My Word_Interior.indd

by Gizelle Bryant

have I checked on the inventory of clothes and I want to give

  a report about that, but I’ve spoken to several schools.”

  Cecily’s mouth snapped shut in shock as if she couldn’t

  believe I’d interrupt her with some nonsense about the

  business at hand. And the rest of the First Ladies glared at me as if I’d taken away their toys on Christmas morning. “I just

  thought you’d want to know,” I continued, not moved at all

  by their expressions, “that several schools are really interested in us bringing the program to them, especially Morton High

  School.”

  “Morton!” Cecily pressed both hands against her chest,

  leaned back and cackled. “This is rich. You know Morton is

  where their daughter goes to school. She’s in the eleventh

  grade and I heard she was the one who drove her mother to

  that trick’s house.”

  The women gasped and I sighed. How in the world had

  Cecily diverted my diversion and taken us right back to the

  gossip? Now that was a gift that I was glad I didn’t have.

  “And now,” Cecily continued, “everyone in her school is

  talking about how her mama tried to cut her daddy over at

  the side piece’s house. Lord hammercy.”

  The room filled with a bunch of side conversations and

  all I wanted to do was grab my bag and walk out. I’d done

  that before, which was why Cecily wasn’t the only one in

  this group who didn’t like me. When it came to me, the First

  Ladies Council was split in half: there were those who didn’t

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  like me, and those who told me about the ones who didn’t

  like me. If it were not for First Lady Sonya, I would have been voted off this island a long time ago. Though I wasn’t worried about that. My concern, at this point, was that I didn’t jump

  off and swim away from the island myself.

  For four years, it had been that way. Every time I left, I

  said I wouldn’t be back. But I always returned because of the

  conversation I’d had with my mom after that first meeting...

  “I can’t do it, Mom,” I said, pacing in my bedroom as I adjusted my earphones to make sure my mother would hear me through the microphone. This was just another example of how I really needed my mom in D.C. with me. I said, “There is no reason for me to go back there and subject myself to that vitriol.”

  I heard my mother’s chuckle and I imagined her sitting at her vanity, putting on her making as she prepared to play bridge with a group of women that she’d met in Dallas.

  “Sweetheart,” my mother began, “you know you sound a little like Jasmine with the way you’re whining.”

  “Ugh!” I bounced onto my bed and folded my arms.

  My mother chuckled again before she said, “Sweetheart, I

  wouldn’t exactly classify being served lunch last as vitriol. It’s just nonsense.”

  “Do you know why I was served last? Do you know where

  they sat me, Mom?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said. The evenness of her voice was meant to keep me calm, but I was on fire. “Why don’t you tell me?”

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  “It was horrible. I wasn’t even at the table with them. It had been set for fourteen, yes, but clearly, they could have moved over and made room for me some kind of way. But no.” I deepened the fold of my arms. “I sat at this little side table. Like the kiddy table we used to have at Grandmama’s house for Thanksgiving.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

  “It was.” This time, I did whine. “This was a First Ladies luncheon and I’m a First Lady. First Lady Sonya invited me.

  She’s been after me to join for all these years. But yet, when I get there, they all took one look at me and then....”

  I paused.

  My mom picked up for me. “And then, they treated you like

  Cheryl Smith.”

  It shouldn’t have amazed me, but it did. Even over the miles, my mother could detect my issues. I was thirty-two years old and still the mention of that name made my fingers curl into fists. I guess just about everyone had their bully and Cheryl Smith had been mine. She’d followed me through the hallowed halls of Charles Drew middle school, shouting out to anyone who would listen,

  “Ginger Allen thinks she’s cute.”

  That was what she was saying when she wasn’t shoving me

  against the lockers or sticking out her foot when I passed by, hoping to trip me. For a year, I’d put up with her harassment that was accompanied by sneers and snickers from other kids. My first year in middle school had been miserable until....

  “But remember what you did to Cheryl?”

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  My eyes widened when my mother interrupted my thoughts

  with her question. “You think I should take off my earrings and fight those women?”

  Without waiting a beat, my mother said, “Yes.”

  “Mom!”

  “But not physically,” she clarified. “You have to stay in there and fight with your heart, fight with your mind. You’re the First Lady of one of the major churches in Washington, D.C.. They know this and with time, they’ll treat you that way.”

  “Ugh!” I groaned. “Why does it feel like I’m always fighting?”

  “You’re not always fighting. You didn’t have any issues at Xavier.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I paused. “Because my best friend would have handled it. She would have shut it all down.”

  Now my mom laughed out loud. “You got that right. That’s

  Dru, true till the end. But this is nothing new, sweetheart. You’ve always had your distracters; you can handle it.”

  I released another moan. “I don’t know how you did it. I don’t know how you dealt with this for so long.”

  She paused as if she wanted to give me a thoughtful answer.

  “Well, for starters, we didn’t have all of this co-mingling between churches, so I didn’t interact with a lot of First Ladies. I do understand, though, the need for the Council because the way everything is set up now, you ladies need the support of one another. This journey is certainly not for the weak or weary and it becomes very lonely. It’ll be good to have women you can talk to who are going through the same kinds of challenges. These women

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  will understand what it means to be married to a pastor and they may be able to give you ideas that I can’t even give you.

  “It’s going to be great for you to form a friendship with them because the female members of the church are a different breed.”

  There was just a hint of her tone becoming deeper. “They can be callous and cut-throat and when it comes to the pastor...” Her words trailed off, but she didn’t have to say more. I’d seen her struggle, I knew her story. And even as good as my dad had been to her, the disrespect from the women had squeezed my mother’s heart until the day my father died.

  “Anyway, this is what you have to remember.” She paused as if she wanted to make sure I heard her words. “Allen blood runs through your veins, honey. And we Allens do not allow anyone to run us off anywhere, especially not women.” She stopped again.

  “You belong there, young lady. You belong in that group because you have too much to offer. Just like the youth that Jeremy brings to New Kingdom, you’re going to bring fresh ideas to the First Ladies Council. They are so blessed to have you and by the next meeting, they will all realize this.”

  I smiled. My mother was right. This had been one meeting.

  Surely, once the First Ladies got to know me, they would come to love me....

  “It’s so tacky that she would be fighting the other woman.”

  I turned my attention back to the conversation and Cecily

  was still dragging on.
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  I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew what I was about to

  do would add up to another notch against me, but I didn’t

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  care. When I walked out that door, they could vote me out.

  Because when I signed up for the First Ladies Council, this

  wasn’t what I expected, nor was it what I wanted.

  I was out!

  d

  I’d waited a few minutes, but then, I really couldn’t take

  it anymore. No one seemed to even notice that I’d stood up.

  Or maybe it was just that no one cared.

  “Yes,” Cecily said, “and from what I heard, he’s been

  sleeping at the church. Too scared to sleep at home ‘cause

  you know they’re from Forrest City, Arkansas, the same city

  where Al Green was born. And we all know what happened

  to Al Green.”

  A bunch of affirmative hums rolled through the room at

  the same time that I rolled my eyes. Just as I scooted my chair away from the table, the door to the private conference room

  busted open and First Lady Rena Bradley stumbled inside.

  The other ladies gasped, I froze. It was because of the way

  Rena looked: Eyes puffy, hair disheveled. And what was that

  she had on? Not that I was being critical of her wardrobe.

  It was just that the First Lady of Knotting Hill Missionary

  Baptist Church was a walking billboard for Vogue Magazine.

  From casual to chic to after-five, Andre Leon Talley should

  have had her on the payroll.

  But today, she wore a cotton shift, the kind that my

  grandmother used to wear—when she was cleaning her house.

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  Rena’s dress, her eyes, her hair...all together, it almost looked as if she’d been beaten.

  I was already half-way standing, but now, every woman

  in the room joined me. With an agility that surprised me

  for a sixty-three-year-old woman, First Lady Sonya reached

  Rena first.

  “Sweetie, are you okay?”

  Before Rena could respond, Sonya had her arms around

  the woman. Rena, who was already rail-thin, looked so frail

  now as Sonya led her to the chair where she’d been sitting.

  This had to be bad—Sonya never gave up her seat at the

  head of the table. As Rena settled in the chair, Sonya knelt

  next to her while the rest of us stared in disbelief.

  Rena’s head was lowered, her eyes on the shriveled up

  Kleenex in her hand. She uttered her first words, “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re obviously not,” Sonya said. She smoothed her

  hand over Rena’s hair, pushing it away from her forehead.

  “What’s going on, baby?”

  Rena dabbed at her eyes and took a deep breath before

  she lifted her head. Her eyes scanned the room as if she was

  taking attendance. For a moment, her eyes settled on Cecily

  and I wanted to shout out ‘Don’t say a word’.

  Before I could issue my warning, Cecily spoke up. “We’re

  family, baby. You can tell us anything because what we talk

  about here stays here.”

  A chorus of ‘Amens’ resonated throughout the room and

  I plopped back down in my chair. I had to press my lips

  together to stop myself from calling all of them liars.

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  But Rena must not have remembered how many times

  Cecily had shared someone else’s story with us, because she

  said, “It’s Monty.”

  When Rena said her husband’s name, Cecily scooted to

  the edge of her seat.

  “This was delivered to me this morning.” Rena pulled an

  envelope from her purse and handed it to Sonya.

  The First Lady took her own deep breath before she stood,

  though she didn’t move from Rena’s side. For a moment, she

  stared at the envelope as if she knew there was nothing but

  poison inside. When she opened the envelope’s flap, she

  pulled out what looked to be pictures, and she scanned the

  first one. Then, the second, and the third.

  Now, all of the women were on the edge of their seats, and

  even I began to wonder what was going? Sonya’s expression

  never changed, even when she stuffed the pictures back into

  the envelope.

  “Nuh-uh.” Cecily jumped from her seat and made it

  around the table to where Sonya stood like a guard over Rena.

  “You are not going to look at those photos and not tell us

  what’s going on.” She reached for the envelope, but Sonya

  held it out of reach of her grasp.

  “Really, Sonya?” Cecily crossed her arms. “What makes

  you think Rena doesn’t want us to know?” She turned her

  glance from Sonya to the rest of us at the table. And they

  all nodded as if they were part of her Amen corner. Cecily

  continued, “Seems to me, she came in here so that we could

  all see, I mean, so we could all support her, right?”

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  “Amen,” Cecily’s Amen corner sang out.

  Sonya stood steadfast, though she did turn her glance

  from Cecily to Rena. Rena’s eyes moved between Sonya and

  Cecily and after a couple of seconds, she nodded.

  Not a milli-second after that, Cecily practically snatched

  the envelope from Sonya’s hand. But unlike Sonya who’d tried

  to protect Rena’s privacy, Cecily flipped open the envelope

  and spread all the pictures across that end of the table.

  The gasps, the oh-my-Gods, the lawd-have-mercies were

  immediate. Even I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening and

  my lips from parting in shock.

  The first picture was of a young boy, no more than maybe

  fourteen or fifteen. He wore an open pink button-down shirt

  that he’d tied at his waist. The boy’s head was tilted to the side and his eyes were rolled back in ecstasy—as Reverend Monty

  Bradley’s lips were against his neck.

  I pressed my hand against my chest, unable to turn away,

  even though I wanted to. But each picture was more risqué

  than the last, until finally, the last photo was of the boy and Reverend Bradley laid up in the bed—butt-naked.

  Closing my eyes, all I could do was shake my head. This

  was going to be another scandal that would rock the church.

  We’d had quite a few since Jeremy and I had come to D.C.

  Affairs, pastors embezzling money, even one who’d been

  involved in a laundering scheme that had something to do

  with celebrities and their tithes. The challenge when these

  kinds of things happened was that Jeremy always had to

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  address it from the pulpit. Because people, especially those not in the church, pointed fingers and lumped all pastors together.

  But right now my thoughts weren’t on what Jeremy

  would do. All I wanted to do was stand up and hug Rena.

  So, I pushed my chair back, moved to the head of the table,

  crouched down and hugged her. She sobbed into my shoulder.

  What surprised me was that no one else moved. Well,

  maybe not no one because Cecily’s lips began flapping.

  Cecily said, “You know this boy set this up.” She held up

  the first picture. “Look at these closely. In every one of these pictures, he’s posing for the camera.”

  “Unbelievable.”


  “Pathetic.”

  “Someone is always trying to bring down our husbands.”

  “You’re right,” Cecily said to the other women. “And what

  makes this so deplorable,” she continued as she stuffed all the pictures back in the envelope and then passed it around the

  table as if she wanted everyone to get a close up view, “is that these people who do this to our men are only doing this for

  money. It’s all about the Benjamins. Blackmail.”

  I stood up and glared at the women. What were they

  talking about? They were blaming the boy? I said, “No one

  would be able to blackmail anyone if the pastor hadn’t been

  in that bed with that boy.”

  “I just...” Rena began, speaking for the first time since

  Cecily had begun her blame-the-victim crusade. Tears trickled

  down her cheeks. “I just...I mean, he’s a boy.”

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  “Who probably told Reverend Bradley that he was

  eighteen,” Cecily countered as if she was Rena’s husband’s

  defense attorney. “And that means nothing because we don’t

  know how old that boy is. You know how it is with black

  folks. Men, women, young or old, you can never tel our age.”

  “So what are you saying?” I asked, facing Cecily directly.

  “If that boy is eighteen, are you saying that Reverend Bradley being in bed with him is okay?”

  My words made Rena sob and I wished that I could pull

  them back. But, it was difficult for me to turn to Rena because I wanted to make sure Cecily understood what she was saying.

  “Of course it’s not okay,” Sonya stepped in. Moving closer

  to Rena, Sonya asked, “Have you talked to your husband

  about this?”

  “No.” Rena sniffed. “These came this morning after he left

  for church. For the last few hours I didn’t know what to do;

  I’ve just been in bed. I didn’t even plan to come here, but...I just didn’t know what to do.”

  “Well you know what you need to do,” Cecily said. “You

  need to take those photos and before you leave this hotel, find someplace, somewhere to burn them.”

  “That’s right,” another First Lady shouted out.

  “Amen,” the corner began again.

  “What?” I said, the tone of my voice stopping all chatter.

  “She should burn them? Without her husband seeing them?”

  I paused and glanced at each of the women. “So then when