The First Lady

by Carl Weber

  I looked down at the outfit I had picked out for dinner with the bishop. Before I could tell Daddy that I was, in fact, already dressed, he raced out of the kitchen, straightening his tie. I quickly followed him out of the kitchen and headed to the back bedroom while he answered the door.

  The back bedroom used to be the bedroom my mother and father had shared during their forty-two years of marriage. But once the female cancer ate Mama to her grave, Daddy couldn’t bear the memories that bedroom held, so he moved into the bedroom that I had grown up in. I didn’t mind having the bigger bedroom at all. And staring at that flowered wallpaper Mama had fallen in love with at Kmart reminded me of her every day—the only good memory I had in my life.

  Once I got to my room, I immediately kicked off my house shoes and replaced them with my black pumps to match my black knee-length skirt. Perhaps I shouldn’t wear a black skirt, or a white blouse, for that matter. Seeing as how these were the required wardrobe colors that we wore in the church choir, it almost made it seem like I hadn’t bothered to change clothes after services. I did change, though. This white blouse had ruffles along the neckline and down the front, and the skirt I wore to church earlier was longer, ankle-length. But I was certain the bishop wouldn’t notice. No one besides the hens paid such close attention to me.

  After tightening the bun in my hair, Daddy’s words set in, and I wish I had also decided to change my hairstyle too. Daddy was right; I always wore my hair in its same old bun. Nobody knew that I had hair dang near down to my butt.

  “What’s taking you so long?” my eager father, sticking his head in my door, asked. “Come barefoot and naked if you got to … dang! You don’t keep a man waiting this long.” Daddy signaled with his hand for me to follow him out. He then led the way to the living room where the bishop sat waiting on the couch.

  “Here she is, Bishop,” Daddy said, introducing me like I was Miss America. He then plucked and brushed a couple of pieces of lint off my shoulder.

  “Sister Savannah,” the bishop said, rising off the couch and extending his hands to me.

  After a nudge from Daddy, I walked over and placed my hands in the bishop’s. “Good to see you again today, Bishop,” I said as we shook hands and then released. I turned and walked back toward Daddy, who had a very displeased look on his face. If he could have, he would have pushed me a little harder, right into the bishop’s arms.

  “It certainly smells good,” the bishop said with a smile. Funny thing was, I had never noticed before just how nice a smile the bishop had.

  “Savannah’s been slaving all afternoon over this meal, Bishop,” Daddy bragged. “She wanted to make sure everything was just right for you. And I took the liberty of tasting it. Girl cooks better than her mama, and you know how well Sister Doreen could cook.”

  I stood there staring at Daddy for a moment, ready to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him, just in case he started to choke on that lie he just told. Not five minutes ago he was telling me how inferior my cooking was, and now he was raving as if I were the black Julia Child. I figured I had to get Daddy away from the spot he was standing in before the lightning struck, so I suggested we go sit down for dinner.

  “Dinner’s all ready, so why don’t we go eat?” I said, bound and determined to stuff something into Daddy’s mouth before he could say another word.

  Daddy asked the bishop to bless the food, but Bishop Wilson insisted that the man of the house have the honor as the head of the table. During dinner, I could barely get a word in edgewise. Seems as though Daddy was set on doing all the talking.

  “So, Bishop,” Daddy asked, “what do you think about Savannah’s outfit? She picked it out just for this evening.”

  “Nice,” the bishop managed to say before placing one of my homemade dumplings in his mouth. If it were up to my daddy, he wouldn’t have even managed to get that bite down. “But you didn’t have to do that, Sister Savannah. The skirt you had on earlier today would have been just fine.”

  He noticed? I took a bite of chicken. It wasn’t until after dessert that I could squeeze in a word or two.

  “Did you enjoy that cobbler?” I asked the bishop.

  “Oh, did I,” the bishop said after taking his last forkful and pushing the saucer away. “I swear you make the best peach cobbler in the State of New York.”

  “She used measuring cups and all this time, Bishop.” Daddy winked at me. “She wanted to make sure it was just perfect for you.”

  “Daddy!” I silently mouthed.

  “Well, then, measuring cups must be the secret to why your cobbler always tastes just perfect,” the bishop complimented me.

  “Thank you, Bishop.” I blushed. I didn’t mean to blush. I didn’t want to blush. I just did.

  I had been eyeball-to-eyeball with the bishop during Bible study, but he had never made me blush before. Maybe it was because I had never noticed just how creamy his chocolate skin was or how becoming his salt-and-pepper beard was. I hadn’t noticed a lot of things, so maybe I hadn’t noticed the bishop noticing me.

  No, how silly is that? I thought, and quickly disposed of the idea.

  “Bishop, can I ask a favor of you?” Daddy said, then continued without giving him enough time to respond. “I just put some money down for Savannah to go to that revival next week in the Poconos. I was going to go as well, but when I remembered that that’s the weekend of my wedding anniversary, I didn’t think I’d be up to it. Not saying that I’m allowing the spirit of grief to take over me, but it’s just that … you know.”

  “Oh, I understand, Deacon,” Bishop said, putting his hand on his shoulder.

  “Since I can’t go,” Daddy continued, “I was wondering if you could keep an eye on Savannah for me.”

  “I don’t see why not,” the bishop said. “And if I can’t, God watches over all of His children. But I’ll make sure I say a special prayer that He watches over this one.”

  The bishop looked over at me and smiled. I know that I usually only see the bishop when he is in serious mode at the pulpit, but I swear I had never seen him smile so many times in my life. Not only had he looked over and smiled at me, but even though it was at Daddy’s request, he was going to say a prayer for me as well. Not just any prayer, like he had probably done for many people, but mine was going to be special. Maybe that was the bishop’s way of telling me that I was special.

  Suddenly, an uneasy feeling came over me. Daddy used to say I was special once upon a time too. But he had a funny way of showing it.

  “Well, it’s getting late, and I promised Sister Alberta that I’d stop by this evening and have a talk with that son of hers,” the bishop said, rising from the dining room table. “You know the youth today.”

  “Don’t I?” Daddy said as he stood up along with the bishop. “Savannah, why don’t you go on and walk the bishop to the door while I clear the table?”

  “What?” I said with a puzzled look on my face, as if I had spotted an alien. Daddy would rather cut off both his hands than have to lift a dish to clear the table. He always said that was a woman’s duty. This had to be a test. I wasn’t about to let him clear that table so I could hear him rant and rave later about how he had to do a woman’s job because I wasn’t woman enough to do it. No way!

  “Oh, no, Daddy,” I insisted. “You go on and relax. I’ll clear the table after I see the bishop out.”

  “Great idea,” Daddy said, winking at me as he retired to his bedroom.

  Whew! I had passed the test.

  Seeing the bishop out was uneventful, according to what Daddy probably had in mind for us. He thanked me for a wonderful evening, and I sent him on his way with something to remember me by—a slice of peach cobbler to go.

  As I was clearing off the dinner table, the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” I called out to Daddy, who I knew wouldn’t get up to answer the door anyway.

  “You Savannah?” a young man asked when I opened the door.

  “Who wants to know?” I
replied.

  “Are you Savannah Dickens?” he said more sternly.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Here,” he said, handing me a lavender envelope addressed to me. “This is for you.”

  After the young man walked away, I closed the door and walked over to the couch, puzzled about the letter he had just given me. I slowly sat down and eyeballed the envelope before opening it. I pulled out a handwritten letter.

  What is this? I wondered. And who in the world could it be from?

  ALISON AND THE FIRST LADY

  I stepped out of my car and opened the back door, picking up the vase that held the lavender-colored lilies I’d placed on the floor behind my seat. Stepping onto the grass, I walked about thirty yards, until I was in front of the four-foot-wide, three-and-a-half-foot-tall headstone, where I placed the flowers, very pleased with myself. Charlene had loved fresh-cut flowers, and I had made it my business to see that she had some at least once a month since her death. I kneeled down and pulled up the few weeds that had sprouted since my last visit. Then I read the headstone inscription with tears in my eyes:

  HERE LIES CHARLENE WILSON, WIFE, MOTHER, AND FIRST LADY OF FIRST JAMAICA MINISTRIES. EVEN IN DEATH HER PRESENCE WILL

  ALWAYS BE FELT.

  1962–2006.

  I don’t think I’d ever read truer words. Charlene’s presence was going to be felt for a long, long, long time when we got finished.

  I stared at the gravesite and could almost see my best friend in her favorite cream-colored church dress, leaning against her own headstone, waiting to hear the latest news about her husband and his pursuers. When she was alive, Charlene would never admit it, but she loved gossip as much as anyone. She knew every rumor, theory, and secret about anybody who attended First Jamaica Ministries. She just never spread any of it unless it benefited her, her family, or the church.

  I wiped the tears from my eyes, then spoke to my friend. “Hey, Charlene, I gave them all their first letters. All in all, so far everything is working out exactly the way you planned. Marlene and the bishop are supposed to go to dinner tomorrow night. Gurrrl, she is walking around Forty Projects with her hair all done up like she’s about to go on America’s Next Top Model.” I laughed, and I swear I could hear Charlene laughing with me.

  “And from what I hear through the church grapevine, Lisa Mae’s about to make her presence felt in the next few days. From what her best friend, Loretta, has told me, she’s had her eye on the bishop for a few weeks now and feels the church is ready for a new first lady.” The thought of Lisa Mae being the next first lady brought a smile to my face because she was my personal favorite of all the candidates.

  “Oh, and once again, I have to give you credit for thinking of everything. If I hadn’t taken the job as the bishop’s new secretary right before you passed, I wouldn’t have known any of this. Fast-ass Monique Johnson tricked the bishop into dinner at her house the other night, saying she was having some bogus meeting with the bookstore committee. I did some checking, and get this—I couldn’t find one person who was even on this supposed bookstore committee. No need to worry, though. He was only there for about two hours, and you know if he was there any longer, I would have walked my behind right up to her door and said, ‘Sorry I’m late for the meeting.’ If I have anything to say about scheduling them, you can bet that from now on, any meetings with her will be held at the church.

  “I guess you’re wondering what’s going on with Savannah Dickens, but I don’t have much to say except that the bishop’s had dinner with Deacon Dickens this past Sunday. The bishop didn’t even mention her, other than to say she cooked the food. One thing’s for sure, I’m going to keep my eye on the deacon because he’s been hanging around the administration wing of the church a lot lately, and I’m sure he’s up to something. I just haven’t figured it out yet.” I knelt down and straightened up the vase and flowers.

  “Well, Charlene, I gotta go to work before I’m late, but I love you, and I’ll keep you posted.” I started to walk away, then turned back toward the gravesite to take one more look. I still missed Charlene so much, but I knew she was in a good place now. If she couldn’t be at the bishop’s side, then I must play my part to be sure that a worthy woman filled her shoes. I knew what I had to do to help my friend rest in peace.

  6

  MARLENE

  I arrived early at First Jamaica Ministries for my date with Thomas Kelly. Tanisha’s friend Niecy had truly done her thing. My hair was hooked up, and I knew I looked good, so I mingled around with the women who were leaving one of the many different Bible study classes. I couldn’t be more proud of the way I looked as I stood in the room with the other women. Over the years, my drug abuse had taken its toll on my appearance. There were countless times when I felt so ugly, and I was embarrassed to be around other women. But now I was clean and I was taking good care of myself, so I knew I looked as good as—or even better than—plenty of these women.

  Most of the women from the Bible study class headed over to a table with all types of cookies, cakes, and a bowl of punch. I knew I was going out to eat with Thomas Kelly, but to curb my appetite, I walked over to the table and helped myself to a few cookies and a cup of punch. While I stood there, I listened to a loudmouthed, brown-skinned woman who looked like she could have played linebacker for the New York Giants. She was running her gum as if she were a candidate for a political office. Twenty women there were hanging on her every word.

  “Now, y’all know I’m not one to run my mouth,” the woman said. She looked each woman in the eye, including me, challenging anyone to speak the truth about just how much she did run her mouth. “But this church needs a first lady to keep these men in line and these hot-to-trot floozies’ skirts below their knees.”

  “Mmm-hmm. You tell ‘em, girl,” a woman from the crowd shouted.

  “Now, we all know that Bishop Wilson’s a good man. I don’t think any of us has a doubt about that. But no man, not even a man of God like the bishop, can stay strong with all this temptation running around. Y’all know who I’m talkin’ about.”

  “We sure do! You tell ‘em, Loretta,” another woman said.

  “And we all know there’s only one woman who has experience dealing with this type of church matters, has dealt with the responsibility of being a first lady, and can keep the bishop happy, if you know what I mean. And that’s my good friend, Lisa Mae Jones.” Everyone applauded as the woman pointed at a tall, light-eyed, fair-skinned woman. Lisa Mae had a presence that mirrored the former first lady’s. She stepped forward, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit her smile lit up the room.

  Now, she could run for political office, I thought, and she’d have my vote. The way things were going, it did look like she was running for office. Her candidacy for first lady seemed to have been discussed prior to this meeting, and Loretta was simply giving a little nomination speech before the churchwomen’s candidate spoke. When Lisa Mae Jones started to speak, she looked humble but not at all surprised by Loretta’s suggestion that she should be the bishop’s new wife. I had to suppress my urge to sneer at this woman who had suddenly become my competition for T.K.'s affections.

  “Thank you, ladies,” Lisa Mae said humbly. “As many of you know, my good friend, the former first lady, Charlene Wilson, wrote a letter asking me to take care of her husband, the bishop, and the church after her death.”

  I had to rest my hand on the table to keep from falling over when I saw what she held up. It was an envelope exactly like the one I’d found taped to my door. What the hell was going on? Charlene had written me a letter asking me to take care of her husband, and now here was another woman who had supposedly got the same message from the grave. I didn’t yet know if I should be mad, but I was definitely confused.

  “What you don’t know,” Lisa Mae continued, “is that Bishop Wilson and I have developed a very special friendship over the last year. One that I hope can blossom into a meaningful relationship.” She pulled out a tiss
ue and wiped her eyes. My stomach did a little flip. I felt like I was gonna be sick watching this woman’s show. “You see, to be truly honest, I don’t want the responsibility of being a first lady again, but if that’s what it takes to spend the rest of my life with a man like Bishop T.K. Wilson, then I’ll be the best first lady this church has ever seen.”

  I heard the last of her words and the applause they gave her as I walked out of the building. So, I was not the only one Charlene had given her blessing to, and this Lisa Mae seemed to have her shit together. She also had the support of the women of the church, which had to count for something. I’d never even considered that being with Thomas Kelly meant being the church’s first lady.

  Tears rolled down my cheeks. I’d never been so hurt and embarrassed in my entire life. Why was this woman playing with me from the grave? She knew I wasn’t qualified to be the first lady. Well, I wasn’t about to let her or anyone else make a fool of me. I began to walk home, thinking that Thomas Kelly and his high-and-mighty church were better off without me. Good luck to this Lisa Mae woman, and good riddance.

  By the time I got to 109th and Guy Brewer Boulevard, the drug boys were out in full force, and I was so angry and humiliated that I actually contemplated getting high to pick up my mood. Thank God I didn’t have any cash on me and the drug boys didn’t take debit cards. I’d planned to ask Thomas Kelly to take me to an ATM machine so that I could pay for our dinner, although I’m sure he wouldn’t have let me. Nonetheless, I took my lack of cash as a sign and started to walk down Guy Brewer Boulevard toward Rochdale Village, where I knew there was an NA meeting. It would be good to be around people who were supportive and knew what I was going through.

  During the meeting, I actually got up and testified, something I’d rarely done since I graduated from the Apple drug program three years ago. Afterward, around eleven o’clock, I got a ride with a lady who lived on 110th Street. All I had to do was walk a few blocks to get home. I was feeling pretty good after the meeting. Matter of fact, I’d completely put the earlier events at the church out of my mind, at least until I stepped out of the woman’s car and spotted Thomas Kelly’s Cadillac standing at a traffic light. That light-skinned woman from the church was sitting in the front seat. Any good feelings from the NA meeting left me immediately as I watched the light turn green, and Thomas Kelly drove away with this woman who was sitting where I should have been. Don’t ask me why, but that shit set me off. I was so mad, I could’ve spit fire. And the next person who approached me was gonna feel my wrath.