The Preachers Son (2 page)

It was late afternoon when my best friend, Shorty Jefferson, and I rolled east down Jamaica Avenue in his metallic blue Jeep Cherokee. Shorty and I were rocking our heads to the music as we flirted with one pretty woman after another. We’d just finished handing out my father’s campaign flyers in front of Gertz Plaza Mall, and the radio was blasting G-Unit’s “Poppin’ Those Thangs.” The bass was so loud that not only could nearby pedestrians hear the music, they could feel it too. When Shorty stopped at a traffic light, I winked at a beautiful twenty-something-year-old woman who’d pulled up next to us in a red Honda Civic. She winked back with a smile. I gestured for her to roll down her window, then turned toward Shorty, my face now flush with color. One thing was for sure—she was as fine as they came.

“Yo, check out baby over here in the Civic,” I yelled, reaching for the button to roll down the window. I turned back in her direction, smiling as if I were on a toothpaste commercial. I wasn’t a real believer in picking up women off the street with corny-ass lines, but this sister was worth taking a shot at. “What’s up, baby girl? Can a brotha get them digi—” I stopped myself abruptly and Shorty fell out laughing. I hadn’t seen quite what I was expecting. Oh, there was a woman there all right, but it wasn’t the fine sister I’d been flirting with just seconds before. She and her red Civic had made an illegal right on red and were halfway around the corner. In place of her car was a black Lincoln Continental. The driver was a mocha-colored, heavyset woman in her late fifties, wearing a very expensive but ugly bronze-colored wig. Both Shorty and I knew her quite well, and by the scowl on her face, it was clear she didn’t appreciate my comment, our music, or Shorty’s laughter in the background. Her name was Deaconess Lillian Wright, better known in whispers around my father’s church as The Bitch. She was one of my mother’s closest friends along with being one of my father’s biggest political supporters.

“How you doing, Deaconess?” I raised my hand as I smiled meekly. She remained stone-faced, offering no reply. I rolled the window up and turned back toward Shorty, who’d stopped laughing and was back to rocking his head to the music.

“Shorty, turn the radio down,” I told him through gritted teeth.

“What?” Shorty shouted, obviously wondering why I was whispering.

“I said turn the motherfuckin’ radio down!” I yelled this time. Then I reached for the volume knob, turning the radio down myself. I turned back toward Deaconess Wright, who was already punching the buttons on her cell phone. I knew that could only mean one thing—
trouble
—especially when I saw her flailing her other arm as she yelled into the phone. I wasn’t a lip reader, but her mouth looked like it was forming the word
drunk
several times. I sank into the seat, wishing I could take back the last few minutes of my life.

The light turned green, but before Shorty could hit the accelerator, Deaconess Wright swerved out of the right turn lane and into his, speeding down Jamaica Avenue and turning on Merrick Boulevard.

“Aw, shit.” I slammed my hand on the dashboard. “Man, I bet that bitch is headed straight to the church to see my momma.”

“So what?” Shorty shrugged.

“So what? Do you realize how much trouble I’m gonna get into?” I screwed up my face with disgust as I imagined the choice words my mother would have for me when I got to the church.

“Trouble for what?” Shorty sighed, rolling his eyes at me. “How old are you, Dante?”

“Man, you know how old I am,” I snapped with attitude. “Same age as you.”

“Okay, so you’re old enough to drink in this state and buy cigarettes, right?” Shorty asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, what’s the point, Shorty?”

“The point is…” Shorty took his eyes off the road and glared at me. “Why the fuck are you so worried about some old church biddy with droopy titties calling your momma? You a grown man. What your moms gonna do, give you a beatin’?”

I hesitated before I responded as if that was exactly what I was afraid of. “Look, Shorty, I been trying to explain this to you for years. Everything that my sister Donna and I do is a reflection of my parents, and a reflection of the church. My pops is Bishop T.K. Wilson, for crying out loud. He’s one of the most influential ministers in the city, possibly even the state. Jesus, he’s running for borough president.”

“And? What’s that supposed to mean? You know I like the bishop, Dante, but he ain’t God. He’s just a man. He likes pussy just like the rest of us heathens; otherwise you and your sister wouldn’t be here.”

I couldn’t help it. I let out a frustrated laugh. Shorty had a way with words that was always colorful, if not true. Hell, I still heard my parents doing their thing every once in a while late at night.

“You don’t understand how hard it is being the bishop’s son, Shorty. They all think I’m the heir apparent to the bishop.”

“Yeah, and they’re right. Except maybe for Reverend Reynolds, you the only candidate.”

“But I don’t wanna be—”

Shorty cut me off. “Don’t even start that shit, Dante. Not unless you’re willing to tell your folks the truth.”

“I can’t tell them the truth. Not yet, anyway. My momma wants me to be the pastor one day, and so does the bishop. I can’t let them down.”

“Let them down! What about letting yourself down, Dante? You got a damn near perfect score on the LSATs and you don’t even have the guts to apply to law school because of your parents.” Shorty’s face looked pained at the thought of me passing up that opportunity. “Man, you need to stand up to your parents. Shit, man, you don’t even wanna be a minister. How you gonna be a pastor?”

I shrugged but remained silent. We’d had this conversation a hundred times before, and the result was always the same. I ended up agreeing with Shorty, but I never actually had the nerve to admit to my parents my true aspirations.

Shorty turned his attention back to the road, but not before he turned up the volume again. After a brief drive, he pulled his truck in front of the church and smiled as he stuck out his fist for me to tap. I smiled back as I tapped it then stepped out of the truck and stretched. At an even six feet three inches tall, I’m a well-built man with a basketball player’s body and smooth, handsome, almond-colored features. I’m not trying to brag or anything, but everyone says I look like my dad minus the beard, and women have been calling him good-looking for as long as I can remember. My friend Shorty, not a bad-looking guy himself, isn’t an inch over five six. He, too, is well built, but with a darker, mahogany complexion. His real name is John, but I can’t remember anyone other than a few teachers calling him anything but Shorty since we met. He and I have been friends since the sixth grade, and much to my mother’s chagrin, we’ve remained friends throughout the years.

“Yo, I’ll check you later. Why don’t we shoot by Scandalous, that new place in Long Island City, tonight?”

“Please. You know I can’t be seen in a place like that,” I replied. Even if I didn’t have to worry about my public image as the preacher’s son, I wasn’t in the mood to go to a strip club anyway. I didn’t mind hanging out with Shorty, but lately I’d been looking for a woman to settle down with, and a strip club isn’t exactly the kind of place you’re gonna find a woman to take home to your momma. “Yo, Shorty, why don’t you come on in?”

Shorty never replied because a tall, voluptuous, olive-skinned woman exited the side door of the church, distracting him. She was wearing a short, black miniskirt and a tight-fitting red blouse. She was a big-boned woman with shapely thighs and a huge butt. She was what we brothers like to refer to as thick. Her name was Donna, my younger sister. Shorty had been infatuated with her for as long as I could remember. When we were younger, the two of them were actually pretty close. When Shorty couldn’t find a date to the prom, he asked Donna and she went. You should have seen their prom picture. The two of them looked like Laurel and Hardy, my sister being a good four inches taller than him, even without her heels. Still, Shorty never seemed happier than he was that night at the prom with Donna.

“Hey, Donna.” Shorty waved his hand eagerly. Donna waved back politely then walked up to me and kissed my cheek.

“Hey, sis, what’s up?”

“My car’s in the shop. Can I borrow yours, pleeeease?” She gave me this sad, pleading look then turned toward the church, watching the side door nervously. She must have been afraid my mother was gonna pop out those doors and make her change her clothes. What she was wearing was pretty provocative, and I was surprised she got out the house, let alone the church, without our mother’s scrutiny. That’s when the thought hit me that she had probably just changed in my office, which she had done before, and had been waiting by the window for my return so she could borrow my car and get out of Dodge.

“Where you going dressed like that?” I asked with brotherly concern.

“I’m going to see my friend. We’re going to dinner at the Soul Café on Forty-second Street.” She smiled. “Why? Is there a problem?” She gave me that don’t-even-go-thereafter-everything-I’ve-done-for-you look. Donna had done everything from helping me sneak girls into our house to pretending my girlfriends were her friends so they could sneak into my room after our parents were asleep. The last thing I wanted to do now was be a hypocrite.

“Nah, no problem.” I sighed, trying to hold back my true feelings. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Donna. I hope you’re taking the proper precautions.”

“Don’t worry about that, because I took them right out your dresser drawer.” Donna blushed while I didn’t even crack a smile. I hated the thought that my sister might be having sex, but she was twenty years old and there really wasn’t anything I could do about it. “So can I borrow your truck, Dante? Please! I gotta get out of here before Mommy comes out.”

I stared at my sister, then handed her the keys to the new Lincoln Aviator truck my parents had given me as a graduation present. “Don’t you get in no accident with my car.” I loved my sister, but she was a horrible driver; that was why her car was in the shop now.

“I won’t. I promise.” Donna smiled, wrapping her arms around me and kissing me on the cheek. “Oh, Dante, can you tell Mommy that I’m studying at Susan’s?”

I hesitated, then thought about how many times she’d lied for me. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“Thanks.” She kissed me again then waved. “Bye, Shorty.”

“Bye, Donna.” Shorty and I watched her walk toward my car, then he turned to me with an unhappy look on his face. “She’s got a boyfriend, doesn’t she?”

“Yep.”

“When did this all happen?” Shorty, like myself, had never known Donna to date. Matter of fact, after the prom, he pursued Donna for over a year. For a while I thought they might even hook up for real, but for the past few years Donna had been treating him like he barely existed. Even though it hurt Shorty, as far as I was concerned, it was a good thing. Best friends and sisters shouldn’t be mixed.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess she’s been seeing him for a couple of months.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” There was obvious jealousy in his voice. That was exactly why I hadn’t told him.

I stared at my lovesick friend. “ ’Cause it’s none of your business. You don’t go around telling me who your sister is dating.”

Shorty rolled his eyes. “So who is this guy, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but whoever he is, he’s got her nose wide open. She’s used up about half the condoms in my drawer.”

I could see the disappointment in Shorty’s face and I felt sorry for him. He really liked my sister. I guess I just never knew how much until now, so I decided to try to take his mind off it.

“Hey, man, forget about my sister. Why don’t you come on inside? The women’s choir rehearsal’s about to get out and you know they gonna have some food and some good-looking honeys down there.”

Shorty glanced over at Deaconess Wright’s Lincoln Continental and my mother’s champagne-colored Mercedes-Benz parked in the church’s parking lot. I could tell my offer was tempting. We hadn’t eaten all day, and a lot of those church girls were hot in the ass. Still, the look in his eyes said he really wasn’t up for any drama. With my mom and Deaconess Wright around, there was sure to be some. If things went the way they usually did, Shorty would be the one who ended up getting blamed for it, too.

“I think I’ll pass, bro.” He pointed at the two cars in the church’s reserved parking spaces. I guess he figured if he was going to deal with that, there was going to have to be a good reason, and that reason had just pulled away in my truck to see another guy. “It looks like you about to have some drama with your momma. Ain’t no need for me to stick around. I’ll just make things worse for you.”

“Chicken. What, are you scared of my mother?” I teased.

“Pretty much.” He nodded.

“I thought you said I should stand up to her.”

“I said
you
should stand up to her. You’re her son. Me, I’m just the guy from around the block. Only time your moms wants to see me is on Sunday morning and that’s
only
if I’m putting something in the collection plate.”

I chuckled. “You know she loves you, Shorty.”

“Yeah, like a snake loves a rat. Did you forget what she did last Saturday?” I figured that was best left unsaid, so I remained quiet. I hoped Shorty would do the same, but he continued. “Your moms got on the mike at the church bazaar and told everyone who’d listen to hold on to their daughters ’cause Satan just walked in. Them people started staring at me like I had horns and shit. Now, I’ve been called a lot of things, Dante, but to have the first lady of the church you belong to call you the Devil has got to be the worst.”

I lowered my head, laughing at my mother’s antics. Despite her actions, I really don’t think my mother disliked Shorty. She just loved the hell outta me and didn’t want to admit that I’m human and can make mistakes. It was easier for her to make Shorty the scapegoat for my missteps. “She didn’t mean anything by it, Shorty.”

Shorty rolled his eyes. “Dante, face it, man. Your mom doesn’t like me. She never has, and she probably never will. She thinks I’m a bad influence on you.”