Pink & Patent Leather (2 page)

I guessed that Pastor Malik was a little worried that my father had heard what I
’d said. But, I wasn’t concerned at all. First of all, I’d said it softly enough because my words were for his ears only. But even if my daddy had heard me, it wouldn’t have mattered. Bishop Dr. Richard Jansen always saw to it that I got everything that I wanted.

What I wanted was Pastor Malik Stroman. As I stood there at the altar, all I wanted was his hands
on my body, his lips on my flesh, and I wanted to be inside his masculine embrace for long moments of heated passion.

It didn
’t matter how old he was or how young I was, or even that he was married. All that mattered was I always had the best of everything, and in my eyes, and the eyes of everyone he came in contact with, Pastor Malik was the best. And the best should have the best—at least, that’s what The Lord and I thought.

I had no concerns about his wife because this was all God
’s plan. And anyway, how he’d married her in the first place was a mystery to me. She wasn’t anywhere close to being the best; she didn’t deserve him. Honestly, I couldn’t figure out how he ended up with that frumpy, old-looking, tacky, nappy-headed, dumb ass woman. He deserved better, he deserved me.

Even as Pastor Malik went back to the center of the altar and gave the closing words to the ceremony, God continued to speak to my heart.

Sasha, prepare yourself to become the First Lady.

And so, from that night on that
’s exactly what I did. I knew if I heard God tell me, surely God must have told him, too. That’s why I’d spent all these years getting ready. Tonight was the manifestation of all the work I’d done. My assignment was complete, almost.

Rolling over on the bed, I glanced
once again at the clock on my night table. It was seven-thirty. Perfect.

It was time for me to get dressed and go stake my claim.

I was wearing this Christian
Dior dress. Everything about it (and me in it) was perfect. The black sleeveless sheath showed my perfectly toned “Michelle Obama” arms, and the mid-thigh length revealed shapely legs that looked like they went on forever. My four-inch Jimmy Choos that made me appear super-model tall, only added to the whole affect.

As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I tried to imagine Pastor Malik
’s reaction. Would he see that I was ready for him, ready in every way?

That question took a little bit of air from m
y lungs and I sat on the edge of my bed. There was so much at stake, and I took a moment to think about all that was going to happen tonight, tomorrow, this week, this month, this year. Though, it was going to be tough, and I knew some people would be hurt (especially my parents who were pillars of the church and their community) I had to follow through with what God had put on my heart. I was glad, though, that my parents weren’t going to be there tonight. They had just left the day before for a two-week vacation in Fiji. My hope was that by the time they returned, the news would be waiting for them. The deed would already be done.

I did hope that my parents weren
’t going to be too affected, though I’d be crazy to think that there wouldn’t be any trouble. It wasn’t like I was taking this journey blindly; I knew that people would be shocked, and some might be hurt. That’s why I’d been so careful in planning every step from the moment I’d uttered those words to Pastor Malik at the Purity Ceremony.

For the fi
rst few weeks after that night, whenever Pastor Malik saw me in church, he was a bit standoffish, as if he was concerned (or afraid) that I might say (or do) something that would embarrass him. But he never had to worry. God had spoken, and I would never do anything that I wasn’t supposed to do. And at that time, all I was supposed to do was prepare myself. I was only sixteen, I had plenty of time, and so I just acted as if I had never spoken those words to him. I behaved as if nothing had changed when everything
had
changed.

After awhile, Pastor Malik relaxed and returned to the relationship we
’d had before that night. For the next two years, I was just sweet little Pink to him. He came to my high school graduation party, and even the little gathering my parents had for me the night before I left for Spelman.

“
Make sure you stay in touch,” Pastor Malik had said as he hugged me goodbye. “Unless of course, you meet one of those Morehouse guys down there and get too busy.”

Everyone had laughed at that little jo
ke, except for me. I didn’t know why Pastor Malik would say something like that. Of course, that would never happen; I would never get involved with a boy when I already had a man.

But then, I realized that he was just saying that for the benefit of his w
ife, who was always with him, always hanging on as if she was afraid someone was going to steal him away.

I guess she had a very good reason to be worried. God had probably told her, too. God had probably told her that she was just my place-holder and that
I was going to be Malik’s wife.

So, I didn
’t say anything as everyone laughed at Malik’s joke. Then the next day, I left for college. When I walked out of the door of my home, I knew that I wouldn’t be coming back. Not for four years. I hadn’t shared my plans not to return with anyone, but staying away was a necessary part. The next four years had to be transformational years. I had to turn myself into the woman that God wanted me to be for Pastor Malik. I was going to be smart, I was going to be beautiful, I was going to be ready to be the most awesome First Lady in America.

My plan was to stay away physically, but I wasn
’t going to disconnect myself from Pastor Malik totally. Keeping it casual, I sent him weekly updates through handwritten letters on what I had been doing around campus because after all, he needed to be involved in the life of his future wife. So, I told him about my studies and my desire to be the best student I could possibly be. And then, I told him about the all-girls Wednesday night Bible study that I started in the Student Union building.

With every letter I sent, Pastor Malik would email back to me and I cherished every single message from him:

Wow, Pink. I’m impressed. I want to support you in this endeavor, so I’ve included some study guides and other material that you can download and use at the Bible study. I’m very proud of you and the work that you’re doing for The Lord.

I was ecstatic when I received that. He was already beginning to see the asset I was going to be to him.

Each time, I wrote back (because written letters were much more personal to me), always thanking him for his support and always stamping my notes with my signature perfume, Jadore by Dior and signing,
Yours in Christ, Pink
.

Then, in the first week of my seni
or year, Pastor Malik sent an email that said:

You
’re getting closer to graduation, Pink. Although I’ve missed seeing you, I can’t wait to see the young woman that you’ve become.

I almost cried when I read those words. This let me know that even though Pas
tor Malik hadn’t seen me, he knew the reason why I had stayed away. He understood that I was preparing myself. So, I sent him back a note, and told him that I couldn’t wait to see him either. This time, though, after I stamped the note with my perfume, I changed up my signature and signed,
Love, Pink. Always at your service
.

I wondered if Pastor Malik would notice the difference
— and he did. I got an email back from him faster than ever before. As I sat in my dorm room, my whole body shook with anticipation when I saw that I had a new email from him. What message had Pastor Malik sent back? Was he ready to talk about us, since I would be home in a nine months?

But when I opened his email, I had to read it a couple of times to make sure that I hadn
’t missed something:

Pink, there
’s a young man I want you to meet. He’s a graduate of Howard, and he joined Grace Tabernacle the first year you were away. There’s a call on his life to become a minister and right now, he’s down at Morehouse completing his final year of law school. His name is Xavier Turner and he’s looking forward to hearing from you
.

There was an email and a telephone number at the bottom of the note.

What the heck was this?
That was my first thought. Was he trying to set me up with another man? Was he trying to push me away?

I read that message over and over, trying to read between the lines, trying to see the message that I
’d clearly missed. But even after studying it for two days, I could only come to one conclusion—Pastor Malik was acting like he didn’t want us to be together.

But why? Why wasn
’t he following the plan that God had for our lives?

Then, I began to wonder, what if this was a test? What if Pastor Malik just wanted to see if I would be obedient? As his wi
fe, I’d have to be submissive and maybe he was trying to see if I understood that.

So three days after receiving his note, I called Xavier Turner.

“I’ve been waiting to hear from you, Sasha,” he said, surprising me by calling me by my given name.

“
You can call me Pink,” I said. “All of my friends do.”

“
Great!”

We made plans that night to meet at Starbucks the next day and I arrived early because if he looked like a reject from an old sitcom, I was going to sneak out, run, and then change my number.

But when Xavier walked through the door, I stayed right in my seat. He was way too fine, way too cut-up, and had way too much swagger to be anybody’s minister. Old boy was hell-a-gorgeous with a broad chest, arms that gave new meaning to the word, “guns,” a small waist and long, sturdy legs. He was at least, six-feet-four with a creamy caramel complexion, that set off his yellow Ralph Lauren polo shirt that went well with his navy slacks. Oh my goodness, he was everything!

“
Pink?” he asked after he stepped right over to me.

I nodded, not at all surprised that he
’d picked me out. It was true that Atlanta had some beautiful women, but I stood out. I wasn’t bragging, that was just a fact. I had worked hard to be a cut above the rest.

Xavier hadn
’t been sitting across from me for five minutes before I felt like I’d known him forever. Talking to him was easy. We shared the same interests, like politics, old school music, and reading all of the classics. He was well-read, well-traveled and knew African American history almost as well as I did. But what really sealed the deal for me was when he challenged me to a game of chess. My brothers had taught me how to play when I was just five, and I could take on...and win, the very best chess players.

What seemed to impress him mo
st about me was my knowledge of the Bible and the sessions I was doing with my fellow students.

“
So, not only are you well-read,” he said, “but you read your Bible, too. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“
I love The Lord.” That was all I said and it wasn’t just a cliché. I really did love God. Not only had I been raised in the church, but I knew and studied God for myself. From the time I was a little girl, He’d laid things on my heart, and what He was doing with me and Malik was just proof that His love for me continued.

Xavier said, “
I love the Bible study that you’re doing. I would love to do something like that for guys.”

“
Maybe we can do something together,” I said, sipping my Chai Latte.

Before we left that Starbucks that day, Xavier and I had come up wi
th a plan to do an early morning prayer line with the girls at Spelman and the guys at Morehouse.

Xavier wasn
’t playing. We started the next morning. I was barely awake when he called me at six am, and then, we started adding people to the line. Three weeks later, we had to get a conference number where everyone could just call in, that’s how many people were on the line with us.

That
’s how our wonderful friendship started, with prayer.

I
’d grown up, feeling so separated from the girls my age. I’d never had anyone that I’d called a friend, let alone a best friend.

But Xavier had quickly become that kind of friend to me. I could talk to him, I could relate to him. We spent all of our time together, studying, eating, and we even worked out together. And when
we weren’t together, we were on the phone talking to each other.

So I was shocked when right before the Christmas holidays, Xavier and I were at the CNN Center, just walking around, people watching, taking in the holiday scene, and he said to me, “
We should go out.”

I laughed. “
What are you talking about? We’re already out.”

“
No, I mean. We should go out...together. Just you and me.”