A Preacher's Passion (26 page)

“I got it, I got it!” Stacy rushed into Bo’s house without knocking. She was so excited she didn’t recognize what Bo’s flailing arms meant.

“Got what?” Darius asked, coming around the corner.

“Oh,” Stacy stopped short. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Well, I am,” he said, coming over and rubbing her belly. “Now…got what?”

“Nothing,” she said, while trying to inconspicuously place the sheet of paper she was holding behind her.

“Let me see nothing,” Darius replied. He reached for the paper. At eight months along, Stacy was no match for Darius’s quickness. He snatched the paper easily.

“Who’s Jo Ann Reubens?” he asked after scanning the paper. He continued reading. “Mental institution…son Joseph Reubens…Atlanta…What’s this about?” He looked back and forth between Bo and Stacy. Stacy suddenly became unable to hear and scratch her belly at the same time while Bo became overly interested in the pattern on their hardwood floor.

“Bo, Stacy, what’s going on?” Darius asked again.

“We might as well tell him since it’s over now,” Stacy suggested.

“I guess you’re right,” Bo agreed.

“You tell him,” Stacy suggested.

“It was your idea,” Bo said.

“My idea? No, you didn’t…”

“Will
somebody
tell me what’s going on before I die?” Darius said in a raised voice.

“Come on, sit down,” Bo said. After they’d all taken a seat in the living room, he continued. “Shabach’s been trying to out you, but we’ve just found some info that will shut his ass up.”

“What?” Any mention of his archrival always sent him into a tizzy. That’s why Stacy and Bo hadn’t wanted him to know anything.

“Calm down now. I said we’ve got it handled. You all right, Stacy?”

“Ouch, I think so. This boy is really kicking. Ow!”

“Tell me everything.”

And they did. Bo and Stacy divulged the events of the past two months: the phone call alerting Bo to Shabach’s plans, Stacy and Bo scheming to find dirt on Shabach, and Stacy’s victory in doing so.

“Basically, his mama’s crazy,” Bo said in conclusion. “The woman he refers to in his interviews, and the one who raised him, is actually his godmother. From this paperwork, it looks like his real mom has been institutionalized since he was nine, ten years old.”

“Dang, that’s hard,” Darius said.

“No, what’s hard is his ass thinking he was going to expose us. Well, we’re getting ready to stop his game with one well-placed phone call. Give me that paper, Stacy.”

Bo left the room.

Darius wrapped his arms around Stacy and rubbed her stomach. “Wow, he is kicking,” he said after feeling the baby’s foot with his hand. “Don’t kick your daddy, son,” he said to Stacy’s stomach.

“I was wondering how you and Bo got so close all of a sudden. But I was just so happy for the cease fire, I didn’t want to jinx it by even bringing it up.”

“I think I’m going to go lay down,” Stacy said. “I feel…owww!”

“What’s going on, baby?”

“I—I think I’m in labor,” she panted.

“You’ve got another month to go. You can’t be in labor.”

“I’m in something.” Stacy moaned again, even louder.

“That’s it. We’re going to the hospital.”

“What about telling Bo?”

“I’ll call Bo on the cell phone. Let’s go now!”

“Where is he? Where’s my godson?” Four hours after an emergency C-section had been performed to deliver a premature but healthy baby boy, Bo waltzed into the maternity ward. He entered in his typically flamboyant fashion, with a bottle of champagne and a teddy bear almost as big as him. His exaggerated actions suggested he’d already sampled the bubbly.

“May I help you?” the woman at the nurse’s station asked.

“Darius Christian Crenshaw Jr. That’s who I’m here to see.”

“There’s nobody—”

“Mother, Stacy Gray; father, Darius Crenshaw. Time’s a wastin’, sistah, now where they at?”

“And you are?” the nurse asked with raised eyebrows.

“I’m the godfather, Bo Jenkins.”

The nurse shuffled through some papers and then directed Bo to Stacy’s room.

“Okay, everybody, let’s get the party start—Pastor Montgomery, what are you doing here?”

Pastor Montgomery, who had been praying with Stacy, looked up. “Bo Jenkins,” he said, rising and extending his hand. “See the lengths I’ll go to make sure you hear the Word?”

“Good to see you, Pastor,” Bo replied, shaking Derrick’s hand. “Keep praying for me.”

“Oh, I’m going to do that,” Derrick replied. He looked at Bo intently but said nothing further.

“Pastor Derrick was walking out the lobby as we were coming in,” Darius explained. “He said he’d come back later to pray with us and…here he is.”

Bo tried to hide the bottle of champagne under the bear as he sat it down. Instead, the foot of the bear caught the top of the champagne bottle and sent it rolling across the floor, where it knocked up against Pastor Montgomery’s foot.

Pastor Montgomery made a big deal of picking up the bottle. “Dom Pérignon…the good stuff. But no thank you, Bo. I don’t drink.”

“I don’t drink all that much,” Bo said sheepishly, stifling a belch. “But on special occasions, like childbirths and what have you…Speaking of, where’s Darius Jr.?”

“Down the hall. He’ll have to stay in the incubator for a while. Tanya and Stacy’s mother are down there now. Want to see him?” Darius asked.

Bo nodded.

“I’ll walk out with you two,” Derrick said. “Stacy, congratulations. I’m sure Vivian will be by to see you tomorrow.”

Stacy battled droopy eyelids, knowing she’d be asleep in seconds. “Bye, Pastor.”

Derrick, Darius, and Bo walked down the hall. When they reached the incubator room, Derrick spoke. “Bo, why don’t you go inside and say hello to little Darius. I need to speak with his father a moment.”

Bo looked at Darius.

“Go on, I’ll be right in,” Darius said.

Once Bo had gone inside, Derrick turned to Darius. “I’ve heard some things,” he began without preamble. “And I hadn’t said anything before now because, well, because you and Stacy got married and I figured all the rumors would be put to bed. But my spirit is still troubled, Darius. And now that there’s a child involved…”

“Just what have you heard?” Darius asked defensively.

“I don’t want to get into it here, but please, come by my office as soon as you can. It’s imperative that we talk right away. Congratulations on the birth of your son, Darius. I mean that.”

Princess smiled as she walked up the steps to her house. It was a perfect May day and her life mirrored the weather. A meeting with her counselors revealed that she’d end the year with a 3.5 GPA. Joni’s family had invited her and Kelvin to spend part of the summer at their Hawaiian home. And best of all? Her baby was about to get signed with the Phoenix Suns! It wasn’t a done deal yet but they’d been in quiet negotiations for the past several weeks. Only a small group knew about the happening. Princess was very proud to be one of the few.

It had worked out perfectly when her last class got cancelled. She went by “the spot,” copped some weed, and was going to order in Chinese food for when Kelvin returned from practice. She had a sexy, new piece of lingerie to show him, and since she knew Joni and Brandon had gone to San Diego, that’s how she planned to greet him when he walked in the door.

She was surprised when the strong smell of marijuana greeted her instead.
Brandon and Joni must have just left,
she thought. She started toward the kitchen to get the Chinese food menu, and then decided to use the bathroom first.

Just outside her bedroom door, Princess stopped. She wanted to make sure she heard what she thought she heard, although what she thought she heard was the last thing she expected to hear. But the undeniable sound of creaking springs, grunts, and moans filtered through the bedroom door.

Princess was stunned into immobility. After everything she’d done for him, all they’d been through? She knew he had the occasional fling every now and then, but with athletes, that was to be expected. Those women meant nothing. But to bring one home…in their bed?

“Oh, Kelvin, that feels so good. Yeah, do it just like that!”

The command dislodged Princess’s feet from the floor where they’d been rooted. She flung open the door and flew into the room. The woman was riding Kelvin, her long weave flowing behind her. That’s what Princess used to drag her to the door.

“Come in my house, bitch,” she cried as she jumped on top of the naked coed and pummeled her. “Fuck my man!”

The woman was trying to fight back but Princess had a death grip on the weave and was yanking it with all her might.

“Get off me, you crazy whore,” the girl cried. “Get—your—ass—”

And then, thanks to Kelvin, the woman was freed. “Get out,” he told her, holding Princess back. “Now!”

“Get your hands off me,” Princess said, twisting this way and that to get out of Kelvin’s grip.

He held her with little effort. “Calm down,
mami
,” he cooed. And then to the girl who was standing there watching them. “Get the fuck out!”

“Yeah, I’ll go, I’ll go,” she said, angrily pulling on her pants and top, sans underwear. “But I will be back. In fact, I’m going to be around for a long time.”

“Get your ass out!” Princess screamed hysterically. She renewed her efforts to break free from Kelvin.

“He’s yours for the next seven, eight months,” Fawn said as she casually walked out the bedroom. “Until I have his baby.”

The SOS crowd buzzed with anticipation. So much had happened to the Los Angeles first ladies set to lead the conference: first the woman who died at Sistah Vivian’s church, and then the very public revelation of Pastor Carla’s affair, followed by her husband’s less public but equally well-known petition for divorce. None of the attendees knew what to expect. Would Pastor Carla show up? Would Sistah Vivian discuss what happened to the woman who died? Was the third conference moderator, Tai Brook, going to reveal some deep dark secret as well? Or were they going to mention nothing of what was on everybody’s mind and instead try and focus on the session’s ironic theme, Triple A: Anointed, Appointed, and Above Average?

They didn’t have to wait long to find out. Sistah Vivian took the stage toward the end of the praise team’s enthusiastic opening, full of fire as always. Pastor Carla, Sistah Tai, and other first ladies mounted the podium as well.

“Praise the Lord!” she said, lifting her hands toward heaven. “Oh, I believe you can do better than that. Praise God up in here this evening! He’s been too good not to praise Him. He’s been too kind not to open your mouth and give a shout of thanksgiving to our God. Hallelujah!”

The praise team resumed singing amid the glorious celebration of saints:

It took several moments for the crowd to quiet. Once they did, Vivian dove right in to what was on everyone’s mind.

“Well, my sisters, much has happened since last we met. As you all know, it’s been a rough time for your first ladies. We’ve had some bad days…some hills to climb.” Vivian continued speaking the words of the popular song and then sang the line, “but God’s been good to me!”

The crowd joined her in their declaration to not complain, no matter what. There were tears of sorrow, and of joy, as conference-goers recalled what God had brought them through.

“That’s it, that’s it, give God praise!” Once again, Vivian waited for the jubilation to diminish. She took a moment to look over the crowd, and began again.

“As this summit approached, the first ladies here”—she pointed to the women on the podium—“and I had many discussions. We talked about what, if anything would be said about the very public events that have taken place. There was even talk about whether or not the summit should still happen. But in the end, we decided that nothing could stop what God had started, and that’s why we’re here today.

“We want the focus of this summit to be on the theme, on what we are all striving or should be striving to be—anointed, appointed, and above average. However, Pastor Carla pointed out, and leave it to Carla to do so, that the theme is not what’s on your minds right now. You’re wondering about Robin Cook, the woman who poisoned herself at our church. That’s a short story, ladies. Since her death, we learned she suffered from a severe form of psychosis and in her mind imagined enemies around her. As a result, she took her life. So no matter what else you’ve heard, that’s the truth about that. I ask you to keep her family and friends in your prayers.

“And, of course, you’re wondering about Pastor Carla Lee. Some of you, and I can see it in your faces, are even wondering what she’s doing here, and why she’s on the podium with the other first ladies. Pastor Carla has chosen to not participate in the full SOS summit, but she asked to come speak to you tonight. We decided to do it now, this first evening, so we can hopefully move forward with the things God has placed in our hearts.

“And now, I hope you’ll hear the heart of our sister. Without further ado, Pastor Carla Lee.”

There was a spattering of applause as Carla rose from her seat. Vivian gave her a big hug as they exchanged places, and nodded her support.

“Good evening, ladies,” Carla began. “I ask you for your prayers right now as being here tonight isn’t easy. But I knew it was necessary for me to come, to stand before you while I’m in the valley, just like I did when I was on the mountain.

“Sistahs, I’m here tonight to seek your forgiveness. I’ve sinned and come short of God’s glory. I’ve disrupted a family, tarnished the reputation of a powerful ministry, and cast a dark cloud over a good man, a godly man. For that, I’m truly sorry. And while there is more to this situation than I’m willing to share, I won’t stand here and justify my actions. What I did was wrong, being with someone who was not my husband. And now,” Carla’s voice broke. “And now, I’m reaping the consequences of my actions with Stanley filing for divorce.

“Some of you are wondering…is this it for Sistah Carla? Will she step down from the pulpit, from spreading the message about the power of God’s love? Honestly, saints, I don’t know what the future holds. But I know who holds the future. I’m in the furnace right now, and it’s hotter than I’ve ever experienced. But I want to ask you something.”

Carla paused a moment and wiped tears from her eyes.

“Would you please be patient with me? You see, I don’t think God is through with me yet. I think there’s some…I think there’s some things He’s still working on. Some things that need to be cut out, some things that need to be fixed up. But oh, when God gets through with me, sistahs, I believe that I will come forth as pure gold. Hallelujah!

“You know how I know I’ll be okay? Because you might not forgive me…but God has already forgiven me. You might not love me…but God’s love never stopped. You might judge me, but Jesus has already said to me: ‘Woman! Where art thou accusers? Go! And sin no more!’”

A round of conservative applause broke out across the auditorium, not the rousing hand claps she usually was afforded, but more than the spattering she’d earlier received. A few “We love you, Sistah Carlas” rang out, and an amen or two could be heard across the room.

Carla went on. “When we first ladies put together these Sanctity of Sisterhood meetings, it was with the thought to lift you up, to help you be empowered, and live the anointed, above average lives you were created to live. But tonight, my dear sisters, it’s me who needs lifting, it’s me who needs to be empowered, it’s me standing in the need of prayer.” Carla didn’t try and stop the now steady flow of tears. “And I’m just wondering if there’s anyone out there who can lift a sistah up, who can love me back up to where I belong….” She stopped, unable to go on.

The room was quiet, except for Carla’s sobs. Vivian prepared to rise, to go over and comfort her sister. But the Lord stopped her. She heard the word
no
clearly in her spirit. She sat back…watched…and waited.

At first nobody moved. And then two ladies stood up together, and with great pomp and circumstance walked out of the hall. A couple more followed them, one murmuring about the Jezebel spirit infiltrating the church.

Then Mother Moseley, who was sitting in the front row, slowly rose to her feet. “I’ll help lift you, Sistah Carla,” she said in a loud, firm voice. She waved Carla down from the podium, and met her with a big hug. More voices rang out: “I’ll help lift you! We love you, sistah! Keep your head up, Pastor Carla!”

Several more people left the auditorium, but most of the women crowded toward the front, ready to use their love to help lift their fallen sister. Vivian’s eyes filled with tears as she witnessed the love of Christ in action, the unconditional love that His Word commanded. She understood why the spirit had held her back. He’d wanted His love to flow from the pews up, not from the pulpit down.

Into this swelling of God’s forgiveness came the melodious voice of an a cappella soloist. Her voice was as soothing as a balm in Gilead:

Tori dabbed her eyes as she witnessed the powerful scene before her. How grateful she was that the MLM Network’s board had decided to keep Lavon as executive director over their inspirational programming division. Because he’d been right, Carla had that “it” factor. She was just what the network was looking for, their first nationally syndicated talk show host.