by E. N. Joy
“Mama, what are you doing here?” Doreen had been laughing it up and joking with her mother-in-law just seconds ago. Now she pushed her drink from in front of her and stood like a serious soldier on the front line. She did everything but salute her mother.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Mrs. Hamilton replied, turning her nose up as she looked around. “Well, when you shot up out of the sanctuary like that right in the middle of Bible Study, I got this god-awful feeling in my spirit, so I came looking for you.”
“Well, now that you’ve found her,” Willie’s mother stood, “can I offer you and your girls a drink?” she asked Mrs. Hamilton.
“I rebuke that offer in the name of Jesus!” Mrs. Hamilton stated, appalled. “I am the wife of a pastor; the first lady of the most successful and thriving church here in town. And as for these women standing next to me,” she nodded to each of her armor bearers, “neither they nor myself are anybody’s ‘girls.’ Grown women of God is who we are.”
“Well, do you grown women want a drink or not?” Mrs. Tucker offered once again.
Doreen’s mother cut her eyes at the complete disrespect Willie’s mother was showing her. She turned her attention to her eldest daughter. “Doreen, get your stuff and let’s go—right this instant.”
Doreen went to move, but her mother-in-law put her arm out to stop her. “The same way yous all are grown women, so is this one here.” Mrs. Tucker nodded toward Doreen. “And we were having us a nice little conversation before you all stormed up in her like yous the law or something.” She put her arm around Doreen. “We were bonding. I was teaching her a thing about how to deal with real life, in the real world. Not some make-believe world Holy Rollers have created and think that’s how life is supposed to be. Church is good for some folks. But the same way college ain’t for everybody, neither is church. You church people try to give other folks a false sense of hope and outlook on life. And don’t get me wrong—I ain’t got nothing against church, church folk, or even God Himself. Heck, I love God. The same way He’s blessed you to have a successful thriving church, He’s blessed me to have a successful thriving business.”
Mrs. Hamilton gave off a harrumph. “Then God’s Word is true. I guess He isn’t a respecter of persons.”
“You can quote as much Bible as you want, but when church is over, honey, real life begins. And if I were you, I’d get to teaching those girls of yours about real life. That way, a wretch like me wouldn’t have to.” She looked over at her daughter-in-law. “Excuse me, baby. It’s been real good talking to you, but there are customers I need to attend to.”
Doreen smiled at her mother-in-law, who, she had to admit, she’d had a wonderful time chatting it up with the past half hour—give or take. In just that small amount of time, Mrs. Tucker had taught her a couple of tricks on how to deal with a Tucker man.
“And remember what I told you, now, you hear?” Mrs. Tucker winked, then walked away, but not before saying to Doreen’s mother and her armor bearers, “Good evening, women of God. God bless you.”
One of the armor bearers whipped out some praying oil and began splashing it where Mrs. Tucker had sat and where she’d stood.
“Come on, Doreen, let’s go so we can talk in a better atmosphere,” Mrs. Hamilton requested.
Doreen was scared out of her wits. Sure she was a grown woman, but Mama was still Mama. No matter how old Doreen and her sisters got, her parents would always have some type of control and authority over their children’s lives. Maybe that right there was what the problem was Doreen surmised. Maybe what Mrs. Tucker had just said to her only moments ago was on point. Maybe she needed to cut the strings from her parents and what they expected of a preacher’s daughter and be what Willie expects of a wife.
When Doreen tried to complain about Willie’s gallivanting with other women, her mother-in-law acted like it wasn’t nothing but a thing. That’s when Doreen whipped those high heels out of her nice-size purse to show her mother-in-law proof. Her intentions had even been to go around that entire juke joint making every broad in sight try on those shoes until she found the gal they belong to.
“Then what? Then what you gon’ do, church girl?” Mrs. Tucker had asked her sarcastically. “You gon’ beat the girl up with ’em?”
Doreen sat looking dumbfounded because, actually, she had no idea what she’d planned on doing after she found the woman. “Uh-huh, I thought so. You being the perfect little Christian girl that you are wouldn’t have done a dang on thing but been able to put a face with a pair of shoes—a face that was going to haunt you forever.”
Doreen’s eyes began to water.
“Don’t you dare sit here and start crying.” She pushed Doreen’s drink closer to her. “Here, take a sip and get yourself together.” After Doreen did just that, she continued. “First of all, that broad ain’t married to you, ain’t said ‘I do’ to you, and don’t owe you no type of trust and loyalty. It’s your husband you need to take those issues up with.”
“I tried, but when I asked him about it, he played me like a fool.”
“Of course, he did. That’s what men do.”
“They play women like fools?” Doreen questioned.
“They don’t play all women like fools; only the fools who let ’em.” Mrs. Tucker repositioned herself in her seat. “So if you got a man who likes to play, don’t play the fool. Just play the game right back.”
“I ain’t going to hell for nobody.” Doreen looked horrified. “So if you saying I should turn around and cheat on my Willie—”
“Oh, relax yourself—looking like you about to catch the Holy Ghost up in here or something,” Mrs. Tucker said. “I’m just saying, if my son wants to try to play games, then you play right back until he loses.”
“I don’t understand.” Doreen looked confused as she took a sip of her drink, keeping her eyes on her mother-in-law the entire time so as not to miss a beat.
“Them high-heel shoes you got there,” she directed her eyes to the shoes, then back at Doreen, “put ’em on.”
“Huh? What?”
“You heard me. Put those dern shoes on and strut around in ’em like you the finest thang walkin’.”
“But I don’t wear—”
“This ain’t about you, gal; don’t you get it?” Mrs. Tucker proceeded to help Doreen take off the flat loafers she’d worn into the joint and put the heels on her feet.
“Ouch! They’re too tight,” Doreen complained once the shoes were on.
“Good. See how easy it was for you to fill that woman’s shoes? Obviously, you a size or two up on her, so it would be a lot more difficult for her to fill your shoes. Why, she’d fall right out of them.” Mrs. Tucker leaned in and said to Doreen, as if her life depended on it, “Don’t you ever, never, let no other woman fill your shoes. Now you keep those shoes on. Wear ’em home tonight. Even make sweet love to your husband in them shoes tonight. Let him know that no woman can, or will, ever fill the shoes of his wife. You got it, sweetheart?”
Strangely enough, Doreen felt encouraged as she replied, “Yes, ma’am,” crossing her legs so that one of her feet dangled about, showing off the heels. She’d almost forgotten all about the shoes until her own mother, who she was now having a conversation with, said something.
“And what on God’s green earth do you have on your feet?” Mrs. Hamilton said as she feigned faintness. Her armor bearers began to fan her. “Oh, in the name of Jesus, bless my child, Lord. Deliver her from the enemy that is trying to take over her life—the enemy that is trying to corrupt everything we’ve instilled in her, O God.”
The house band was still playing, but they were playing slow tunes that enabled the patrons to be able to somewhat hear what was going on between Doreen and her mother. Embarrassed, Doreen said softly to her mother, “They’re shoes.”
“Huh? What did you say?” Mrs. Hamilton asked.
“They’re shoes,” Doreen repeated.
“I can’t hear you.”
&n
bsp; “Ma, they’re shoes!” Doreen yelled, and it just so happened to be when the band had finished up the song. So there was dead silence—all except Doreen yelling at the top of her lungs about her shoes. This caused all those who could to draw their attention to Doreen’s shoes. Doreen then tried to say with confidence and a little more softly, “They’re just shoes, Ma.”
“You dang right they’re shoes, but not any old shoes. Those are seventy-five dollar shoes, and they belong to my wife. Cost me a day’s pay almost, so I was fit to be tied when she told me someone lifted them from her.” Out of nowhere this gentleman appeared behind Mrs. Hamilton and her armor bearers. He squeezed through the women and walked up close to Doreen and got a real good look at the shoes before pointing at Doreen and yelling, “Thief! Somebody call the police now. I want this woman arrested.”
Chapter Thirteen
“What in the world is going on over here now?” Mr. Tucker asked. It really wasn’t until just tonight Doreen realized what a large man he was. Maybe he wasn’t. Standing around six foot tall, he was actually pretty average. But his tone tonight and just his aura altogether had made him appear larger than life.
“What’s going on is that one of your drunken customers is accusing my daughter of stealing,” Doreen’s mother said in her defense.
“Accusing my left toenail. She’s wearing the evidence.” The accusing man pointed to Doreen’s feet. “I bought those for my wife, and she said someone lifted them—someone right here in this here juke joint. Who knew the thief would be such a fool as to wear ’em right back up in here?”
By now Mrs. Tucker had made her way over and figured out what was going on. Ol’ Willie seemed to keep his distance though.
Doreen looked at her mother-in-law, her eyes yearning for Mrs. Tucker to help her out. Instead, Mrs. Tucker just gave her a look that said, “Ooops,” sucked her lips in, and crept away.
“I’m telling you, we’ve been running this place for years and ain’t never had no problems until you started bringing your wife around,” Mr. Tucker called out to Willie, who was now making his way over to all the commotion.
“Willie, this here is your wife?” the man asked Willie while pointing to Doreen. “As much money as you take from me playing cards, you can’t go invest in a pair of shoes for your woman? She got to run around stealing? What kind of man don’t take care of his wife?”
Willie’s body straightened out as his chest poked out. “Funny you should ask that last question, the one about what kind of man don’t take care of his wife.” Willie rubbed his chin, and his lips split into a mischievous grin. Both he and Doreen knew the underlying meaning to Willie’s statement.
“And just what are you trying to say?” the man asked, now sticking his own chest out.
Doreen didn’t like the fact that this man was challenging her husband one bit. And with the help of a couple glasses of wine, her level of boldness had increased even more. “What my husband is trying to say,” Doreen spoke up in her husband’s defense, “is that you’re the kind of man that don’t take care of his wife, because if you did, when I got home from church on Sunday, I wouldn’t have found her shoes in my living room and her crawling out of my bedroom window, and then hightailing it off my property.” Doreen went and stood by Willie proudly, snubbing her nose up at the man as if she’d just told him off. All the while she’d actually told on Willie, not to mention making herself look like the fool Mrs. Tucker had just warned her against being.
Willie shook his head, realizing the stuff was about to hit the fan now.
“Yous a liar,” the man spat at Doreen. He then looked at Willie. “Not only is your woman a thief, but she lies. Word around town is that you don’t have your broad in check. I guess the word is true.”
Instinctively, Willie went to swing at the man, but his father caught his fist midair.
“Oh, so you want to hit me?” the man taunted now that Willie’s father was holding him back and he didn’t fear immediate bodily harm. “You mad at me ’cause you married a klepto.”
“I’d rather be a klepto than a ho,” Doreen spat at the man.
“Doreen!” Mrs. Hamilton gasped at hearing one of her saved, sanctified, Holy Ghost-filled children use such language.
“I’m sorry, Mama, but it’s true. I caught his woman in my house with my husband,” Doreen declared. “She left these shoes in my living room—too busy escaping out the bedroom window, and that’s the truth.”
“Like heck it is!” the man roared, not wanting to face reality. “My wife would never crawl around with the likes of Willie Tucker.” He shot Willie, who was trying to wedge away from his father, a dirty look. “She’s much too classy for that.”
“Well, is she too classy for this?” And bam, there it was, the ram in the bush. Doreen held up a pair of purple with cranberry trim lace underwear that she pulled out of her purse. “I found these in the bush outside my bedroom window. Did your wife say somebody stole these too?” Doreen dangled the panties in front of the man’s face. Everyone around blushed with embarrassment. Willie was humiliated for his business to be put on Front Street like that in front of his parents and mother-in-law, no less. Doreen was the only one wearing a smile of victory on her face. No, the panties in the bush weren’t literally a ram, but at least now she couldn’t be accused of being a thief.
The man snatched the panties out of Doreen’s hands and began to fume as he stared down at them. “That no good, sorry excuse for a . . .” He let out a grunt, and then looked at Doreen. “Look, ma’am, I’m, uh, sorry, for, uh, you know, accusing you, and uh, well . . .” The man started to look heartbroken as he went from being angry to sad.
“It’s all right.” Doreen slowly removed the shoes from her feet and handed them to the man. “Tell your wife she’s got good taste.” Doreen looked at Willie, then back at the man. “But if I ever see her around my house or my Willie again, the next person who comes looking for those shoes are going to find them shoved up her a—” And on that note, Mrs. Hamilton flat-out fainted, with her armor bearers too late to break her fall.
“Cursing and drinking and carrying on. Honey, you should have heard her,” Mrs. Hamilton said to her husband while looking Doreen up and down. “You should have seen her.” She massaged her temples. “Wearing those hooker shoes, sipping wine, and did I mention cursing like a sailor?” She walked over to Doreen and laid hands on her head. “Satan, I rebuke you in the name of Jesus! Rise up out of my girl right now! Let her be!”
Mr. Hamilton walked over and pulled an overzealous Mrs. Hamilton away from his daughter. Doreen just stood in their doorway, now rubbing her own head. She’d never had a drink in her life, so that little bit of wine her mother-in-law had talked her into drinking was giving her a headache. Two of Doreen’s sisters stood on the steps witnessing everything, while baby Bethany slept in her bassinet.
“Girls, why don’t y’all take your mother into the kitchen and fix her some tea while I talk to your sister?” Mr. Hamilton ordered.
“Yes, Daddy,” the sisters replied in unison. Shortly thereafter, they made it into the kitchen with their mother in tow, leaving Doreen alone in the living room with her father.
“Well, Daddy, I think I better get going home,” Doreen said. “I just came to see if Mother was okay. She took a hard fall back there at the juke joint.”
“Okay, I’ma let you go in a minute,” he said, walking over to his daughter. “I know you need to get home and take care of that husband of yours. I mean, after all, you’re a wife now. You’re a grown woman.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Doreen agreed, although she didn’t feel like a grown woman at the moment. She felt like she was back in high school, had done something out of the ordinary like cut school or something, and was now about to get into hot water over it.
“But before you go, I just want to let you know that I love you and I am proud of you.”
That wasn’t what Doreen was expecting. She looked at her father with surprise. He wasn’t joking ar
ound or trying to use some type of trick psychology. He meant his words from the bottom of his heart. Doreen could see that. She could feel it. Doreen sniffed, and her eyes filled with tears. “I love you too, Daddy, but right now, there is no reason under the sun why you should be proud of me. Mama was right—I was a complete fool tonight. I was outside of myself and my ways.”
“No, dear, that’s not true. Tonight, you were exactly who you are. You were yourself.”
Mr. Hamilton noticed the puzzled look on Doreen’s face and continued speaking. “You were true to yourself and who you are. It was God’s ways who you were out of. Tonight, daughter, is the person who you are when you step out of God’s skin and allow your own flesh to cover you.”
Doreen broke down in tears.
“It ain’t pretty, is it? It doesn’t feel good being all exposed like that, does it?”
Doreen shook her head as she cried with heaving shoulders. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I know folks are gonna be talking up in the church. I never meant to bring you or Mama any shame, I promise.”
“I know, sweetie.” He walked over and embraced his daughter. “And you don’t owe either me or your mama an apology. All you owe one to is God. Just repent, baby, and you know that God will forgive you.” He held Doreen a few more moments while she was able to get herself together. “And when you repent, mean it, and don’t repeat your wrongdoing.”
“Yes, Daddy, I’ll repent,” Doreen assured him, pulling away from him and wiping tears. “I’m just so blessed to have such a wonderful father and role model of a man,” Doreen cried. “I’m even more blessed that I serve such a forgiving God; a God who can forgive me for my sins and actions.”
“Hallelujah,” Mr. Hamilton agreed as Doreen turned to exit the house. “But just keep in mind, daughter, that even though God forgives us for our actions and sins, there are still consequences.”