Yvonne surmised that the odds of her running into Jethro Winters in a setting where he’d be able to flirt with her were slimmer than her chances of being shot with a blowgun by a warlord from a South American rain forest. Yvonne didn’t know if she should ignore this white man or just smile politely and sit down. But Jethro Winters was not one to let a beautiful woman ignore him or give him the brush off with a polite smile and ladylike sit-down.
“Little darling,” he said in that low drawl that attracted every high-end, gold-digging skank in Durham County to him, “don’t you think a thank-you or something is in order?”
“Uh … thank you … uh … I think,” Yvonne said and put her plate on the table. She noticed that Curtis, who had been trailing behind her, was now at that table, taking off his coat.
Jethro, oblivious to the impending beatdown, smiled and adjusted one of his suspender straps. As much as he wanted that Regina, it had been a long time since a woman had captured his attention like this piece of rich milk chocolate. He loved chocolate, especially when it was all wrapped up in delicate baby blue. He’d bet some money that this woman was wearing baby-blue lace lingerie.
Jethro Winters’s wife, Bailey Catherine, started to get up, go over to that table, and snatch a patch of his moussed-up hair right out of his head. But she opted to keep her seat when the woman’s man came to stand by her side and started preparing for an altercation. If that big black fine representative of African-American manhood put his foot up Jethro’s behind, it would be the best entertainment she’d had in a long time.
Bailey absolutely did not appreciate her husband acting as if he was ready to take that exquisitely beautiful woman, dressed in that baby-blue suit to die for, upstairs to the hotel suite he didn’t know she knew he had. She didn’t know why he had persisted in the chase with this one. It wasn’t as if the woman acted like that hussy sitting at their table. This woman was clearly one of those goody-goody black church women. She did not like or want this kind of attention from her philandering husband, or any whorish man treating her with disrespect for that matter.
This girl was what her two black employees, Charmayne Robinson and Chablis Jackson, called “old school.” And she knew enough about traditional “old school” to know that this woman only wanted to hook up with a black man who was single and more importantly interested in serving God. Her husband wasn’t black, he wasn’t single, and he was about as interested in God as he was in doing his business honestly and above board.
Bailey didn’t know why she continued to put up with Jethro’s blatant infidelity. But then again, she did know—love. Bailey Catherine Fairfax Winters, a beautiful and wealthy woman in her own right, had fallen hopelessly in love with this old reprobate the very first time she laid eyes on him at Duke University. She’d been standing in the midst of several athletes laughing and flirting, when Jethro, who was on the football team, broke through the circle of basketball players to capture her heart with his smooth “What’s your name, darlin’?”
Jethro sighed longingly and smiled at just the thought of what he could do with all of that chocolate, especially if he got his hands on some whipped cream. Bailey studied him a few seconds, got furious, lost her cool, hopped up, and made a beeline for Yvonne’s table. Just as Curtis was getting ready to dust the floor with her husband, Bailey Catherine pulled out her checkbook and laid it on the table right in front of Jethro. He almost choked when Bailey picked up the checkbook and removed the cap of her platinum pen with tiny topaz chips sprinkled all over it.
The last check Bailey had written to get back at him for his cheating had been for over two million dollars. And if that had not been bad enough, she had given that money to his rival, Lamont Green, which was one of the two deciding factors enabling Green to win the contract from the Durham Urban Development Committee to rebuild what had once been the Cashmere Estates Public Housing Community—a place he would not have set foot in if his life depended on it when it was a flourishing neighborhood for low- and moderate-income families.
For years Jethro had sat back, practically rubbing his hands together in pure glee, every time something happened in the Cashmere that would push the political and economic powers in Durham to close it down. It didn’t matter to him that innocent families were suffering while the community deteriorated right before the city’s eyes. He didn’t care that mothers and fathers couldn’t even let their children play outside for fear of a gun battle between opposing drug cartels. Jethro certainly didn’t lose any sleep when the families left in the blighted development made desperate and heart-wrenching appeals to the public because they didn’t have anywhere affordable to go.
One day Jethro’s patience (along with a few under-the-table financial incentives to some well-placed folk) paid off and his dream of the community being dismantled finally came true. The Cashmere was closed down in the early 1990s and was allowed to further deteriorate until Green Pastures won the contract and started rebuilding in 2006.
He always blamed that series of unfortunate events on his wife’s money being improperly placed. But that wasn’t the only reason Jethro lost that contract. The second incentive to give that contract to Lamont Green’s company came as a result of the beatdown Bailey Catherine gave Jethro’s trailer-park hoochie, Patricia “Patty” Harmon, at what was supposed to have been a private work session between the Winters Corporation and the DUDC.
Bailey threw a right hook that was so deadly she knocked Patty Harmon out cold. The members of the DUDC knew they couldn’t give Jethro that contract as soon as Patty’s unconscious body hit the floor with a loud thud. And Patty, who was also a member of the DUDC, knew she wasn’t giving her soon-to-be ex-man that vote if her big, swollen-up eye and head depended on it.
“What is wrong with this crazy white boy?” Yvonne asked out loud, not caring who heard her.
“Girl, your guess is as good as mine,” Trina replied, not giving a hoot that these two rich white folks could hear every single thing that was being said. Jethro should have kept his trifling butt where he belonged—over at Sam Redmond’s table with all of those other unsaved, itching-to-hop-on-the-bullet-train-to-Hell heathens.
“The only thing I’ve ever been able to figure out is that he is a straight-up ho with Thirty-one-flavor Baskin-Robbins taste,” Rochelle said flatly.
Bailey started laughing. She’d seen Charmayne and Chablis play that game with folks they were pissed off with—blatantly and openly dissing them while they were standing in earshot of the conversation being held at their expense. She leaned over and started making a notation in her checkbook for 1,500,000 dollars. Jethro looked at that check and started choking. The money was coming out of the petty cash account he shared with Bailey. He turned red and hurried away from the table when Bailey tore the check out of her checkbook.
She said in a rich and sultry contralto voice that sounded like a smooth chord on the alto saxophone, “One of my most valued employees’ mom, Miss Shirley Jackson, once told me that there were times when the good Lord gave you ‘double for your trouble’ when somebody’s done you wrong. It took me a moment to place you, Ms. Fountain. But now I know you as the woman in charge of remodeling the day care center and the new hospitality building for the university’s alumni, booster club, and trustees. I liked your work and did a background check on you. Ms. Fountain, you are a classy woman, and you deserve a permanent position at Evangeline T. Marshall University.”
Bailey put the check in Yvonne’s hands.
“What’s this?”
“The seed money for the endowment fund for your new distinguished professorship—The Bailey Catherine Fairfax Winters Professorship in Interior and Exterior Design. I think that should give you peace of mind. And I believe there’s enough there to cover health insurance.”
Bailey reached out and hugged Yvonne. She had a whole lot of respect for a woman who had to go it alone after the breakup of her marriage, and yet refused to succumb to the okey-doke when men like Bailey’s own husband tried
to hit on her.
Yvonne grasped the check in her hand in complete shock. She didn’t know how to respond until she heard Lena Quincey say, “When God gives you a blessing you thank Him.”
Yvonne glanced at the check and then embraced Bailey. She was in tears—more at the miraculous, behind-the-scenes works of the Lord than anything else.
“Thank you, Mrs. Winters,” Yvonne whispered. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“No,” Bailey told her as she stepped back and collected her things off the table. “Thank you for letting me witness what a true woman of God looks like. Don’t change, Miss Fountain. God will bless you for being patient and faithful.”
Bailey walked off before the tears flooding her eyes started streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to stay with Jethro. Time was passing and life was too precious to waste it on foolishness. She picked up her scarlet cashmere wrap off the back of her chair at the president’s table and left. For the first time in months, Bailey felt peace in her heart. She now knew that the only reason she’d been sent to this university was to be a blessing to someone else.
Jethro reached out and grabbed her hand but she pulled it away.
“I have to go home” was all Bailey told him.
Everyone at the table had the question “why” plastered across their faces. But no one, not even her husband, dared to ask. That was the nice thing about being in the minority. Bailey could always make a move that was chalked up to her being rich, privileged, and white when she didn’t want to be asked or have to answer to anyone about her motives or behavior.
Jethro followed his wife but she hurried out of the banquet hall and hid in a corner so he couldn’t see her. When Bailey was confident that Jethro had gone back to his table, she went to their car and peeled off, not caring how Jethro was going to get home, that she was burning rubber on the expensive tires on his fancy brown Mercedes, or that she scraped the side of Gilead Jackson’s wife’s red Infiniti sedan.
“Serves that boring, Chatty Cathy hussy right,” Bailey whispered. “I never did like a dumb woman who talked too much—and about grass of all things. Not gardening—grass.”
Back in the banquet hall the DJ had finally finished setting up, and some smooth R&B sounds came through over the buzz of voices, silverware on china, the clinking of fine crystal glasses filled to the brim with champagne, and the rustling about of all of those finely dressed black folk. There was nothing like a gathering of dressed-up black people. The Ebony Fashion Fair paled in comparison to the real thing.
“Let’s see that check, Miss Yvonne,” Lena Quincey said as she pulled out a bottle of anointing oil and got up to anoint and bless that check.
Yvonne put the seven-figure check in Lena’s hand and waited for her response.
Lena smiled and said, “Praise God. We need to make sure that your pastor is here for this,” she told Yvonne as she pulled out her cell phone. She waited a couple of seconds and then said, “Baby, get over here. And bring Lamont, Maurice, James, and Terrence with you. Curtis is already with us … I can’t explain it on the phone. Put that food down and come on across the room to where we are … Yes, I see you.”
Curtis had not seen the check and wasn’t sure if it was right for him to ask to see it. Then he remembered Yvonne crying in her car earlier today and how he’d comforted her that things would be all right. He knew that it was okay to ask to share in this blessing.
“Baby, let me see the check.”
Yvonne opened it for Curtis and then passed it on to her sister, who had not seen the amount either. Both of them were in shock—a good shock but in shock nonetheless. Rochelle held her head back to steady those tears. She had been praying for God to do a mighty work in her sister’s life. Witnessing this was like catching a handful of manna from Heaven.
“Lena, what is so important that you had to separate me from Marquita’s shrimp?” Obadiah asked as he approached the table with Maurice, Lamont, James, and Rochelle’s friend Terrence Lockwood in tow.
“This,” Yvonne told him and put the check in his hand.
Obadiah did what he always did when one of his members, and moreover a friend, was the recipient of a miracle. He let his eyes flip up under his lids for a second, shook his head, and touched his heart. Then he tilted his head to the side, took Yvonne’s outstretched hands in his and said, “You are evidence that God takes care of His own, Yvonne. Now you know for yourself what a mighty God we serve and that He will not let the righteous be forsaken or begging bread.”
By now the whole table had gathered around Yvonne and Curtis, who didn’t realize that he was about to be blessed as well. Lena passed out two bottles of anointing oil and waited for everyone to put some oil on their hands, including Curtis and Yvonne. Obadiah laid a hand on both of their shoulders and began to pray.
“Lord, everyone standing here has read in Your Word how much You desire to bless Your righteous ones. We’ve read the words of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, that if we but have faith the size of a tiny mustard seed, we can cast a mountain into the sea. We know, because Jesus told us, that in this world we would have trials and tribulations. But despite that truth, He also instructed us to cheer up because He had overcome the world.
“We know that You answer prayers and we know that You want us to have life more abundantly, and to prosper even as our souls prosper. Well, Lord, we have watched this daughter of Yours come through the storm. And in spite of all of the high waves and fierce winds, she held on to Your hand and trusted You. And tonight, we see the fruits of her labors, the evidence of things that have been hoped for, for years. Bless Yvonne Maxine Fountain, Lord, in the name of Jesus.”
“In the name of Jesus,” Lena echoed.
“Bless her job, the check, and bless the establishment of her professorship right now, in Jesus’s name. We bind up, in the name of Jesus …”
“In the name of sweet Jesus of Nazareth,” Trina said.
“ … The enemy. Stop him dead in his tracks and do not allow him to do anything to cause any kind of problems with getting this all worked out. Dispatch Your angels, Lord, to go forth before Yvonne and work it all out right now, in the name of Jesus.
“Lord, thank you for answering our prayers concerning this situation. And thank You, Lord, for letting us see and experience the answer to these prayers in the land of the living, as You have promised us in Your Word.
“And last of all, Lord, we ask that You touch Coach Parker, anoint him with the Holy Ghost, and cover him with the blood of the Lamb of God. Touch and anoint every starting player on the team with the ability and wisdom to play that game with Bouclair College like they’ve never played before.
“Lord, let them play this game for Your glory, so that folks will know that You are ever-present and that just ’cause folks are on the court, doesn’t mean that You are not there. Bless Curtis and Maurice with this win. Clean house in their department and get rid of those other two assistant coaches who don’t need to be there. Get rid of those bad players. And bless them with favor and victory. Lord, we thank You, we praise You, we bless You, and we claim the victory in the name of Jesus, amen.”
Everybody lifted up their hands and said “Amen” loud enough to be heard and observed by folks at the tables close to them. But they didn’t care. They had just witnessed a miracle of biblical proportions, and the only thing left to do was to praise God and acknowledge Him as the Author of their fates.
“One-point-five million dollars to start your own professorship doing what you love,” Trina exclaimed. “Can it get much better than that?”
“I don’t know,” Yvonne said with a big grin spreading across her face, “but I’d sure like to see if it will!”
“Now that we’ve prayed and blessed and come back to earth, I want to know how all of this came about. I didn’t even know that you knew Bailey Winters, let alone well enough for her to want to sponsor something of this magnitude.”
“We
ll, Obadiah,” Yvonne began, “Mrs. Winters came and wrote that check because her husband wasn’t acting right.”
“Yvonne is not telling you the entire story, Obadiah,” Trina interjected. “Jethro saw Yvonne and came over here to hit on her. I mean, it was a kamikaze hit.”
“Yeah,” Curtis said drily, “it was a pretty hard attempt to hit on Yvonne.” He retrieved his suit coat from the back of the chair and put it on.
“Man, that’s a sharp suit,” Obadiah said, admiring the black silk vest with the red stripes in it. “Mr. Booth?”
“Who else,” Curtis answered, mood finally lightening up. He was not happy with the way Jethro had rolled up on this table. This was the Dirty South, not the Ol’ South. And maybe somebody needed to school old boy on that fact before he got a foot up his behind.
“Jethro was all up in Yvonne’s face,” Rochelle continued for Trina. “And Bailey just got pissed and rolled up on him and did what she does best—mess with his money. She whipped that checkbook out and put the check right in Yvonne’s hand. And then she hugged her and thanked her for being a decent woman and left.”
“And Jethro Winters?” Obadiah asked. He did not like that man and was sick of him and his antics. He remembered the last real encounter he had had with that white boy at his church. His members had to hold him off of Jethro. But if the man messed with one more person from Fayetteville Street Gospel United Church, Obadiah was going to forget he was a preacher and act like the street negro he used to be before he gave his life over to the Lord and was called into the ministry.
“There the negro is, over there all up in Regina Young’s face,” Lena said and pointed boldly at the president’s table.
“He’s white, Lena,” Maurice said.
Lena laughed and said, “Well, to be honest, I wasn’t actually, really, and truthfully calling Jethro a negro. I hate to tell y’all this but I had a lapse in decorum, and I momentarily resurrected the N word but tried to be nice and called him a negro. Pray for me.”
Up at the College Page 25