Pastor Needs a Boo (29 page)

“How and why?” Xavier said. He raised his hands up in the air. This was getting wilder and crazier by the minute. But he'd been warned. One of Bishop Conrad Brown's protégés told him that he could find himself in some very hot water if he got tangled up with Bishop Sonny Washington and Reverend Marcel Brown.

Marcel, Sonny, and Luther Howard stared at each other for a moment. Xavier felt strongly that they were weighing in on how much to tell him. He figured this must be a very lucrative, sure-shot deal if they were willing to share more than need to know information.

“Son,” Marcel began, “we cut a deal with Bishop Jefferson. We paid him a lot of money to become the ‘poster boy' for why preachers who run for bishop do not need more than one wife. The bishop has been married more times than I care to count. His wives are a poor example of what an Episcopal Supervisor is supposed to be. In fact, I don't think his newest wife, Violetta, even knew where a church was before she met the bishop.”

“Yeah,” Sonny chimed in. “Did you know Violetta Jefferson used to be one of the hottest dance hall singers and dancers in St. Thomas? That girl could put Patra to shame.”

Luther grinned. He used to love himself some Patra. He said, “Is Violetta Jefferson the same Violetta from the video ‘Burn de House Down'?”

Xavier raised an eyebrow. He used to love that video. He didn't know Bishop Jefferson had it going on like that to snag Violetta.

“Yep,” Marcel said. “One and the same. She is also the worse Episcopal Supervisor the Gospel United Church has ever had. The pastors' wives in their district can't stand Violetta. And there is always some mess brewing whenever she brings any member of her family with her. Have you seen that uncle?”

“Yes,” Luther said laughing.

It had been a long time since he had seen some ghetto sandals. He didn't know what made brothers cut up their Stacy Adams and make some sandals out of them. That had to be the countriest, craziest, and most ghetto mess he'd ever witnessed.

“Okay,” Xavier said with a shrug. “So the bishop doesn't know how to pick the right kind of Episcopal Supervisor. What does that have to do with me, or any other preacher who faces divorce, for that matter? There a lot of Episcopal Supervisors the women in the church don't like.

“I mean, let's just get real. Do you all honestly believe Camille is the kind of woman who will endear herself to the women in my district if I am elected bishop?”

Sonny winced. Xavier had a point. Nobody liked his wife—not even Xavier.

Marcel couldn't stand Camille, either. But Camille Franklin was in a completely different category of women people couldn't stand than a Violetta Jefferson. Camille was stuck-up, mean, nasty, and haughty. But she still knew how to handle herself around church folk. Camille would not defy basic minister's wife protocol when in public or while involved in some Gospel United Church business.

Even the bona fide church hoochies would have trouble with a Violetta Jefferson. Church hoochies may be on the prowl for a preacher or prominent church man—but they still played the church game, and played it well. Marcel rarely encountered a card-carrying church hoochie and she wasn't dressed head-to-toe in a Donna Vinci church suit. Violetta, on the other hand, never wore appropriate church-lady outfits like that.

Every time Marcel saw Bishop Jefferson's wife, he always expected her to pull a portable stripper's pole from her Prada bag. And ironically, most church hoochies couldn't even afford any of Violetta's clothes. Tweaki once told Marcel that Violetta wore a lot of Donatella Versace pieces. But those expensive, couture outfits still had “the club” written all over them.

As exciting and entertaining as Violetta Jefferson was, she could not get the women in the denomination to listen to a word she said, let alone follow her lead for some bishop's wife program. As unpopular as Camille Franklin was, she, unlike Violetta Jefferson, could exert some leading-church-woman power and influence in the denomination. She had grown up the daughter of a very prominent preacher in the Gospel United Church. And she was rich and very well connected.

“Can you control your wife, Xavier?” Luther.

“You know I can,” Xavier replied, with a whole lot more bravado than he felt.

“No, actually, I really don't know that about you, son,” Luther told him. “And this is what I'm going to do to help a brother out. If Camille doesn't stay in this marriage with you, I'll take matters into my own hands.”

Luther pointed his index and middle fingers toward his forehead.

“So, are we on the same page?”

“Yes,” Xavier answered.

“Don't look so glum,” Luther said, with a chilly laugh. “Think of it this way. If Camille doesn't want to play this game, you'll be free to marry Tatiana. And you'll have some extra cash on hand. Because I know you've taken out a very hefty insurance policy on your wife.”

Marcel and Sonny exchanged quick glances with each other. They hoped Xavier could handle Camille, because her life depended on it. Luther Howard was proving to be more than they bargained for.

 

Chapter Twenty

Marsha signed for the FedEx envelope, opened it, and said, “Thank you, Jesus,” when she saw the second Pastor's Aide Club check. Marsha had been praying, and told the Lord she trusted Him. But her money was still unbearably tight, and she barely made it from the first check to this one.

Marcus was remaining in school on her prayers, because Marsha was barely able to pay the monthly bill for his tuition. He had some scholarship money, but it wasn't enough. She was so glad Marcus was okay about not being able to remain in the dorms. Marsha knew how much he liked living on campus. But right now, they could not afford that extra expense.

She had been late on the rent payments twice. But thankfully her landlord couldn't afford to lose them as tenants. It was hard right now. And it was only by the grace of God that Marsha was doing as well as she was. She counted it a miracle that she and Marcus were still able to laugh and have joy in their hearts. The scripture about the joy of the Lord being your strength had never been truer in their lives.

Veronica and Keisha kept telling Marsha to have the money deposited into her account. But Marsha was old school when it came to payroll checks. She preferred to have a check put in her hand. She came close to learning a very painful lesson about going completely high-tech/new school when it came to convenience and money while married to Rodney Bluefield.

Her late husband, Rodney, almost managed to wipe out her entire bank account through an almost online bank transfer. Marsha would have been out there broke and turning her pockets inside out, looking for lint, if her mother had not gone super–old school and said, “Baby, you better move your money to my account, just in case that ex-man of yours takes a notion to dip his hand in the till.”

Right before Marsha was scheduled to receive a hefty bonus, she went straight to Human Resources and asked that her check be put in her hands. Sure enough, on the day the check was supposed to hit the account, Rodney ran out to handle business with a practically defunct debit card. It took that fool a minute to realize that he was very short on cash when he kept trying to buy gas, pay the electric bill, pay the water bill, and buy groceries with the complimentary $117.47 Marsha left in the account.

Rodney was livid. And it was just a matter of time before he figured out that Marsha wasn't answering the phone and decided to confront her face-to-face. Rodney rolled up on Marsha one evening just as she was about to go outside to roll the trashcan to the curb.

Marsha counted it nothing short of a miracle that she followed an urge to look out of the living room window before going outside. It was in that moment that she saw Rodney's car pulling up into her driveway. Marsha hurried and got her brand-new stun gun, dropped it in her jacket pocket, and walked outside when she heard Rodney's car door slam.

“You know I needed that money to pay the bills,” Rodney yelled at Marsha.

“What money to pay what bills? I thought you had it all together the day you left me to be with…”

Marsha looked up and snapped her fingers, trying to remember Rodney's exact parting words the day he woke her up at four a.m. and said, “I'm leaving you for my soul mate.” She looked him in the eye.

“Now I remember. You said you were leaving me for your soul mate.”

“Don't try and get cute with me, Marsha Bluefield.”

“Metcalf. I'm changing my name back to Metcalf.”

“Whatever,” Rodney snarled. “All I know is that I'm over two thousand dollars in the hole, thanks to you.”

Marsha popped her head to the side, curled up her lips, and said, “Whatevveerrrr, Rod-
ney
.”

“You,” Rodney said, with his finger in Marsha's face, “better give me my money.”

“Get your stankin' finger out of my face, and get off of my steps, Rodney Bluefield,” Marsha told him in a low voice.

“And what if I don't,” he retorted. “What you gone do?”

“You just better move your old funky finger out of my face. I don't know where you ole nasty finger been. You could've been diggin' in your
soul mate's
nasty booty for all I know.”

Rodney stuck his forefinger in Marsha's face again—this time right up under her nose.

Marsha looked at that finger on Rodney's left hand, with the tip missing from an old army accident, and bit it as hard as she could.

Rodney screamed and pushed at Marsha. She lost her balance and fell up against the front door. She was so mad at that man, she could hardly breathe. Rodney came toward Marsha again. But this time she was ready for him.

When Rodney tried to stick his finger in Marsha's face a third time, just to make a point, she took her stun gun and tapped it on his shoulder. He screamed and fell down on the porch. He reached up to grab Marsha's ankle, but she dodged his hand and tapped him with the stun gun again.

Rodney was pissed, his finger was hurting, and he felt like he was being electrocuted. Marsha stared down at him and said, “Don't you ever come near me with some mess like this again.”

Rodney struggled to get up. He was about to start cussing. Instead, he screamed, because she ran up to him and stunned him right up on the crack of his butt.

“I ought to get you good, one more time, Rodney Bluefield—just because you're making my new stun gun smell like fried booty.”

She walked back into her house and slammed the door. Rodney was standing at the bottom of the porch, massaging the crack of his butt with a bit-up finger.

Marsha closed her eyes a second to block out the Rodney memory. She looked at the $7,500 check and whispered, “Thank you, Jesus,” again.

It felt so good to have some money. Marcus still couldn't stay on campus. But now he would be able to get all of the extra materials he needed for the big project he was working on in his building design class. Marsha felt like she was finally beginning to experience a break in this storm she'd been in for years.

The cell phone was jumping with Beyoncé's “Love On Top.” Then the house phone was practically ringing off the hook. Marsha ran and got the house phone right after she flipped open her cell.

“Where are you?” Keisha yelled into the cell and Veronica yelled into the house phone. Marsha's ears hurt. She'd been dumb enough to put one phone up to each ear.

“At home. Where else would I be?”

“Did Veronica call you?” Keisha asked.

“Yeah, Keisha,” Veronica yelled loud enough to be heard over the other telephone. “I'm calling her now!”

“Why don't I put y'all on speakerphone on both phones,” Marsha said. “That way, you can yell at each other and quit busting up my eardrums.”

“Whatever,” Keisha said. She could not believe Marsha was still at home. They had to rehearse this
Dancing with the Stars
thing later today. And the pastor was already at church going over his steps. Reverend Flowers could be so competitive.

“Again,” Veronica said, as if she had been the one to bring this up in the first place. “Where are you, Marsha?”

“Okay, Roni. You are yelling at me through my home phone. Where else could I possibly be?”

“You could be at church to rehearse with Denzelle for the dance event,” Veronica told her.

“Roni, our rehearsal doesn't start until five. It's three-thirty.”

“Well, your pastor is over here practicing and stuff,” Veronica said. “Girl, he is working it. I didn't even know Denzelle could dance like that. You all are still dancing the fox-trot, right.”

“Yes,” Marsha answered. “That's still the plan.”

“And you all are still doing the fox-trot off of Charlie Wilson?” Keisha asked in a flat voice.

“I know you know that is just wrong, Marsha,” Veronica said. “I'm shocked Denzelle agreed to that. I knew you could talk him into dancing. But the fox-trot?”

“Well he did,” Marsha said softly. She was feeling less and less confident about this whole
Dancing with the Stars
event by the second. It had seemed like a wonderful idea when they came up with it. But more and more she wondered if it was kind of hokey.

“I'm shocked, too,” Keisha said. “You know the fox-trot isn't exactly the coolest dance and especially for a cool brother like Denzelle Flowers.”

“Well, be shocked, Keisha,” Marsha said, with a taste of attitude steeping into her voice. “Because Denzelle is doing that dance. And it wasn't easy convincing him to go with the flow of the plan.”

“I bet it wasn't,” Keisha said with a soft chuckle. “But I'm sure you, Miss Lady, had all that was needed to convince the pastor to get out there and dance off of Charlie Wilson.”

Veronica was cracking up. Poor baby. Marsha tried so hard to pretend she didn't like Denzelle like that.