Up at the College

by Michele Andrea Bowen

  Gilead and Sam Redmond, satisfied that their work was done even if they were disappointed that Curtis had kept his cool, nodded, indicating that the meeting was over. Curtis picked up his briefcase and was on his way out when Jethro Winters, who had never learned how to read black people, opened his big mouth and said, “I would guess that the mere thought of buying one of your players another pair of 200-dollar athletic shoes is pretty ominous about now, huh?”

  Curtis tightened his grip on the briefcase, hoping that would help him keep his hands from colliding with that white boy’s face. But God gave him the strength to keep himself in check. He remembered that Jethro loved to race-bait. The room was tense. Gilead and Sam Redmond had just closed their eyes praying that Jethro wouldn’t say another word. Because if he said anything else about those athletic shoes, one of the two of them was going to put a 500-dollar shoe right up the crack in his behind.

  Curtis opened the door, said, “Gentlemen,” and walked out. At first he was real upset over what had transpired. And then, miraculously, God placed the words of Psalm 37, one of his favorite psalms, in his heart. Curtis was strengthened and encouraged when he remembered: “Those who are evil spy on the godly, waiting for an excuse to kill them. But the Lord will not let the wicked succeed or let the godly be condemned when they are brought before the judge.”

  He didn’t have to worry about any of that, God would be right there working it all out on his behalf. Curtis glanced down at his watch and hurried out of the building to his car. He eased into the plush leather seat, turned on the ignition, slipped in a gospel jazz CD by Jonathan Butler, and pulled off. It didn’t take him long to reach Highway 40.

  Curtis started to relax and then tensed back up when he happened to look in the rearview mirror and saw blue lights flashing and headed in his direction. He moved out of the far left lane to let the cop pass him by, hoping for the best. His heart sank all the way down to the bottom of his feet when the car moved with him, as if on cue. Curtis drove for another couple of minutes and then pulled all the way over when it was clear that those blue lights were flashing for him and him alone.

  Curtis opened the glove compartment to get his registration, and then raised up to get his driver’s license out of his wallet in his back pocket. This had been some day, and it just kept getting worse. A part of him wanted to call Maurice and ask him to tell Reverend Denzelle Flowers that he was not going to be able to make the Friday-night service held every month at Denzelle’s church, New Jerusalem Gospel United Church. He rolled the window down.

  “License and … Coach? Dawg, that you driving like a bat out of Hell on my highway?”

  Curtis rolled the window all the way down and stuck out his hand. He couldn’t believe that it was Reverend Flowers’s brother, Officer Yarborough Flowers. He said, “Man, I am trying my best to get over to your brother’s church for the service, and it just ain’t working for me this evening.”

  “That’s right,” Yarborough said, “Denzelle wanted you and Maurice there as special guests tonight. He called and asked if I could make it. But as you can see, I have to keep watch on a few negroes with some heavy feet.”

  Curtis laughed and handed Yarborough his license and registration card. Yarborough handed it back to him. He said, “Coach, I wasn’t supposed to tell you this because it was to be a surprise. But God laid it on my brother’s heart to get the church to raise money for you and the team. He said that God told him you would need it, and they have a check for 18,776 dollars waiting for you at New Jerusalem. So you go on and please slow down. I’ll call Denzelle and let him know you’ve been delayed and will be there as soon as you can.”

  Curtis clasped Yarborough’s hand and nodded in thanks. He was glad that Yarborough had to hurry off, because if he’d stood there a minute longer he would have seen the tears streaming down Curtis’s cheeks. Gran Gran kept telling him that God was an amazing and wondrous God. And right now he was bearing witness to it. His budget was about to be cut by 13,000 dollars, and God had already taken care of the deficit, with surplus to boot.

  “Thank you, God,” Curtis whispered and pulled up a handful of napkins from McDonald’s to wipe his face. He laughed. Maurice had once seen the stash of Mickey D’s napkins trying to masquerade as tissues and said, “You are such a negro, Curtis man.”

  He relaxed and before he knew it was turning into the parking lot of New Jerusalem Gospel United Church. Maurice was pacing the parking lot, and waved him into the space they’d saved for him. Curtis jumped out of the car and followed Maurice into the church.

  “Man, Denzelle wouldn’t start the service without you. So the Praise and Worship Team has given a concert, and they were revving up for a finale when you drove into the parking lot. What took you so long?”

  “Gilead called just as I was getting ready to head over here and said that he needed to see me in Sam Redmond’s office. I’m looking at the phone wondering what this was about and if it could wait. Naturally, when I asked if I could come at another time, you know the answer was no. And get this, Maurice, when I get to Sam Redmond’s office, Sam Redmond, Gilead, and Jethro Winters—”

  “Jethro Winters,” Maurice said. “Why was he there? He has been getting chummier and chummier with Sam Redmond and Gilead, and that does not sit well with me. He’s on the board of trustees; there is no reason for him to be in a so-called budget-cutting meeting with you and the head of the Athletic Department. Something is real funky.”

  Curtis nodded. All of a sudden he felt tired and hoped he could make it through the service. As much as he loved his job, he wished he could do it without being bombarded with stuff that didn’t have anything to do with basketball. University politics at an HBCU could get as messy and ominous as the politics at church. And he hated it when someone’s personal agendas seeped over into an area of the university that was none of their business. But if it offered the means to the end they were working so hard to attain, then they would seep over to wherever they needed to be to get what they wanted.

  Curtis and Maurice walked into the vestibule of the church. Curtis had never been to Denzelle’s church and was impressed. It wasn’t as large as his church, Fayetteville Street, but it was a lovely and rather unusual pale pink stone structure. Reverend Denzelle Flowers hurried to greet Curtis and gave him a warm and welcoming handshake.

  “Man, my brother called me and let me know you were running late. Come on, before the Praise and Worship Team starts doing the remixes of their songs.”

  Curtis smiled and took note of the suit Denzelle was wearing. He said, “You’re kind of sharp there tonight, Preacher. If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get that suit?”

  Denzelle grinned and stroked his chin. “It is pretty sharp, isn’t it,” he answered, and pulled back the coat of the sea-foam-colored suit jacket with charcoal pinstripes to reveal a matching vest with shawl collar, sea-foam-colored shirt, and a charcoal tie with bits of sea foam and coral specks in it. The outfit spelled “preacher,” down to Reverend Flowers’s matching sea-foam slip-on gaiters.

  “But where’d you get it, man?” Maurice asked, wanting to know where to find some suits like that himself. He also wondered about the cost but had too much home training to ask. But he’d be able to find out, if Denzelle was willing to tell them where those suits were sold.

  “I got it wholesale from Mr. Booth,” Denzelle said, and gave a smooth wink to a sister with a butt that could only be classified as a bodunkadunk. She smiled and then giggled before saying, “Reverend Flowers, you so crazy.”

  Curtis shook his head and said, “Man, you are too much. You know you are doing nothing but asking for trouble.”

  “Dawg, I’m single just like you. I don’t even have a steady boo.”

  “But I’m a coach. You are a minister—a pastor, in fact. And man, I just don’t think it’s wise to be running around this church like that. You’re not dating any of the women in this church, are you?”

  Denzelle, who looked like a burnished co
pper version of the late Bernie Mack, got quiet and took a quick look around to make sure nobody was in earshot. He said, “Man, I’ve dated a few. Nothing serious. Just dinner, a jazz concert, good movie.”

  “Was it the same lady, or did you take one sister to dinner, another to a concert, and one more to a movie?” Curtis asked him, now concerned. He was a coach, and women liked to chase coaches just as they did preachers. He didn’t know why—it took a very special, secure, and wise woman to be married to a head coach of any visible sport. And to be the first lady of a church was an even more difficult job. Because unlike the coach’s wife, the pastor’s wife had to minister to her husband and serve in some sort of ministering capacity at the church.

  Denzelle grinned sheepishly. He knew he didn’t need to date those women in his congregation. His brother had been telling him that all he was doing was asking for trouble.

  “Uh … huh … thought so,” Curtis said. “Man, you need to check that and start praying and asking God to send the right woman in your life. You a man, with a man’s needs, and being up in here with all of these women willing to do any- and everything for the pastor is not a good thing for you, dawg.”

  “A disaster waiting to happen, is what it is,” Maurice said. He’d been watching all of the women vying for Denzelle’s attention, and none of them was someone he would have picked out for the good reverend. He wondered why the skoochies were so active when it came to trying to lock in on a brother. And he wondered why brothers always gave so much attention to those types of women, ignoring and neglecting the real jewels in their midst, and risking having to wake up next to a skoochie with a weave she wouldn’t even let you put your hands on in the heat of the moment.

  “Don’t be so rough on a brother, Maurice,” Denzelle said as he pulled out his wallet and gave the two of them business cards.

  “Oh, I know who this is,” Curtis said. “This is Miss Hattie Lee Booth’s brother-in-law. You know, Miss Hattie Lee, who is the cook at Rumpshakers. Charles had been telling me about him—said the brother had some sharp suits for a good price.”

  It took Maurice a moment to place Miss Hattie Lee because he had been to Rumpshakers on only one occasion. But he did know who she was because the lady could cook. He turned the card over in his hands. It read DAPPER DRESSING MEN’S WEAR, LOWELL BOOTH, PROPRIETOR. “What are his prices like?”

  “Like none you’ve ever seen. Mr. Booth has the best suits, ties, shoes, shirts, and the kind of hats we brothers like. His prices are so good because he doesn’t have a store. You can go to his house, where he has a room just for the merchandise, or he’ll bring it straight to you. Go on his website and check out his suits and the rest of his stuff. I think you’ll like what you see.”

  Maurice raised an eyebrow. If Mr. Booth was Miss Hattie Lee’s brother-in-law, he was in his seventies. And from the little bit he’d seen of Miss Hattie Lee, he just didn’t get the impression that this family was Internet-friendly.

  “He has a good website,” Denzelle said, fully understanding the question on Maurice’s face. He knew Mr. Booth, and he was definitely not the kind of old school brother who was interested in designing and running a savvy website. “Mr. Booth’s great-nephew, Miss Hattie Lee’s grandson Lil’ Too Too does the website.”

  Denzelle heard the Praise and Worship Team stop singing and start giving what he knew would be lengthy testimonies. He opened the door to the sanctuary and said, “We need to hurry and get into the pulpit. If Sister Doreene in the purple suede suit starts talking, we’ll never get out of here.”

  Maurice said, “I heard that,” when he spotted Sister Doreene in the purple suede church suit with the matching suede hat with hot pink suede flowers covering the entire brim. Miss Thing looked like she could concoct a testimony that would make Jesus give serious thought to making a trial run of cracking the sky, just so He could tell that girl to take a chill pill, and then go on back to glory to wait to the appointed time to come and gather up His saints.

  The three men walked down the side aisle and hurried up into the pulpit. Denzelle sat down in the pastor’s chair, right in the middle of the pulpit podium. Maurice sat to his left, and Curtis, who was very uncomfortable with the overall seating arrangement, was on Denzelle’s right. Curtis would have preferred to sit in one of the front pews with Trina and Yvonne, who he didn’t know was going to be here. But then again, maybe this was the best place to be. He had a full view of Yvonne and her every move—and that was a mighty blessed thing as far as Curtis was concerned.

  He took great pleasure in being able to look at Miss Lady in that pretty mint-green knit suit, with what Trina had once told him was a shawl collar, and a skirt that he just knew without seeing hugged every delectable curve on the baby girl’s body. What had started out as an upside of the rough side of the mountain evening was practically looking straight up to glory. Curtis sat back in his chair and smiled at Yvonne, who lowered her eyes, reminding him of how sweet and delightful an authentic church girl was. And while there were a good helping of churchgoing women in the sanctuary this evening, not all of them qualified to wear the title of church girl. Sister Doreene, for one, was anything but authentic. Her need to be seen and heard to the nth degree was proof of that, as far as Curtis was concerned.

  The church was packed for a Friday night. Maurice, Trina, and Yvonne had arrived early and were able to get good seats at the front of the sanctuary. The only drawback though was that they had to sit through the Praise and Worship Team too long. Sometimes the Praise and Worship Team leaders had trouble knowing when to bring a song to an end. This group sang one song for fifteen minutes straight, which really worked on Yvonne’s nerves. She was on the Praise and Worship Team at their church, along with Miss Baby Doll Lacy and Marquita Robinson Sneed. They knew how to usher in the Holy Ghost during the pre-service. And they also knew when it was time for a song to end and, even better, when it was time for them to go and sit down.

  And not only was this service packed, it was filled with a few very surprise guests. One of the most surprising was Charles Robinson, who Maurice later learned came for two very disparate reasons. One, Charles, who was a millionaire, and trying to find a way to the Lord without giving himself over fully to the Lord, wanted to help with Denzelle’s efforts to support the basketball team. He had written a pretty generous check and had given it to Reverend Flowers to add to the amount raised by New Jerusalem for the Fighting Panthers.

  And two, Charles wanted to be able to sit near Veronica Washington, whose divorce was scheduled to be issued any day. He could not understand why Veronica’s pending ex-husband, Robert, actually believed that Tracey Parsons, the woman he had left her for, was the way to elevate himself out of the muck and mire of being a lowlife and a jerk.

  Maurice was well aware, sitting in the pulpit watching Trina smile and wave at him, that Denzelle hadn’t called them over to Raleigh for their health—Reverend Flowers planned on making a difference in their lives as it related to their needs for the basketball team. That was one thing Maurice really liked about Denzelle, in spite of his skirt-chasing—the man had heart that led him to help so many people, groups, programs, and organizations in need. Plenty of folks around the Triangle had powerful testimonies about how the Lord used Reverend Flowers to help them when they were in dire need.

  Maurice and Yarborough were good friends, and they constantly lifted up Denzelle, asking the Lord to lead him to the right woman, and to give him peace with the time he was to spend with God alone while he waited on the Lord to point the girl out to him.

  Denzelle got up and smiled at his guests and favorite parishioners. Unbeknownst to many churchgoing folk, the favored members were not the most prestigious ones, or the ones with the most generous tithe checks. Folks forgot that the most noteworthy tithe in the New Testament amounted to a few pennies because it had been given with such faith and love.

  His favorite members were the ones who kept him lifted in prayer, forgave him when he fell short and had to
struggle with his battle with the flesh, and always treated him with the love of Christ blazing out of their hearts. They were people like Veronica Washington, L. C. and Lynette Smith, Kevin and Kimberly Wade, Timothy and Sheila Reed, and Marsha Metcalf, who was the only woman at his church who pulled at his well-guarded heartstrings, and she didn’t even know it. Charles Robinson was the only other brother in Durham who guarded his heart more fiercely than Denzelle did.

  “Praise the Lord, everybody!” Denzelle said, his heart getting warmer by the second at just the mere thought of the glory of the Lord. Contrary to public opinion, Denzelle Flowers loved the Lord but had a serious battle with being obedient to the Word of God when it came to the area of romance and what he could and could not do. He knew that for him marriage was the answer. God had placed that on his heart years ago when he asked for help after a horrific and embarrassing breakup with a woman Denzelle knew he was not going to marry the first time he went over to her house for dinner. God had told him then, and God kept telling him now, but the boy was just hardheaded when it came to matters of the heart.

  Denzelle glanced back at Coach Parker sitting in the pulpit looking like he hoped the Lord wouldn’t get him for sitting in a place he didn’t think he deserved to be. But as much as Curtis would have argued with Reverend Flowers over that decision, Denzelle knew that Coach had a right to be in that seat. Because Denzelle knew that Curtis had a deep hunger for the Lord, and that unlike Charles Robinson he wasn’t trying to barter and purchase his way to salvation. The only reason Denzelle had accepted that check for ten thousand dollars from Charles was to get him in church for a reason other than trying to mack on the sisters he himself didn’t have time for or any desire to be bothered with. This skirt-chasing was getting old, and Denzelle knew his days at his church, the church he had built up from nothing, were numbered if he didn’t repent and get himself together. His brother was right. It would be a sin to let that happen as a result of some trifling booty-call foolishness.