Can I Get an Amen

by Janice Sims

  “I’ll take some coffee, Gidget.”

  Gidget rolled her eyes, and Renata knew that meant “Get it yourself, cow!” Renata was surprised when less than a minute later, Gidget returned with a steaming cup of coffee just the way she liked it: black.

  “Thanks, Gidget,” she said, sincerely grateful for something to hold in her hand besides her pen. She’d been tapping it ever since she sat down at the table, and she knew the reason wasn’t her nerves.

  By the time Gidget left them alone for good, Renata had already given Devin the Success Unlimited spiel. The Spiel, as she called it, was the standard speech she gave potential sponsoring organizations. It contained all the exciting facts about her agency and the success stories of the young men she’d placed. She’d been giving that speech for so long, she didn’t need to think about it at all. It just came rolling off her tongue so naturally it was effortless.

  She watched for Devin’s impressed reaction. After The Spiel, company reps usually asked technical questions, like how soon can someone start, how long will the appointment last, and what happens if things don’t work out?

  Why did his silence sound so loud? It was as if he were waiting for something else, something more.

  “Tell me about the outreach ministry,” she said, eager to fill the silence. She felt as though she were being scrutinized. And she wanted to let him know he wasn’t the only one with an analytical mind.

  He sat back in the chair as if he’d been waiting for that question all day. “We’ve had the outreach ministry for six years now. Every year we choose a nonprofit organization to partner with and give our parishioners the opportunity to give back to the community…and hopefully save some souls in the process.”

  Renata winced. Saving souls. She hated that kind of church talk. But she supposed that her agency and the church were in the same business.

  “Something wrong, Mrs. Connor? Or is it Miss?”

  “It’s Ms. And no, there’s nothing wrong.”

  Oh, damn, here we go. She’d had reservations about hooking up with a church as a sponsor. The last thing she wanted was some Jesus freak, quoting scripture and telling her she had two choices: Go to church or go to hell. She hoped, for the sake of her agency—and the sake of her libido—that Devin wasn’t that kind of Christian.

  Instead of the dreaded, “Do you know my Jesus?” speech, he simply nodded and continued. “To date, Red Oaks has partnered with the Red Cross, the Salvation Army, the United Way, the Girls and Boys Clubs, the Urban League, and the NAACP.”

  Renata’s hopes sank. They weren’t going to help Malcolm. Malcolm and her youth agency were small potatoes to such a big-time church. She was out of her league.

  “So, is this a satellite location?” he asked, casting a thorough glance around her humble surroundings.

  “No, this is the whole enchilada.”

  The look of shock on his face convinced her even more. He probably felt as though he were wasting his time. And if he was wasting his time, then he was wasting hers as well. She couldn’t afford to spend another minute interviewing an organization that had no intention of helping her.

  “Look, brother McKenna, it’s obvious that…”

  “Actually, it’s not obvious. You’ve told me a lot of perfunctory information about your agency. I’ll bet you say that stuff to all the guys.”

  Suddenly, he didn’t seem so Christ-like. No, the devil had definitely crept into that comment.

  “Tell me about your heart,” he said, leaning forward.

  Renata warmed.

  “Tell me about the heart of Success Unlimited. What’s your agency’s vision, mission, and values? What’s the driving force behind what you do?”

  Renata debated telling him the whole sad story of her tragic life. How close she’d been to her brother, René. She debated telling him about how brilliant René was—genius almost—and how bored with the world he’d become because most people didn’t see things the way he did. She considered telling him how René found solace in the company of people who weren’t what you’d call reputable. And she wondered what he would think if she told him that her brother had died senselessly after joyriding with some friends, and that since then, she’d decided to spend the rest of her life trying to prevent other African-American male youths from ending up like René.

  Just when she’d decided that she could not share anything so personal and close to her heart with a total stranger, she told him every unfortunate, unhappy, tragic event of those years with her brother. And all the while, as Devin sat and listened, his eyes grew serious with concern and then liquid with sadness. She realized that she couldn’t stop herself from telling this man—who looked like an angel on earth—everything that had been simmering in her gut for years.

  At the same time, she didn’t want to risk ruining a relationship with potential investor. So she skipped the potent parts of her past. The uneasy parts which threatened to spring from the tip of her tongue, like the fact that when her brother was taken from her, her relationship with God was broken. God had forsaken her brother, and, if God couldn’t be counted on for help, then she would step in and do as much as she could with her agency. And that was why she created Success Unlimited. No, she kept that troubled part of her past to herself.

  “So?” she asked, eager to change the subject. “I’ve given you the whole sordid history of my past…I mean, the origin of my agency. Tell me about Red Oaks Church.”

  “Well,” he began. He hadn’t thought much about how he came to be a member of the church for a long while. “Red Oaks is the largest church in the city. We have over two thousand parishioners. Reverend Terrance Paul Avery is really interested in taking Red Oaks, and the ministry of Christ, into the next millennium. So, we have several ministries.” Many of which I founded, he thought. “Including the radio ministry, the television ministry, the DVD ministry, the Internet ministry. We also have the traditional ministries, like the women’s ministry, the youth ministry, the men’s ministry, the singles’ ministry.” Why did he look up involuntarily at her when he said that? It was as if his mind snapped to attention and fixed on the one thing in the room that would correlate to the single life…Renata.

  “Our outreach ministry has been active for five years. We usually choose an organization and work with them for a year doing volunteer work, fundraisers, and even Bible study if they request it.”

  “So, this is sort of an interview for both of us.”

  She said that, and the way her eyes flashed made him realize that he was going to take a cold shower tonight and say a long prayer.

  “Yes,” he said, wondering if she’d meant that comment the way it sounded.

  He told her a few more things about the church, but nothing about the agreement he had with Mother Maybelle and her mission from God. After a while, it seemed they’d both run out of questions. But it was obvious that neither wanted to end their time together. It was as if the silence was allowing them to gather their thoughts and come up with more things to talk about, or just savor the experience of being near, of sitting near someone that so quickly had become…

  “Well, Devin, I don’t want to take up all of your time. Besides, I’ve promised that I would call Malcolm and let him know how the meeting went.”

  “Malcolm?”

  Renata smiled. “Yes. Malcolm Goodwin. He’s seventeen and did me a big favor once. I was unlocking the front door to the agency, and some kids ran past me and took my purse with them. Before I could call the police, Malcolm—who I didn’t know at the time—ran after them.

  “I thought he was with them at first, but when he came back with my purse, I realized that he wasn’t. He’s a kid who was busted for shoplifting a few months ago and was recently placed in a foster home. I’ve been trying to get him a sponsor ever since.”

  Shoplifting, Devin thought, turning his mind back to the purpose of his visit. Sounds like trouble. “I should probably meet him…Malcolm. Can you arrange that?”

  “Yes.�
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  “How soon?”

  “This evening if you like.” She didn’t dare tell him that Malcolm was living in The Bottoms, the poorest part of town, with the Smith family. The Smiths were an elderly couple with a big house and warm hearts. They had a reputation in the community for taking on the worst foster kids—the kids that no one else wanted or could handle. Sometimes the Smiths could help the kids; sometimes they couldn’t.

  Renata believed that Malcolm didn’t belong there. No, the boys who stole her purse belonged there. They could use a good straightening out by the Smiths. Malcolm just needed a supportive place to live.

  “My schedule is full tonight,” Devin said, needing to break the spell which seemed to catch them both up like deer in headlights. “How about tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” Renata replied, mentally rearranging her day so that she would have time to get the two newest men in her life together. “What time?”

  “How about seven? We could have dinner at Manna’s if you like Italian.”

  Wow, a man that knew her intuitively! “I love Italian!” Damn, Renata. Don’t sound so eager. She checked his reaction. He actually seemed pleased by her exuberance.

  “What about Malcolm? Does he like Italian?”

  In his position, he’d probably be glad to get any meal that he didn’t have to hustle for. “I think he would appreciate going out to eat.”

  Devin rose. “All right. Seven it is.”

  She rose, too. But not to his six-foot-something height. Only to her five-five-in-heels stature.

  Her heart triple-pounding in her chest made her remind herself that she was not on a date. Nothing of the kind. She was having a meeting. And now the meeting was over. Over.

  She extended her hand. They exchanged handshakes and business cards. It was still up to her to sell her business and services to Devin. To entice him as a representative of Red Oaks Church and convince them to become a sponsor for Malcolm.

  Their eyes locked again and they both smiled.

  “See you tomorrow, Renata,” he said and left the conference room.

  Renata took the warmth from his handshake and touched the side of her face. Not tomorrow, tonight.

  She cleared the conference room thinking, See you in my dreams.

  Three

  She must know I’m making a date with her. Devin McKenna sat in front of his computer reviewing his latest article on men’s health. He’d gotten a lot of mileage out of that topic recently, taking the premise of a piece on stress and cholesterol he’d written over six months ago and putting a unique twist on it for four different publications. His latest was a three thousand word feature for, what else? Men’s Health magazine.

  Although he’d finished his article, he’d been sitting in front of his computer, tweaking and word-smithing it like he was an editor instead of the writer. But the truth was, he’d been pleasantly captivated by Ms. Renata Connor. Of course, she was beautiful, there was that. But he was drawn to something else, something vulnerable and simmering. Something that, though hidden, functioned as her adrenaline. Like a blast of energy surrounding her—an aura that he could feel.

  There was something there he wanted to touch.

  “Psss,” he mumbled, and clicked the print button on his keyboard. His laser printer hummed to life, and page after page slid out of the feeder tray.

  He got up to stretch, realizing that he’d thought himself into a corner. Ms. Renata probably had a man, or—devil’s dream—she was married, with a husband and maybe some kids.

  I can’t believe this, he thought. I just met the woman and already I’m staking her out.

  He picked up the pages of his article as they slid out of the printer. They were hot in his palms. He intended to read through the piece one more time, taking a red pen to it to correct any last-minute typos. Then he would get his mind in the right place for dinner tonight with Renata.

  He checked the clock on the wall—the simple, round metal clock that matched his simple decor. Helen had been the decorator. When he gave her the house, he hadn’t thought twice about his lack of decorations. Plain brown furniture was all he needed. Bare walls, no rugs, nothing frilly, frou-frou, or metrosexual. Simple surroundings for a simple, uncomplicated life. Only that, he thought to himself, has become complicated.

  Two-thirty. He had just enough time to finish the edits, e-mail them to the magazine editor, and go to Bible study before dinner. He hadn’t been to Bible study in a long time. He needed something to get his mind right. He figured the word of God was always good for that. But with all of the thoughts he’d had about Renata today, he wondered if the devil would be working overtime.

  The devil is working overtime, Renata thought. She looked sinfully good, even though she’d toned down her evening attire out of respect for spending time with a Christian man. Cobalt accents in her eye makeup, her favorite blue dress, and a pair of low-heeled mules completed out outfit.

  She licked her lips over the stay-on lipstick she wore and headed out the door. She was surprised to find Malcolm already sitting on the porch waiting for her.

  “Malcolm, why didn’t you let me know you were here?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered. He was dressed in different clothing than what he’d had on yesterday. Either the Smiths had given him some of the clothes left behind by another foster child, or they had gone out that morning and bought him a new outfit. Knowing the Smiths, it was the latter.

  “You look good,” she said. She couldn’t tell FUBU from Phat Farm, but he was sporting something like that.

  Malcolm stood, stuck a toe into the ground, then slowly looked up. “Thanks.”

  They walked to her relatively new Elantra. Malcolm seemed to be impressed when he got in.

  “Nice whip,” he commented.

  “Thanks,” Renata replied, trying not to think about the car payment that she’d missed last month and the possibility of her car being repossessed. But she couldn’t afford to pay herself her usual salary and keep her agency in business. So she’d cut her pay and used the money to keep her office insured for a few more months.

  As they drove to the restaurant, Renata noticed how quiet her passenger was.

  “Why so quiet? Usually, you’re Mr. Chatty.”

  Malcolm kept his eyes toward the road. He didn’t glance her way. Instead, he paid more attention to the streets.

  “I’m just thinking about how you don’t know me from Suge Knight, but you hooked me up like we’re family or something.”

  Renata smiled. If that was all this young brother had on his mind, she could allay his fears quickly.

  “First of all, I’ve heard of Suge Knight and you are nothing like him. Second, I do know you…in a way. I mean, when you trace it back, we’re all related, right? And like they say, the children are the future. So you’re my future. I just want to make sure that the future is positive.”

  It didn’t take long to make the trip to the waterfront, the trendy part of town where Manna’s Restaurant was located. Renata put the car in the parking space right in front of the place. Malcolm reached for the door, but Renata held him back.

  “Uh, Malcolm…I just want to say that when we get inside…Mr. McKenna, I mean, he’s still deciding whether to recommend Success Unlimited as a sponsorship candidate for the Red Oaks outreach ministry. So you should probably be on your best behavior if you are really serious about getting a job.”

  He sighed and leaned back against her leather seat. “I’m serious. I just don’t know about working in a church.”

  Well, for that, she couldn’t offer any words of consolation. She hadn’t set foot in a church for…well, for a long time. And if she had her way, any meeting she had with any member of the Red Oaks outreach ministry would take place anywhere but inside the sanctuary.

  They got out and walked toward the door, when Malcolm swung his head around slowly and said, “So, you like him, huh?”

  “What?” she asked, tripping over nothing in the sidewalk.

&n
bsp; “Ol’ boy. You’ve got that look.”

  Oh God, if there is one, she thought. If even a teenage boy could see her attraction, maybe a grown man could see it too. She would have to be more careful.

  When Renata stepped into the restaurant, Devin licked his lips and said another prayer. Unfortunately, the ones he’d said earlier either hadn’t worked or were wearing off. He was feeling a definite pull. Like a yoke around his neck with Renata holding the reins. Shake it off, Brother McKenna. Shake it off.

  But it was too late. The body in the blue dress Renata wore would remain etched in his mind for a long, long time. He watched her walk and thought of St. Augustine’s prayer for God to remove his lust. He smiled despite himself, just thinking of what a boring existence that would be.

  “Hey, Devin,” she said, extending her pretty, soft hand. He took it gladly, held it just a bit too long.

  “This is Malcolm Goodwin.”

  He exchanged a handshake with the young man.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Malcolm offered, and the hairs on the back of Devin’s neck flared as if they’d been set ablaze. Something uncomfortably familiar about Malcolm rubbed Devin the wrong way.

  Rather than acknowledge his unease, he said, “Good to meet you, Malcolm.”

  “Me, too,” the young man said.

  They all sat at the table Devin had chosen for them. It was the best spot in the restaurant, at the junction of the wall-window and a collage of paintings of flowers so vibrant that anyone would swear the aroma of lilacs and roses hung in the air.

  “Nice restaurant,” Renata remarked.

  Malcolm nodded. “I think I’d like to come here again one day…when I can pay for myself.”

  At that one comment, a stone of sadness fell in Devin’s stomach. So often kids like Malcolm grew up to be adults who could never afford to eat in a place like this. He wondered about Malcolm’s fate.

  When the waitress came, they ordered. Lasagna for Devin. Spaghetti and meatballs with extra meatballs for Malcolm. When Renata ordered a dish called “hot and naked pasta,” with olive oil and spices, Devin felt as though he’d been pleasantly violated.