When Sunday Comes Again (3 page)

Read When Sunday Comes Again Online

Authors: Terry E. Hill

Tags: #Fiction, #African American, #General, #Urban

BOOK: When Sunday Comes Again
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With that, Samantha ended the call and rode in silence. The Monday morning Los Angeles rush hour traffic had subsided. Cars on the freeway moved at a decent clip. Dino was determined to get Samantha to New Testament Cathedral in the fifteen minutes she had anticipated.
The car turned onto Hezekiah T. Cleaveland Avenue. The street had been named in honor of her husband three years earlier.
I wish someone would knock down those street signs,
she thought silently.
I'm going to erase every memory of him from the face of the earth. In a year the world will forget he ever existed.
To her left, Samantha saw the two-block-long and five-story-high New Testament Cathedral. In the midst of the dense urban setting, the church sat on ten acres of park-like grounds with cobblestone paths, rolling swaths of freshly cut grass, gurgling streams, and gushing stone fountains. A sweeping flight of stairs led to the glass entrance of the towering temple. From the street, a massive blown-glass chandelier could be seen hanging in the sun-drenched lobby. Writhing, spiraling cones of vibrant glass burst out in every direction from the light fixture's illuminated core.
Groundskeepers in green uniforms scurried about, mowing grass, pruning trees, and coddling roses, as the limousine drove by. On Samantha's right Hezekiah's legacy was slowly rising from the earth. Construction of the new twenty-five-thousand-seat crystal cathedral had continued at Samantha's insistence. Cement trucks churned along dirt roads. Scaffolding hung precariously along the side of the steel skeleton, and workers pounded, bolted, and soldered at all levels of the structure.
The car pulled into the reserved space near the administrative wing of the building. Dino scanned the parking lot before exiting the vehicle. He stood and did a 360-degree rotation to ensure no one was near the car before he opened the rear door.
Samantha extended her elegant Prada-clad foot from the vehicle. When she stood from the car, the morning light appeared like a pool at her feet and hovered around her head. The fiber of her mint pantsuit seemed to glow as she walked toward the building. Dino closed the car door and followed closely behind. He took a double step ahead of her and opened the door as she moved forward without altering her stride and stepped aside.
Samantha entered the office, which was filled with staff members. Young men in dress shirts and ties and women who looked like knockoff versions of Samantha studied glowing computer screens. Ringing telephones were greeted with “Thank you for calling New Testament Cathedral. God loves you, and so do we. How may I help you?” No one looked up as Samantha crossed the room, heading toward her office. They each had been instructed on the day they were hired, “Do not make eye contact with or address Samantha Cleaveland unless she speaks to you directly.”
Samantha entered the outer office of the suite that had three weeks earlier been occupied by her husband. Her assistant, Veronica, sat upright at her desk when she entered. She wore a neatly tailored navy blue suit over a perfectly pressed white blouse and a floral scarf was draped over her shoulders.
“Good morning, Pastor Cleaveland,” the attractive young woman said. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you earlier, but he was very insistent.”
Samantha ignored the woman's contrition and instead said, “I want my entire staff in the conference room in ten minutes. Make it happen.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Samantha looked coldly at the woman and said, “I've asked you not to call me ma'am. You're not in Mississippi anymore, and I'm not your mother. You will refer to me as Pastor Cleaveland. If
ma'am
slips from your lips again, consider yourself fired. Is that understood?”
Veronica looked down at the neat desk and responded, “I understand, Pastor Cleaveland.”
“Good. Now, make sure everyone is in the conference room. Let them know that whoever is not present can pick up their last paycheck in accounting.” The door to Hezekiah's office shut behind Samantha on the last syllable.
The large office, with antiques from around the world, overlooked the grounds of New Testament Cathedral from the fifth floor. The construction site across the street was partially visible in the corner of the window. Lush burgundy carpeting muffled the sounds of traffic below, and an oil painting of the Cleavelands hung over a fireplace encased in an ornately carved oak mantelpiece.
The message indicator on the telephone on the desk blinked as Samantha removed the dark sunglasses and sat in the high-back leather chair. She pressed a button and heard, “Hello, Reverend Cleaveland. This is Gideon Truman. May I offer my deepest sympathies for your loss. Pastor Cleaveland was a wonderful man. I never had the opportunity to meet him but heard good things about his work over the years, and everyone I've spoken to who knew Hezekiah speaks very highly of him. I understand this must be a very difficult time for you, but I would like to invite you to appear on my television program for an interview. You are a beloved American icon, and of course, the public is very interested in hearing from you and learning how you are handling the unfortunate death of—”
Samantha erased the message and prompted the next. “Hello, Reverend Cleaveland. This is Gideon Truman again. Your assistant just informed me that you believe I am spreading rumors about an exclusive interview. I can assure you that is not true. I have the highest respect for you and would never play such a manipulative game. I'm not sure how that got out there, but please believe that neither I nor anyone on my staff is involved. I would, however, be honored if you would allow me a few moments of your time to talk about a possible appearance on my program. Your assistant has my info. I hope to hear from you.”
Samantha leaned back in the chair and spun toward the window. She could see a crane hoisting a steel beam up the side of the new cathedral.
You can wait a little longer, pretty boy,
she thought.
I'll let you talk to me when the time is right
.
The intercom buzzed, slicing through the silence. Samantha slapped the button and barked, “Yes? What is it?”
“I'm sorry, Pastor Cleaveland, but Catherine Birdsong is here. She would like a brief moment with you before the staff meeting.”
“Tell her she can see me in three minutes, along with everyone else in the conference room.”
“Yes, Pastor Cleaveland,” was the timid reply.
Catherine Birdsong, the New Testament Cathedral Chief Operations Officer, stood at Veronica's desk in shock as she heard the line disconnect on the speaker. The wool, steel-gray suit she wore stood stiff like a suit of armor. Only her hand shook as she spoke. “Who in the hell does she think she is?” she mumbled to the air as she turned and marched out of the room.
Chapter 3
It was ten thirty on Monday morning at New Testament Cathedral. The entire administrative staff had gathered rapidly in the building's main conference room, just as Samantha had ordered only ten minutes earlier. Everyone scrambled for the seats that were positioned farthest from the front and center of the room.
Men in suits, with neckties waving behind them, sprinted toward the conference room past panting, well-dressed middle-aged women, who, as they entered the room, searched frantically for any open seat. This was to be the first meeting Samantha had convened with the full staff since the untimely death of her husband.
Nervous chatter filled the room. “Do you know what this is about?” was heard from a table near the center of the room.
“Here we go. I don't think this is going to be pretty,” said a man as he straightened his tie. “I just hope she doesn't fire me in front of the whole room.”
Associate Pastor Kenneth Davis sat at a table in the front. The others at his table noticed the nervousness behind the thin veneer of composure. Reverend Percy Pryce shared a table with Catherine Birdsong and Naomi Preston, the director of public relations. Naomi sat with her eyes fixed on the front of the room. Her stiff, shoulder-length hair turned like a hat on the odd occasions she looked to see who entered through the rear door.
The room fell silent as a door in the front opened and Samantha appeared. She stood in the threshold for a moment and scanned the room. A smattering of applause began at the back of the room and slowly rolled to the front, until Samantha held up her hand, motioning them to stop immediately.
She walked to the front of the crowd and stood firmly. “Good morning, New Testament Cathedral family.
A jumbled chorus of “Good morning, Reverend Cleaveland,” “Good morning, Mrs. Cleaveland,” and “Good morning, Pastor Cleaveland” followed from the crowd.
Samantha threw the room a disappointed glare and said, “I see some of you are still not sure what to call me. Well, let me help you out. As of last week's board of trustees meeting, I am the pastor of New Testament Cathedral. Therefore, it is appropriate for you to address me as Pastor Cleaveland.”
A collective look of bewilderment swept across the faces of everyone present.
Samantha continued, “Now that that is out of the way, let's get down to business. I want to first assure you that the death of my husband will in no way interfere with the operations of New Testament Cathedral. We will continue with all scheduled television broadcasts. Our elementary, middle schools, high schools, and college will continue to provide quality education to the future generations of doctors, lawyers, teachers, and missionaries. Our monthly magazine will continue to be published, and most importantly, construction of the new crystal cathedral will go on as scheduled.”
Again, the room applauded, this time uninterrupted by Samantha. She flashed a short-lived smile and continued. “What that means for you is you will have to work harder and longer than you ever have before. I expect full and complete loyalty from everyone who works in this ministry. My husband and I have very different styles of management, and if you are given the opportunity to continue working here, you will soon understand what I mean by that.”
Samantha took commanding and well-timed steps toward the center of the room as she spoke. “That brings me to my next point. No one in this room should feel secure in their job. Over the next few months you each will have to prove to me that you have what it takes to be a part of the New Testament Cathedral family.”
She turned as she spoke until a full circle had been completed and eye contact had been made with virtually everyone in the room. “You will have to prove your loyalty to this ministry. You will have to demonstrate that you are willing to do whatever God asks you to do to spread his message to every living being on this earth. You will have to show me that you are able to raise more money than this church has ever raised in the past.”
She paused to observe the looks of terror and fear on their faces and took mental note of those on which fear was not apparent.
You'll have to go, you and you,
she thought. “The last thing I want to discuss with you is a few structural changes. As of today I will be functioning not only as pastor but also as chief operations officer.”
Subdued gasps were heard from every corner of the room, the loudest of which came from Catherine Birdsong. Samantha ignored them and continued. “Until further notice, all questions, payment requisitions, and personnel issues that were previously directed to Catherine will now come to me.”
Catherine looked directly at Samantha with a questioning expression. She resisted the urge to stand and walk out of the room.
Samantha returned her gaze but spoke to everyone present. “Are there any questions?”
All eyes were focused on Catherine in anticipation of a heated exchange between the two most powerful people in the room. Catherine instead broke the eye contact with Samantha and cast her gaze down at the table.
“Good. I want every department head to contact my assistant to set up an appointment with me. Be prepared to give me a detailed report on the state of your division, the role of each of your employees, and to explain to me why I should allow you to keep your job.”
Everyone in the room sat frozen in their seats. Some exchanged wounded glances, while others avoided eye contact with their tablemates.
“Now,” she went on, looking menacingly across the crowd, “unless anyone else has something to add, I think we should all get back to work. Have a blessed day, everyone.”
No one moved or exhaled until Samantha exited the room through the same door she had entered. When the door closed behind her, some slumped in their chairs, some stood dazed and bewildered, while others quickly exited the room.
Kenneth Davis's long legs quickly carried him across the room. He was the first to approach Catherine as she moved away toward the rear door. “Catherine, I'm so sorry. Did you know about this? Why didn't you tell me?”
Catherine did not turn around as she marched through the crowded room. Staff members stepped aside to clear her path. “I didn't tell you because this is the first I've heard of it,” she said with her back to him.
The two were the first to exit the room. Kenneth struggled to keep up with her rapid pace as they walked side by side down the hall. “You mean she never talked to you in private?”
“That's exactly what I mean. The bitch fired me in front of seventy people.”
“I didn't hear her say you were fired.”
“Neither did I, but how else am I to interpret that performance? She now runs everything and everyone. She's always wanted me out of here, and now she has the power to make it happen.” The two rounded the final corner in unison and stopped in front of Catherine's office.
“You need to talk to her and find out what her plans are. Don't assume she wants you out. If she did, I think she would have said it long before this morning.”
“I'm so upset right now, I don't trust what I would do or say if I were alone with her. She had no right to humiliate me in front of everyone. She's evil, Kenneth. What possible motivation could she have to treat me like that? I've been loyal all these years to them both and to New Testament Cathedral. She's always been a power-hungry woman who doesn't care whom she hurts as long as she gets what she wants, and now that Hezekiah is gone, there's no one who can stop her.”
“That might be true, but you still need this job. Where are you going to go? You love New Testament Cathedral,” Kenneth said, escorting her into her office.
“I'm not so sure about that anymore. Hezekiah would have never treated anyone so cruelly. It's different now, and I'm not sure that I want to be a part of it.”
“Just remember she is only the interim pastor. The trustees will see how wrong she is for the position and vote her out. You have to be patient and let her hang herself.”
Catherine laughed out loud. “If the trustees were naive enough to put her in the position, they'll never vote her out. She'll manipulate them the same way she manipulated Hezekiah and everyone else she wants to control.”
“All I'm saying, Catherine, is that you should speak with her first. Let her know that you aren't a threat. That you only want what's best for New Testament Cathedral.”
Catherine sat at her desk and rested her head on the back of the cushioned leather chair, willing herself not to cry as Kenneth hovered above her. She took a deep breath and let out an exhausted sigh. “I'll think about it, Kenneth. But I'm not optimistic.”
 
 
A fountain poured threads of water into a gently gurgling stream that wound through the center of the room. The only hint that it was a Japanese restaurant was the army of attractive and young Asian waiters moving silently from table to table, attending to the whims of diners. Gideon Truman checked his watch as the waiter poured more water into his glass. The trendy restaurant was dimly lit by modern lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The surfaces throughout the dining room were a mix of gleaming polished steel, cold gray cement, and highly glossed teak.
“Are you ready to order, sir?” inquired the waiter, who was wearing the regulation white shirt, black bow-tie, and black pants.
“No,” Gideon replied politely. “I'm waiting for someone. Looks like they're running late.”
“I'll check back in a few minutes,” the waiter said as he bowed his head.
Patrons of the restaurant discreetly craned their necks to sneak a glimpse at the handsome news reporter. Sushi chefs peeked at Gideon through the glass shield on the counter to ensure their illustrious lunch guest was comfortable and receiving the best service as they expertly sliced rich red strips of fresh tuna and molded fists of jasmine rice.
Gideon was used to the attention. At forty-five he was the host of a top-rated investigative news program on CNN. His talent for unearthing sensational facts that eluded his competition, coupled with a handsome yet boyish face, made him one of the most popular reporters in the country.
Every evening Gideon's face could be seen in the living rooms, bedrooms, and boardrooms of millions of American viewers. B-list celebrities clamored for the opportunity to appear on his program and be questioned to the point of tears as they confessed to being molested by their uncle when they were children, or to deny being the father of a silicon-injected stripper's love child. On the other hand, A-list celebrities, politicians, corporate CEOs, and heads of state did their best to avoid being caught under the glare of his bright light for fear of involuntarily revealing the one secret that would send their careers plummeting into the depths of public humiliation and obscurity.
His perfectly brown skin provided the ideal contrast for teeth that matched the luster of the finest Australian pearl. The warmth of his deep caramel eyes could seduce, comfort, and then, if he chose, dissect the powerful with surgical-like precision.
Gideon had not fully understood the impact of his striking looks until his first television job at a small station in Philadelphia. It was there he learned that most people were far more interested in what he looked like and with whom he slept than the stories he reported, a fact that never pleased him. There was always a subtle hint of embarrassment in his tone whenever he spoke to the cameras. It was as if he were saying, “I'm sorry if I am distracting you from this important story.” This modesty provided viewers with yet another indescribable something that made him even more desirable.
Rumors of his questionable sexuality were frequently the topic of conversation at beauty salons, smart dinner parties, and on the cover of tabloids. No one knew definitively, but the gay community assumed he was “family,” while ever-hopeful females defended his heterosexuality as if he were their husband-to-be or favorite son.
As Gideon reached for a full water glass, Cynthia Pryce approached the table. “Good afternoon, Mr. Truman,” she said, extending her hand. Gideon bumped the table when he stood and gently took her hand. He appeared slightly rattled.
“I'm sorry. Did I startle you?” she said with a curious expression on her face.
“No. No, not at all. I must, however, confess that I wasn't expecting you to be so . . . Please sit down.”
Cynthia smiled. “Thank you. To be so what?”
“Well, so attractive,” he replied, uncharacteristically embarrassed.
Cynthia smiled and said, “Really? What exactly were you expecting?”
Gideon quickly regained his composure. “I'm not sure. Maybe a more matronly church-lady type, wearing lots of lace around her neck and a big hat with silk flowers.”
They laughed gently. Both revealed pearly smiles that demanded the attention of diners from other tables.
After being directed by the chef, the waiter returned promptly to the table. “Good afternoon, ma'am. May I offer you something from the bar?” he asked Cynthia.

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