The Pastor's Husband

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “Well, don’t you look cute,” Lady Cheyenne says. “Like a pretty little teenager.”

  I give her a smile as I get into the limo. “Thank you, Lady Cheyenne. I wish I still looked like a teenager, though. I woke up one day and saw a line on my face that wouldn’t leave.”

  Everyone in the car laughs. Lady Sandy and Lady Cheyenne are on one side, and Penelope is on the other side of the backseat, sitting next to me. They’re all wearing beautiful pastel-colored ensembles. Tina was right. Only Lady Sandy and Lady Cheyenne are wearing hats, though. Lady Sandy has her hair braided into a tight bun, but Lady Cheyenne’s auburn curls tumble from under the hat and frame her face.

  “You can just call me Cheyenne. Save all that lady stuff for church,” Cheyenne says.

  “She’s not like my mama,” Penelope says. “She’s down-to-earth.”

  Lady Sandy gives Penelope a little pursed-lip grimace. Penelope lifts her eyebrows and her smile fades. She is sufficiently checked, I suppose.

  “So, I’ve never been to high tea,” I say. “What should I expect?”

  “There will be many different kinds of tea, sandwiches, cupcakes, and cookies. And we’re dressed up, but the environment is relaxed,” Cheyenne says.

  “I want you to meet the rest of the inner circle,” Lady Sandy says. “Love International is a perfect addition as a sister church. We make sure that we’re all successful in ministry.”

  “How do you define success?” I ask. This is a real question to me, because I think that Greg and I are already successful.

  “Well, first of all, both of you being in full-time ministry with no side jobs,” Cheyenne says. “And debt-free.”

  “For the most part, we’re there,” I reply. “But Greg does taxes for the members during tax season.”

  “He actually does them himself? Or does he have a staff?” Penelope asks.

  “No staff. He sets up at the church and does them himself.”

  All three of the women exchange disapproving glances.

  “That’s going to change for you after this tour,” Lady Sandy says. “These services will bring in a couple million easy. Especially since you’re going to give some prophetic words.”

  “I can’t promise that,” I say. “I can only follow the leading of the Lord.”

  “What do you need to do to ensure the atmosphere is charged for the prophetic?” Penelope asks. “Do you need people to come into the sanctuary early? To pray? To consecrate things?”

  The limo feels too hot all of a sudden. I don’t know how to explain to them that all the mystical, symbolic stuff that church folk do has no impact at all on my gift.

  “I don’t need anything special, Penelope. God doesn’t need anything special from us for Him to show up. We can just have hearts of worship and praise and see what unfolds.”

  Lady Sandy frowns. “What is the contingency plan if you don’t have a prophetic word?”

  “I will preach. I have studied and I have a great sermon prepared.”

  “Hmm . . . ,” Lady Sandy says. “Let’s just hope that the Lord moves, honey. That’s what this is all about. You spoke a blessing over that girl and we have gotten so many requests for that DVD.”

  “Really? Like how many?” I ask in disbelief.

  “We’ve sold over fifteen thousand copies so far.”

  A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. In addition to the thousands of women who were in attendance at the Women’s Empowerment session, thousands more saw me operating in fraudulence. I still can’t believe I crumbled under pressure and did that.

  “That’s incredible,” I say.

  “I’m not surprised,” Cheyenne says. “The people love a good prophetic word. And that girl was perfection. It was almost like she was planted in the audience . . . Was she?”

  My jaw drops. “No! Of course not. I have no clue who she was. I would like to get her information if possible, though. I want to follow up with her.”

  Lady Sandy nods. “I’m not sure if anyone captured her information.”

  “I can find out,” Penelope says. “The ushers would know.”

  “Listen, Nya, your ministry is about to explode,” Lady Sandy says. “You and Greg are used to being those touchable pastors that greet every member after Sunday services. You’re going to have to shift your focus, and trust the undershepherds to tend to the flock. Your words will reach and invigorate thousands, maybe even millions. You’re not going to be able to connect with each one of them.”

  “I am hands-on, though. Most of the prophecies I receive are personal. I typically don’t even share what I’m saying with the audience. Only with that person.”

  “Oh no. That’s not going to do,” Cheyenne says. “Honey, you better up the theatrics. You were good at the Women’s Empowerment session, but you need a little extra oomph.”

  “Oomph?” I ask.

  “Yes, girl. You need a bright-colored dress, some high heels. I say do red, since your hair is so red. It can look like Holy Ghost fire,” Cheyenne says.

  “Or the blood of Jesus,” Penelope adds.

  “She needs a catchphrase,” Lady Sandy says.

  “No, she doesn’t. Her catchphrase is ‘suddenly,’ ” Cheyenne says. “Suddenly anything. She can say someone’s got a sudden salvation, or a suddenly breakthrough. That’s it! Put it on a T-shirt.”

  “You think I haven’t?” Lady Sandy says. “We’ve got ‘I’m suddenly blessed’ sparkly T-shirts on deck for each of the ten cities. We’re going to give a few of them away during the service.”

  I clear my throat. Merchandise? Should I copyright my message? I don’t know what to think.

  “Since we brought you in to speak for the Women’s Empowerment conference, it is a work-for-hire agreement. Anything that happens during the course of that employment becomes the property of Pathway Church.”

  It’s as if Lady Sandy is reading my mind. I guess it’s only right though, that they own a fake prophetic word. Greg would think it’s funny.

  “T-shirts. I just don’t know about that, but whatever you think is best,” I say.

  “Exactly. Trust me, darling. You don’t know the first thing about building a mega ministry. But if you stick with us, you’ll be able to stop preaching in clothes you bought at the outlet mall.”

  “I will always love a bargain,” I say.

  “The only people who say that are the ones who need a bargain,” Cheyenne says.

  They all laugh while I sit in silence. I try to have a pleasant expression on my face, but this has got to be the most uncomfortable moment I’ve ever had in my life.

  Lady Sandy reaches across and pats my hand. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re gonna get you together. I promise.”

  And this is exactly what worries me. Today, high tea. Tomorrow, what? Designer shoes and sparkly T-shirts with prophecies on them?

  “Aren’t you excited about what God is doing?” Penelope asks.

  I expand my plastered-on smile and don’t respond, because what can I say other than yes?

  “God is incredible, isn’t He?” I say.

  The women all squeal, because this is something we can all definitely agree on. We may not agree on bargain shopping and prophecy tees, but the power of God is a universal truth. Plus, I can tell, I’m going to need all of His power to get through this tour.

  CHAPTER 7

  FELICIA

  Mr. Bailey has requested that I attend a team networking mixer in his place, because he’s going on vacation with his wife. This is my first time out in front of the entire team, and I will be representing all the services we provide for the players and their nonprofit organizations.

  I also know that this is my chance to really make a personal impact on people in the community who will be my partners in charity galas, auctions, and everything else. Being in nonprofits is more about schmoozing than anything else. And I can schmooze with the best of them.

  I chose a fitted white pantsuit and paired it with a royal blue tube top and silve
r heels. My hair is in big barrel curls and my makeup is minimal. I want to be attractive without being viewed as a threat to the NBA players’ wives who are sure to be in attendance.

  Besides, I’m only interested in one player—Lance Jarvis. I smile at the bracelet sparkling on my wrist. It’s a gift from Lance. He and I have been going on breakfast dates in the early morning, the only time that he can get away from home, for now. But he’s promised to take me on vacation to the Caribbean, and I’m here for it.

  Sharon steps into my office and does a little twirl, showing off her outfit. It’s a little unprofessional, white jeans ripped right beneath her butt cheeks and a one-shoulder blouse covered in sequins.

  “Look at you looking like a boss,” she says.

  “Isn’t that how I should look? I’m representing Mr. Bailey.”

  She nods. “I’m representing me, myself, and I. Trying to capture a high roller.”

  “You’re fly enough. I’m sure one of those players will want to kick it with you.”

  “Oh naw, girl,” Sharon says. “I’m not fooling with any of those players. They are some of the biggest hoes on the planet.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning they will sleep with any and every groupie that drops her panties. Plus, we aren’t really allowed to talk to them anyway. It’s against company policy.”

  “Is it enforced?”

  “The no-sleeping-with-the-players policy?” Sharon asks.

  “Yes.”

  Sharon’s lips curl into a grin. “Why? You bumping and grinding with someone?”

  “No, but if I was I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “I think that’s what everyone does. There’s a lot of not asking and not telling going on around here.”

  “So you’re not asking.”

  “And you’re not telling. Hey!” Sharon does a little dance like we’re in on something together. We’re not.

  “You want to ride over to the sports bar with me?” I ask.

  “Of course I want to ride up with the boss chick,” Sharon says. “You ready now?”

  “Yes. Let’s go.”

  We take the elevator downstairs, where the office driver is waiting to take us over to the sports bar that’s hosting the event.

  When we arrive, there is already a line wrapped around the corner. Obviously someone alerted the groupies that the players would be congregating here tonight. I have never seen so much spandex and so many lace-front wigs in one spot.

  “The hood rats are out in full effect, I see,” Sharon says. “Thank God we don’t have to wait in line.”

  Sharon is right, because we’re ushered from the car straight into the VIP section of the club. I think the hood rats came out for no reason, because none of them are able to get to where the players are located.

  I scan the room until I find Lance. He sees me and gives me a tight head nod. I don’t nod back, because he’s standing next to his wife.

  “Let’s find a booth,” Sharon says. “My feet are hurting already.”

  “You can sit. I need to work the room. Lots of people here I need to connect with.”

  I flip my hair and stride across the room to where Lance is standing with his wife. I can feel the eyes on me as I move, but I don’t care about their attention. I’m only trying to catch Lance’s eye.

  “Felicia,” Lance says as I approach. “Meet my wife, Jasmine. She’s starting up her own foundation, and since it’s with my money, you might be dealing with her too.”

  Jasmine looks me up and down. Her eyes linger on my cleavage and then she takes the rest of me in.

  “Hello. You work at the Atlanta Crows office?” Jasmine says.

  “I do. I’m so pleased to meet you. Maybe we can sit down and have lunch sometime.”

  Jasmine sips her drink. “I’m sure Lance will put us in contact if it’s necessary. Lance, baby, I’ll be right back. Erica and them are here.”

  She sashays away, leaving me and Lance standing face-to-face. His eyes meet mine, and he says more with them than he can say with his mouth, since we’re out in public.

  “She’s warm and friendly,” I say. “I totally felt the love.”

  “Jasmine is a tigress, not a house cat. She can purr, but she can also rip out a throat.”

  “She’s a tigress. I’m a lioness. Big cats roam the jungle freely.”

  “I see. Do you want me to introduce you to the rest of the team?” Lance asks.

  I shake my head. “This lioness can stalk her own prey.”

  “Prey?”

  Lance licks his lips and chuckles. His eyes rest the same place his wife’s did, right on my boobs. I spin on one heel and walk away wearing a winning smile on my face.

  I might look jolly on the outside, but inside I’m fuming. Lance’s groupie wife looks like she purchased everyone of her body parts. If you put her next to an open flame, she’d probably start melting from the amount of silicone and plastic in her body. But I can tell she has no intention of going anywhere.

  That’s okay. I don’t care what her intentions are, and neither does God. Once He decides to open a door, no man can shut it, nor a tigress.

  CHAPTER 8

  NYA

  It’s been three months since the Women’s Empowerment conference, and now the ten-city tour is over. Finally, I’m getting alone time with Greg. I was going to take him out to dinner, but I decided that the news I’m about to share should be discussed behind closed doors.

  “What’s that I smell?”

  Greg’s voice echoes through the otherwise silent house. He sounds excited that there’s dinner, and I completely understand. He’s used to me cooking every day, and I’ve been on a two-month sabbatical from the kitchen.

  “Fried catfish, shrimp and grits, collard greens, and garlic and cheese biscuits,” I announce as I peek out from the kitchen into the dining room.

  Greg’s eyes light up as he sits down at the table. Usually when I cook his favorite dinner, he gets an extra special married-folk treat for dessert, but that’s not the purpose of me cooking this time. I need him to be in a good mood for another reason.

  “I’m glad you’re back home,” Greg says. “That tour was a lot, but you did your thang.”

  “God is good.”

  I step out of the kitchen and place two plates, heavy with food, onto the table.

  “I notice you didn’t do too much prophetic word, though.”

  I nod slowly. I didn’t do any prophetic speaking, because I couldn’t. I didn’t even get an inkling of a vision during that entire tour. Honestly, that scares me. It feels like losing one of my senses. God has been showing me things since I was a little girl. Then, I didn’t even know that it was something that few other people had. It was like hearing, tasting, or feeling to me.

  “No. Maybe the Suddenly Blessing message was enough.”

  Greg prays for the food, thanks God for how He’s blessed us. It’s a good opening to my news, but that doesn’t stop my feelings of apprehension. When Greg says amen, he looks up at my face and frowns.

  “Are you okay, honey?” he asks.

  Quickly, I nod. What I’m about to share really is great news. “Yes. Let me just get this over with so we can enjoy dinner.”

  I reach into my skirt pocket and take out the envelope I’ve been holding close to my body for two days—ever since Lady Sandy gave it to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Open it.”

  Greg opens the envelope and pulls out the check. His eyes widen exactly like I’m sure mine did when I saw the amount.

  “Four hundred eighty-five thousand dollars?”

  “Half of the love offerings from the ten cities. Lady Sandy wants us to sow it into our ministry.”

  Greg drops the check like it has acid on it.

  “People gave this much money?” he asks. “Repentance, reconciliation, and relationship doesn’t raise this much cash.”

  “Blessings do.”

  “But you can’t buy a blessing.”<
br />
  I let out a long sigh. This has always been our issue. Mine and Greg’s. The reason we went into ministry was to become a beacon of light. The antidote to “the money cometh” preaching. We were going to show people that the blood of Jesus is truly a greater blessing than a new house, a new car, or a new love.

  “Our ministry purpose hasn’t changed, Greg. Don’t you know how much this money can do for our church?”

  “So why haven’t you deposited it yet?” Greg asks. “Why do you look worried? If this is such a blessing for us, why are you so concerned?”

  “Because of you. I know you aren’t truly, in your heart of hearts, supportive of this, but I believe that it’s going to get us to our vision.”

  He slides the check across the table, back to me.

  “So deposit it.”

  “You act like you aren’t happy about this.”

  Greg shakes his head. “You’re wrong. I am. We accept donations from all sources. Last Sunday a drug dealer dropped a thousand dollars in the offering.”

  “This doesn’t compare to that though.”

  “Okay.”

  “Really, Greg. This money was raised during the course of ministry.”

  “Okay. Deposit it.”

  Greg stands up from the table. He tosses his napkin onto his nearly full plate and pushes his chair in. He’s done.

  “Aren’t you going to finish eating?”

  “I am finished. It was good, and I’m full. Thank you.”

  “Greg, talk to me. Don’t leave. We need to get back on one accord. I don’t like feeling like we’re miles apart.”

  “I don’t like feeling that either, Nya. Tell me the truth. You didn’t have one prophetic word while you were on that tour, did you?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what it was.”

  “I don’t trust their intentions. Especially Lady Sandy. They are trying to build something and bring us along for the ride, but they’re going through you. Not us. I don’t like it. It feels divisive.”

  “I will always be here for our purpose, Greg. You know that. This is just seed money for us.”

  Greg sighs and leaves me at the table not knowing how to feel. I am just glad that this tour is over, and we can get back to living our lives and walking our destiny.