The Last Sunday (17 page)

“When she finds out about your little secret, she may be more easily persuaded.”

“I can't believe you would use this against me. Haven't we all suffered enough?”

“As a matter of fact, no, I don't think you've suffered enough. I went easy on you when this all happened, because at the time I had other things that needed my attention. But since you've decided to reopen this whole sordid mess, I have no choice but to deal with it and with you.”

“Deal with me?” Scarlett said with a hiss. “You arrogant . . . I tried to do the right thing and speak to you like a reasonable human being, but I see that was a mistake. So now I'm giving you fair warning. If you don't keep your hands off my husband, you will regret it.”

“Is that a threat?” Samantha asked with one eyebrow raised. “If it is, you better be ready to back it up, because I don't take threats lightly.”

“Yes, it is a threat, Samantha, and yes, I am fully prepared to back it up.”

 

 

As time passed, Cynthia Pryce's obsession with Samantha only increased. There was not a day when she was not consumed with thoughts of removing her as pastor. One scheme after another was dissected, dismissed, and resurrected when no other viable plan could be devised.

Percy and Cynthia had come to New Testament Cathedral from a neighboring church. They were a young and optimistic couple who wanted nothing more than to serve God and Hezekiah Cleaveland. In the early days the relationship was ideal. Percy fit in nicely as Hezekiah's right-hand man. He performed weddings, funerals, and christenings when Hezekiah was not available. The church in those days was smaller and had a more intimate feel. Everyone knew everyone's name or, at the very least, recognized their face.

Cynthia initially loved the role of wife of the second in command. The position came with more power and prestige than she had ever experienced in her life. When she was a college student from the wrong side of the tracks in South-Central L.A., the extent of her exposure to wealth and fame was watching soap operas and people like Hezekiah and Samantha on her parent's television in the city's projects.

But she was beautiful and cunning. There wasn't a loss she couldn't transform into a win for herself, and there was no man she couldn't have if she chose him. She met Percy in her sophomore year at the Bible Institute of Los Angeles. He was the young graduate student in the theological seminary. She was the popular undergrad whose primary purpose for being on the campus was to find a husband. When she first laid eyes on Percy as he walked across a bustling cafeteria, he catapulted to the top of her list of eligible candidates. Tall, chocolate, holding an armful of books, and the eyes of every girl in the room watching him as he walked by.

No formal introductions had been necessary. One day she boldly sat next to him on the quad and simply asked him, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Percy's stammering response was, “Yes, I s-suppose do.”

From nearly that moment on they were inseparable. He worshiped her from day one and continued to do so in spite of all they had been through together. She was woven into his DNA. Percy couldn't face a day without first looking into her eyes and feeling the warmth of her body. He couldn't sleep at night if she was not near. She was his touchstone. The reason he woke and the reason he lived. God was good, but for Percy, Cynthia was essential.

As the church grew, Cynthia began to resent the subservient role her husband's position had transformed into. He was the backup plan. The second best. The one to call “only if Pastor Cleaveland isn't available.”

“Why do you let them treat you like that?” soon became the precursor to many of their conversations. “They don't appreciate you,” was another, and as was, “You're nothing more than his lackey.”

Cynthia also took note of the increasing wealth accumulating just beyond her reach. One day the chauffeur-driven Escalades showed up in the church parking lot and the Cleavelands stepped out, as if they had had uniformed drivers their entire lives. Then increasingly expensive pieces of art began appearing on walls and tables in Hezekiah's and Samantha's offices. Then came the chartered jets for overnight trips for Samantha. But the final straw was the Cleaveland estate.

Hezekiah and Samantha had hosted an open house for the members of the board of trustees and seven-figure supporters of the ministry. The display of wealth was shameless. The mammoth size of the house was bad enough, but on top of that Cynthia was stunned by the army of servants and the priceless works of art scattered around the house. Peacocks, fountains, tennis courts, and swimming pools—they were all too much for her to take.

It was on that day that it became Cynthia's life mission to replace Samantha as the first lady of New Testament Cathedral.

“Are you okay, Cynthia?” Percy had asked her in the car on their way home from the open house that evening. “You haven't said a word since we left the party.”

Cynthia had sat silently, looking out the passenger window, as the car took them away from the rarefied heights of Bel Air.

“I'm disgusted, just sick, and I don't understand why you aren't too,” was her icy reply when she finally spoke.

“I know it was a little over the top, but that's just how Samantha is.”

“A little over the top! Two Picassos. Did you see that security system? It alone must have cost at least a million dollars.”

“Don't let it upset you,” Percy said, missing the point of her anger.

“You can't think that all of that was okay. Especially with them giving you a lousy five hundred and fifty thousand a year. I can't believe you're not as angry as I am.”

“Honey, we've always said we aren't doing this work for the money. It's about spreading the gospel. It's about ministering to the sick and—”

“You don't have to remind me what the work is about,” she snapped. “I went to the same racist, Bible-thumping, dogma-preaching college that you went to, remember. I know the speech, so don't lecture me. You know as well as I do there's no justification for spending that kind of money, especially when it's coming to you in ten-dollar increments from old ladies and widows living off their husband's pensions. It's reprehensible.”

Cynthia neglected to mention the near orgasm she had had when she entered Samantha's walk-in closet. The closet was larger than her living room and dining room combined. The walls were lined with designers she had seen only in magazines. Shoe racks filled with shoes in every color seemed to cascade like rainbows from the ceiling. There were two sets of matching Louis Vuitton luggage, hats, purses, scarves, and gloves. Cashmere, leather, chiffon, and silk spilled from the walls like sweet honey from the rock.

Cynthia wanted it, and she wanted it all, but she never fully admitted it to herself. The calling of God was the perfect camouflage for the true desires of mortals. The wealth flaunted in her face and just beyond her reach made her fingertips ache.

“They ought to be ashamed of themselves. And did you see the way everyone was fawning over them?” she ranted on during the car ride home. “I thought that one woman was going to cream her panties in the foyer when she saw that Picasso.”

“Cynthia, please! Is that really necessary?”

“I'm sorry, but the entire evening left a horrible taste in my mouth.”

Now, years later, the rancid taste of jealousy was still in her mouth.

From her dining room table, Cynthia dialed Scarlett Shackelford.

“Scarlett, it's Cynthia. How are you, dear?”

Scarlett was still reeling from her confessions to Gideon and her confrontation with Samantha. David had not been home in two nights, and Natalie was beginning to ask questions.

“Not good, Cynthia. This is not a very good time for me. Can you call me back later?”

“This will only take a minute.”

Scarlett plopped down on the sofa and said, “Okay, but could you please make this quick? I have a terrible headache.”

“This is about Samantha.”

“I assumed so,” Scarlett replied scornfully. “You put me in a very awkward position, Cynthia. I thought you had the votes locked up. I held up my end, and you couldn't even get your own husband to vote against her. I looked like a fool at the meeting. I thought you could count on Hattie's vote.”

Scarlett shivered when she recalled the night the board of trustees installed Samantha as permanent pastor.

The board of trustees had sat nervously around the table in the recently christened Pastor Hezekiah T. Cleaveland Memorial Conference Room. The special closed meeting had been convened at the request of Reverend Kenneth Davis. The only item on the agenda was the selection of the permanent pastor of New Testament Cathedral.

Kenneth sat at the head of the table as the convener of the meeting. Hattie Williams's wooden cane rested on the conference table. Her purse, filled with Kleenex, peppermints, and a pocket Bible, rested on her lap. Reverend Percy Pryce sat to her left, three chairs down. Despite his best attempts at appearing calm and detached, he could not hide the glimmer on his upper lip, which betrayed the churning in his stomach.

Kenneth nervously checked his watch. Scarlett Shackelford sat stiffly three chairs to his right. The pills she'd taken before leaving home that evening had effectively erased the remains of her shattered emotions.

“I don't think she's coming,” Kenneth said, checking his watch again. “It's already twenty past eight. We were supposed to start at eight.”

“Maybe we should start without her,” Percy said softly.

“She'll be here.”

All heads turned to Hattie.

“How do you know that?” Scarlett asked coldly.

“Because she's already in the building,” Hattie said. “I can feel her.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes and said impatiently, “I say we call the meeting to order right now and get this over with.”

As she spoke, the security guard swung one half of the double doors open and Samantha appeared in the threshold. Kenneth and Percy leapt to their feet, while Hattie and Scarlett remained seated. Before entering, Samantha made eye contact with everyone at the table.

“Good evening, Brothers and Sisters,” she said confidently. “I apologize for my lateness, but I was attending to church business. Please sit down, Brothers.”

Reverend Davis walked to the console and poured a glass of water. “Would anyone else like a glass before we get started?”

A chorus of “No” and “No thank you, Reverend,” followed, and he made his way back to the head of the table.

Samantha sat four chairs to the right of Scarlett, which placed her the farthest from the head of the table. She crossed her legs and leaned back in the high-backed leather chair.

Kenneth placed the glass of water beside a single sheet of paper, five pens, a stack of index cards, and a small tape recorder. After pressing the RECORD button on the tape recorder, he said, “I now call this special meeting of the Board of Trustees of New Testament Cathedral to order at eight twenty-five on this day of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Thank you all for coming on such short notice. As you know, we are convened to decide an issue of the utmost importance. The sole agenda item is who will serve as the permanent pastor of New Testament Cathedral.”

Samantha raised her hand and was immediately acknowledged by Kenneth.

“I would like to know what prompted this sudden need to appoint a permanent pastor,” Samantha said calmly. “It was my understanding that I would be given ample time to demonstrate to this body and the congregation at large that I am fully capable of serving in that position on a permanent basis. Is one month the trustees' idea of ‘ample time'?”

No one spoke as Samantha waited patiently to see who would lead the charge. Finally, Percy leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table. “Pastor Cleaveland,” he said, clearing his throat. “This is in no way a reflection on how we feel about your leadership during this trying time. I think I speak for us all when I say under the circumstances we feel you have done an amazing job in holding the congregation together and keeping the vision of Pastor Cleaveland alive and on track.”

“Then what is this all about?” Samantha asked, her question punctuated by a flick of her French-tipped nail on the table.

Kenneth stepped in. “It's just that some of us feel we may not have fully factored in your feelings when we placed you in this position. We . . . I mean I, feel we may have acted too hastily, and selfishly, I might add. You just lost your husband. The center of your life. Reverend Pryce is willing to step in and give you the time you and Jasmine need to—”

“Reverend Davis, I am very aware that I just lost my husband,” Samantha interrupted, “but contrary to popular belief, he was not the center of my life. God is the center of my life, as I hope He is yours. I loved my husband, but I also love New Testament Cathedral. I helped found this church when it was in a storefront on Imperial Highway before any of you ever heard of the Cleavelands or the Cleavelands had ever heard of any of you.” Samantha leaned into the table. Her tone became firmer, and the words came more rapidly as she spoke. “Hezekiah and I built this ministry from the ground up, and now you think just because he's gone, you can snatch it from under my feet.”

“Now, hold on, Reverend Cleaveland,” Percy said, jumping in and gesturing with both hands. “No one is trying to snatch New Testament away from you. We all recognize the significant contributions you have made to this church, and we all appreciate everything you've done to make New Testament what it is today. We're only thinking about what's best for you. That's all. This is not an indictment against you.”