The Choir Director

by Carl Weber

He laughed as he held out his hand and I shook it.

  “So, uh,” Bishop continued, “I hear people are calling on you for friendship and including you in our church’s singles group social events. It would be nice if you found a nice woman to settle down with.”

  I was starting to learn that Bishop Wilson never held back what was on his mind. That was good, because I didn’t either—although in this case, I wasn’t about to admit to him how many illicit offers I’d already received from members of his congregation.

  “I don’t know about all that,” I said with false modesty.

  “Well, I’m not trying to play matchmaker for you. I leave that to my wife. Don’t be surprised if she’s trying to set you up on dates.”

  “Bishop, your wife can set me up anytime she likes,” I said, and I meant it. Why limit my options?

  “I’ll let her know that. But anyhow, you are really whipping this choir into shape. I see your membership has doubled in size. How many members you looking to have?”

  “I’m hoping to have around seventy-five to a hundred and travel to forty or fifty competitions. That would be ideal.”

  “Well, you’re well on your way.” The bishop seemed to be distracted as he looked over my shouder. “Hey, isn’t that your friend over there?”

  “What friend?” I turned to see who he was referring to.

  “Over there.” He pointed to the back of the room, where I spotted two men lurking in the last pews. One of them was unmistakably Andrew Gotti.

  Uh-oh. Trouble with a capital T.

  “Uh, yeah, that’s him. Let me go see what he’s up to,” I said, hoping to sound casual.

  Bishop Wilson cast a suspicious glance at my two sinister-looking visitors at the back of the church, but he chose to leave the subject alone.

  “All right, Aaron. I’ll talk to you later.” On his way out of the church, Bishop Wilson walked by the men and gave them both a questioning stare. That scared me to death, because I thought he was going to stop and speak to them, but luckily he kept on going.

  I walked over and stood in front of Gotti as he and his companion stood up. “What are you doing here?” I hissed. I looked over my shoulder to make sure the other members who were still hanging around were out of earshot.

  “How many times I gotta tell you we can go anywhere we damn well please?” Gotti spat.

  “Yeah, don’t worry about what we’re doing here,” the other guy growled. He was big and burly and had a razor scar on his right cheek, which looked almost like a split in a watermelon. His ugly face resembled a bulldog. His name was Vinnie something, and he was Gotti’s yes-man. He was also the muscle of the pair.

  “Well, we don’t have any business until next week,” I reminded Gotti.

  “Yeah, that’s for us to say. I’m coming by your house later tonight around ten.”

  “Be there,” the burly one snarled in a threatening tone.

  “What for?” I questioned.

  “Because I said so. You got a problem with that? Should I go have a talk with the nice bishop?” Gotti threatened.

  There was no way I wanted Gotti and his goon talking with Bishop Wilson about anything, not even the weather outside. So, without hesitation, I replied, “I’ll be there at ten.”

  Gotti smiled victoriously. “We’ll see you tonight, then. You still live at one-eighty-nine 138th Avenue, don’t you?”

  He’d just spit out Simone’s address, his way of letting me know he’d been following me. Damn. I couldn’t get her involved in this situation. Hell, I didn’t even want to be involved in it myself.

  “Well, don’t you?” he asked as Vinnie stood next to him chuckling like an idiot.

  “You know I don’t live there.”

  “Well, you spend enough time there, don’t you?” he questioned.

  “You don’t scare me.” In truth, they did scare me, but I wasn’t about to let them know that.

  “Well, you should be scared. Maybe we’ll have a talk with her too.”

  “Oh, I’m trembling in my shoes,” I said sarcastically as I walked away, ready to pound my fist into something.

  Simone

  28

  I walked into the church with my gym bag over my shoulder and three oversized Brooks Brothers bags filled with suits, shirts, and ties for Aaron. Although we weren’t advertising that we were dating, we were a couple—as far as I was concerned anyway—and if he was going to be my man, I wanted him to look his absolute best. He needed to complement me as much as possible. Don’t get me wrong, the boy was fine. Damn fine! It wasn’t that he looked bad in the suits that he wore now, but none of them could compare to the distinction of a Brooks Brothers suit.

  I couldn’t wait to see his face when I handed him his gifts. I knew he was going to be surprised. Hell, I surprised myself. Si-mone Wilcox buying a gift for a man instead of the other way around—who would have thought?

  “Hey there, Miss Thing.” I glanced over to my right, and there was the first lady in spandex, walking up the corridor toward me. “You going to step class tonight?”

  About two years ago, the women of the church started an aerobics night every Thursday in the church’s smaller gym. To be honest, it started out as just an excuse for a few of the married sisters to check up on their husbands during basketball night, but after a while, it really caught on. It became more popular than anyone could have anticipated. We even had our own locker room with showers and assigned lockers.

  “Yeah, I’m going, but I have to find someone first.”

  “All right, then.”

  Monique and I gave each other the “girlfriend hug,” which included the fake kisses on the cheek so that we didn’t smudge our makeup. That was when she took notice of the bags I was carrying. She leaned over in an attempt to get a glimpse of what was inside the bags.

  “Mmph, Brooks Brothers. I know that’s not for you.” Monique shot me an inquisitive look. I could tell she wanted me to elaborate on my purchases.

  “Nope, they’re not for me. Let’s just say that I did a little shopping for a friend.”

  “A friend named Aaron?” She gave me a knowing smile.

  “Maybe, but that’s for me to know and you to find out.” Her grin was contagious, as my lips, too, spread into one. She knew darn well those gifts were for Aaron, and I knew darn well that she knew, but there was no way in hell I was going to actually say it. I had a reputation to uphold. “Speaking of Aaron, have you seen him?”

  Monique hesitated a little before she answered. “Yeah, he’s in the choir practice room.”

  “Okay, then, I’ll see you at step class. I’m gonna go see what he’s up to.” I took a step in the direction of the practice room, but Monique grabbed my arm.

  “Uh, Simone, you, uh …” The first lady, who was happy-go-lucky just a moment ago, was stammering all of a sudden. What in the world was that about? “You might not want to go down there.” She lifted an eyebrow while tightening her jaw.

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Oh, Lord, I know T. K. is gonna kill me for getting into other people’s business, but you’re my friend.” Monique looked torn, and now she really had me curious.

  “Monique, I swear on everything, if you don’t tell me what’s going on …” I was on the verge of blowing a gasket. If she knew something, then I needed her to tell me, especially if it meant that I was about to make a complete fool out of myself.

  “Girl, Aaron is down there with Porsche Moore.”

  “The whore?” I took a step back and leaned on the wall. I’d heard rumors about them, but I’d dismissed them just as quickly as I heard them. Sure, Porsche had some of the prettiest natural hair I’d ever seen on a black woman, and she had a big old butt that the men seemed to love, but how could Aaron be taken in by that? He was much deeper than that. She was nothing more than trash from over there in Forty Projects. She wasn’t even in my league—and she definitely wasn’t wife material. I had no idea why Monique was making it out to be so serious and
secretive. Porsche Moore might have been a threat to some, but not to me.

  “Yep. Although they were only singing when I passed by, Porsche walked over and closed the door. I’m not trying to say anything was going on, but you know how she is. She’s hard for any man to resist, and she gives it up quick.”

  I wanted to say, “Oh yeah? Even the bishop?” But I didn’t. I knew that would be pushing it. First lady or not, Monique knew how to kick off her shoes like Fantasia and take off her earrings and pull out the Vaseline like Jill Scott. I did not need a fight with Monique anyway. Porsche was the one I was itching to get to. If I walked into that room and there was anything going on between them, I was going to hurt that ho.

  “Listen, Monique, I’ll catch up with you later at step class.”

  Monique didn’t want to let me leave. She grabbed hold of my arm again. “Oh, Lord, Simone, where are you going?”

  I lifted the bags in the air. “I’ve got a lot invested in that man, and not just with my credit cards. I’m not going to just let him slip away. I’m gonna go break up that little whore’s party.”

  “Girl, whatever you do, do not put your hands on that woman.” Monique pointed a stern finger at me like she was my mother instead of the church’s first lady.

  I’d rarely ever seen her this serious. Even so, I couldn’t keep a laugh from slipping out. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  Monique released my arm, but not before giving me a questioning look.

  “I promise I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”

  I pushed through the double doors of the choir rehearsal room without knocking. Just like Monique had said, they were there together. Porsche was playing the piano, while Aaron stood behind her, running his fingers through her hair and singing. With my pulse pounding in my ears, I was too angry to even focus on the words of the song, but I didn’t have to hear it to know that he wasn’t singing for the Lord. It looked more like he was serenading her.

  She tossed her hair to one side when she saw me. I guess she was trying to send me a message. I got it loud and clear—so loud and clear that I wanted to pull every strand of that bitch’s hair out of her head. I am by no means an insecure woman, but Porsche’s hair was the one area where I felt I couldn’t compete. That shit was so long and silky, any woman, black or white, would be envious.

  I was beyond jealous now, especially since I knew Aaron loved a woman with long hair. On more than one occasion, he’d almost pulled out my weave during our lovemaking. I guess Aaron wasn’t as deep as I wanted to believe he was. Apparently he was taken in by Porsche’s hoochie-mama looks just like any other man.

  Aaron had yet to notice me, so Porsche kept playing the entire scene up with all her squirming and smiling. I was about two seconds from whipping her ass, but then I remembered I was in the church. That ghetto bitch knew just what she was doing, trying to get me to show out in public. Well, she wouldn’t get her way. She might have better hair, but I certainly had more class.

  “Hey, babe,” I said, walking up to Aaron and kissing him on the cheek. Then I waved at Porsche, smiling very politely. “Hey, Porsche.”

  “Hey, Simone. What’s up?” Aaron smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world. Porsche just rolled her eyes at me.

  “I just bought you a few things, and I thought I’d drop them off before I went to step class. You still taking me out for Italian tonight, right?” I handed him the bags.

  Aaron’s face lit up, and he walked over to a table to check out his gifts. I turned and smiled deviously at Porsche. She didn’t see me, though, because she was too busy watching Aaron pull out the expensive clothing she could never have afforded. The look on her face told me I’d scored a point against her.

  “Yeah, I’ll meet you in the large gym after basketball,” Aaron replied to my query.

  “Sounds like a plan.” I looked at Porsche. “You going to step class, Porsche?”

  “Yeah, I’m going.” She sounded defeated.

  “Good, I’ll walk down with you.” That was my subtle way of letting her know that her butt needed to rise up out of there.

  Though I’m sure he didn’t realize he was doing it, Aaron helped me to twist the knife a little deeper in Porsche’s wound. “Simone, I can’t believe you bought me all of this stuff. It must have cost a small fortune.” He came over and wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug. He didn’t kiss me, but there was no doubt from where Porsche was sitting who was number one in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry about the cost. I just want you to look good, okay?”

  Aaron nodded, going back to the bags. “You are an amazing woman. How’d you even know my size?”

  “I checked your suit and shirt size after you fell asleep last night.” Oh, if looks could kill, Porsche would have had my head on a platter after I said that.

  He came striding back over to me and hugged me even tighter than before. “I don’t know what to say. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something to say tonight.” He let me go and I patted him on the behind.

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “You ready to go?” I asked Porsche in the sweetest of tones.

  “Yeah, I’m coming.” Talk about a broken-up face.

  I stood there long enough that she got the message and got up and left the room without even saying good-bye to Aaron.

  I’d won the battle with Porsche in the rehearsal room, but I still couldn’t dismiss the image of Aaron’s fingers playing in her hair. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t even focus on the exercise routine, so I left step class early.

  I was in the locker room, having already showered and put on my makeup by the time the room filled up with about twenty of the sisters who’d been in the exercise class, including Porsche and the first lady, who sat down next to me.

  I watched as Porsche slipped off her gym clothes and put a towel around her body. I wanted to go in there and kick her ass for messing with my man, but she’d soon be getting the message loud and clear that I wasn’t playing around.

  I sat there fuming as I listened to Porsche talking to one of the sisters. “I really got my workout on today. I feel like I lost five pounds of pure sweat!”

  “Yeah, girl, I know what you mean,” the other girl replied.

  The first lady turned to me, and I could see her studying my face in the mirror. “How come you left step class so early?” she asked.

  “I got a hot date and didn’t wanna be late,” I said for the entire locker room to hear.

  “Well, just don’t make it too hot. Remember we’re Christians,” Monique joked.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be here first thing in the morning to ask for forgiveness,” I joked back, and quite a few of the sisters laughed, including the first lady. I loved that Monique was still real. She didn’t try to change and become all judgmental, even if she had been elevated to the position of first lady after she married T. K.

  “How’d things go with her?” Monique whispered, gesturing in the direction of Porsche. “Glad to see neither of you has any scratches or bruises.”

  I waved my hand like it was nothing. “Oh, please. That woman is not even in my league. You see who’s going on a date tonight and who isn’t?”

  “I know that’s right. Let me go ahead and take me a shower so I can see if I can get my husband to take me on a date.” She went to her locker and grabbed her body wash and shampoo. I watched as Porsche finished up her conversation and did the same before heading into the shower room. I waited for the fireworks that I knew were about to begin.

  About five or six minutes later, a bloodcurdling screech came from the showers. I followed all the other women who rushed in the direction of the cries.

  The women who made it there first started in right away with a chorus of “Oh my God! What happened?” and “This is awful!”

  I slowly made my way through the crowd to view the cause of the commotion. Boy, oh boy, was it a sight for
these sore eyes. There was Porsche, naked as the day she was born, screaming at the top of her lungs. She was dripping wet, with tears rolling down her face. In both hands, she clenched gobs of her long, curly black hair. With all the bare patches on her head and her eyeliner running down her face, she looked like something out of a creature-feature magazine.

  Good. Maybe now she’ll think twice before she has my man’s hands all up in her hair.

  “My hair! My hair! What the hell happened to my hair?” Porsche screamed.

  “Oh, no. And that girl had some beautiful hair,” Sister Teresa yelled, making Porsche even more hysterical.

  “See now, that’s why I stopped messin’ with them perms,” a sister commented. “More sisters need to look into the natural thing.” She patted her own natural fro with pride.

  “That wasn’t no perm, girl. That was all her natural hair,” another sister replied, putting more flame on the fire.

  “Get outta here! Now I know why she’s crying,” the first sister cracked.

  “Yep, I heard she has Indian in her family … for real.”

  I turned away and walked back to my locker with a satisfied smirk on my face.

  “What did you do?” Monique asked when she appeared behind me. She was wrapped in a towel and dripping wet.

  “Who, me? What are you talking about?” I went to continue my strut, but Monique grabbed my arm, pulling me to the side.

  “Don’t you ‘who, me,’ Simone. What did you do to that girl’s hair? I know you did something. I can see it in your eyes. You’re still smirking.” She was shaking her head in disbelief.

  “I didn’t do a thing, but it couldn’t have happened to a better person.”

  “Simone, there are some things you just don’t do because God don’t like ugly. One day this is all gonna fall on your shoulders.”

  “Oh, please, Monique. I didn’t do anything, okay? And even if I did, if someone made a move on the bishop, you’d do worse. Besides, whose side are you on anyway?”

  “I’m not on anybody’s side—not when it comes to hurting someone. And need I remind you that me and the bishop are married?”