Pastor Needs a Boo (12 page)

“What would make you think that?” Marsha asked him.

“You do like Jill Scott, right?”

“Yeah, love her music. Like Millie Jackson, too,” she said, hoping to wipe that smirk off of his face. Denzelle was a preacher. Marsha knew he was not expecting for her, of all people, to like some Millie Jackson.

Denzelle sucked on his tooth for a moment like he was standing on the street corner, checking her out while she walked by.

“Millie, huh. You trying to be grown and don't even know any of the infamous Millie Jackson's songs. Name two.”

“‘Hurt So Good.' The ultimate, she-know-she-wrong song, ‘Caught Up.' And my favorite, ‘Ask Me What You Want.' Satisfied, Pastor?”

“I'm scared of you, Ms. Metcalf.”

Millie Jackson. Sister tells you she likes Millie Jackson, and then starts talking 'bout the song ‘Caught Up,' that's a sister who definitely got some crunk in her system. Denzelle knew Marsha had it going on. But what he didn't know was that she had it like a good plate of ribs and freshly cooked collard greens. That was the kind of woman a brother had to search high and low for.

He knew Marsha was an anointed woman of God. Now he was wondering about the extent of that anointing. How far, how much, how deep did that anointing go? Was it the kind of anointing that stopped in the church, and showed up a bit in the living room or in the kitchen? Or did that thing work its way all the way home—to the bedroom? Now, if it did. That was an anointed woman. Women just didn't know that brothers wanted that anointing to be total, complete, and quite comprehensive.

It had never occurred to Denzelle that he'd been underestimating Marsha. True, he had it for her. True, he wanted to get to know her. But one thing that was holding Denzelle back was that Marsha was so sweet and always acting so appropriate. That was a good thing—up to a point.

Denzelle Flowers was saved, and he definitely loved the Lord. But he was still a man. And he wanted a woman who could handle the real Denzelle—the one who wasn't wearing the collar, and the one who wanted to see the full spectrum of a woman's
anointing
.

So the crucial question: Was the girl really, really anointed? Denzelle wanted to know the answer to that question. But he didn't have a clue as to how to obtain this information in the right, or more like righteous, way.

Back in the day he would have gotten himself a sampling of the answer to that question. Now he would have to rely on prayer and the Lord for the answer. And Denzelle was a good enough preacher to know that the Lord would take His own sweet time in giving him a breakthrough answer on this one.

Marsha had been passing all of Denzelle's secret tests on that secret list brothers keep close to their hearts when they were single and scoping out women. His list, however, was a bit on the ridiculous side, because Denzelle was terrified of getting hurt again after being married to Tatiana. That extreme list had helped him to get rid of a whole lot of women. And while the list hadn't helped him get rid of Marsha Metcalf, it sure did aid in his determination to keep her at bay.

Now Miss Thing had told him something simple and funny about herself that put her name high on his list, and Denzelle didn't quite know what to do. Instead of letting Marsha know how funny and delightful that little tidbit was to him, Denzelle decided that he needed to put her back in her place: at a complete disadvantage with him.

Denzelle sat back on the edge of his desk with one leg swinging down, grinning. He loved this stance. It was so mannish and gave him the upper hand with a woman like Marsha Metcalf. He couldn't take this posture with all women—some of them were bold enough to take him up on his unspoken offer. It only worked with a woman he could count on retreating into a ladylike posture.

Denzelle grinned again. He'd read Marsha like a book. She was sitting down with her hands folded in her lap, looking like she was at a job interview. He rested one hand across the leg that was leaning up on his desk.

Just as Denzelle had expected, Marsha was not comfortable with him sitting on that desk like that. She wished he would get his butt off of the desk and go somewhere and sit down like he had some sense. Marsha knew she was not going to win this particular round with Denzelle. So she opted to throw
him
off balance.

Marsha was tired of being off-balance with him. She looked at Denzelle grinning, and then up at a picture of him in Chicago the night President Obama was elected. She stared at the picture like it was the first time she'd ever seen it, and then asked, “You were there?”

“Uhh … yeah, Marsha,” Denzelle answered, thrown off for a second with a question he knew she knew the answer to. “I think you know that picture has been up there over four years.”

“Uhh … yeah,” she said, determined to keep the control she'd just managed to seize from him. “But sometimes I just have to ask. It was such an incredible night, you know.”

Denzelle didn't even respond. Of course the election of President Obama was an incredible night. He was not going to let her win this round, though. Denzelle went behind his desk and turned up the music and began bobbing his head like he was in his car, cruising around Raleigh with her by his side.

Marsha sat back in her chair and tried to act like she couldn't hear the music.

“Girl, loosen up. I know you want to get your groove on to this song.”

He stood up and began to bob his head and move his hands up and down like he was at the club. Jill Scott's “It's Love” was playing. Denzelle thought there wasn't a more perfect song than this one for this moment. He started singing the chorus all off-key.

“… do you want it on your rice and gravy,/do you want it on your biscuits,/baby … Jill, you need to be my baby mama.”

Marsha was cracking up with laughter. A lot of folk didn't know how silly and funny Denzelle was.

“See, that wasn't so hard,” he told her, still getting his groove on to the last drop of notes on the song.

“Nahh … just surprised to hear it in your office like that,” Marsha told him.

“Why? Do I always have to listen to gospel music? Now, don't get me wrong, I do love me some gospel music. And I always need the Word in song to feed my spirit. But there are days when a little bit of Jill Scott, Kem, the Isley Brothers, and some Earth, Wind, and Fire are what I need for the day.

“Now, if you rolled up in here and I was blasting some Rick Ross, then maybe you might need to pull my coattail a bit.”

“Denzelle, you like Rick Ross?”

He grinned, picked up a pen, and held it up like the rappers did when onstage, and said in a perfect Rick Ross imitation, “I think I'm Big Meech, Larry Hoover/whippin' work, hallelujah/one nation, under God…”

Marsha laughed hard at Denzelle, who had the moves and the beat down. Then that crazy boy start singing, Ross's “Hustlin'.”

“You are so crazy.”

“Yeah, Baby,” Denzelle answered, and then started on the first chords of “No Hands” by Waka Flocka Flame with Roscoe Dash and Wale. He started singing, “girl the way you movin'/got me in a trance.”

Marsha held up her hand and said, “Stop, don't you sing the rest.”

Denzelle was cracking up. He wasn't going to sing “girl, drop it to the floor,/I love the way your booty go,” even though he was definitely thinking it, looking at the way Marsha was working those capris.

“Okay, Miss Marsha Metcalf. I'll be good, for your sake.”

“Thank you,” Marsha said. Marcus kept telling her that their pastor was on the trill side. And he'd also told his mother, “Mom, you know Reverend Flowers knows all of the words to good rap songs. I think it's pretty cool. Let's me know he just a man trying to make it to heaven like the rest of us.”

She would have told Marcus that he was right. But couldn't. Telling Mr. Man all of that would have necessitated telling him what led up to her personal rap performance. Marcus would be all up in her grill, trying to figure out why the pastor wanted to sing a song like “No Hands” to his mother in his office at church. That would be like giving Marcus an overdose of TMI.

There was a hard knock on the door, and before Denzelle could say anything, Dayeesha swung the door wide open, and Veronica Washington and Keisha Jackson were right behind her. The three of them had been standing right outside the door, trying not to laugh out loud when they heard Denzelle in there doing a pretty crunked Rick Ross imitation. They would have paid good money to see Marsha's face while this show was in progress.

Right before Dayeesha knocked on the door, Keisha whispered, “I told y'all Rev was off the chain. Y'all don't want to believe me when I tell you stuff like that.”

“I've always believed your butt,” Dayeesha whispered back. “All you have to do is look at how Rev dresses. Remember, he buys his sports clothes from Metro.”

“And,” Veronica added, “he left a string of frustrated hoochies when he started telling folk that he needed some time to be with the Lord.”

“That is such an old church player move,” Keisha said. “Brothers get on my nerves talking crazy like that. You don't have to announce that you are going to spend time with the Lord. All you have to do is do it.

“I know,” Dayeesha added. “Whenever a brother starts talking like that, he is trying to get some women in his church up off of him. You let the woman he wants to get with show up, and see how fast, he will tell Jesus, “Hollah at ya' later, Homey.”

“You ain't never lied,” Veronica said, and pushed the door open, hoping to see just what Mr. Denzelle looked like doing all of that entertaining. She knew he was a trip—just rarely saw him acting like the regular brother that he was. Folk made it hard for preachers—acted like they didn't have the same needs and interests as other men and women.

Denzelle heard the knock and tried to reel it in before Dayeesha or Keisha saw him trying to get a slick, “I'm mackin' on you but I'm acting like I ain't mackin' on you” on Marsha. They had to hand it to old boy—he was smooth. But he wasn't smooth enough to get past their expert eyes. They hadn't been out in the world all of those years and not know what time it was with a man.

Dayeesha couldn't wait to get back to her desk and text Metro about this. She really wanted to call him but didn't dare do so. The last thing Dayeesha needed was to be overheard giving Metro a blow-by-blow account of Rev hitting on Marsha Metcalf. Her daddy had told her how Rev was a better player than he'd ever been. And that was saying a whole lot, because Dotsy Hamilton had been a consummate player back in the day.

Her daddy said, “Baby, I got it going on. But I'm telling you, Reverend Flowers used to have women sending him pictures in the mail. And that was long before folk were sending pictures to folk over the Internet and their phones.”

She had just looked at her daddy, hoping that he wasn't talking about the kind of pictures some women still sent to Metro. Big Dotsy looked back at his daughter and said, “Yeah, those pictures. What? You younguns think y'all the ones who started sending stuff like that to a man? Babygirl, some old and seasoned hoochies perfected that game long before you all were ever even thought of.”

 

Chapter Eight

“Ladies,” Denzelle said, as he gave each one a folder with her name on it and an envelope with a check in it.

Keisha put the folder in her lap and opened the envelope. She knew it was money, because she knew what an envelope felt like with a check in it. Keisha smiled at the $3,500 check with Keisha Jackson written across it. This would carry her through a whole month, with some change left over, while she continued to look for a full-time job.

Keisha had been very scared that she wasn't going to make it. It was still scary, and touch and go financially. But she could rest better at night with this extra cash in hand.

“What are you smiling about?” Veronica asked, wanting so bad to open up her envelope but didn't, because she didn't want to appear impolite.

“This,” Keisha answered, and handed her the check.

“Oh my,” Veronica said, and then she hurried and opened her own envelope. It was a check for $3,500. She looked up at Denzelle and said, “Thank you. I'm behind on my car payments.”

Denzelle nodded and sighed. He knew they were having it rough. Didn't know they were in the down to the wire state with their finances. But Obadiah always told him to listen carefully when folk started opening up about money troubles. He said, “D, when someone gets to telling you things like ‘my money real tight,' ‘I'm having a hard time finding a decent job,' ‘I'm struggling to get past this point,' what they're really trying to tell you in the nicest of ways is ‘
Look
, my back is up against the wall and I can barely pay basic bills like
RENT
,
CAR
,
FOOD
,
GAS
,
LIGHT BILL
, and on and on and on.

“And if they keep running behind on finishing something you know good and well they want to get done, they just may be running all over the place to get money to keep a roof over their head and don't know how to tell you that! That person is doing everything they know to do to get past this point. And maybe, just maybe, you might be the one with the ability to make a difference to ease the harshness of what they are facing. God may have given you the ability to be a blessing, so He can really bless you in return.”

Watching Keisha and Veronica caused Obie's words to hit home hard. Denzelle closed his eyes for a moment to hold back tears. It hurt that people were so mean and hateful that they would snatch jobs and mistreat others simply because they could. He was now curious to see Marsha's reaction to all of this. Of the three women, she had experienced the most financial hardships.

Marsha opened her envelope and wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. She had forty-three dollars left in her bank account. Rent was due, she needed to get her car inspected so she wouldn't get a ticket, and she had to make a payment to the IRS, so they wouldn't snatch away what little she had. Marsha needed a miracle, and she needed it fast.