No sooner had Rev. James left than Rev. Marcel DeMarcus Brown, the son of Detroit's Rev. Ernest Brown, joined them. Theophilus did not like Marcel Brown or his daddy, preachers who would do just about anything for money and power in the denomination—and, worse, used their status in the church to get women in bed. He had particular disdain for Marcel, who adopted a deep, sexy voice when he preached. And Marcel definitely knew how to use that voice—raising it, lowering it, moaning, groaning, and even growling at all the right points in a sermon. The few times Theophilus had heard him preach, Marcel had given him the impression that he was toying, throughout his sermon, with some woman in the congregation who had momentarily caught his fancy.
"Marcel Brown," Eddie said to break the tense silence. "Surprised to see you at this conference. I always thought Memphis was too far south for a smooth Dee-troit boy like yourself."
Marcel shook Eddie's outstretched hand, saying, "Rev-rend Tate. Kind of surprised to be here myself. But, what the hell— Daddy insisted that I drive my presiding bishop down to Memphis. Said Bishop Giles would grant me a few favors at the Michigan Annual Conference if I came with him. I will be glad to get back to the Motor City, though. Nothing here but a highway that takes me further down to nowhere—Mississippi."
Marcel knew full well how Theophilus felt about him, and the animosity was mutual. He said, "The good Rev. Theophilus Simmons. Why, someone was just telling me what a big hit you were down in Atlanta with some of our dedicated saints. So, how's it going in Memphis?"
It was obvious that Marcel was referring to Glodean, though Theophilus couldn't imagine who had bothered to revive that ancient scandal. But he resented Marcel's insulting effort to imply that they were on the same level, both preachers who would have their way with women. Rather than shake Marcel's hand, he stuck his own in his pocket, saying, "I'm making it, Marcel. But I can't possibly be doing as well as you. Way I hear it, there are a lot of sisters in Detroit who make sure everybody knows just how much they love the pastor."
Marcel adjusted the ruby velvet stole on his black robe and said, "What can I say? I try to make all of my church folk feel happy and blessed. And if I were you, Simmons, I'd count this particular week as filled with happiness and blessings just waiting to be had. Nothing like an Annual Conference to get some of these good sisters all overheated and anxious to do a little extra something for the pastor.
"Take that one," Marcel said, zeroing in on Essie. "My . . . my . . . my. Will you all look at the legs on that girl? Now, that's one I'd like to know better than I know the Bible when this conference is over."
Eddie was getting uncomfortable, knowing how much Marcel was offending Theophilus. He pulled at the sleeve of Marcel's robe and said, "Leave it alone, man. He is working on that."
"Oh, yeah?" Marcel said to Theophilus. "You need to mark off your territory a lot better than you're doing, if you don't want the rest of us preachers prowling around that woman."
Theophilus couldn't say a word. It was taking everything in him not to punch Marcel in the mouth.
In fact, Marcel had already staked his claim on a woman at the conference, Saphronia McComb, who was invited with her grandmother to attend out of respect for the late Bishop Harold. Marcel's father had been pushing him to marry, to curb some of the scandals his womanizing had gotten simmering in the church. As soon as he laid eyes on Saphronia Anne McComb, he recognized how perfectly she fit his father's image of the right kind of wife for him. So he had sought her affections—effortless work, with his light skin, curly black hair, and deep soulful eyes—and set her to blushing whenever he flashed his charming pastor's smile at her.
But Simmons's woman was far more enticing than Saphronia, despite the latter's level of education and status in the church community. He envied Theophilus and decided to walk over and introduce himself to Essie, just to spite him. But he quickly changed his mind when he saw his presiding bishop, Lawson Giles, heading into the lobby, talking to a retired pastor from Grenada, Mississippi. Excusing himself from Theophilus and Eddie, he hurried over to join Bishop Giles.
Theophilus thanked the Lord for helping him hold his temper, as provocative as Marcel had been. Now he decided that he just might do what Marcel suggested, go over and "mark" Essie as his "territory." He walked up to Lee Allie and kissed her on the cheek, complimenting her on the mint green silk suit she was wearing. It was beautifully tailored with a fitted jacket that had a tiny flare where it touched her hips, a Peter Pan collar, a breast pocket with a pale, turquoise silk handkerchief stuck in it, round silver buttons, and a matching straight skirt with a kick pleat. And the suit was polished off with a pillbox hat that was covered with mint green, pale turquoise, and beige chiffon leaves, beige patent leather pumps, and a matching purse.
"Sister Lane, you are looking like a million dollars this afternoon."
Lee Allie smiled and said, "Why thank you, Theophilus. You know Miss Essie made this suit for me last year as a Christmas present."
Theophilus was impressed. He said, "Essie, you are full of surprises," as his eyes, containing a blend of pride and admiration, swept over her from head to toe. "And I must say that you are looking quite exquisite yourself. Your dress is very beautiful. Reminds me of a warm sunset. Did you make it?"
Essie smiled at Theophilus, a soft blush highlighting her cheeks. "Yes, I made it and the pattern for it and the pattern for Mama's outfit, too. I make a lot of our clothes."
"Then that explains why you always look so good when I see you."
Just then he heard a cough. He hadn't noticed Eddie coming up alongside him, trying to find a way to meet this Essie Lane. Theophilus gave him a "what are you doing here" look, pretending to be exasperated, but went ahead and did the honors: "Essie, Mrs. Lane, let me introduce you to my good friend, Rev. Eddie Tate. He pastors Mount Zion Gospel United Church in Chicago and came down to Memphis to help me with some of this conference business. We go way back—were roommates when we were at Blackwell College together."
Eddie took Essie's hand and said, "It is such a pleasure to meet you." Then he turned to Lee Allie and took hers saying, "Mrs. Lane, I am pleased to meet you, too."
As soon as Eddie let go of Essie's hand, he felt happy all over. She was a good woman! He had spent time with every kind of Negro woman one could imagine and always told Theophilus that he could smell a good woman fifty miles away. And like Theophilus, he believed that it wasn't holy airs but her sense of self, her fine character, and her love of God that made a woman good. Was she kind? Did she have a sense of humor? Was she fair? Was she shrewd and smart? Could she handle money right? And was she honest and straightforward? These were the qualities found in one of his favorite scriptures in the Bible, Proverbs 31. And they were the ones Eddie always looked for in a woman claiming to be a good one.
Essie smiled demurely at this big, tall yellow man with coarse brown hair and teasing eyes staring out of a boyish face. She looked carefully at his very expensive and superbly cut beige silk suit, knowing he must have searched hard to find the tailor who made it and his ivory clerical shirt, which was of the finest jacquard silk. This man, who was almost two inches taller than Theophilus, was sharp—from his carefully trimmed hair all the way down to the pale silk socks that matched his suit, and those beige alligator shoes he was wearing.
Theophilus began to look annoyed, and Essie realized that she had stared too long at Rev. Tate. Turning away from Eddie, she smiled at Theophilus. He was looking awfully handsome himself, in that charcoal suit, pearl gray shirt, and silk tie and matching handkerchief, with thin amethyst, pearl gray, and charcoal stripes.
Eddie just watched the current of communication flow back and forth between Essie and Theophilus, silently thanking God for bringing what he fervently believed was a good woman into his best friend's life.
Chapter Seven
ESSIE, LEE ALLIE, AND, FINALLY, CORAL AND D.S. Thomas took their seats just as the choir and ministers had taken their places at the back of the church. Theophilus
and Eddie were sitting with other guest ministers in a section marked off near the front of the sanctuary. Rev. James and Marcel Brown, who had been asked to represent his father, would march in with the bishops and other prominent pastors.
The steady hum of excited voices circulating around the crowded church quieted down as it came time for the service to begin. The trickle of latecomers hurried to their places, and Glodean Benson, who was in this group, gave one of the male ushers a big, batting-eyes smile as an incentive to find her a seat. Being late was part of her strategy this afternoon, because she wanted to make a special entrance. If there was one thing Glodean Benson could count on, it was commanding everyone's attention when she walked through a church sanctuary.
She was a striking woman, standing five foot six, with an hourglass figure, milk chocolate skin that was as smooth as satin, smoky brown eyes, and coal black hair that hung down her back past her shoulder blades. But it wasn't her beauty alone that made so many take note when she promenaded down a church aisle. It was her inviting walk that got under their skin.
A regular conference goer, Glodean doted on preachers, and according to the pastor of one Knoxville, Tennessee, church, she delivered on every single thing hinted at in that walk. As he had confided to a handful of ministers at one of the Tennessee/Mississippi District's midwinter meetings, Glodean was as close to heaven on earth as he was going to get. He had said rather wistfully that when he was with her, he felt that he could have lain on her pale pink, perfumed sheets for all eternity. And when a little sweat formed on his forehead at the mere thought of Glodean Benson, he pulled out a handkerchief, stomped his feet, and wiped his face like he had just finished a good sermon.
As Glodean followed the usher to her seat, the enticing scent of her pricy signature perfume wafted behind her. Known for her expensive pink outfits, today she was wearing a pink and gold low-cut lace dress with capped sleeves that molded itself to her body. Her long hair was knotted into a heavy chignon at the nape of her neck—barely visible under a pink silk hat, with a wide brim that curved down toward her face and was trimmed with silk rosebuds. Her beautiful face was adorned only with the dark pink lipstick she always wore on her full, wide lips. And she had on diamond earrings and pink lace gloves, on top of which she wore an array of diamond rings—gifts from pastors over the past years.
All eyes were upon her and she knew it.
While Glodean was walking down the aisle, Essie nudged Lee Allie and said, "Mama, look at that woman. I can't believe she would hold up the service to carry on like that."
Lee Allie took a good look at Glodean Benson, wondering if all of the woman's brain circuits were fired up right. She glanced over at Coral and saw that she was looking sour. "Coral, you know her? She walkin' up in here actin' like she think she the Queen of Sheba."
"Honey, that there is Glodean Benson. She lives in Atlanta now, but she grew up in my church. And she may think she the Queen of Sheba but she ain't nothin' but a sanctified tramp."
"A what?" Essie asked.
"You know, a woman who only want to sleep with a preacher 'cause she crazy enough to believe that in a preacher's pants there some kind of pipeline to heaven. Cain't meet no decent man 'cause she so fixed on preachers and becoming the first lady of some church. That woman don't believe in dancin', smokin', or drinkin' but she wiggle under those sheets with some preacher every chance she get. Baby, it's a sickness and these mens don't know how to or even want to stop Glodean's goin's on. Sometimes these so-called mens of God sho' do a lot to help out the devil."
"That's a shame, Miss Coral."
"Sure 'nough is, Essie Lee. She just wastin' and usin' herself up on some crazy-thinking foolishness."
"And," Coral thought, "I still don't understand how in the world Rev. Simmons got himself all tangled up with that crazy woman."
Marcel stood in the processional line with his friend, Rev. Sonny Washington, watching this woman advertise herself, with pure amusement all over his face. As much as he liked to tomcat his way through churchwomen, he always stayed clear of her kind. So this was the woman who managed to get next to Simmons. What a fool, he thought. Anyone could see that the woman, beautiful as she was, spelled trouble. Then he noticed that Sonny looked like it was taking every bit of his strength not to run down the aisle and grab ahold of that crazy Glodean.
Reverend James was standing right behind Marcel Brown and Sonny Washington. It was clear to him that Glodean Benson wasn't all there, especially watching her like this. What had prompted her to come up from Atlanta and stage a scene at this conference, just when Theophilus was making a place for himself at Greater Hope? He was worried about the effect her entrance was having on Theophilus.
Theophilus sensed Glodean's presence even before he saw her. No wonder Marcel knew about this story. No doubt some folks had been gossiping about it because they knew Glodean would be at this service. He had gotten lulled into thinking that this phase of his life was over, that Glodean wasn't coming back and that he could forget about her threats. Her entrance today made him doubt that she had abandoned her vow to get him. He took out his handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his face.
Eddie leaned over and whispered, "I hope there isn't a show-down between you and Glodean at this conference. If she knows you're seeing Essie, she might want to start some mess. Honestly, man, I don't know how you let yourself get tied up with that."
"All right," Theophilus snapped. "You don't have to keep telling me how much I messed up."
Eddie persisted. "Why did it take you so long to figure out that Glodean was touched in the head? I mean, always having to wear pink should have been your first clue that something was wrong with her."
Theophilus shrugged. The thought that Essie would find out about Glodean filled him with despair. What Essie Lane had done for his heart and soul far surpassed anything Glodean Benson could have ever conceived of doing to his body.
Bishop Jennings got tired of waiting on Glodean to sit down. He scowled at her, and she picked up her pace. But she was still squeezing past the other people sitting on the row when the bishop cleared his throat and began, "The Lord is in His Holy Temple. Let all the earth keep silence before Him."
As soon as he completed the call to worship, the choir started singing a powerful praise song, joined by the congregation and all their esteemed guests. When the choir director was confident that everyone was participating, he signaled to the musicians, who changed the tempo to a faster and bluesier, hard-core gospel beat. Next, he had the soloist step out, got the choir moving to the right rhythm, and led them into a hand-clapping, foot-stomping rendition of the song "Lead Me to Calvary."
Once the soloist got immersed in the feeling of the song, ad-libbing a call-and-response pattern with the choir, the director gave the musicians the sign to push the song up an octave. Now the music got so good that a tiny purple-haired lady stood up, with her patent leather pocketbook hanging off her wrist, daintily grabbed the skirt of her rose satin dress, and danced in the aisle, making sure that her fancy turban hat, wrapped with yards of rose-tinted netting, didn't topple off her head in the process.
When the choir director saw the little purple-haired lady dancing in the spirit, he set the choir rocking from side to side, fueling the excitement of the congregation. Then with a quick clap, he shut down the melody, letting the congregation, vigorously clapping and stomping, carry the bluesy, syncopated beat. A woman standing at the back of the choir loft raised her arms up in the air, whirled in a complete circle, stomped both feet, and called, "Yeesss! Yeeeesssss LORD! Jeeeesuzzz!" in a shout-scream. And the soloist, who had gotten even more fired up by the shout, started singing a cappella, to the rhythm of the handclaps and stomping feet. She was sounding so good until every time she glided and slid back down a note, a choir member shouted, "Sang! Sang girl, sang!"
As the spiritual heatwave reached a peak, the director brought the choir back in, to sing a cappella with the soloist. Their voices swelled the song for a few bars and
then, at another pinnacle, the director brought the musicians back in, one instrument at a time, raising the congregation's temperature a few degrees with each new addition to the music.
The church was so fired up by now that even some of the men had started shouting. One sister got so carried away that she failed to notice that her wig had become askew and was inching its way off her head. The adults watching the wig work its way down just kept clapping and singing, trying to ignore the sight, but for the older children and teenagers sitting in the balcony, away from the immediate scrutiny of their relatives, the suspense was too much to bear. They snickered, poked at each other, and pointed at the woman's head, ducking down behind the balcony pews to laugh out loud whenever that slipshod wig crept another inch.
Three women attendants who were dressed in white uniforms with big lavender lace handkerchiefs pinned on their left shoulders ran over to the woman, who by this time was waving her arms around and preparing to fall out. Right before she fell back across a row of people, two of the attendants grabbed her by the wrists, quickly lifting her up and away. A lady in that pew, wearing a beautiful yellow hat, picked up the wig with an ink pen and gingerly handed it to the third attendant. Two male ushers hurried over to grab the woman by her arms and ankles to carry her out, and the attendant dropped the wig, with half of the elastic worn out of it, onto her chest.
By now the soloist was winding up, and the choir director brought the music and the singing to a quick, dramatic halt. A minister sitting in the front-row pew shouted out, "Praise the Lord! Y'all know y'all praisin' God today. Amen." With hearty handclapping and loud "Praise Gods," the entire congregation joined in.
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