Pastor Needs a Boo (18 page)

Sonny sipped on his drink and smacked his lips. Thomas always did have the best liquor, with five-star-hotel-quality drinks made by the bartender he had on his own staff.

“Brother, I see you are still living like your name is Big Money Grip.”

Bishop Jefferson took a drink for himself and drank half of it.

“Well, my friend,” Thomas answered, in the smooth Caribbean accent that always made the ladies in the States swoon like he was some kind of R&B singer, “is there any other way for a man like myself to live?”

“No,” Marcel said. “I'd be disappointed if you got crazy enough to try and live any other way. I always tell folk that there are two things I can count on. The first is that I will always wake up in the morning black. The second is that Thomas Lyle Jefferson is the smoothest player in the Western hemisphere.”

“Are you sure my husband is the smoothest player, Reverend Brown?” Violetta Jefferson said in a deep and sultry voice, and suppressing an urge to laugh out loud. She knew they didn't see her come out of the house.

“Men,” Violetta murmured.

“Violetta,” Marcel said. “Girl, you get finer and finer with each passing year. Now tell an old player how you are managing that?”

Violetta grinned, as she looked Marcel up and down like he was a big cookie in a baker's display case. As much as she relished being married to a man like her Thomas, there were times when she wished she could sample some of that urban American flavor. Reverend Brown was too handsome, and he looked like he was the kind of man who was a lot of fun behind closed doors. Violetta imagined Reverend Brown could keep a woman entertained for hours.

Marcel was hoping in vain that Thomas didn't pick up on what was going on with Violetta. He thought, “Old boy needs to step up his game.”

It was not clear whether Thomas saw it, but Sonny hadn't missed a thing. He reached out for Violetta's hand, glad she wasn't attracted to a brown man like himself. Sonny felt bad for Marcel, because he knew Violetta was going to try and make a play for him. Thankfully, Marcel liked Thomas enough to respect his wife and the man's house. A brother didn't need to try and run game on a hoochie in her man's own home.

Unfortunately, Marcel would have to put up with Violetta trying to put the move on him the whole time they were in St. Thomas. Sonny felt that somebody needed to remind that woman of her place. Prior to meeting Thomas, Violetta worked fifteen-hour days dancing, singing, and filming all of those music videos that were still going viral on YouTube. By now, Violetta Jefferson should be a wealthy woman in her own right, after all of those hits her videos were getting on YouTube.

Violetta swung her long braid around in a swirl like she was getting ready to do that dance she was so famous for from the video when she jumped off of the roof and kept dancing. She grabbed Thomas's arm and started kissing his cheek, hoping to make Marcel Brown jealous.

Marcel took a swig of his drink. He couldn't believe this trick was trying to play that game on him. If it were any other man, he'd tap that tail and dare her to tell her man when he dropped her. But Marcel didn't mess with the women of men he liked—even though that list was very short.

Thomas knew Violetta was flirting with Marcel. He was just glad to know the two of them were still boys enough for Marcel to stay up off of his wife. Violetta was wife number six. His first wife, whom he truly loved, had died. His second wife went crazy and died years later while in an institution. His third and fourth wives were both living in Miami, even though they didn't know each other. Both women had caught Thomas cheating and decided that a generous deuces check was worth more than remaining the bishop's wife. He didn't know where number five was. She just upped and left after discovering his prenup was airtight.

Now here was Violetta, and sometimes Thomas wondered if there was going to be a number seven. Violetta worked his nerves. And if she didn't tread more carefully with him, he was going to forget himself and haul off and slap her silly.

A tall, brown, and well-built man who looked like a male version of Violetta came out of the house in some overpriced Bermuda shorts and a graphic T-shirt. He was wearing a thick gold chain and had tattoo sleeves on both arms. Thomas sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Vincent, these are my colleagues in the ministry and longtime friends, Bishop Sonny Washington and Reverend Marcel Brown.”

Marcel raised an eyebrow. It was clear Thomas didn't like this man. He surmised correctly that Vincent was Violetta's brother.

Vincent reached out his hand to both Sonny and Marcel. He said, “It is an honor to meet you, Bishop Washington and Reverend Brown. I've heard much about your high-profile placements in the church.”

Sonny coughed to stop himself from blurting our “Negro please.” “High-profile placements”? He'd been described in many ways but not as somebody with a high-profile placement. This brother was a trip!

Marcel could see why Thomas didn't like Violetta's brother. Vincent thought so much more of himself that he ought to. It was clear he was used to being a kept man, too. Probably had a black book full of the names of women who would write him a check for anything he asked for.

Marcel would never begrudge another brother a good hustle. But he had never liked the Vincent types. Their kind of hustle didn't even require brains or work. All they had to do was look good and say what folk wanted to hear.

Another man came out of the house. He looked like an older, shorter, and fatter version of Vincent. Another brother?

“Vincent is Violetta's younger brother,” Thomas was saying. “And this is Violetta's uncle, Raphael. He is staying in the guesthouse out back until he gets back on his feet”

Sonny looked down at Raphael's feet and almost choked on the laughter he was working so hard to hold back. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes before those tears of laughter started streaming down his face.

At first Marcel didn't know what had Sonny acting like a little kid at church trying not to laugh. Then he followed Sonny's eyes down to Raphael's feet and started coughing to stop himself from hollering with laughter. This was too good to act like he hadn't noticed it. He said, “Bishop, that's gonna take a long time from the looks of things.”

Thomas bit back his own laugh. He was so glad he wasn't the only one who thought Uncle Raphael looked ridiculous with his homemade cut-out shoes. It had been a long time since Thomas, Sonny, or Marcel had seen a pair of homemade sandals. Uncle Raphael was wearing a pair of beige Stacy Adams with toes of both of the shoes cut out. It looked like someone had taken a big knife and sawed the wing tip of the shoe right off. And if that weren't bad enough, Uncle Raphael was wearing a pair of dark brown socks.

“My feets can get all swole up and make it hard to wear my shoes,” Uncle Raphael explained, before tottering off toward the guest cottage.

As soon as Marcel knew Uncle Raphael could not hear them, he said, “You know, I thought the only brothers with homemade sandals were down in the hood in Detroit.”

“Or on some brother out in my neck of the woods in North Carolina,” Sonny told them, and laughed. “Do you know how many old and retired playahs I've run across at one of Glodean's The Dollar Is King Stores, wearing cut-out Stacy Adams shoes? I even saw an old playah wearing one shoe regular, and the other shoe was a cut-out. Can you even imagine what that country mess looked like?”

“Uhh, yeah. Actually, I can,” Marcel said, laughing and wiping at his eyes.

Bishop Jefferson was laughing, even though his wife was looking like she was thinking, I didn't see anything funny about the shoes. He turned to Violetta, standing there pouting with her no-good brother and said, “Uncle Raphael can go and live anywhere he pleases if there is anything about my home and hospitality he finds unpalatable.”

Violetta frowned, clearly in the dark about the word unpalatable.

Marcel pulled out his phone and started acting like he was checking his text messages. He reread the one he'd received from Tweaki, and then texted Sonny.

She's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, huh?

It was killing Sonny not to pull out his phone and read that text from Marcel. The only thing stopping him was that he knew Vincent was standing there watching him intently.

That chump needs to get a job and quit worrying if we are going to figure out that his butt is a straight-up pimp, Sonny thought.

“Thomas, I don't like it when you treat my family as if they are moochers,” Violetta whined.

Sonny closed his eyes and resisted shaking his head. He had seen Violetta's video, the one with her jumping off of the roof and landing on the ground dancing. And he could only imagine her other levels of expertise. But was Violetta so dense that she didn't think Thomas could see straight through her family members? Thomas Jefferson was the same man who had figured out how to skim thousands of dollars off of the tops of the budgets of most of the churches he'd pastored before becoming a bishop. He had rarely been caught, and never prosecuted or threatened with going to jail.

To his credit, the bishop didn't give his wife an answer. He just walked back into his house and let the door slam in Vincent's face. Marcel Brown wondered how long Violetta was going to be able to hold on to her only recently acquired position as this district's Episcopal Supervisor. If Violetta didn't get herself together, Marcel knew Thomas was going to strip her of the papers granting her the right to hold that title.

Bishop Jefferson needed a new wife like he needed a hole in his head. But Marcel knew he would get a new one if this girl didn't act right. Folks always assumed the bishop was just a ho who couldn't keep his hands off of other women. Nothing could be further from the truth. Thomas only cheated on his wives when he was tired of the old one and was starting to actively court the woman who would become the new one.

That is why he was going to become the poster boy bishop to help his church implement a new Episcopal law. It was a stupid law. But if ruling that a preacher could not run for bishop if he/she got divorced and then remarried while the ex-spouse was alive would keep Denzelle Flowers out of the race, it was a stupid law he was willing to live with. What did he care anyway? Marcel wasn't getting divorced, and he sure wasn't running for bishop, either.

 

Chapter Twelve

Marcel held his glass out for more rum punch—a refreshing way to polish off a delicious meal. Thomas had never been one to hold back on providing his guests with the ultimate in Caribbean hospitality. The only drawback in coming to the bishop's lovely home, with that cool island wind blowing across your face, was that Marcel never knew who would be standing next to Thomas with a rock on her left hand. Thomas changed wives like some men changed cars.

Sonny had once commented that it was too bad there was no special leasing program for men who like being married—just not to the same woman for any real length of time. Marcel agreed with Sonny. It would be the perfect solution for a man like Thomas Lyle Jefferson. But what would happen if the bishop married a woman he didn't want to turn in when the lease was about to expire? Would he have to take out some kind of lease option to buy policy or pay a penalty for not releasing the wife at the designated time?

Bishop Jefferson led his guests to the open porch that spread out across the back of the entire house and overlooked the ocean from high in the hills. Marcel and Sonny had often discussed where the bishop got the capital for all of this captivating luxury. They knew he had sticky fingers and had found a way to fill up his personal coffers without getting caught. But this cost way more than an unscrupulous bishop could get his hands on.

“Thomas, you live awfully well on a bishop's salary,” Sonny said.

“And why does that surprise you? I've been to your estate in North Carolina. I wouldn't exactly classify it as low-income housing.”

“Thomas, you have not answered my question,” Sonny told him. “How do you do it? I'm looking down this hill. The view is breathtaking. The breeze is so fragrant, I want to open my mouth and taste it. This kind of thing cost money.”

“You need to be better educated about your church's history,” Thomas told Sonny.

“Church history? What does that have to do with this house, these servants, your cars, and even your liquor? Thomas, you serve rum that is handmade just for you. How many people do you know who can afford something like that?”

“My grandmother was one of the Caribbean Meetings,” Thomas told Sonny. “I thought you knew that.”

Marcel stared at Thomas. How could he have missed that all of these years? He looked a whole lot like the Meetings in North Carolina. Thomas Jefferson's people were some of the architects of the Gospel United Church—which explained why he could always get some kind of leniency when he strayed. It also explained why he had so much money that couldn't be explained by his position as a bishop in the church.

“So, Bishop,” Marcel began, “your people were those so-called white folk Bethany Meeting left in charge when she left St. Thomas and came back to North Carolina before the Civil War.”

“Yes.”

“Are you talking about the same Bethany Meeting whose son switched places with the slave owner in the Chapel Hill area and acted like he was the plantation owner?” Sonny asked. This was amazing.

“Yes. Hezekiah Meeting was Bethany's son. His half brother, Cornelius Meeting, was a white plantation owner who lived right outside of Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Hezekiah drugged him and then exchanged places with Cornelius. Bethany left my great-grandmother and her husband in charge of the St. Thomas plantation when she left to go back to the States.”

“Where was the plantation?” Marcel asked.

“You're sitting on it,” Thomas answered with a short laugh. Black folks' history was something else. So many twists and turns from then to now.