by Carl Weber
“I must say, Sister Monique, you’re looking exceptionally beautiful tonight. I absolutely love that dress.”
“Thank you, Bishop,” I said with a gracious smile. I knew it wasn’t really the dress he wanted to comment on, but rather the package contained beneath it. After all, this dress was the plainest one in my whole wardrobe. The only skin it revealed was my cleavage. But it was okay. The way he’d been looking around the restaurant, always pausing to rest his eyes on my chest for a brief moment, said everything he was too polite to put into words. Just like every other man I’d ever been to dinner with, he was thinking about how he’d love to get a look at my beautiful breasts.
At least that’s what I thought was going through his head, until he kept talking about the dress!
“Sister Monique, I know it’s not my place, but may I make a suggestion?”
“Sure, Bishop. I’m open to any suggestion you may have.”
“Now, this is a little personal, so if the conversation goes into a direction you’re uncomfortable with, just let me know, and we’ll drop it.”
A little personal? Now that was what I liked to hear. I was hoping he was about to ask me to take him home and show him what I was working with beneath this conservative outfit. Oh, how wrong I was.
“No, Bishop, you just go ahead and say whatever is on your mind.”
“Well, Sister … like I said before … I absolutely love your dress. And well … I wanted to know how come … how come you don’t wear dresses like this more often.”
Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. He was the first man who ever wanted me to wear more clothes. My shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “You don’t like the way I dress, Bishop?”
“No, no, it’s not that I don’t like the way you dress. I do like the way you dress, but—”
“But what?” I asked, trying not to become defensive.
“I think it takes away from who you really are.”
Well, that was almost sort of sweet, I thought. At least he didn’t tell me I looked like a whore, which I’d heard from jealous women and spurned lovers on more than one occasion. I remained quiet and let him explain himself.
“To be quite honest, people around the church find your choice of clothing to be distracting.”
No kidding. It was supposed to be distracting. How else was I supposed to get a man’s attention? But he was making it sound like a bad thing. As far as I was concerned, if those people in the church judged me because of my outfits, well, that was their problem, not mine. I was curious to know, however, if the bishop felt the same way as the other church members. I had hoped he was different.
“And you, Bishop? Do you find my clothes to be distracting?”
He couldn’t look me in the eye when he answered. “Sometimes.”
My feelings were a little hurt. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Bishop.” I placed my napkin on the table and started to rise from my seat, but he placed a hand on mine and asked me to stay. I sat down again and leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive posture as I waited for him to try and remove his foot from his mouth.
He leaned across the table and whispered, “Monique, I like you, and I think I can like you as more than just another parishioner, if you know what I mean.”
This took me by surprise. Just a moment ago he had really hurt my feelings, but these words offered me more hope of a relationship than anything else he’d said the whole night. I was encouraged, but not yet ready to let him off the hook for his previous comment. I uncrossed my arms, leaned over, and kissed his cheek, then waited silently to hear what else he had to say.
“I’m the pastor of the church, Monique, and if the way you dress is less than admirable in the eyes of the church members, then anything we might share would be doomed from the start.” He exhaled as if he’d just let the weight of the world off his shoulders.
“You know, Bishop, it’s not like I haven’t heard any of this before. I don’t know if you know it, but women in the church have been saying things about my outfits to my face and behind my back for years.”
It looked like my words made him uncomfortable. Of course they did, I thought. Knowing the way the first lady felt about me, he had probably heard her talk about me on plenty of occasions. But he didn’t have to worry. I wasn’t going to hold him responsible for what she said. The only thing that mattered to me now was that he didn’t judge me the same way.
“I never understood why those women have such a problem with what I choose to wear. I always felt like God knows what’s in my heart, so it shouldn’t matter what I’m wearing. I pay my tithes, and I’m an active member of the church. As long as God knows my devotion to Him and the church, my clothes shouldn’t matter to anyone but me. I mean, you’ve preached about tolerance on many occasions. I hope you’re not telling me that you don’t take your own words to heart, Bishop,” I challenged.
“Sister Monique, I meant every word I ever preached about tolerance,” he said, sounding a little sad now. “I know you’re a special woman, a good woman, no matter what you’re wearing. But that doesn’t change the fact that others in the church will judge you differently because of what you wear. And while I wish I could just ignore their opinions, they are my congregation. Whether their opinions are fair or not, there would be no First Jamaica Ministries without its parishioners. They’re like my extended family. And you have to know how important it is to get the approval of a man’s family.”
“I see,” I said. “So, you’re saying that you’re choosing the opinions of a few jealous women over dating me?”
“No, I’m saying that I like you, and I want them to like you too. But your clothing sends the wrong message to them, so they don’t want to even take the time to get to know you.”
“That’s so hypocritical,” I complained.
“Perhaps it is,” he answered.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re saying I should change the way I dress so that those people will like me more?” This whole thing was pissing me off. I wasn’t changing how I dressed, not even for the bishop, but suddenly an idea came to me, the perfect way to implement my original plan for our evening. Once I had him in bed, none of this would matter.
“You know, maybe it’s not my whole wardrobe that needs to be changed. I might have a few dresses in my closet that the ladies of the church wouldn’t mind. If you’d like to come back to my place, I could show—”
“Oh, dear God,” he said, cutting me off. He leaned away from me quickly, a look of concern knotting his brow.
“What is it, Bishop?”
He cut his eyes toward the door, and I turned my head in that direction. Now I knew why he looked so concerned. Two prominent elders of the church, Trustee Forrest, chairman of the church’s finance committee, and his wife, Evelyn, had just walked through the door. She was one of the biggest gossips in the church, and he was without a doubt the most conservative trustee.
I turned back to the bishop. “What are they doing here?”
“My sentiments exactly.” He looked like he wanted to run and hide.
“Did they see me kiss you?” Part of me hoped they did. I wanted the world to know how I felt about the bishop even if he didn’t want the world to know.
“I’m not sure,” he said nervously.
As big as Evelyn’s mouth was, this little date might be front page news on the church bulletin unless we did something fast. Not too long ago, I might have said I didn’t care what that old biddy thought of me, but now the stakes were higher. If I could show the bishop that I understood what he meant by keeping rumors at a minimum and keeping peace in the church, he would see just how right I was for him.
“Well, what do you wanna do? If you’d like, I could go to the bathroom and then sneak out the back door.”
Did I really just say that? I wondered. If I was going to change my behavior to please these church women, this was going to take some getting used to. But as much as it went against m
y nature to give in to them, I was willing to try it if it meant proving to the bishop that I could make a good first lady.
He spoke in a whisper. “Too late. They just spotted us, and they’re coming this way.” His forehead was starting to perspire.
Within a few seconds, they stood beside our table. The bishop stood and smiled broadly, shaking the trustee’s hand, then kissing his wife on the cheek. It was unbelievable. The man had just changed from a nervous wreck to happy, damn near gleeful, in a matter of seconds, like some type of chameleon.
“Trustee, Sister Evelyn, you know Sister Monique.” Bishop gestured toward me.
The trustee greeted me warmly as his wife glared down at my cleavage, shaking her head ever so slightly. Instead of feeling anger at her obvious judgment, I felt sorry for the bishop, who was already running on protection mode and about to kick it into high gear.
“Yeah, well, it’s good to see you two. Sister Monique and I were just going over her Christian bookstore proposal,” the bishop said as he picked up the folder marked bookstore I’d brought with me, showing it to the trustee and his wife. He had no idea what was inside the folder, since we hadn’t opened it once that night.
“Is that right?” the trustee replied. He glanced at his wife, and Sister Evelyn smirked, staring at the rose on the table, which Bishop had bought from the man who walked through the restaurant selling flowers.
“So, you two are working on a bookstore proposal?” she asked, her doubt evident.
“Yeah … yeah, Sister Monique’s got some great ideas. We’re thinking about opening it up in that vacant building directly across the street from the church.” Thank God we had actually discussed some of these ideas at our first meeting, so the bishop had something to say now without having to make up lies.
“Oh, really? Well, since Trustee Forrest is on the finance committee, maybe we should sit down and discuss it with you,” Sister Evelyn said. I wondered if anyone else could hear the hidden meaning behind her suggestion, or if a woman’s hearing were like a dog’s. Maybe I was the only one in the room who detected the true tone of this jealous bitch.
“You know, we’d really love to,” the bishop said. “But as you can see, we’re finished with dinner, and I was just about to ask for the check.”
“We understand,” Trustee Forrest told us. Once again, he glanced at his wife. “You folks have a nice evening. I’ll see you at the finance meeting tomorrow night, Bishop. I’m sure we’ll have much to talk about.”
What the hell did he mean by that? For the first time, I started to think that maybe my reputation was worse than I thought. I watched them walk away, but as soon as they were far enough, Evelyn started chewing a hole in her husband’s ear. I glanced at the bishop, who had flagged down our waiter to pay the bill. I’d never seen him with so much worry on his face. It was going to be a long ride home, and from the look on his face, he was not coming in to see me model my “conservative” outfits.
12
BISHOP
I dropped Monique off, then came straight home, despite her repeated requests for me to come inside so that we could talk. We’d barely spoken during the entire ride to her place. It was not for her lack of effort, though. I just wasn’t in the mood after running into Trustee Forrest and his gossiping wife, Sister Evelyn. Now there was no telling what type of nonsense was going to be running around the church. It’s too bad, because I was just starting to feel I was making headway with Monique about her attire. I didn’t want to change who she was; I just wanted to tone down her clothes so that I could get the church to accept her for the beautiful woman she really was.
I really liked Monique, and she was a good Christian, regardless of what others might think. To be honest, she reminded me of Charlene when she was younger. I guess that’s why I liked her. My wife, God rest her soul, was a real spitfire back in her day. Most of the people in our church didn’t even know it, but before Charlene and I got married, she had quite the reputation with the fellas. She truly lived up to the term P.K. Some might’ve even called her a slut, but with the proper help and God’s love, she turned into the perfect first lady. I’d been thinking that Monique had the same kind of potential, but after tonight, I was worried that the wagging tongues of the church would put a stop to any relationship between us before it even had a chance to develop.
Once I got settled in the house, I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of milk. I put it in the microwave to heat it up for a few seconds, thinking it could help settle my stomach. What I really wanted to calm my nerves was a good, stiff glass of that cognac James and I had finished off last week. I guess it’s a good thing I don’t keep alcohol in the house. Besides, the Lord probably wouldn’t appreciate my drinking at a time like this anyway.
I picked up my glass of milk and headed for the living room. Sitting in the recliner, I downed half the glass, then picked up the phone and dialed James’s number. I knew he’d still be awake, because he had mentioned he had a date with one of the sisters from the church. It was Saturday night, after all, and I hadn’t known too many times that James didn’t have a date on a weekend.
“Hello?” James answered.
“James? This is T.K. We’ve got a bit of a situation.”
“Bishop, you’ve got the worst timing. Hold on a minute.” I could hear some woman in the background. Her voice was muffled, but whoever she was, she didn’t sound too happy about James answering the phone. I waited for him to calm her down; then he returned to the phone. “Okay, what happened this time, Bishop?”
“Remember that Armageddon you predicted?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, it’ll be here tomorrow. Trust me.”
“Oh, Lord. T.K., what have you done now?”
“Remember when I asked Monique out to dinner the other night?”
“Yeah …”
“Well, we were busted by some parishioners,” I admitted. I had already resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to listen to James gloat about how he had been right from the start about my asking her out. Lord, why did these people hate her so much?
“Busted by some parishioners? You promised me you weren’t gonna take her anywhere in Queens, T.K. How could you be so stupid?”
“I wasn’t, and I didn’t take her anywhere in Queens. I took her all the way to Brooklyn to Umberto’s. Who would’ve thought Trustee Forrest and Evelyn would show up at Umberto’s at ten o’clock at night?”
“Evelyn Forrest was there? Oh, Lord. That woman’s got the biggest mouth in the church.”
Now he understood the severity of the situation. He didn’t even waste his time with “I told you so.”
“T.K., you have a serious problem. That woman’s gonna tell everyone in the church that you’re sleeping with Monique.”
That’s what I was afraid of, but I had tried to convince myself that it wouldn’t be so bad. I wanted to believe that even a gossipmonger like Sister Evelyn could take her pastor’s word for it when I told her that I was just meeting with Monique to discuss the bookstore. But realistically I knew better. No one, not even the bishop, is immune from gossip. By tomorrow, the whole church would be talking about the things I was supposedly doing with Monique. If I were going to get through this, I needed atleast one person to believe that the date was innocent. I needed my friend to believe me.
“We’re not sleeping with each other, James,” I snapped more forcefully than I had intended. “It was just dinner. We’re just friends.”
“Hey, T.K., you don’t have to worry about me. I’m your friend. I believe you.”
Was that sarcasm I detected in his voice? I wasn’t sure if he did believe me, until he said, “But I’m not gonna lie. I kinda wish you were hitting it. At least then you’d be getting something out of it. ‘Cause I can guarantee you that with Monique’s reputation, most of the congregation is going to believe Evelyn. And a scandal like this could ruin your reputation. Perhaps your career.”
“Tell me about it. Tomorrow n
ight’s the finance committee’s review of my personal budget and salary. That meeting affects my income for the entire year.” This was the issue I had worried about during most of my ride home that night. I may be the bishop of the largest church in Queens, but I still had bills, including a $250,000 refinance loan I used to pay for Dante’s law school and Donna’s college tuition. That’s why I had barely spoken a word to Monique as I worried about the possible repercussions of our innocent night out.
“Can’t you do something?” I asked James. “You’re the chairman of the board of trustees.”
“I’m sorry, buddy. I got a vote, but there’s nothing I can do to direct things your way because Trustee Forrest chairs the meeting.”
I dropped my head into my hands and rubbed my throbbing temples. “So, what are we gon’ do?”
“What are we gonna do?” James said. “You mean what’re you gonna do? I warned you about this whole thing. I told you to stay away from Monique. Look, T.K, I’m sorry, but I’m staying as far away from this as possible. I’ve got enough of my own problems with Evelyn Forrest’s mouth. I hope seeing Monique was worth it.”
I was a little taken aback by his words, having fully expected my friend to help me monitor this situation and keep things under control among the church members. It was then that I realized no one had ever had my back the way my wife had. I missed her so much. But since she wasn’t here, I needed James, so I would have to ask him again.
“Don’t do this, James. You’re my best friend, and I need your help. I know I should’ve listened to you when you warned me about Monique, but you know I can be stubborn sometimes. C’mon, man, I need you to cover my rear. How many times have I covered yours?”