The Choir Director

by Carl Weber

  “I asked Mackie a question a minute ago, and he couldn’t give me an answer. Maybe you can, Sandra.” He moved the gun back and forth between her and me. He had no idea I was sizing him up. “I just want to know why. I gave you everything you asked for, took you out of that hick town up in the mountains, made you a respectable lady. Hell, I even married you knowing you had had so many abortions you couldn’t have kids. Them niggas up there was passing you around like you was a piece of shit. I saved your fucking life! So, dammit, tell me why you did this to me.”

  “It wasn’t me, Alfred. It was him. He made me do it! He forced me to sleep with him! I swear to God.” She pointed at me without an ounce of remorse in her eyes. She was basically signing my death warrant, and she didn’t even flinch. Yeah, I really had to start choosing my women more carefully.

  My stomach did a backflip and two somersaults. I raised my right hand like I was in a court of law. “Rev, I swear, you can shoot me right now, but I do not want to die with that lie on my head. You know my background. You know I would never do anything like that! Now, I may have slept with her, but I didn’t make her do shit. She lied and got my key from Sister Tremont, who cleans my house, and she snuck in here. When I got home, she was sitting on that sofa out there naked, just wearing that hat you bought her. I swear. You gotta believe me!”

  “Alfred, he’s lyin—” Before she could get all the words out of her mouth, he backhanded her so hard she went flying across the bed. The preacher in him was nowhere to be found. Most people didn’t know this, but Rev had spent a lot of time in the streets before, and even after he was saved and became a minister. When Pastor Simmons was alive, Rev was the church’s outreach minister, going to the local jails and prisons.

  “Bitch, did you forget that’s the same shit you did to me when we first met and you begged me to take you outta Winchester?”

  He looked back and forth between us. “I can’t stand your ass, Mackie, and you’re a lot of things, but I know you ain’t a rapist.” He turned to Sandra. “Once a ho, always a ho.”

  “Alfred …”

  He raised a hand and she shut up, scurrying to the far end of the bed.

  “Pick up that phone, Mackie,” he ordered.

  I stared over at the phone on my nightstand. Unsure where he was going with his order, I complied, but I was still thinking about going for his gun.

  “She may be a ho, but she’s my ho, bought and paid for. Now, we can do this two ways, Mackie. One, I can shoot your ass dead right here along with my wife, or two, you call the bishop, accept his job offer, and then pack your shit and get the hell away from me, my wife, and my church. The choice is yours.” He lifted the gun and pointed it at my head. “You have five seconds to make a decision. One … two …”

  I cut him off quick. “Look, I’m outta here. You ain’t got to worry about me no more. I swear to God!” Hands trembling, I found the bishop’s card and dialed the number.

  “Bishop T. K. Wilson.”

  “Hello, Bishop, this is Aaron Mackie.” I tried to sound like everything was fine, but I had one eye on Rev the entire time.

  “Mackie, how can I help you, son?” The bishop sounded surprised but happy to hear my voice.

  Reverend Jenkins was so mad he looked like he could burst into flames at any moment. “Well, I just called to tell you I’ve had a change of heart.”

  “And—?”

  “Well, I want to take the job as your choir director, if it’s still available.” I held my breath. Please, Lord, don’t let this man say no.

  “Yes, of course it’s still available. But I have a couple of questions to ask you.”

  “Sure. Ask away.” Just make it quick before Rev pulls the trigger.

  “Do you have a wife, girlfriend, or children who will be moving with you?”

  “No, Bishop. I’m single with no kids.”

  “Well, then I need to ask you one other question.”

  “Sure.”

  “This is a little bit difficult and not exactly politically correct, so I hope you don’t take offense. But believe me, with things that have recently gone on at our church, it’s important.”

  “Okay, sure, you can ask me anything.”

  “All right. Well, I’m glad to hear that, because I just need to know … Are you gay?” At first there was silence on both ends of the phone, then suddenly the bishop rushed to offer an explanation for this unexpected question. “It’s not that we won’t hire you if that’s the case, but I just need to know. We’ve had some incidents in the past that I’d like to avoid.”

  “There is no need to explain, Bishop,” I said in an effort to move the conversation along. “I’ve been a choir director for a few years now, so I think I understand.” I looked over at Sandra cowering on the bed. Less than an hour ago, I was screwing her brains out. I shook my head. “You can rest assured—the last thing you’ve got to worry about is me being gay, Bishop.”

  I could hear him sigh thankfully through the phone. “I appreciate your understanding, Mackie, I really do. And with that being said, when can you start?”

  “I can be packed up and in New York day after tomorrow.”

  The bishop laughed. “Now that’s what I call anxious to get started, but the end of next week is fine. I’m sure you want to give Reverend Jenkins some notice and get your personal life in order.”

  I glanced at the gun in Rev’s hand. “Like I said, Bishop, I’ll be there day after tomorrow. I’m sure Reverend Jenkins won’t even want two weeks’ notice, and as of right now, I don’t have a personal life.”

  The Bishop

  5

  I walked into the administrative section of First Jamaica Ministries with a feeling of accomplishment and a sense of optimism for the future. I’d just returned from my trip to Virginia with a quick stop in D.C., and there was no doubt in my mind that Aaron Mackie was the perfect choice to direct our choir and lead our church back to financial stability.

  Now all I had to do was convince the board of trustees and deacons’ board that I’d made the right decision and that they should pay the man his money. Usually this was just a formality, but when I called my good friend Maxwell Frye yesterday, I was surprised to find out that quite a few of the deacons were up in arms that I’d made any offer without their approval. The salary I’d offered was quite a bit more than what we’d paid the last director, and when they heard the amount, they’d nearly lost their minds.

  “Good morning, Bishop. Glad to have you back.” The church secretary greeted me with a smile at the door. “How was your trip?”

  “It was good, Sister Tia. Very successful. I think we’ve finally found a new choir director. He’s the perfect choice.”

  “So your wife has told me. I can’t wait to meet him.” Tia handed me a cup of coffee and my messages. I was about to walk into my office and call my wife when Tia said, “Bishop, Deacon Smith is in the conference room waiting for you, along with a couple members of the deacon and trustee boards.”

  “Oh, okay. What’s Smitty want anyway?”

  Jonathan Smith was a good friend and the chairman of the deacons’ board. He and Simone Wilcox, the trustee board’s chairwoman, were the first people I planned on contacting about my recent offer to Aaron Mackie. With their support, Mackie’s hiring would be in the bag. I’d already had preliminary conversations with both of them about it before I left town, and they were both on board. So, I took a confident step toward the conference room, but Tia stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

  “Um, Bishop …” She stepped closer to me, looking around before speaking in a hushed voice. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Deacon Smith isn’t here as a friend. He’s trying to stop you from hiring that young man. And, Bishop, trust me, he means business. He’s already organized a campaign against you on this.”

  “Smitty?” I gave her a perplexed look. “I can’t believe Smitty would go behind my back like this. We’ve always been able to sit down and work things out. He’s a reasonable
man.”

  “Believe it, Bishop,” Tia said sadly. “He’s not trying to be reasonable about this at all. From what I’ve been hearing, he’s out for blood, and for some reason he wants your head on a platter.”

  “Well, Sister, I like my head just fine right where it is,” I replied rather dryly. I just wished I knew where this was all coming from. Jonathan Smith was supposed to be my ally. “So, who has Smitty got lined up against me?”

  “Trustee Duncan, Trustee Whitmore, and Deacon Brown are the only ones he has in the conference room, but he’s been burning up the phones the past two days while you were gone. He called and spoke to my father three times yesterday. Shoot, I saw him whispering all secretively with Trustee Wilcox just before you got here.”

  “Simone? Nah, I’m not worried about her. She wouldn’t betray me. She’s one of my wife’s closet friends.”

  “Humph. Maybe the first lady needs to keep better company. Simone would sell her soul for a ladies’ Rolex and a Coach bag. She’s so selfish. I still can’t believe y’all elected her to the board of trustees, let alone made her chairwoman.”

  I sighed unhappily. “Anybody in that conference room I can call a friend?”

  “Just Deacon Frye for right now.” Good old Maxwell, always there when I needed him. “I called a few of the other trustees who usually support you, but most of them are working. I spoke to my father, and he’s on the way.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, feeling a headache coming on.

  “Bishop, doesn’t Deacon Smith know we need a choir director? Why is he doing this?”

  I shrugged. “To be honest with you, I don’t know why he’s acting like this, but I sure plan on asking him that very question.”

  These were the times I wished James was around. If he were here, I would have never had to go through this with Smitty. He would have put him in his place right away. Well, at least Maxwell was in there pulling for me.

  “Sister Tia, I’m going into my office to drink this fine cup of coffee you brought me. In about five minutes, I want you to tell those folks in the conference room that I’m pretty busy and that if they want to see me, they need to come to my office. Those men planned on lulling me into the conference room and ambushing me. Well, let’s see how they like walking into the lion’s den.”

  Sister Tia smiled. “You know, Bishop, for a preacher you’ve got a pretty devious mind.”

  “Well, then, let’s pray God judges us from what’s in our hearts and not in our minds.” I took a sip of my coffee and then headed into my office, closing the door behind me. I walked around to my plush leather chair and settled into it, sipping my coffee while I thought about how I was going to deal with the situation. It didn’t take long before the intercom on my desk snapped me out of my thoughts.

  I pushed the TALK button. “Yes?”

  “Bishop, Deacon Smith and a few other trustees and deacons would like to see you.”

  “Sure. Show them in.” I picked up a folder that was on my desk and opened it, pretending to be hard at work. My office door opened a few seconds later, and Deacon Jonathan Smith stormed in, followed by his three flunkies and my boy Maxwell.

  Smitty made quite an entrance if I do say so myself, stomping into my office and plopping down in front of my desk, folding his arms and staring at me coldly. You would have never thought that my wife and I had dinner at his place last weekend with him and his wife. I was anxious to see what the problem between us was.

  The rest of his group found chairs and circled around my desk. When they were all seated, the room went silent. I’d been through this type of thing before, so the first thing I did was eye Trustee Whitmore and Deacon Brown, whom I considered the weak links. Neither one of them would make eye contact, which confirmed my suspicions that they were followers in this little witch hunt.

  Surprisingly, I was the one who broke our silence. “So, Smitty, how’s Maria? You know, I still can’t get over how good that pot roast she made last weekend was. She is quite a cook.”

  My approach worked; it took him off guard. He sucked in his breath as if I’d punched him in the solar plexus. “Ah, yes, thank you. That was a good pot roast, wasn’t it?” He shifted in his chair and adjusted his pant legs. “Bishop, we need—”

  “Best I’ve ever had.” I cut him off, turning to Maxwell. “Deacon Frye, have you ever had Maria’s pot roast?”

  “No, can’t say I have. Is it that good?” Maxwell saw what I was trying to do right away.

  I rolled my eyes heavenward, smiling like I was in true bliss. “To die for.”

  “Um, Bishop, I thank you for the kind words about my wife’s cooking, but we’re not here for that,” Smitty stated, regaining some strength in his voice.

  “I see. Why exactly are you here, Smitty? Is there a problem I don’t know about?” I folded my arms and sat back in my chair.

  “Well, some of the trustees and deacons wanted to know—”

  “Some of the trustees and deacons, or you, Smitty?” I cut him off again, swiveling my head back and forth between Trustee Whitmore, Trustee Duncan, and Deacon Brown. “Is there a problem, Deacon Brown?” Brown didn’t say a word, so I turned to Whitmore, who still couldn’t make eye contact with me. “Trustee Whitmore, is there a problem?” I glanced at Trustee Duncan. “Trustee Duncan, you got anything to say?”

  He sounded nervous, but at least Trustee Duncan spoke. “Bishop, Deacon Smith has brought some things to our attention, and we have some concerns. Maybe he’d be better explaining it.”

  I turned back to Deacon Smith. “Okay, Smitty, I take it you’re the spokesman for this little gathering, so you tell me, what exactly are your concerns?”

  “You hired a choir director without my—I mean our—consent.”

  No, he meant his, but what I didn’t understand was exactly what he was up to. His attitude was a complete reversal of the way he’d acted when we spoke before my trip, and I had no clue what caused this about-face.

  I paused, measuring my words. “I’ve been hiring choir directors around here for more than twenty years. Why would you or your board take issue with that?”

  “It’s my job to take issue with anything that might place this church in jeopardy.” He raised his voice to talk over me.

  I sat up in my chair and spoke very seriously and directly when he was finished. “Smitty, how long have we known each other? Fifteen, twenty years?” Deacon Smith nodded. “And in that time, have I ever put this church in jeopardy?”

  “Bishop, it seems there’s a first time for everything.”

  “On that we can agree.” I looked purposefully at each one of them and then sat back in my chair. “We’re a church without a choir. How could hiring a choir director be putting the church in jeopardy?”

  “How do we know that this person is any good?”

  “You don’t, except for the fact that I told you he is. Is my word no longer good around here? Do you think I’m having a lapse in judgment?”

  Smitty folded his arms, shifting around in his chair. “No, but I’d like to know how much you offered this man.”

  “The man’s name is Aaron Mackie. He’s one of the most talented choir directors in the country, and I offered him seventy-five thousand a year. In my judgment, he’s worth every penny.”

  “Seventy-five thousand! Have you lost your mind? Our church is in financial trouble and you want us to pay a choir director seventy-five thousand dollars a year? I don’t make that much, and I run an entire department for the city.”

  I said in a calm, even voice, “First off, Deacon, this is not about you; it’s about the church. Secondly, the amount of money that Aaron Mackie is going to make us is going to be ten times what we pay him. He’s that good. So y’all need to stop with this nonsense and let me do my job.”

  Smitty gave me a puzzled look, which made me think that he really believed I’d lost my mind. “You know what, Bishop? Maybe you are having a lapse in judgment, because I don’t think you know how bad things are around here.
We can barely pay our mortgages!” he shouted.

  I turned my attention to the two trustees in the room. “You’re supposed to be the money people in the room. What do you think?”

  Trustee Whitmore spoke up for the first time. “Bishop, that’s just too much money to pay a man to direct a choir.”

  “You’ve got to spend money to make money, Trustee. Y’all want the glory without the pain.”

  “Maybe if you can get him to take half of that, we can make this happen,” Trustee Duncan added.

  “I promised that man seventy-five thousand. I can’t go back on my word. That will kill our credibility with him. Besides, I’ve never seen a man who could perform like he did this past Sunday. He puts Jackie Moss to shame. He was a hair shy of being magnificent. If I ask him to take less money, I might as well tell him to stay home.”

  Smitty glanced over at the other men in the room. “Maybe that’s for the best. None of us feels this is a good idea, Bishop.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Maxwell finally interjected himself into the conversation. “I stand with the bishop on this. The only way we’re going to increase revenue is to bring people back into the church. A good choir can do that.”

  “We don’t see it that way, Deacon Frye. What we see is the bishop recklessly spending money we don’t have. Now, as I tried to explain to you earlier in the conference room, we’ve already got the votes needed to reject hiring this Aaron Mackie.” Smitty’s eyes never left mine. “You fight us on this, Bishop, and you might be the one looking for a job.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, Bishop, I’m not threatening you. I’m making you a promise.” He sat back in his chair with a smug expression.

  “Well, then, I guess we don’t have anything else to talk about, do we?” I stood up and gestured toward the door, letting them know I was ending our impromptu meeting.

  Tia