery pink, or was it beige? Through the glimmer, Mark couldn’t tell for sure. He leaned forward, almost involuntarily, to inspect further.

“Of course, Friday is Young Adult Night,” Denise continued, excitement in her delivery. She licked her lips unconsciously as she turned the page to continue.

Pink, Mark decided, following her tongue as it traced the outline of her sumptuous mouth. And as if to confirm his decision, the color of her blouse grabbed his attention. His eyes traveled south of their own volition, and without meaning to, he visually caressed her neck, adorned with a thin gold chain that sported an equally thin cross that dipped down and hovered just above her breasts. Mark sat back and gazed at her eyes, large and inviting as they scanned back and forth over the notes she read. Her nose was lovely, and Mark noticed it turned up just slightly at the end. As if to say, “Kiss me, I’m cute.” Denise licked her lips again. Mark found himself wondering if she liked Mexican food, and if she was doing anything Friday night.

“…so with the dance performance by the Angels of Hope, the steppers, Mixed Blessings, and Imani’s dramatic presentation, that as they say in show business, will be a wrap!”

“Good, good,” King replied. He went around the room then, asking specific questions relative to each person’s responsibilities and assignments. Work regarding volunteers, security personnel, hospitality for out-of-town guests, and even the budget was under control. One of the assistant pastors was conducting a series of outreach endeavors for people who may not have considered church as a place they could receive instruction for practical living, in addition to food for their souls. Mark and a group of specially selected and trained
teenagers and young adults were passing out flyers at the local schools and youth hangout spots. Deacon Nash had prayer covered, and Hope had designed an excellent and energetic schedule for Young Adult Night.

“As you know, Pastor King,” Hope began, having given a more detailed outline of the extravaganza earlier in the meeting, “Righteous Rebel will be a huge draw for the young people because of his popularity and visibility when he was a secular hip-hop artist and because of his latest hit, ‘Holy Ghost High.’ With him performing, there will be tons of young people there, many of whom may have never stepped in to a church otherwise. He’s got an awesome testimony about how God spared his life in a gang-related shootout where his best friend died. And with your approval of course,” she added, looking at King and flashing a megawatt smile, “we might be able to talk him into doing a midnight concert just for the kids.”

King had been watching her intently and leaned forward as she finished, forming a praying hands pose beneath his chin. “Good, good. Excellent idea, Hope. Let’s get together after this meeting is over so you can give me more details. How’s my schedule?” he asked Joseph, who grabbed a day planner and scanned it quickly.

“You’ve got about forty-five minutes, it looks like, before your meeting with the councilman.”

King nodded and turned to the others. “I want to thank everybody for the hard work you’re putting into this conference. When everything’s over and everybody’s commenting on how blessed they were and how successful the meeting was, know that each of you played a vital part.” On that note King stood, as did the others except for Hope, who sat patiently waiting as King spoke to Joseph first and then to Mark. Her legs were crossed and she was shaking the top one gently, the only outward sign of her inner excitement at Pastor King’s approval of her plans.

She wasn’t the only one excited. King had barely been able to concentrate on the conference details, still caught up in a conversation he’d had with a certain female before the meeting started. She had detailed the plans she had for him later, plans that sounded good, good.

Vivian scooped the last bite of butter pecan cheesecake onto her fork and moaned audibly as it melted in her mouth. Her eyes were closed, and they stayed that way as she chewed, swallowed and reached for her napkin, dabbing her mouth before falling back against the plush, wicker chairs at Whispers, her favorite beachfront restaurant. “It should be illegal for a piece of cake to taste that good,” she said as she grinned, shaking her head and reaching for her almond mint tea. “I feel like a stuffed pig.”

“Well, you definitely look like you were enjoying yourself,” Carla commented as she downed her last bite of deep-dish apple pie and pushed the plate away. “And if you’re a stuffed pig, I must be a beached whale!”

Carla was often referred to as “big pretty” in private male conversations. Carla had never been a skinny girl, nor had she ever suffered low self-esteem. She was big boned and shapely, like an oversized coca-cola bottle, with expressive eyes and a ready smile. Her personality attracted both men and women like bees to honey. Even after many years in Los
Angeles, her Georgian twang was as strong as ever, and when she got excited, which was often, it became even more pronounced. There was not a jealous or pretentious bone in her body. Carla enjoyed life and came as close to being an angel as anyone Vivian ever met.

They had met three years ago when her husband, Reverend Stanley Lee, was appointed to a local Church of God In Christ, COGIC, assembly after serving in an Atlanta suburb affiliate for five years. A progressive and contemporary thinker, Reverend Lee had consciously sought out like-minded religious leaders of other denominations with whom to network and possibly bring about a much-needed spiritual change in the city’s atmosphere. One of his first phone calls had been to Vivian’s husband, Derrick, and after inviting them to dinner—an evening that lasted from seven that night until two in the morning—Vivian and Carla were fast friends.

It was also during this first meeting that the seeds were sown for Ladies First, a group of pastors’ wives from different churches all over the city meeting once a month to discuss ways to best serve God, their husbands and the female members in their congregations. Carla was very attuned to the women in her church and empathetic with their needs both spiritual and emotional. She was particularly sensitive to single women, including single mothers, wanting to get married. She had been both. And when it came to loving yourself no matter what your weight, Carla could have been the poster girl. She was beautiful inside and out, and she saw herself that way. She believed she was made in the image of God and that “God don’t like ugly so he sho’ didn’t make it.”

Vivian’s forte was with women looking for their spiritual purpose in God, as well as overcoming issues of self-doubt, self-worth and self-esteem. Other core members of Ladies First included Chanelle Robinson, Terri McDaniels, Ruth Edwards, Pat Lange and Rebecca Collins, the only ordained minister in the group.

It was this group who sat fat and happy, having stuffed themselves with the delicious cuisine at Whispers as they planned their quarterly women’s fellowship meeting. It was a one-day affair, including various seminars, symposiums and discussions and a special luncheon speaker, held at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in a beautiful, chandeliered ballroom. Each quarter, a specific topic was selected, and all of the activities, including the luncheon speaker, centered on this subject. Vivian thought she had a poignant, if a bit explosive, topic for an upcoming session.

“My proposed theme for the fall fellowship is called S.O.S.,” Vivian began, having sat up from her reclined state and looked from one face to the next, before continuing.

“S.O.S.?” Terri questioned.

“That must stand for Sick Of Somethin’,” Carla bellowed. “’Cause God knows we are all…Sick—of—Somethin’. Sick of no-good Negroes, sick of hard-headed kids…”

“They are blessings and not curses,” Minister Rebecca injected, only half teasing. “Watch your witness!”

“Sick of cookin’, cleanin’—first our house and then the Lord’s house,” Carla went on dramatically, although now she had taken on the intonation of a plantation slave. “I’s so tired, massa,” she moaned.
“Nobody knows de trouble I see,
” she began to sing, so loudly that some of the other diners turned around with a mixture of curious, comical or censoring looks on their faces. Carla couldn’t have cared less. She was enjoying herself.

“Girl, will you shut up,” Vivian whispered loudly, barely able to keep an unladylike guffaw from erupting. The other ladies at the table were giggling, and Chanelle held a dainty hand up to her mouth to suppress a belly laugh. “You’re right, you know, we are all sick of something, but that is not the meaning behind this S.O.S.” Vivian paused, still smiling, and took another sip of tea. The table became quiet, waiting for her to go on. “S.O.S.,” she continued, “stands for the Sanc
tity of Sisterhood.” She waited a beat while everyone replayed the name in their minds.

“As you know, sanctity means set apart, holy and sacred, among other things. I believe that we as sisters, as women of the faith and as women in general, have gotten away from the sanctity and solidarity that our being female used to mean. I’ve had this on my heart for a while now, and recent conversations have only served to stir it up again.

“What exactly do you mean?” Ruth asked, leaning forward and tilting her head slightly as she squinted against the sun sparkling off the ocean waters. “Are you talking about women being more Godly, treating themselves with more respect?”

“Themselves and each other. Following the golden rule of doing unto others as you would have them do unto you. It seems we don’t respect each other anymore, we don’t care about each other anymore, and I guess that does come from not being Godly and not caring about ourselves. Even more to the point, ladies, I’m talking about our behavior with the opposite sex. The standard of decency has been lowered dramatically, and now it’s survival of the fittest when it comes to relationships, both forming and sustaining them. For instance, I remember a time when it was not okay to go after someone else’s boyfriend, much less her husband. Those times, sadly, are a thing of the past.”

“It still ain’t all right to go after mine,” Carla insisted with a look of indignation.

The ladies nodded and murmured their agreement as Vivian continued.

“Of course it’s not all right, Carla, but try and tell that to Susie Q. Single down the street. We used to respect what belonged to other people. We used to think more of ourselves than to try and entice a husband away from his family, or a man away from a committed relationship. And if we knew
someone who was like that, that person was not popular. They didn’t flaunt their actions for the world to see because other women just wouldn’t stand for it. Older women would give her a piece of their mind and younger ones would shun her company. And I’m not putting all of the blame on women, because there used to be a higher standard for men, too. However, I am focusing on women because that’s whom this fellowship is designed to reach. Now, I’m not saying that we were perfect, but there used to be a time when we didn’t just open our legs for every Tom, Dick and Harry that came along.”

“You better preach, sister,” Minister Rebecca intoned. “I counsel women all the time who are hurting behind some aspect of male/female relationships. And it usually centers around three things. Usually they are single and celibate wanting to get married, single and fornicating wanting to get married, or married and not happy often because of the constant self-applied pressure to keep her man.”

“Been there, done that,” Carla replied.

“I have these conversations all over the country,
all
the time,” Rebecca repeated for emphasis. “Most of the pain I encounter centers around either the need or desire for a relationship, or the pain caused by one that is not working well.”

“Exactly,” Vivian continued, her friend’s comments confirmation that she was on the right track. “I became filled with all these questions. Why is this happening? Why do we not value ourselves more? Why are we so careless with other people’s feelings, with our own? Why is it no longer unusual to have multiple partners—even in this age of AIDS—for some women to sleep with five, ten, even fifteen men or more during their lifetimes? Why is virginity such a rarity and celibacy so unappealing? Why are there so many single women in the church? Why aren’t there more marriages? Why is there adultery in so many Christian marriages? Why is the divorce rate in the church the same if not higher than that of the gen
eral society, and why are seventy percent of Black children born out of wedlock with an inordinate amount of those pregnancies happening within our church walls?”

“That’s a lot of questions!” Carla exclaimed.

“Seventy percent?” Ruth inquired incredulously. “Are you sure?”

Chanelle, petite and soft-spoken, nodded. “I heard that statistic recently. It was while listening to one of those talk shows on my way home, the
Larry Elder Show.
Most of the time I can’t stand the man, I think he’s arrogant and ignorant, but on this topic we were in total agreement. Seventy percent is too many kids, Black or otherwise, to be born without intact families. But that rate is only in the Black community. I think for Whites it went down to fifty-five percent and for Hispanics it was in the twenties or thirties. Don’t quote me, but the percentages were in that range.”

Vivian held out her hand, counting on her fingers as she went on. “One. Men aren’t getting married because they don’t have to. Like my grandmother used to say, ‘Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?’ We don’t make them wait anymore, or want anymore; we give it up too easily and too frequently. Sex is like chewing gum these days—everybody’s got a piece. Two. When a woman is married or in a committed relationship leading to marriage, other women don’t consider these men off limits. Instead of seeing it as a chance for another sister’s happiness, they see it as a challenge to their own. And don’t let the sister try to do the right thing and remain chaste until marriage. Sex becomes the carrot the other woman dangles to get the greyhound around the track. Three. Because relationships are being entered without commitment, they fail easily, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts, bruised spirits and empty promises. All of this gets put into a nice grocery bag to be carried into the next relationship. Oh, and there might be a child or two in that grocery bag, and that’s a whole ’nutha issue.”

“I don’t know if this is an issue we can tackle in one Saturday,” Carla twanged. “Just trying to get women to keep their panties up and their dresses down could be the whole day.”

Vivian smiled. That was one of the things she loved about Carla, that she was real. None of that I’m-so-heavenly-bound-I’m-no-earthly-good stuff, or that I’m-so-o-o-o spiritual mentality; Carla was open and honest about her own past, which made it easy for her to sympathize and be nonjudgmental of others. Her Ladies First sessions were always overbooked.

“You’re right, Carla,” Vivian responded. “That is why I have a proposal that this next fellowship not be one Saturday, but a series of four Saturdays during the month of September.” Vivian reached into her Gucci purse and pulled out some papers, passing them around before continuing. “Ladies First. The S.O.S. Summit” was in large, bold type across the top of the first page. “This series,” Vivian continued, “would cover four specific areas, one per Saturday, following the “S” theme: Spiritually Speaking, Sacred Sex, Setting the Standard versus Society’s Status Quo, and the Sanctity of Sisterhood.” The ladies glanced through the outlines Vivian had distributed as she spoke.

Pat asked a question as she looked at her copy. “Why isn’t there anything about men in here? When it comes to adultery, affairs, fornication, all of what we’re discussing, they’re just as much to blame as we are.”

“True,” Vivian answered quickly, having considered this herself. “But like I said earlier, this meeting isn’t for or about men; it’s about women. Let’s let our husbands handle the brothers.”

Rebecca signaled the waiter for more water, and asked, “Why are we calling this a summit instead of a conference?”

“Ooh, thanks, Rebecca,” Vivian answered. “I meant to address that first. When God was speaking to me about this, He specifically said ‘summit’ and not ‘conference.’ I was
confused at first because when I looked this up in a meeting context it said ‘a meeting between two heads of state.’ However, when I researched the meaning further, I understood God’s intent for this meeting. The summit is the apex, crown, head, height, peak, pinnacle, it’s the very top. These words and other definitions are in your packets. God has said this is what we’re reaching for in our relationship with Him and each other. And that we will be the ‘heads of state’ in the state of our womanhood, the state of our well-being and self-esteem, the state of our sexuality and spirituality. We will be the head and not the tail!”

“Well, God betta’ talk about His daughters!” Carla crooned while swaying in her chair and patting her well-coiffed braids. “What did you say? Apex? Crown? Top? If you don’t know…you betta’ axe somebody!” She high-fived Chanelle sitting beside her, and the others nodded their agreement and threw in their amens.

“You’ve got it, Carla.” Vivian said. “That’s where God wants us to be—at the summit of our lives in every way. And these are some of the ways we begin to get there. First topic: Spiritually Speaking. Dealing with a woman’s love for the God in her and therefore for herself. Of her body being a temple, that kind of thing. Looking at the necessity of loving oneself before love and respect can be given to others. Healing our spirits and reclaiming our souls. Next, Sacred Sex, and I think you’d be great here Carla. Dealing on a frank, in-your-face level about the very definite role sex plays in our lives.”

“So, I’m the only one at this table getting any, is that what you’re saying?” Carla asked with a smile.

“Now, you know that ain’t true,” Terri countered, patting her oh-so-pregnant stomach.

“I think all of our men are taking care of home,” Vivian crooned easily as she eased back in her seat with a smile.
“But your story, which you’ve shared before, your knowledge of what it’s like to be single and horny, celibate and not, having a child out of wedlock and overcoming all of that to become one of God’s leading first ladies is a special kind of testimony. That’s what these ladies need today, real talk.”