Drama Is Her Middle Name

by Wendy Williams

  Friday mornings at First Baptist Church were some of the best times for Edwin. He loved seeing the grand church empty. He got to appreciate the light as it reflected through the stained glass onto the beige stone floor. The carpeted pulpit, with its rich cherrywood, looked like a regal throne. Being here all alone allowed him to take in the wonderment and enormity of the mission he believed he was on. Edwin was impressed and thankful and in awe that God had allowed every seat in this cavernous building to be filled every Sunday. This Friday, though, was not so rosy.

  Edwin walked down the middle aisle of the church and turned right before the pulpit. He opened a large wooden door that led to a long hallway filled with rooms on either side. Two of the rooms were computer rooms. The other rooms were for different classes being held at the church for adults and children after school.

  When he arrived at the church’s library, he put his hand on the knob but, before going in, he asked God to give him the strength to deal with whatever was waiting for him on the other side.

  “Good morning everyone,” Edwin said. The room was filled with members of the church council—the inner circle, comprised of select deacons and deaconesses, trustees and elders. Some were making the meeting before heading to work, some were retired, some had taken the day off. Most were seated at the large tables in the middle of the room. There was no need for Edwin to guess what they were talking about. They were so into their conversations about him that most hadn’t realized that the very reason they were at the church on a Friday morning had just arrived.

  Deacon Samson Lee cleared his throat to let everyone know that the meeting was about to start. Edwin walked toward the front of the room and the door opened again. It was the final arrival—Edwin’s mother, Mother Lakes. (Patricia, his wife, was not there. She told him she needed space.)

  Edwin’s mother commanded respect not just from her congregation but also from the community. She had dedicated her life to helping others. The church for her wasn’t some detached thing that she happened to be a part of. That church was part of her spirit; it was in her blood.

  “Good morning, Mother Lakes!” everyone seemed to say in unison.

  Edwin couldn’t help but think how they sounded so much like rehearsed children. He was certain his mother had timed her arrival so she wouldn’t be forced to sit in a room where people were passing judgment on her son. She took a seat behind the long wooden desk at the front of the room. A half podium had been brought in and placed in the center of the table.

  Deacon Lee, Edwin’s father’s best friend, had remained loyal to the family and was a godsend after Pastor Lakes Sr. died. He took care of a lot of the transitional details for Edwin, making his ascension to pastor so much smoother. Deacon Lee knew all of the ins and outs of running the church. He was the eyes and ears of the church. He was a strong man, a man who took charge. Even Edwin’s mother grew to depend on him. Deacon Lee cleared his throat again, bringing the room of fifty-five-plus to attention.

  “We are here this morning, as you know, because horrible accusations have been brought against our pastor and our leader, Edwin Lakes.”

  Shouts of amen came from all over the room.

  “Pastor Lakes, first I would like to say that I am behind you one hundred percent,” Deacon Lee continued. “Those liars and evildoers who have tainted your name will feel the wrath of the Almighty!

  “I would also like to say, and I speak on behalf of everyone here, that this is just a formality. We as elders of the church simply want to witness with our own eyes and hear with our own ears you denounce these lies with your own mouth.”

  Deacon Lee turned to Edwin and Mother Lakes and gestured to show he was finished speaking. He turned the floor over to Edwin.

  Edwin gently let go of his mother’s hand and placed it back on her own lap. Then he cleared his throat and stood to his feet.

  “Deacon Lee, I would like to thank you for your support,” Edwin started. “I would also like to thank each and every one of you who are present today. You are truly the backbone of this church.

  “I stand before you today not as a guilty man.”

  Amens erupted in the room. Sister Sarah Parker, head of the usher board, could be heard saying, “I knew it! The devil sure is busy, though!”

  “Please, please,” Edwin said. “Let me finish.”

  “Ain’t no need to finish,” said Rosco Banks, the seventy-six-year-old church organist. He took the hat he had resting on his lap and put it on his head and started to gather his coat, too. “That’s all I needed to hear!”

  “I would like to finish,” Edwin cut in. “Everyone, please settle down.”

  “You all quiet down!” said Evelene Washington. “The reverend is not done. You all show some respect.” Sister Washington was used to bringing order to a room. She had been the head Sunday school teacher since Faith Baptist moved to its large facility. She presided over three teachers and more than a hundred fifty students every Sunday morning.

  “I stand before you as a man of God, a man who has been honored to be a part of this church and who has served this church and its members to the best of my ability,” Edwin continued. “I cannot say that I’m without sin or without a past. But I can say that today and all the days since I was made head of this church that I have been a righteous man, a righteous leader. Not a single person in this room is without sin. But I can say that every true follower of Christ that sits before me has been forgiven and washed clean in the eyes of God.

  “If anyone in this room has a problem with what I have said and no longer wants to be part this church that I believe was built on a foundation of love, then please take up your mat and walk.

  “If there is nothing else, I’ll address this entire situation in a sermon on Sunday morning, and I encourage any member to see me or write me if they have any further questions. I trust that you elders will do the same and reach out to me if you have any further questions or concerns. Thank you all for coming here today. I appreciate and love each and every one of you.”

  As Edwin stood before the group, there was a silence that seemed to last for hours. Finally Edwin’s mother broke the stillness and walked up and hugged her son and smiled.

  Deacon Lee came up and shook Edwin’s hand firmly. He turned to Mother Lakes and said, “If you need anything, Minnie, please call. You know I am behind you.”

  Everyone began to file out of the room, speaking in hushed tones. Edwin didn’t think one person would have the guts to confront him on the matter. He knew they would rather discuss half-truths and spread them throughout the congregation.

  “I’m going by the house to help Patricia out with the kids,” Edwin’s mother said to him. “I know she’s not taking this very well.”

  “I know, Ma,” Edwin said. “Thank you for everything. I have a lot of e-mails that I need to answer and then I’ll be on my way home.”

  By this time, the library was empty except for Edwin and his mother.

  “Ma, I’m so sorry!” Edwin said. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I don’t want to destroy your life’s work. When I get home, we can discuss finding a pastor to replace me. After my sermon on Sunday, I am resigning.”

  His mother wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her ample bosom. “Baby, it’s not up to you. This is God’s work, this is God’s church, and no one can ruin that,” she said. “We will pray about this as we do about everything, and it will be all right. Just be still, baby. Just be still.

  “My faith is not an act. It is a way of life,” his mother continued. “And it’s not just for me but for you, too, Edwin. God will see us through this—as He has seen us through everything else. We will stay together and will let God fight this battle. Who are these people to judge and not forgive? Each member of this church must look into their spirits and figure out why they come to church and why they read the word.

  “Your leaving will not save the church. This is not a physical battle, it is a spiritual one. And just because you leave
doesn’t mean that battle is over.”

  Edwin, whose eyes had begun to well up, grabbed tight to his mother as he tried to regulate his breathing.

  “Edwin, it’s going to be okay,” she said as her voice began to crack. Edwin was trying to be strong as he always had. But Edwin could no longer keep up the front. He hated himself for all the pain and embarrassment he was causing his family. He could no longer hold the fire burning the edges of his eyes back as he and his mother stood in the middle of the church library weeping in each other’s arms.

  25

  The newspapers and all of the cable outlets, from BET to Entertainment Tonight , picked up the Pastor Lakes exposé. Of course, Ritz was getting all of the credit. Ritz had almost certainly ruined the career of a very beloved minister—taking him down with one salacious interview. And while she wasn’t gloating too much, she was happy about the press she was getting. It was so surreal that she floated through her shift not even noticing that it was time to leave. She was so caught up in her own smell that she totally ignored Chas. She didn’t even thank him.

  But for Ritz, everything was going according to plan. She was on her way to clearing more stations and then television. She would be queen of all media, just as she had envisioned.

  Ritz was in her pink office, going over the latest graft from a star. It was a package that included jeans and the latest J.Lo fragrance from Jennifer Lopez’s Sweet face Company.

  Chas didn’t believe in sulking. He was the master of the masks. So he put on his happy face and kept it moving.

  “You did your thing, girlie!” he said, trying to prompt some gratitude.

  “Yes, I did,” she said. “I mean, we did! Team, group hug!”

  Ritz gathered Chas and Aaron and Jamie over into a huddle.

  “I love you guys!” she said. “I couldn’t do this without you. Thank you.”

  “Baby, it’s all you,” Chas said.

  “Ritz, you’re the best,” Jamie said.

  “Oh, what an ass kisser,” Aaron said to Jamie. “Wipe that shit off your lips!”

  “Aaron, shut up,” Ritz said. “My ass is far too clean for me to leave any stains.”

  They all broke into laughter.

  “Oh, and, Jamie, I almost forgot . . .”

  “Yes?” Jamie said.

  “Can you come in a little early on Monday before the show?” Ritz said. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Uh-oh,” Aaron said.

  “Sure, Ritz,” said Jamie, a little nervous. Ritz could be filled with drama and suspense, but now she actually sounded excited. She was going to offer Jamie a full-time position as an assistant producer. In addition to getting Ritz’s hair for her weaves and buying her weekly and monthly magazines and daily papers, she would be given some booking responsibilities and input into the show. And, oh yeah, she would be getting a real salary.

  “Aaron, do me a favor?” Ritz said.

  “Anything, my queen,” he said.

  “Make sure Jamie gets to the train safely.” Ritz smiled and winked at Aaron. “And make sure the two of you don’t stick around too late.”

  “Sure thing, Ritz!” Aaron beamed.

  Jamie didn’t have a clue that Aaron was beaming because Ritz was looking out for him. Jamie had no idea that Aaron had a huge crush on her and gave him a swift punch to the gut.

  “What are you smiling about, fool?” Jamie said.

  “Nothing! Damn, girl!” said Aaron.

  Ritz watched them leave the office, then she realized she was cutting it close. If she left any later, Tracee would be waiting at the airport. And Tracee hated to wait.

  Her best friend was coming to town, and Ritz had insisted on picking her up. She was so excited to show Tracee her latest toy and her biggest splurge—her new Aston Martin, with the special-order champagne–peanut butter paint. She had given the detailers a lock of the weave she was sporting to match the color perfectly. The car had custom Coach leather interior—the kind you usually find in a Lexus. It was the biggest splurge Ritz had made. Chas talked her into it.

  “Look, diva, you cannot be a star driving around in a what? A Denali?” Chas said. “You better stop playing with your success like that. If you are going to be in this game, you have to have the tricks of this trade.”

  Ritz had to admit she was loving the new Ritz with the new toys. But she still held on to a little of the old Ritz. Inside she still remembered when she and her mother struggled. So now she made sure she paid cash for practically everything. She had great credit but she understood the business. You could be hot today and “Who’s she?” the next day. And even success didn’t guarantee that she would end up on top.

  She remembered the stories of the famed Frankie Crocker, a radio pioneer who paved the way for many of the people who eventually made radio a career. He literally revolutionized radio with his style and voice. Radio changed forever because of Frankie, and he died in 2000 before the age of sixty, broke. There was even a rumor that there wasn’t enough money left to pay for a tombstone.

  Frankie Crocker was a man whose life was a flamboyant example of success. He reportedly had affairs with beautiful women like Raquel Welch, and he regularly rode though Central Park in a horse-drawn carriage. He even drove a Bentley—that was before rappers made that a standard. But he left nothing behind but debt, back taxes, and memories. Ritz would not go out like that. She wanted to own her shit outright.

  So she went to the Aston Martin dealer on Eleventh Avenue in Manhattan and whipped out one hundred eighty thousand in bank checks. When she got a new piece of jewelry from Ben and Eddie at B&B Jewelers in Wayne, New Jersey, it was nothing but cash. And when she bought her furs from Pete and Bill over at Dimitrio Furs on Thirtieth Street, she paid cash. Cash was king. The only thing she owed money on was her home and her condo in Miami, which she rented out and turned a profit on every month.

  Chas had turned her on to fur and she was sprung. Ritz was known for wearing fur in the summer. She even had a mink midriff custom-made. And she wished one of those PETA muthafuckers would throw some red paint on her furs. Then there would be another public scandal for the papers to write about following the ass-whipping she was prepared to throw down.

  It had been just two years since Ritz’s career officially took off, and she was certainly in a different place. The memories of being broke were still fresh, however. She refused to go back.

  “I’ll not be some broke-ass, cat-food–eating bitch,” Ritz would say. “I’ll at least be able to get some return on my shit if I need it.”

  Ritz was getting ready to finally leave the studio. She grabbed her white, calf-length fur and started gathering her effects, which she spread out on the desk everyday—cell phone, notepad and pen for notes, and a mirror (to check her face because you never knew who would be coming into the studio).

  “Whatcha doing tonight?” Ritz said to Chas.

  “I’m sticking around to make some phone calls on the station’s dime,” Chas said.

  “That’s my Mr. Frugal,” Ritz teased.

  “Well, if I was making your dough, I wouldn’t have to worry,” he said.

  “You do fine,” she said.

  “You do finer,” he said.

  The two chuckled and Ritz gave Chas a peck on the cheek, Ritz clutching her white Gucci bag. The man at The Mall at Short Hills told her that there were only three of those bags in the entire country. It set Ritz back fifteen thousand dollars, but as Chas so aptly pointed out, she could afford it. Between her annual raises, her quarterly bonuses based on her ratings, and the appearances she was doing, Ritz was pulling down more than a million dollars a year. She was a long way from ramen noodles and crossed fingers on rent day.

  Chas offered to take her bag for her as they walked out of the studio to the elevator bank.

  “Yeah, right! I knew you were eyeing my bag for a minute. I got this,” she said, smiling, as they headed out of the studio door.

  “I just thought that wi
th that boulder on your finger, you might not have the strength to grab your bag, too,” said Chas, referring to the twelve-carat pink diamond Ritz bought herself the day before. She thought Chas would never notice. Chas had wanted to say something during the show about it but didn’t get the chance.

  “Have fun this weekend with Tracee,” Chas said. “But don’t have too much fun. You know how jealous I get when you leave me out of the rein-girl games.”

  “Boy, please!” she said. “If you’re not doing anything later, drop in. I know Tracee would love to see you.”

  Ritz admired herself in one of the eight mirrored elevators at the elevator bank as they waited for one to open. She had her Gucci frames in her hair, holding her weave nicely in place. She had on a winter-white silk blouse under her winter-white fur, a winter-white Cavali skirt and custom-made Jimmy Choos. Ritz looked this good every day (runway ready!). But today she felt extra good.

  Ritz knew this opportunity doing the Grammy show could lead to a regular weekly television gig if she played it right. And she planned on doing just that. Everything was all planned out—proper planning—and she was ready. Ritz Harper was exactly where she wanted to be professionally. She had money, success, and fame. She was this close to being the queen of all media. Ritz’s personal life was as sketchy as a spider web, but she figured she was young enough to focus on that later. Her biological clock was about ten years from winding down. Hell, women were having their first babies for well into their forties. She would find a man and all of that, but not until she completely conquered all there was to conquer in her field.

  Ritz let out a satisfied breath into the chilly February air as she rounded the corner toward her car. She could see the nose of her Aston Martin Vanquish poking out from the garage—shiny and just waiting for her. Ritz opened her pocketbook to get her parking ticket stub.

  Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

  Ritz couldn’t imagine lying on the hard concrete in New York City, her life not only passing before her eyes but passing literally out of her body. Ritz Harper never imagined she would die like this.