Pastor Needs a Boo (15 page)

“I suggest we work to stop the train before it ever leaves the station,” Ray answered him.

“It's like I've told you and Sonny before. We always wait too late to deal with those jokers. That's why they always win. Once they get in the race, it's over for us. And it doesn't matter what we do or how far we go to try to stop them.”

“That ain't nothing but the truth,” Marcel said, in a quiet voice.

They had come up with some good schemes, backed with plenty of money, and nothing ever worked to beat out the Theophilus Simmons faction. There were times when it looked as if they were going to win the battle. But they always failed—sometimes in the eleventh hour.

“Marcel, we need to find a way to get Denzelle Flowers out of the race for bishop now. He has only recently hinted at his candidacy, and probably hasn't done a lot to promote himself yet. If we get rid of him now, few people will ever figure out that he was ever in.”

“I think you're on to something, Ray. But I need to give this some more thought and do some digging. Matter of fact, I'm on my way to that Saved Negroes R Us conference in Atlanta.”

Ray was laughing. He was so glad the denomination had tapped Marcel to serve as one of the senior-level ministers in the delegation representing the Gospel United Church at the conference. He said, “Better you than me. I haven't had to attend the National Consortium of Black Denominations for two years. I may not be so lucky next year, though.”

“As much as I wish I was going anywhere but there, I may as well use this trip to my advantage,” Marcel replied. “I'm thinking there is going to be something I can find to use against our opponents among all of those Missionary Baptists, CMEs, AMEs, AME Zions, COGIC, and Holiness ministers at the conference. Somebody doing
something
we can use.”

“I heard that, Marcel, man. Be sure to keep a close watch on the AMEs and AME Zions. Their structure is real similar to ours, and both denominations have Quadrennial General Conferences that are similar to our Triennial Conference. I know they have something going on concerning running for an Episcopal seat that might be useful to us.”

“Yeah, I think you're right,” Marcel answered. He remembered hearing some talk on the black preacher grapevine about one of those BME denominations (Black Methodist Episcopals) voting in a policy that would affect the ability of divorced ministers to run for bishop. Denzelle Flowers was divorced, and there could be just enough meat to this policy to use against the brother in the Gospel United Church. All Marcel had to do was get the real talk from preachers in that denomination.

The National Consortium of Black Denominations was the largest ecumenical gathering of historically black church denominations in the country. The consortium meeting was held every year, and it brought ministers together to fellowship and talk across denominational lines. There were some preachers who couldn't wait to get to this event—especially if they were among the elite core of preachers invited to give a sermon at one of the main sessions.

Preaching to other preachers at a big-time preacher event could stroke a preacher's ego big time. It could get the undercover ho preachers good play from the resident church hoochies who attended these conferences almost as dutifully as the preachers themselves. And it was guaranteed to get a preacher many more invitations to preach at other big conferences for big money.

Reverend Marcel Brown, however, was not one of the preachers in need of that kind of experience and attention. Marcel had plenty of money, and he had always preferred working behind the scenes over preaching, anyway. Hooking up with a church hoochie didn't do much for him, because that kind of woman could be too much trouble.

Most of the church hoochies he knew came to those conferences to snatch up a prominent preacher, hoping that her freak behind closed doors skills would give her an opportunity to catch a husband. If Marcel wanted a bedroom freak, he'd prefer one that wasn't in church. He didn't need a woman walking around looking like Jacob's first wife Leah, was head of the Usher Board, and had detailed biblical knowledge of a fifth of the preachers at any conference on any given day.

Every time he read the story of Jacob, Rachel, and Leah, he shook his head in wonder that Jacob, the slickest brother in Old Testament land, didn't see the hoochie in Leah. It was plain as day. Whenever Marcel read that scripture, he'd get so mad at Jacob and start yelling at his Bible, “Dawg, get out, get out! Get behind the veil! She a hoochie!!!!!!!”

It would surprise people to discover that Marcel Brown read his Bible on a regular basis, and even thought about things like that. Most people assumed Marcel wasn't as sharp as he was, because he was always into some dirty dealings. But in reality, this particular Presiding Elder was a whole lot smarter and observant than people gave him credit for. He just didn't give a care that they were even thinking about him like that.

The private jet, compliments of his wife's family's business, landed smoothly. Sometimes, when Marcel was bemoaning having to remain married to his only son's mother, he thought about this jet and felt a whole lot better about the situation. He had married Tweaki, as he called her, because she was high yellow, had long hair, was good-looking, and accustomed to the kind of marriage he always hoped to have. She came from one of those old school, black moneyed families with more secrets than money—and Tweaki's family had a whole lot of money. It was more important to his wife to stay married than to be married right—an attitude that suited Marcel just fine.

Marcel wanted to stay married, too. He just didn't want to have to always be married right. One of the things Marcel loved the most about Tweaki was her ability to understand what he needed and wanted out of their marriage.

As long as Tweaki could show him off to her Junior League sisters during one of their many annual events, she was happy. Marcel always wondered why the girl didn't accept the invite to the Detroit Chapter of the Links, Inc. Personally, he preferred being surrounded by black folk—especially high-rolling black folk like the ones who were in exclusive black organizations like the Links, the Boule for black men, and the extremely exclusive Guardsmen for high-profile black men.

But Tweaki told him that her family had been there, done that for decades, and she liked going into new territory like the Junior League. All Marcel could do was kiss her forehead as he gave specific instructions to only involve their son, DeMarcus, in the upscale, black Jack and Jill activities while he was young. Since Marcel rarely made any demands on his wife, DeMarcus was exempted from having to do anything connected to the Junior League. Tweaki thanked Marcel for laying down the law on that issue when DeMarcus went off to college and brought home a beautiful young sister who'd just crossed over to be an AKA like his mother, with a 4.0 grade point average as icing on that good-looking cake.

As much as Marcel secretly wished his wife would put on some white and green, get some white roses, and leave the Junior League for the Links, he liked all of the other things she brought to the table too much to give her a hard time over that flaw. If the girl could handle working with all of those white women at one more “let's help the less fortunate than us” event, then he could handle watching her do it. Because being able to use the family jet any time he needed it was too sweet of a deal to try and convince his wife to do otherwise.

Funny thing, Marcel Brown had always wanted to make more money than he was willing to work for. But when he found and fell in love with Tweaki, he started working harder than he'd ever worked in his life. Marcel Brown didn't have millions in trust like his wife. He couldn't do much for Tweaki financially. But he could make her proud of him through hard work as the Presiding Elder in his church conference.

The plane pulled into a private hub off of the runway. Marcel finished his drink and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and gargle, to get that liquor taste out of his mouth. Drinking didn't bother him in the least, but he knew there would be some serious Holy Rollers at this convention. Crown was the last thing Marcel needed on his breath when he embarked on his fact-finding mission to get the goods on Denzelle Flowers.

Marcel came out of the bathroom just as the plane was opening up to reveal the limo waiting on him.

“This is the life,” Marcel thought, and then texted his secretary to make sure to send Tweaki some yellow roses. His wife loved roses—especially the yellow ones. Every time Marcel rode that plane, it made him want to do something nice for his wife. Tweaki loved getting what she called her “elder is out of town flowers.” She never knew this gesture was connected to the great pleasure her husband derived from flying on her private jet.

“Do you need for me to get your bags, Reverend?” the limo driver asked sweetly.

She'd been ruthless in getting assigned to pick up the infamous Reverend Marcel Brown. Her coworkers said he was still fine, a trip, and the kind of man who would pay extra money on the side if you played your cards right. But no one told the girl that this old player still had plenty of game in him. What in the world was the Presiding Elder putting in his water? He had to be one of the finest old men she'd seen in a very long time.

When Marcel saw the handful of redbone wearing a chauffeur's hat, he whispered, “My, my, my. Babygirl is too young for me to mess with. But she's not too young to stop me from admiring what she's working with.”

“Reverend?” she asked, trying to act like she hadn't heard what she'd heard him mumble. Her coworkers told her the Presiding Elder from Detroit was a player, and something else. But they didn't know what they were talking about. This man practically wrote the play book.

Marcel smiled at her, his eyes not missing a thing. He almost put on his reading glasses to make sure he could see everything up close and personal.

“Pardon my French, Miss, errrr.”

“LaTina.”

“LaTina?” Marcel asked, thinking that black folk could come up with some names for their children.

“No. It's not pronounced ‘La-ti-na' like I'm Spanish. It's pronounced Le-Tee-nah.”

“LaTina,” Marcel repeated.

“Yes.”

“And how did you come about such an unusual name, LaTina?”

“My mom's name is Tina.”

“Of course,” Marcel said. Black folk loved to put “La” in front of a name of a girl child who was named after her mother or aunt or grandmother. It was like calling a boy “Jr.” He had lost count of all of the “Las” he'd baptized throughout his career in the ministry.

LaTina grabbed Marcel's bags, but he stopped her.

“It's my job, Reverend Brown.”

“I may be many things, LaTina, but when it comes to luggage and a young lady, I still have home training.”

LaTina smiled and said, “Just don't let my bosses know. You know how it is.”

Marcel put his fingers to his lips, as if he were zipping them shut. He put the luggage in the trunk, and then went to the front of the limo.

“Sometimes I don't want to ride in the back alone. Plus, I want to see what a sweet little thing like you is working with when you are driving me around.”

LaTina smiled. Reverend Brown was a trip. She'd always wondered why some women liked sugar daddies. Now she knew.

“The hotel?”

“Yeah,” Marcel answered with a sigh. “I'd love to ride around the ATL with you, Baby. But there is some pressing church business I have to attend to.”

“Anything I might be able to help you with?” LaTina asked. She liked Reverend Brown, but she also needed a big tip, so that she could afford human hair for her new weave.

At first Marcel couldn't imagine what the limo driver could do to help him, until it occurred to him that he wasn't the only person she was driving around during this conference.

“Who have you picked up today?”

“Lots of folks—mostly preachers and a few of their wives.”

“From which denominations?”

“You are the only one from the Gospel United Church that I've picked up so far. Most of my people have been COGIC. And I had two runs with a carload of some preachers from the black Methodist churches. I think one of them had some kind of meeting today, and they were rushing in to get to some meeting on who should or should not run for bishop.”

“Bingo!” Marcel thought to himself. Preachers and bishops involved in a controversial ruling were always rushing and uptight to do the do on something like that. This was going to be easier than he first imagined it would be.

“What hotel is that group staying in?” Marcel asked. He knew he was supposed to be at the hotel with his own church folk. But he needed to be in the one with the denomination with that new rule for who could or could not run for bishop. Marcel stood to pick up a lot of information from all of the conversations that would occur in the hotel lobby and the restaurant—especially during the breakfast hours. He'd notice that a whole lot of good talking went on during breakfast.

“The ones rushing off to those meetings are all at the Ritz Carlton. You want me to take you there, Reverend Brown?”

“Yeah. They aren't filled up are they?”

“At the Ritz Carlton in Buckhead? Reverend Brown, you are funny. You know that hotel is really high. They have some available rooms. Trust me on that one.”

“Well then, the Ritz it is,” Marcel told her. The Ritz Carlton in Buckhead was one of his favorite places to stay while in Atlanta.

LaTina pulled up to the hotel, and this time she hopped out to go and open the door for him. She whispered, “You have to let me do this, because you know these white folk working here are watching me. Don't need any of them calling my agency talking junk about how I handled getting you in and out of the hotel.”

Marcel nodded and let LaTina handle her business. He liked her style and work ethic. Miss LaTina looked like she'd make it her business to keep him in the loop, if he let her know that a big tip was coming.