Good to Me

by LaTonya Mason

  “Thank you, Michael.” She looked out the window. She needed to erase today’s event from her mind. She prayed Psalm 91:2 silently. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: My God; in Him will I trust.

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  Attempting to regain her composure she replied, “I was just thinking of a good way to tell you about my friend.”

  He looked disappointed. “A male friend?”

  “Oh no, Sister April Cloud.”

  “Oh yes, the light-skinned young lady you’re usually with in church?”

  “Yes, her.”

  “What about her?” He laughed like he was getting ready to hear a good joke.

  “She would die if she knew I was breaking it to you like this. But, she likes you.”

  His smile changed into a frown. “Oh. So that’s why you’re always so short with me?”

  She laughed heartily and relaxed a little more now that the attention was off of her. Ignoring his question she started talking about April. “April is beautiful inside and out. She has a wonderful spirit. I couldn’t have asked for a better armor bearer. I’ve known her for five years, and she has never been anything other than a woman of prayer and faith. You’ll really like her when you get to know her.”

  “What if I told you that I’m not interested in getting to know her?”

  Charity sat silently for a moment. “You’re entitled to that,” she laughed. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t keep trying to get you two together.”

  He looked like he was enjoying the conversation. “Do you know what she likes about me?”

  “Yes, she thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread. She’s always talking about how fine you are and how nice a smile you have. How articulate and refined you are. When you preach, she hangs on every word you say. And when you sing, the girl squirms in her seat. She adores you.”

  He blushed. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “About me?”

  “I think you guys would make a good couple.”

  “I’m not letting you off that easily. I meant what do you think about me?”

  She went straight into her detached therapist’s mode. “I think you are a very nice young man whom I would recommend for my best friend.”

  “Oh, that’s cold.”

  “What?” She blushed.

  “So, there is no way you would consider getting to know me for yourself?”

  “Okay, I say this respectfully, so I pray that I don’t offend you. I think you’re a very nice man and Pastor King speaks highly of you, which is commendable. But my best friend likes you, so I would never consider you for anything except a boyfriend for her. Now, how about some music?” She moved to turn on his radio. “I like this song.” She bobbed her head to The Cross Movement’s “Cry No More.”

  He turned the music down. “I apologize if I offended you and I understand your position. So, let’s start over… What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a therapist.”

  “And I bet you’re a good one, too.”

  For the rest of the ride to the banquet, laughter and conversation came easily for the two of them. They talked about their childhoods, college experiences, dating, marriage, and ministry. They were both surprised to learn how much they had in common. Charity was more convinced than ever that he’d be perfect for April.

  The evening had not come soon enough. Iesha needed a night out on the town after surviving the week she’d had. A run-in with DSS on Monday, the home inspection yesterday, and the hurt she’d caused her sister today made her court hearing victory bittersweet. Her case was closed and a night out would be the best way to celebrate. During the home inspection, Ms. Styre, the social worker, had worked her last nerve. Iesha refused to believe that checking the refrigerator for food, the stove to see if it was working properly, and the bathroom for toiletries, was really a part of the procedure. She was just being nosy. Now I know why all of those social workers were killed a couple of years ago in Rowan County. Barging into people’s houses. Iesha knew the woman was just doing her job, but some things were ridiculous. Like the fact that she noticed the empty beer bottles in the recycling bin. She didn’t have any business looking in there. Iesha knew she didn’t believe her story about her relationship with the kids’ fathers and how they just dropped by whenever they felt like it. She even explained to her that she had just gotten saved and no longer drinks. Ms. Styre listened patiently and appeared to understand but Iesha easily tired of all of her questioning.

  She surveyed herself in the full-length mirror, turning this way and that, to get an all-around view of her red halter dress. She was smoothing it out at her hips with her hands when the phone rang. She figured that it was Wallace, and he’d probably be calling for better directions. Even though she grew up in Charlotte, she was terrible at giving directions.

  “Hello?” she greeted in her sexiest voice.

  “Hello, may I speak to Iesha?”

  She paused before answering because she did not recognize the voice. She got suckered into paying a debt one time when a smooth-sounding brother from a creditor she owed called her. She couldn’t bring herself to cuss him out like she had done his predecessors. “This is Iesha. Who’s this?”

  “Hey you. It’s Terrence.”

  Pretending she did not remember she asked, “Terrence?”

  He chuckled. “I’m sorry. That was pretty presumptuous of me to think you’d remember. We met on Tuesday when I delivered flowers to your sister at the office.”

  “Ohhhhh yeah,” she made her voice go up a few octaves. “I remember now. What are you up to?”

  “I know this is very last minute, but I’m over here starving and I wanted to know if I could take you to dinner with me.”

  Disappointed, she answered, “Oh man. I’m on my way out the door going to dinner.”

  “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you dating anyone?”

  “Not really.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “This is the first time that I’ll be going out with this person.”

  He sounded more upbeat. “Good. I won’t feel so bad when you decide to leave him for me.”

  From her window she could see Wallace getting out of a black Lincoln Navigator.

  “Well, I gotta go. He just pulled up.”

  “May I ask you another question?”

  “Ter-rence,” she whined.

  “Is he saved?”

  “I don’t know but I’ll find out.”

  “That should always be your first question.”

  “Okay, Daddy. Thanks for the tip.”

  “I’m not trying to preach. I just want you to know that you won’t know what you’ve been missing until you get with a saved man. If you’re not too busy, will you call me tomorrow?”

  The doorbell rang. “Yes. I’ll call you tomorrow. Good night.”

  She hung up before he could respond. “I’m coming,” she called, loud enough to be heard through the door.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” Wallace greeted with a kiss on the cheek.

  If it weren’t for Terrence’s comment about saved men, she probably would’ve enjoyed the greeting much more than she was able to now. “Hey. I’m ready. Should we be leaving?”

  He looked at his watch. “Yeah. Our reservations are at seven and we might have to fight dinner traffic.”

  Wallace grabbed her coat and held it up for her to slide into.

  Chapter 18

  TONIGHT, CHARITY WAS SO PROUD to be a board member for the Grace House. Guy and Angel, the program directors, had done a lot with a little to give this fund-raising banquet. Because of their charm, ability to work together, and good reputation in the community, many people came out to support their cause. Charity spotted the city’s first black mayor, a black television news anchorwoman, and several other prominent black Charlotteans.

  Charity and Ministe
r Adams walked into the ballroom. It was tastefully decorated in black and silver. Everything was perfect. She was sure that other board members were just as pleased to see how much their hard work paid off. They solicited donations from several local businesses. The African House loaned the black wrought-iron centerpieces for each table. The Charleston House Restaurant catered the food for free. The Northwest School of the Arts would be performing between recognitions, awards, and speeches. Afterward, DJ EZ Ice would provide music for dancing.

  “This is absolutely wonderful!” Charity beamed as an usher escorted her and Minister Adams to the table reserved for board members.

  “It is,” he replied. “How long have you served on the board?”

  “Two years. I’m the secretary and grant writer.”

  “You must be proud.” He pulled out the seat for her.

  “I am. This is an excellent turnout for our first fund-raiser. The directors are tithing 10 percent and giving another 10 percent in a scholarship to a high school senior. That person should be here tonight.”

  “Praise God.”

  They both looked up when they heard a light commotion. Guy and Angel were walking toward them and bantering back and forth. When Charity and Angel made eye contact, they both squealed in delight.

  Charity turned to Minister Adams. “These are the directors, Guy and Angel. They fight all of the time.” They both stood up to greet them.

  “Charity, you look fabulous dah-ling,” Angel said dramatically before hugging Charity.

  “Merci, mon ami.” Charity stepped back to get a better look at Angel’s purple and blue sparkling cocktail dress. “Très jolie.”

  Guy smiled and started singing, interrupting them with a popular tune.

  “Hello, Guy.” Charity hugged him to stop him from getting louder. He was getting into his song and starting to dance. “Angel and Guy, this is a dear friend of mine, Minister Michael Adams.”

  Angel hugged him and Guy shook his hand. “Charity’s told me a lot about the Grace House. I’m honored to be here with her tonight to support you and your cause.”

  “Thank you,” they replied in unison. Angel winked at Charity and slightly pulled her aside. “Girl, he’s a keeper. You better hold on to him.” Angel dismissed Charity’s motherly look, turned to Guy, and said, “Come on, it’s about time to do the welcome.”

  Charity and Michael returned to their seats. “She’s a good woman,” Michael smiled. “And she gives godly counsel.”

  “So, you heard what she said?”

  “Yes, you better hold on to me.” Then he leaned over closer to whisper in her ear. “It’s okay with me if you introduce me as Michael, rather than Minister.”

  She fanned herself with the program she held in her hand. His being so close to her neck and ear sent a wave of heat through her body. Afraid of what she might say, she nodded and took a sip of ice water. Jesus keep me near the cross. She relaxed when other board members joined their table.

  Charity and Minister Adams talked during the banquet as easily as they did during the ride. She didn’t know he was so silly. He joked about everything from people’s outfits to the tough pork loin and rubbery green beans. Charity laughed politely at his comments. But when a woman tripped on the stairs leading up to the stage and Minister Adams said, “And God is able to keep you from falling,” her hand across her mouth could not contain the spray of iced tea she spat.

  She wiped her mouth and dress with the linen napkin and tried to stifle her laughter long enough to apologize. “Stop it! And pay attention!” she demanded, and playfully hit Minister Adams on his knee. She could see that it was a struggle for him to be quiet. Every now and then he leaned over to her, caught himself, and leaned back in his chair. She commended him with a thumbs-up.

  “La—dies and gentle—men,” the DJ announced like a circus ringmaster. “It’s time to get your dance on and I’m your DJ for tonight, DJ EZ Ice. We’re going to be jamming to some old school beats. I’ll be taking requests in a little bit. By the way, if you have not yet given your donation, it’s not too late. There are several ushers with baskets circulating through the crowd. Give your contributions to them. Make sure they are real ur-shers please. The ur-shers are dressed in white shirts and black pants. Do not, I repeat, do not give your money to someone who is in a suit or formal gown. Those are not ur-shers, those are thieves.” The audience laughed. “Here’s a tune that’ll get you to giving.”

  The O’Jay’s’ “For the Love of Money” echoed through the ballroom and transformed the quiet, composed audience into a hands-raised-in-the-air, body-swaying crowd that rushed the dance floor like church folks in an all-you-can-eat buffet line. The incandescent lighting was replaced by floating circles of red, green, and blue lights.

  Charity was writing a check when Minister Adams turned to her. “I hope you dance.”

  “Here?”

  He looked at her like she was speaking French again. “Yes. I’m a minister, but I think God knew that even before He gave me the gift of dancing.”

  “I know we can dance, but should we be dancing to that?”

  “How old were you when that song came out?”

  Charity thought about it for a few seconds. “I don’t know, a toddler maybe.”

  “Okay, so when you hear it, does it bring up any negative thoughts or feelings?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll join me on the dance floor.”

  She remained glued to the chair.

  He leaned in closer to her so she could hear him over the music. “Charity, we are in the world, but not of it. As people of God we must find a balance in all things. Scripture says that an unbalanced scale is an abomination. Yes, most secular music has sensual messages, beat, and tempos, but some do not. The most important thing you can do to determine whether or not you should listen or dance to a secular song is to see what effect it has on your spirit. Now if they play Jodeci, 2 Live Crew, or Snoop Dogg and the Dogg Pound, we need to leave. Because you don’t want to see the old Michael.” He laughed. “He was a play-ah from the Him-a-lay-ahs.”

  Charity laughed too. “Okay, but if I embarrass you out there, I don’t want to hear it.”

  He took her hand and led her first to an usher to deliver their donations, and then to the dance floor. When he found an empty spot, he turned around to face her. He was doing a simple two-step move.

  Charity followed his lead, except that she moved more stiffly than a candidate being led to a baptismal pool full of cold water. All kinds of questions went through her mind. When did I get so stiff? Why am I so uncomfortable? Is this really okay? She then thought back to her college days when she was the life of the party. Parties didn’t get started until she arrived. She would easily move to the center of the dance floor and dirty dance with the best of them. Men would leave their partners and stand in line to dance with her. The whole crowd would clear out and watch her as she danced with each and every one of them. The more the crowd cheered, “Go Cherry, Go Cherry,” the more she rolled, gyrated, or lowered herself to the ground.

  “Are you okay?” Minister Adams yelled over the music.

  She nodded. She thought of what Michael said earlier about dancing being a gift. She got angry at herself for not being able to move freely now when she used to dance like a fool. When Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough” came on, she loosened up a little. Minister Adams smiled in approval. By the third song, they were dancing like partners. Cheryl Lynn’s “To Be Real,” one of Charity’s old favorite songs, began to play, and she chuckled when she remembered how she used to dance with her back turned toward her partner and her behind in his groin. I cast that down in the name of Jesus. That was her sign that she needed to sit down. She told Michael that after this song, she wanted to go back to the table. But the DJ slowed the music down and played The Moments’ “Love on a Two-Way Street.”

  “You gotta dance with me on this one,” he pleaded.

  Charity liked the song,
too, so agreed. They kept a safe distance. Minister Adams closed his eyes, and she wondered what he was thinking. She studied his facial features. He was cute, not necessarily handsome. He always kept his small Afro neatly combed and cut. She liked his sideburns. His caramel complexion was smooth, and his lips were full. She dropped her gaze when he opened his eyes.

  He watched her intensely. At one point she held his gaze. “Never look a man in the eye if you don’t want him to know what you’re thinking,” he told her.

  She led him off the dance floor without saying anything to him. When they got to the table, she sipped her water; they rested at the table until the program was over.

  Iesha was not used to having doors opened for her. She had already gotten out of the car by the time Wallace got around to the passenger side.

  “Oh no, let’s try this again,” he said. “Tonight, it’s all about you.”

  She climbed back into the Navigator. He opened the door and took her hand to lead her out of the vehicle and into the restaurant. CAMPANIA. Iesha read the sign to herself. Wallace opened the door for her and took her jacket. The host welcomed them and greeted Wallace by name. Iesha sat in the chair that Wallace held out for her. She was smiling so hard her cheeks ached.

  “I hope you like Italian,” Wallace checked. “Campania is the best Italian restaurant in the city.”

  “If the food is half as good as the ambiance, I’ll agree.” She looked around and admired the golden walls, rich wood, and candlelight. The starched white table linen and extensive set of silverware made her nervous. She wished she could remember the etiquette she and Charity learned in charm school.

  “The food is exquisite,” Wallace continued. “Probably as authentic as you can get.”

  The server arrived and informed them of the chef’s recommendations for the evening. Wallace listened intently and moaned after each suggestion. Iesha studied the menu, trying to find out what the server was talking about. That’s when she noticed the prices. She gasped. She put her hand over her mouth, imitated the sound, and made her body jump. “Hiccups,” she explained to both the server and Wallace. The cheapest thing on the menu was a six-dollar salad. She entertained herself by trying to pronounce the dishes, Linguine Posillipo and Gamberi Mergellina. She thanked God for the descriptions under each entrée.