Lady Arykah Reigns

by Nikita Lynnette Nichols

  Arykah cocked her head to the side. Interested in what?

  Gladys was speaking in the present tense. “Makes it clear” not “Made it clear,” like maybe months ago before Lance and Arykah were married. Arykah heard it clear as day. Gladys said, “Makes it clear.”

  “Angela’s well is dry. She’s thirsty. She’s missing her water,” Chelsea said. “She’s desperate for his attention. You’d think that when the bishop announced you as his wife, she’d stop.”

  Arykah cocked her head to the other side. Stop what?

  “Angela wants what she can’t have,” Darlita added. “She let a good man get away. Now that he’s married, she can’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  “Wait a minute,” Arykah started. “She’s chasing Lance?”

  Darlita, Chelsea, and Gladys looked confused, and so did Myrtle. She didn’t know who Angela Moore was.

  No one answered Arykah so she rephrased her question. “Is Angela Moore pushing up on my man?”

  “Yeah,” Chelsea answered. “You just said that the bishop told you about her.”

  “He told me who Angela Moore was. But he didn’t tell me that she was trying to get back in his drawers.”

  Oh, Lord, here we go, Myrtle thought. She knew Arykah was getting ready to do bodily harm to whoever Angela Moore was. When it came to her husband, Myrtle knew that Arykah didn’t play. She’d made it very clear. “Don’t f*!k with my husband,” Myrtle heard Arykah say awhile back when she was venting about the dry cleaners and Lance’s suit jacket scheme that Mother Gussie tried to pull.

  Gladys gasped. “Oh my God. We thought you meant that he told you that Angela was pursuing him.”

  “Nope, y’all just did.”

  Darlita became nervous. “What did we just do?”

  “You inadvertently told the truth. That’s what you did,” Arykah said. “But that information should have come from Lance.”

  “Lady Arykah, we are so sorry.”

  “You ain’t gotta be sorry, Gladys. Don’t you think that I should know that a dirty broad is grinnin’ in my man’s face?”

  “Of course, I do, but . . .” Gladys paused.

  “But he’s your pastor,” Arykah said. “Hey, I understand why y’all didn’t say anything, and I respect it.”

  “Please know that the bishop ain’t thinking about that tramp. You got that man’s nose so wide open, all he sees is you.”

  “Chelsea, trust and believe that I am not insecure in my marriage. I’m not the jealous type. I know exactly who I am. Ain’t no woman finer than Arykah. Ain’t no woman better than Arykah. When it comes to my husband, I know what to do to keep him faithful. I don’t worry if he’s coming home at night. I know Lance loves me, but . . .” Arykah paused, “he ain’t perfect. No man is. I don’t want any woman tempting him to betray me. And if Angela Moore doesn’t understand what the word ‘no’ means, then perhaps she needs to hear my definition of it. So when we get downstairs I want y’all to point the ho out.”

  Darlita, Chelsea, and Gladys gasped.

  “Arykah!” Myrtle shouted out.

  Arykah was on level ten. “Mother Myrtle, don’t act like you don’t know me. You know I don’t tolerate no crap when it comes to my husband. Just ask Mother Gussie Hughes. She learned that the hard way. Lance is my man. Okay? He belongs to me. In hell will I lift up my eyes before I allow a tramp like Angela Moore to come between me and what’s mine.”

  “I understand that,” Myrtle said, “but you need to calm down.”

  “This is calm,” Arykah said with her eyes blazing. “It’s my job and my duty, as Lance’s wife, to make sure that our covenant remains pure. Ain’t no chick gotta like me, but I’ll be damned in hell if I’m not gonna be respected. Now this conversation is over. I’m not gonna discuss it anymore.”

  If a pin had dropped on the carpet in Arykah’s office, it certainly would have been heard loud and clear. No one said a word. Chelsea, Darlita and Gladys finally got their chance to see Arykah pop off and they actually feared what she would do to Angela Moore.

  Whoever Angela Moore was, Myrtle silently prayed that she wouldn’t show up at the church that evening.

  Arykah broke the silence. “I guess I need to get ready.”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this, Lady Arykah,” Gladys said. “This Ask Arykah Anything could go way wrong.”

  Arykah looked at Gladys, Myrtle, Chelsea, and Darlita as they sat around her desk. Each of them had called her during the week and pleaded with her to cancel the evening. “All of you worry too much. What could go wrong? I’m offering the members, my members, especially the women of this church, an opportunity to get to know their pastor’s wife on a personal level.”

  “How personal are you willing to get?” asked Myrtle.

  “What if someone asks you how much you weigh?”

  Arykah looked into Chelsea’s eyes. “Why would someone ask me what my scale says?” Arykah shrugged her shoulders. “Who does that?”

  “Broads that ain’t got an ounce of respect for no one,” Darlita answered. “You gotta remember, Lady Arykah, you’ve only been here at Freedom Temple a short while. And I know that you were given a warm welcome down in the sanctuary last Sunday; however, Mother Pansie and Mother Gussie still have supporters here.” Darlita thought back to when Monique pointed out Angela Moore and Mother Gussie’s granddaughter, Sharonda, huddled up in the rear of the sanctuary. They were whispering and pointing at Arykah.

  Chelsea had a thought. “Hey, I know what we can do. I’ll give everyone a pencil and a sheet of paper and tell them to write their questions down. Then the team can screen the questions and throw out any that may be inappropriate.”

  Myrtle nodded her head. “I like that, Chelsea. That’s a great idea.”

  “No,” Arykah said sternly. “I don’t want to give anyone the impression that they can’t approach me. I need to establish a relationship and trust with these folks.”

  “And that’s all fine and dandy, Sugarplum, but let’s get real. You are not well liked here.”

  “And I’m trying to change that, Mother Myrtle. I want people to feel that they can confide in me and know that I’m their covering. I honestly don’t believe that anyone will get out of pocket.”

  “But what if someone does?” Chelsea asked.

  Arykah looked at her. “Then I’ll handle it.”

  Myrtle was worried. “How will you handle it?”

  Last Sunday morning before Arykah addressed the church about her five-week absence, Myrtle made her promise to conduct herself accordingly in the sanctuary.

  Arykah looked at Myrtle and sneered. “This ain’t Sunday morning, and we won’t be in the sanctuary. If someone gets out of pocket . . . then I will too.”

  In the fellowship hall fifteen round tables were covered with pink tablecloths. Lance, with the help of a few men, had assembled ten chairs for each table.

  “Somebody having a party, Bishop?” Twenty-year-old Tyler Armstrong asked Lance.

  “Lady Arykah is throwing a small reception for the members.”

  “Really? There will be girls in here?” Tyler asked mischievously. “I certainly don’t mind spending a Friday night in a room full of females.”

  Tyler was a thorn in Lance’s side. He was girl crazy, and Lance was constantly pulling his coattail. There wasn’t a female at the church between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five that Tyler hadn’t chased.

  “Well, it’s too bad you’ll be upstairs in the young adult choir rehearsal.”

  “Aw, come on, Bishop. I could get a whole bunch of telephone numbers tonight.”

  Lance exhaled. “Tyler, this room is off-limits to you tonight. Understand? Go to rehearsal and give the ladies a break.”

  Monique and Adonis came into the fellowship hall carrying large black plastic bags. They approached Lance. “Hey, Bishop,” Monique greeted, “is there a table that I can use?”

  Tyler’s eyes lit up. “Hey, Sister Monique. You look pretty tonight.�
�

  She chuckled. Tyler always flirted with her. “Thank you, Tyler.”

  He admired Monique’s pink chiffon blouse and pink jeans. “You look real pretty.”

  Adonis often had to shoo Tyler away from his wife. “Man, don’t you see me standing here?”

  “I’m just admiring a beautiful woman.”

  “Well, this one is taken,” Adonis confirmed.

  Monique chuckled. “Calm down, gentlemen. There’s enough of me to go around.”

  “No, it ain’t,” Adonis said. He eyed Tyler. “You have someplace else to be.”

  “Like where,” Tyler asked.

  “Like the choir stand. Let’s go.” Adonis kissed Monique’s cheek and escorted Tyler from the fellowship hall.

  “That boy is a trip,” Monique said to Lance.

  “One day he’s gonna roll up on the wrong woman. Every husband won’t be as tolerant as Adonis.”

  Lance led Monique to a long rectangular table in the corner of the fellowship hall.

  “Will this table do?”

  “This is perfect,” she said.

  Lance left her alone and walked across the room to check on the buffet table. Arykah had requested a mash potato bar with all of the trimmings. At the beginning of the table sat stacks of martini glasses. Also on the table was an extremely large and very deep aluminum pan filled with hot buttery mashed potatoes.

  When a guest filled the martini glass with a scoop of mashed potatoes, they would move farther down the table where the choice of toppings in large plastic bowls were plentiful. Sour cream, chives, bacon bits, shredded cheese, and more butter were placed decoratively on the table. A loaded baked potato, minus the skin, in a martini glass created the perfect mashtini.

  On an adjacent table was a chocolate fountain that Lance had rented. It was surrounded by trays of pineapple chunks, sliced bananas, and whole strawberries.

  Monique decided to do without the gift bags and surprise Arykah with a pink sweet table instead. Pink M&Ms, pink and white peppermints, pink gummy bears, pink Jolly Rancher candy, chocolate Hershey Kisses wrapped in pink foil, pink Starbursts, and pink licorice sticks were displayed in clear plastic bowls. Each bowl had its own pink scoop. Guests would be allowed to fill small clear cellophane bags with the candy as a parting gift. Monique was so busy decorating the sweet table she didn’t notice what was happening across the room.

  Lance dipped his finger in the melting chocolate and savored the taste.

  “I see you still have that sweet tooth.”

  Lance turned around and saw Angela Moore. His eyes bucked out of his head.

  “Do you remember what we used to do with melted chocolate?”

  Lance looked across the room and saw Monique fussing with the sweet table. Thank God her back was turned. “Angela,” he spoke.

  Her jet-black hair was parted down the middle, and it flowed past her shoulders. She was sexy. Angela had always been sexy. Lance glanced down at her figure. Oh my Gawwwd. Jessica Rabbit came to mind. Angela had a body out of the world, and it used to drive Lance crazy back in the day. If she turned sideways, the top portion of her body was shaped like the lower case letter “q.” The bottom portion of her body was shaped like a capitol letter “P.” Back when they were hot and heavy, Lance would sing, “Thirty -six, twenty-four, thirty-six. She’s a brick house.” Surely The Commodores were referring to Angela when they sang that song.

  She always knew how to accentuate her curves, and the crimson red dress Angela wore that evening may as well have been painted on. Lance was tempted to touch the dress to see if the color red would rub off on his fingers. “Can you breathe in that thing? Aren’t you uncomfortable?” He looked at Monique again. She was still occupied.

  Angela chuckled seductively. She looked across the room at whom Lance was watching so closely. “Apparently you’re uncomfortable.”

  “That dress looks like it’s taking your blood pressure.”

  Angela turned her arm outward and extended her wrist toward Lance. “You wanna feel my pulse?”

  Men and women had started to mingle in the fellowship hall. Lance was happy that someone had approached Monique and engaged her in a conversation.

  “What are you doing here, Angela?” Though the two of them haven’t been a couple in years, Angela still flirted with Lance every chance she had. There were times when she’d hug him longer and tighter than the other female members would. Often her hugs came with a whisper, “I don’t have any panties on.”

  It had gotten to the point that Lance would try his best to avoid any type of contact with Angela. If he saw her coming his way, he’d strike up a conversation with whoever was near him.

  “I came to ask your wife some questions.”

  “Listen to me, Angela. Whatever you got planned for this evening, don’t do it. You don’t wanna fool with my wife.”

  “No, I don’t. I wanna fool around with you .”

  Lance gave off a sarcastic chuckle, shook his head, and walked away.

  Upstairs in Arykah’s office, Chelsea, Darlita, Gladys, and Myrtle, were making a fuss over Diva Chanel’s pink sundress, pink hair bows, and pink diamond-studded neck collar.

  Darlita held Diva Chanel and cooed at her wet nose. “Lady A, you dress her so pretty.”

  “That dog is spoiled,” said Myrtle.

  “I can’t deny that, Mother Myrtle. She’s my mini-me.”

  Arykah answered a knock on her door. “It’s open.”

  Natasha and Miranda entered and Arykah smiled. “There are my girls.” She stood from her desk, walked over to them, and hugged them both. “This is a surprise.”

  “Hey, Lady A,” Miranda greeted.

  Arykah looked down at Miranda’s bulging belly. At eight months pregnant, the maternity blouse she wore stretched at the seams. “I see that baby is stretching on out there.”

  Miranda was once unsure about keeping her baby until her mother, Gladys, brought her to Arykah’s office. Arykah had a heart-to-heart with the girl.

  “Did your mom tell you that I’m throwing you a baby shower here at the church?”

  Miranda smiled. “Yes. I’m so happy. Thanks so much, Lady Arykah.”

  “You’re welcome, Sweetie Pie. How are you feeling? You been going to all of your doctors’ appointments and eating healthy?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I want you to think about a theme for your shower. We gotta select a date and get the ball rolling. We need to get you registered somewhere. Did you find out the sex of the baby?”

  Miranda glanced at her mother and smiled. “Can I tell it?”

  Gladys shrugged her shoulders. “It’s up to you.”

  Arykah looked from Gladys to Miranda. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What are we having?”

  “A boy,” Miranda announced happily.

  Everyone in the office clapped and cheered.

  Arykah clapped her hands together and squealed. “It’s a boy!” She grabbed Miranda and hugged her tightly. She rocked Miranda back and forth and sang the words, “We’re having a little snot-nosed, nappy-headed boy.”

  Arykah asked, “What are we having?” then said, “We’re having a little snot-nosed, nappy-headed boy.” She included herself as part of Miranda’s family and made it easy for Miranda to do what she came to Arykah’s office to do.

  “Um, Lady Arykah, since this is Ask Arykah Anything night, and I can’t attend because I have choir rehearsal, I want to ask you something now.”

  The look on Miranda’s face was serious; therefore, Arykah became serious. “Okay. Is it personal? Do you want me to ask everyone to leave?”

  “No, we’re all staying for this,” Gladys said. She knew what Miranda wanted to ask Arykah and wanted the team to be present for it.

  “Okay, then,” Arykah said to Gladys, then looked at Miranda. “What’s your question?”

  Miranda inhaled and exhaled. She inhaled again, then exhaled once more. She looked at her mother.

  Gladys smiled and n
odded her head.

  “Will you be my son’s godmother?”

  Arykah’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach. That was the absolute last question she had expected Miranda to ask her.

  “That’s so sweet,” Darlita said.

  Tears welled up in Arykah’s eyes. Just five weeks ago she was pregnant with her own baby. But now, her womb was empty and Arykah thought Miranda’s proposal to take on the responsibility to care for her son, if Miranda should ever be unable to provide for him, made Arykah feel good. She wiped the tears that had begun to fall onto her face. “Of course, I will. I’m so happy and honored that you asked me.”

  “I knew that day I left your office that I wanted you to be my baby’s godmother. You saved us both.”

  “Well,” Arykah said, “this certainly changes things.”

  “How do you mean?” Gladys asked her.

  “I gotta start saving my pennies. I have a godson on the way.” She looked at Miranda. “When are you due?”

  Miranda rubbed her swollen belly and exhaled loudly. “I wish I could deliver today, but I have almost four more weeks to go.”

  Arykah did some calculations in her head. “Okay, that’s good. He’ll be a good ten months when I take him to New York for fashion week next April.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Oh, Lord, help the poor child,” Chelsea said. “He ain’t even been born yet and she’s already putting him in Burberry.”

  Arykah looked at Chelsea, nodded her head, and winked. “And you know it.”

  Arykah noticed Natasha standing next to the door. “Hey, Miss Missy. What’s up with you?”

  “I’m graduating in two weeks,” she said proudly.

  Arykah raised both hands in the air and rejoiced. “Halleluuuuuuujah,” she sang. “Yay for Natasha. I’m proud of you.”

  “We all are,” Gladys said. She and Natasha’s parents were acquaintances.

  When Arykah met Natasha she had overheard her speaking with another young female about having sex with a married man. Arykah interrupted the conversation and marched Natasha up to her office. She sat her down, ate a bag of Doritos doused with Louisiana Hot Sauce, drank half of a twelve-ounce bottle of Pepsi, then belched in Natasha’s face.