The Choir Director

by Carl Weber

  You could hear “Oohs,” and “Aahs” all over the congregation. We were all having a holy good time and the atmosphere was contagious. It was like a nonstop church party, and I for one was just happy I was there to attend.

  People can say whatever they want about Aaron Mackie, but in my opinion, he was worth every penny they were paying him. He was a crowd pleaser, along with being a musical genius and a fantastic choreographer. He had everyone in the church on their feet, clapping, stomping, and singing to our songs. Things got so emotionally charged that several women fainted, and the ushers had to revive them with smelling salts. Despite the small size of our choir, Aaron had us sounding like we were fifty members strong. He’d hidden all our flaws perfectly by choosing the right songs, using movement and colorful robes to distract the eye and alternating soloists to give our sound depth. I’d never seen anything like it before, and regardless of my previous complaints about working with him, I was proud to be both a member and the administrator of the choir.

  When we finished our last song and sat down, the congregation was in a frenzy. To bring them back down to earth, Aaron walked over to the piano and started to play a slower song. He held the audience’s attention as if he were a rock star. If he were in a nightclub, the women would have been throwing their panties up on the stage. Well, today he’d just have to settle for Bibles and church hats.

  “Sing it, brother!” someone bellowed out. “Sing it.”

  I noticed old phony Simone standing in the aisle of the church, front and center so everyone could see her “holiness.” She was waving her hands in the air from side to side.

  I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Now, I can’t read a person’s heart, but it was pretty clear that Simone was doing this just to get noticed. I’d never seen any indication that she had a personal relationship with God, and no matter how good the choir sounded, I doubted that she was truly feeling the Spirit.

  I realized how judgmental I was being, so I said a quick prayer to ask for forgiveness, then turned my attention back to Aaron’s performance. I tried to ignore Simone.

  When Aaron finished the song, everyone was sweating profusely. Many of the women had tears streaming down their faces. The men were even pumping their fists in signs of approval.

  “That brother can really blow!” someone yelled out as Aaron wound things up and stood from the piano.

  “Thank you, thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Aaron Mackie, and this is your First Jamaica Ministries choir.” He took a deep bow and made a semicircle backhand wave of introduction toward the choir. We stood and bowed at the waist. Then, as we rose to a standing position, we pointed at Aaron with our right hands. That was our way of acknowledging the job he’d done in preparing us for that moment.

  I glanced over at Bishop Wilson as we sat down, and he was beaming like a proud poppa. I could tell that he, like so many others, was amazed by what Aaron had done with the choir in such a short time.

  “Praise the Lord! Praise Him!” Bishop shouted, holding his hands up to the ceiling as he stood. “This is incredible! Good Lord, please give these young people a hand!” The congregation erupted in praise. “Have you ever heard a first performance like that before? I just paid fifty-five dollars to see Shirley Caesar last week, and I feel like I need a refund.”

  The congregation erupted in laughter.

  I’d never been more proud of our choir, and I felt so proud of Aaron too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a musician work as passionately as he did. We’d become quite close in the short time he’d been here. He felt like a brother to me, so I was happy for him. I was happy for us as a choir.

  “I’ve really got to hand it to you,” I whispered to Aaron when he sat down next to me in the choir box. “I haven’t seen the church react that positively to anything in quite awhile. You really killed them. I’m so proud of you.” I reached over and pumped his hand.

  Aaron nodded back appreciatively. “Yeah, but we still have a lot of work to do. This place isn’t close to being filled.” We both scanned the pews.

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You weren’t here when this place was a ghost town. You did a great job, and as far as I’m concerned, you are the man.”

  “Thanks.” Aaron sounded humble, but I could see the beam of satisfaction on his face.

  The congregation was still on its feet, and Bishop Wilson turned to us and said, “Why don’t we see if we can get these folks to give us another song? Lord have mercy, nothing goes better with the Word than song!”

  I smiled, encouraging Aaron to get back up. He stood and turned toward the choir and got us to join him in the latest rendition of Jennifer Hudson’s song “You Pulled Me Through.” Once again, the entire congregation was singing, clapping, and stomping their feet.

  Before the church could calm down and stop clapping, a loud commotion sprang from the back of the church. Everyone turned around to see the disturbance and where it was coming from. There were so many people standing up I couldn’t see a thing.

  “Outside! Outside!” a woman screamed.

  Voices rang out, filled with questions, and then the whole place erupted in commotion.

  “Lord have mercy, what is it?” I watched as the bishop and others ran to the back of the church. From my spot in the choir, I still couldn’t see the source of the screams, but it was definitely a woman’s voice.

  “Bishop! Outside!” she called out again. “Outside! He’s dead! Oh my God, Bishop, he’s dead!”

  Simone

  20

  I was standing in the church aisle, swaying from side to side with my hands in the air, giving everyone in the church the impression that the Holy Ghost had struck me. I know it may have appeared I was playing games with God, but I wasn’t. I was just showing emotion. I couldn’t help how other people took it. Besides, I wasn’t the only one expressing my emotions. Everyone around me, young and old alike, was clapping, dancing, and singing along with Aaron’s choir. I felt like a teenager at a concert and my favorite singer was onstage. I almost melted every time Aaron sang his solo before the choir joined in with him. I still couldn’t believe he’d pulled off such an excellent performance with so few members and so little time to prepare.

  “That’s gonna be my man!” I wanted to proudly proclaim to the world. But who was I kidding? I still hadn’t even gotten him to talk to me or take any of my calls since our date fiasco.

  I caught the first lady’s eye, and she smiled knowingly. Monique knew I was feeling me some Aaron. Oh my goodness, he was just so sexy. I knew I was in church, but watching Aaron do his thing up there on that pulpit had my insides dripping. He was something else, a man’s man if there ever was one, and I wasn’t the only one mesmerized by him. As I looked around, it seemed that every woman in the place was gawking at him.

  My cell phone vibrated at my waist. A few seconds later it happened again, and when I glanced down, I noticed I had missed two text messages. I was too caught up in the moment to read the words. It buzzed two more times before I decided to read them.

  Oh Lord, what does he want? I thought as I read the sender’s name.

  MEET ME IN THE PARKING LOT.

  Was he kidding? Didn’t he know I was watching my baby sing? I started back swaying, eyes closed tightly. I took myself back to Jones Beach and the time Aaron kissed me. If I could bottle those kisses and sell them to women all over the world, I’d make a billion dollars. I visualized myself lying in Aaron’s arms and fantasized about how we’d both find ecstasy. I’d never been this caught up with any man, not even James. I was tingling with excitement from head to toe. I would give that man anything in the world—if I could ever get him to talk to me again.

  Five minutes later, another text came through. This time the message was marked “urgent” with a red exclamation point.

  MEET ME IN THE PARKING LOT NOW!

  I let out a sigh. Obviously he wasn’t going to stop until I responded to him. I texted him back.

  WE’RE IN THE MI
DDLE OF SERVICE. WHAT DO YOU WANT?

  Within seconds, he replied: I HAVE THE MONEY YOU ASKED ME FOR. IF YOU WANT IT COME OUTSIDE AND GET IT NOW.

  I texted back: I’LL GET IT AFTER CHURCH SERVICE.

  He sent: IF YOU DON’T COME OUTSIDE AND GET IT NOW IT’S OVER. I’M DONE WITH YOU.

  I shook my head. Forget him! He wasn’t running this show; I was. Who the hell was he to tell me what I was or wasn’t going to do?

  I tried to concentrate on Aaron and the choir, but the thought of all that money was too enticing, so I finally gave in and went outside to get it. I eased out the side exit, stepping into the bright morning sun.

  “Where the hell is he?” I muttered, shading my eyes as I searched the rows of cars in the parking lot. I would have thought after all those damn texts he’d be right out front.

  I sent him a text. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?

  I got no response. Now I was pissed. Had I just left possibly the finest performance by the hottest man ever to come out and be stood up in the parking lot? Finally I spotted his truck parked in the northeast corner of the parking lot.

  I stalked in that direction, hurrying the best I could in my stilettos. I wanted to get back and catch the last of the choir’s performance. I also wanted to do something else I hadn’t been able to do: catch Aaron’s eye. I wanted to give him a personal thumbs-up when he finished his song and turned to face the audience. Getting this money shouldn’t take more than a minute or two if this fool didn’t try to play games.

  As I approached the SUV, something seemed strange. Why hadn’t he gotten out of his truck? He knew I wasn’t going to get inside his car. Then I noticed there was a dark red smudge on the driver’s side window. At first I wasn’t sure what I was seeing, but the closer I got, the clearer it was. It was blood.

  What the hell was going on? My brain slowly registered what I was seeing, and panic coursed through my body. I should have run. I should have run as fast as I could back to the church to get help, but instead I leaned in and peered through the windshield. He was slumped over the steering wheel. For a moment, I froze, unsure of what to do next.

  And then, as if on autopilot, I sprinted back to the church, my stilettos flying off as I went. I burst through the double doors at the back of the church and let out a scream that shattered the joyous atmosphere inside the building.

  I was so discombobulated I could only manage one word: “Outside! Outside!”

  Bishop dashed in long strides from the pulpit. “What’s the matter?”

  “Bishop! Outside! Outside! He’s dead! Oh my God, Bishop, he’s dead!”

  He grabbed me by the shoulders and then everything went black.

  The Bishop

  21

  The Spirit had moved me in a way it hadn’t in a long time, and for the first time since Jackie had been outted by his wife last Father’s Day, I felt comfortable about the direction the church was going. Yes, I knew we still had some hurdles to clear financially, but listening to Aaron and the choir gave me hope that our church was on its way to recovery. Once again I was reminded that God only places upon your shoulders what you can handle, and through that we grow stronger.

  I stood up to applaud as Aaron finished a wonderful solo performance. I was about to praise him and the choir to the congregation once again, but suddenly the doors to the church burst open and all hell broke loose.

  “Outside! Outside!” I heard a woman shriek. When she came into view, I realized that it was Simone Wilcox and dashed from the pulpit to the back of the church. I was followed by Aaron, Maxwell Frye, and several others. When I reached her, I scooped Simone up in my arms, telling Aaron and Maxwell to keep the crowd back.

  “What’s the matter, Simone? What happened?” I pleaded.

  “Bishop! Outside! Outside!” she shrieked. “He’s dead! Oh my God, Bishop, he’s dead!”

  I couldn’t make sense of the whole scene, going from the beauty of the choir’s performance to this chaos. Was it possible? Was there really a dead man outside my church? “Who, Simone? Who’s dead?”

  Simone drew a deep breath and managed to get out the words as I leaned in close. “Jonathan Smith. He’s dead.”

  There was a long pause before I could speak. “Smitty?” I muttered under my breath. “Smitty’s dead?”

  My eyes began to well up with tears. The knot that had developed in my stomach was tightening more as each second passed. I glanced at my wife, who was standing in the front of the crowd about three feet away. It was as if time had stopped. Smitty couldn’t be dead. Why? How? Where?

  Suddenly, Simone felt heavier in my arms. I looked down to see that she was completely unconscious. The stress must have been too much for her. I wished I could have joined her. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to cope with this turn of events. But as it was, I was the pastor of this church, and I had to gather my senses and take charge of this chaos.

  I gestured for my wife to help me.

  “Monique, you and Aaron watch Simone. Maxwell, come with me.” By now it had really sunk in that Smitty was dead—outside the church. I jetted through the atrium into the church’s parking lot. Maxwell was on my heels. I filled him in on who we were looking for as we exited the building.

  “Where?” Maxwell asked. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We searched the parking lot until I spotted his SUV. “There! Over there!” I pointed to the back of the parking lot. Dear God, please don’t let my friend be dead.

  We approached the car cautiously, stopping in our tracks about twenty feet away.

  “Is that blood?” I asked Maxwell solemnly.

  “Yeah, looks like it.”

  “You think he’s …” I couldn’t even say the word.

  “Dead?” Maxwell finished my sentence. “I don’t know, but I’ll be honest with you. It doesn’t look good.”

  “Lord, this can’t be happening.” I leaned against a nearby car. I could feel my hands throbbing, so I knew my blood pressure must be through the roof.

  “You okay, Bishop?” Maxwell inquired.

  I had to give him credit. He was the one with the bad heart, but he was hanging in there like a trouper.

  “No, I’m not. I can’t believe this. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t put so much pressure on him, he’d be here right now.”

  “No, he wouldn’t. That man had more issues than Jet magazine.” Maxwell took a step toward the SUV. “Look, I’ve seen this type of thing before when I was over in Iraq. You hang back and call the police while I take a look.”

  “Okay.” I was grateful that he was taking the lead. I pulled out my cell phone from under my robe.

  As I placed the 911 call, I watched Maxwell walk up to the car and peek in. From the look on his face and the way he shook his head, I knew it wasn’t good.

  “It’s Smitty all right. Simone was right. He’s dead,” Maxwell proclaimed after I ended my call.

  I didn’t want to believe what Maxwell was telling me. “You sure? Maybe we should take him out. We might be able to revive him.”

  “Nah.” Maxwell shook his head. “Ain’t no reviving him, Bishop. He’s gone home.”

  “How do you know?” I took a step toward the car, and Maxwell stepped in front of me.

  “T. K., please. This is really not something you want to see.”

  But I was in so much disbelief that I had to see it for myself—and for Smitty, as his minister. I braced myself and walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle. “Stand back,” I told the members who’d begun to approach the area. I knew they wouldn’t be able to be held at bay inside the church for too long.

  Looking inside the truck, I saw a sight I would remember for as long as I live. Smitty was slumped over the steering wheel. Half of his head was missing, and the blood had begun to clot. His right eye was bulging out, hanging by a thread from the socket. “Oh my Lord, Smitty, no!” I turned away, steeling my stomach to keep from vomiting.

  From the large crowd that had ga
thered nearby, I could hear cries of, “What’s going on? What happened? Did somebody die?”

  It took me a few moments, but I finally regained my composure, remembering that I was the one they were supposed to lean on.

  I held up both hands. “Please step away until the ambulance and the police get here. We don’t know what happened, but we don’t want to contaminate the scene if there’s been a crime committed here.”

  They milled around a while longer, but once they realized they were not going to be able to see anything, many people moved back toward the church.

  Every few seconds I glanced over at the car. Was this all my fault? My mind played over our last encounter. I thought about how upset Smitty had looked when I pulled out the folder, which revealed his thirty-year-old secret. Maybe I shouldn’t have played my trump card on him, but when he backed me into a corner about hiring Aaron, I had to do what I had to do. Now I had to wonder—did I push him into killing himself? I shuddered with guilt.

  This looked like a suicide, but Smitty’s warning still echoed in my mind. What if Smitty had not been overreacting when he said there was danger out there? I scanned the crowd, wondering if his tormentors were in the midst of us at that very moment. Were Smitty’s blackmailers in the crowd?

  I looked over my shoulder at the SUV in frustration. Dammit, Smitty, why didn’t you tell me what was going on?

  Monique

  22

  As I held Simone in my arms, a part of me wanted to drop her right there in the middle of the aisle and go outside to see about my husband. Judging from the panic on T. K.’s face when Si-mone whispered to him, it looked like she nearly gave him a heart attack. I needed to see how he was doing. But who was I kidding? I also wanted to see what was going on outside. Who was dead outside of the church? I knew the longer I was inside the church with Simone unconscious in my arms, the longer it would take for me to find out.