Pastor Needs a Boo (41 page)

Denzelle stopped and moved back from Marsha, twirled her around and pulled her back in his arms. She hesitated coming back, and laughed when he tugged at her, all to the rhythm of the song. As soon as she got close to him, Denzelle snatched her tight and did two more reps of the dance.

Folks were up on their feet, quiet, with their eyes glued on the couple dancing on the floor. Denzelle and Marsha forgot all about their audience and concentrated on the feel of each other's movements. At that point, Denzelle slowed down their pace and swayed them back and forth like he'd seen it done on the real
Dancing with the Stars.

Marsha got so caught up in that movement, until she brought her leg up to his waist. Denzelle caught her leg underneath the thigh and dragged her across the floor with him. The crowd was cheering and whistling.

Then Marsha extended her arms out very gracefully and let them fall up and over her head. Denzelle slid his hands down her back to her waist, just in time to catch Marsha arching her back and falling in his arms like she was on a swing. The crowd went crazy.

Denzelle pulled Marsha up to him, and then they both broke away and started dancing free-style. Folk at the church knew Marsha could dance. They weren't prepared, however, for their pastor's skills on the dance floor. Marsha switched around to stand in front of Denzelle and did the Beyoncé booty bounce.

Folk yelled out, “Get it, Girl! Work that thang!”

Denzelle, not to be outdone, pretended to spank Marsha to the catcalls and whistles from the audience. Marsha started doing the Crip Walk with Denzelle Crip Walking hot on her tail. Then she stopped, turned back around to face Denzelle, and started doing the stanky leg dance. Again, Denzelle joined in on the dance.

By now they were down low on the floor. As the song started nearing the end, Denzelle stood behind Marsha, real close. He put a hand on her waist and grabbed her extended arm. They danced the fox-trot off of the dance floor, in perfect step with each other, with Denzelle standing behind Marsha. They danced like that until the dance ended.

When the music stopped, Marsha turned back to face Denzelle, who wrapped his arms around her and held her until the standing ovation ended. When she was about to pull away, he whispered, “Do you dance like that in private?”

Marsha laughed and whispered, “You are such a nasty boy.”

“You like it, Girl.”

They walked back over to the MC podium, trying to act like they had not felt the heat and passion of that dance. Their friends were eyeballin' them like they were trying to find more evidence of the feelings those two were running from where the other was concerned.

“Soooo,” Lena began, “I take it that you two really, I mean really, like really-really-really enjoyed that dance.”

“I'll say,” Obie added. He was having a hard time keeping it together. The expression on Denzelle's face alone was priceless. Obie couldn't believe Denzelle and Marsha were dumb enough to believe no one was picking up on their feelings for each other. But then again, this was Denzelle and Marsha. The first one was running from love like it was some kind of monster on
Grimm
. The other was working overtime to convince herself that what she felt was just the residual effect of an outstanding performance.

“It was a wonderful experience,” Marsha told them in her best church-girl voice. She hoped that would stop the looks and the speculation, and temper some of the conversations folk were prone to have about the two of them.

“I bet it was,” was all Veronica said.

“I know it was,” Lena said and pointed toward the crowd. “And there's your proof.”

While members of New Jerusalem Gospel United Church were still basking in the afterglow of their pastor's riveting dance performance, several of his known, and now newly known, enemies were up and walking out of the gymnasium as if this were some kind of protest.

Xavier Franklin, Bishop Thomas Jefferson, his wife, Violetta, and her uncle Raphael, Tatiana, and Larry Pristeen were all walking out together, deep in conversation. Xavier's wife, Camille, and Tatiana's husband, Todd, were still sitting down in the gym looking perplexed by what had just transpired. The group walked out via the exit that was closest to where Denzelle was standing. On the way out of the door, Violetta's uncle was overheard saying in a rich Caribbean voice.

“Neeecee, I am not pleased at this turn of events. We have worked on our routine for over a week, and I am anxious to show these smug Americans what we are capable of.”

Violetta ignored Uncle Raphael, whom she wanted to leave in St. Thomas but didn't because he needed to see a specialist at Duke Medical Center about his feet. She was glad they had decided to forfeit their place in the competition. His feet were too much of an eyesore and source of ridicule for this particular crowd. Plus, she liked being the showstopper in a dance event and knew they would not beat that fine preacher and his dance partner.

“When did Larry Pristeen start hanging out with ‘them folk'?” Obadiah asked.

“When he saw me dancing with Marsha,” Denzelle answered evenly.

“And jealousy would make him want to hook up with that pack of rabid wolves?” Obadiah asked him.

“I've come to learn that Larry talks a good game when he is wearing a robe and feeling safe behind his or somebody else's pulpit. But he's not all he's cracked up to be. He is not that much better than Xavier Franklin—just better at making folk think he's a better man and preacher.”

“Well, he's not getting anywhere worth going, hanging around with them,” Lena told them. “I don't like the way I felt when they walked by.”

“Me, neither,” Veronica said. “They are up to something, and it's bad.”

Denzelle's first reaction was to get upset. He knew whatever it was had to do with him making a bid for an Episcopal seat, and their desire to destroy any chances he had to get elected as a new bishop. But he had to trust God—he couldn't waste precious time worrying about something that was better left in the Father's Hands.

He looked around the gymnasium. Camille Franklin was sitting alone looking sour and bitter. Todd was sitting alone looking pissed. Denzelle tilted his head to the side and studied Todd for a moment. He'd never seen a pissed-off Todd Townsend. And if he didn't know better, Denzelle would wager that Tatiana's days with Todd were numbered.

“Your ex's husband is really pissed,” Charles Robinson said. He'd been studying Todd, too. “I sure hope Xavier Franklin is putting it on Tatiana so good she forgets what she will give up when Todd divorces her.”

“Yeah,” Denzelle said. “Todd looks like a man who has had enough.”

“Rev,” Keisha said. “Did you bring the ballots for the ballot machines in the back of the gymnasium?”

Denzelle shook his head. He knew there was something he had forgotten to do.

“Come on,” he said to Marsha. “Help me get the ballots loaded up on the cart.”

“Okay,” Marsha said, and followed him out of the gymnasium to his office.

 

Chapter Thirty-two

“Be careful, Honey,” Denzelle said to Marsha and grabbed her hand. “It's dark. I don't want you to bump into something and hurt yourself.”

He swiped his electronic key in the slot on the door. As soon as the door swung open, Denzelle said, “Office lights,” and the room lit up. He looked around the office until he found the ballot box and said, “Roll that red cart over here. We can load the ballot boxes on it.”

Marsha pushed the cart right next to Denzelle and pulled at one of the heavy ballot boxes.

“Stop, Marsha,” he commanded. “That's too heavy for you.”

She nodded and stood back while Denzelle loaded up four boxes full of ballots.

“Baby,” Denzelle said, “get those boxes of pens off of that shelf over there.”

Marsha grabbed the boxes and put them on the bottom shelf on the cart.

‘Thank you, Honey,” he said, and smiled when Marsha blushed through the most delightful smile. He reached out and tugged at her curly ponytail.

“You know you look adorable and sexy in that outfit,” he said. “That can get you in trouble with the right man.”

“Boy! It's just my dance outfit.”

“Just your dance outfit,” Denzelle said in a light, falsetto voice that was meant to mimic Marsha's. He tugged at her ponytail one more time.

“Marsha, I knew you could dance. But I didn't know you had it going on like that.”

“Thank you, Denzelle,” she answered. “You're not too bad yourself.”

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “I've been told I could moonlight as a male stripper, if I ever need to make some money on the side, when you all try to hold back on your tithe money.”

“You know you are wrong,” Marsha said.

“You don't think I could be a male exotic dancer, Miss Marsha?”

“Well, I can't imagine you doing the exotic dance, dance, Denzelle. I mean, you don't look like you can drop down and do that grind baby dance male strippers do.”

He raised an eyebrow and said, “What do you know about how a male exotic dancer moves? What have you been doing when you're not at church?”

“Denzelle, I'm a grown woman, with a grown son. I've seen some male dancers. I know how they move and carry on,” she told him.

“And where did you see all of this?”

“Veronica and I went with Keisha to a fashion show Dayeesha Mitchell sponsored at the opening of Metro's newest Yeah Yeah Hip-Hop Store last year. She had male dancers and food, and it was fun.”

“Ohhhh really,” Denzelle said, laughing. “Going to Yeah Yeah to make it rain for some male dancers is your kind of outing, huh?”

“No, silly.”

“But you sound like you were having a lot of fun over at Yeah Yeah, making it rain.”

“Of course I was having a lot of fun. I was with my girls. And I always have a lot of fun when I'm out rolling with my girls.”

“Soooo, if I start dancing for you, will you make it rain for me?” Denzelle asked in a low whisper.

Marsha laughed.

“I cannot imagine you doing the make it rain dance, Denzelle.”

“Oh really,” he said, with a mannish grin spreading across his face, and he turned on his Bose iPod system. “Let me see if I can find some make it rain music for you, Girl. I hope you have enough cash on you, because I don't take checks or credit cards—just cash.”

“You that good, huh?”

“You tell me, Baby,” he answered, and started rapping and bouncing around to an old-school number—Petey Pablo's “Freek-a-Leek.”

Marsha could not believe that Denzelle knew every word to this song. And it had never occurred to her that his voice was a bit similar to the rapper, Petey Pablo. Denzelle was dancing around in the office, moving with smooth precision. He rolled right up on Marsha, who was standing off from him.

“Don't move now, Baby,” he said. “I'm just getting warmed up.”

Denzelle raised his hands up in the air and moved from side to side. Then he took his hands and danced them around Marsha's body. She moved back, and he moved back up on her, like one of those fresh brothers at the club who believed they had enough game to get any good-looking woman in the room.

He bit his bottom lip, grabbed at the waist of his pants and started dancing down toward the floor, rolling his hips like the younger hip-hop dancers would do on a song like “Freek-a-Leek.” Marsha let a giggle escape. That only made Denzelle dance some more. She moved back, and he rolled right back up on her. This time Denzelle was licking his lips and winking at her. He did that dance until the song ended.

By the time the music stopped completely, Denzelle had backed Marsha up on his desk. She tried to move but he held his position.

“Denzelle.”

“Yeah, Baby,” he answered, and ran a fingertip across the tip of her ear.

“We're at church and in your office.”

“And?”

Marsha searched for the right words. But before she could say anything, Denzelle lifted her chin up and touched his lips to hers.

She sighed and lowered her eyes away from his. Marsha wasn't sure how she was supposed to respond to this kiss. She knew how she wanted to respond. But what did a girl do when the man she was crazy about was also her pastor, and on top of that, kissing her in his office, which was the church office? Honestly, how did a sister run that play? There was nothing in the playbook to help out with a situation like this one.

“What's wrong?” Denzelle whispered in her ear. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Then talk to me, Honey.”

Marsha tried to think of a nice way to tell him and opted for the truth. She said, “I don't know how to respond to you.”

Denzelle backed up off of Marsha. He'd never heard that line before. He frowned and said, “What are you talking about?”

She said, “Well, see, it's like this, Denzelle. You started doing that dance and jiggling all up on me, and I didn't know you had it like that with the moves. Then you got close and started kissing on me, and I liked it a lot. And I wanted to give as good as it looked like you were about to give. But I don't want to give you the wrong impression of me … and…”

Denzelle raised up his hands and said, “Stop. Stop. Stoopppppp! That is way too much information to digest. Come at me again.”

“You are a minister, you are my pastor, this is the church office, and you are kissing me like…”

“… like I'm trying to be your man?” Denzelle asked her softly, with laughter laced through his voice. He knew Marsha was at a loss as to how to handle him right now. The girl was straight up with no chaser, and not good at playing courtship games. She was what he and Obadiah called the real deal.

“Baby, you don't ever have to be concerned about my reaction to you wanting to be all up on me. 'Cause, Girl, that's what I want—you all up on me.”