Reverend Feelgood

by Lutishia Lovely

  Anne laughed in spite of herself. “Verniece, you a fool.”

  “Ooh, girl, I almost forgot the main reason I asked you to come over. Look at this.” Verniece walked to her dining room table and picked up a copy of a small newspaper article. “Here, check this out.”

  “What’s this about, Reverend?” she asked.

  “It’s about a reverend, but not Nate. Read it.”

  Anne took the piece of paper. “A prominent Baton Rouge minister was questioned and released yesterday following an alleged assault at his home. Sixty-one-year-old Ed Smith—” Anne gasped and stopped reading.

  “Keep reading!” Verniece prodded.

  Anne read the rest of the brief article silently, about how Jennifer Stevens had filed charges against Reverend Ed Smith following an altercation she said had occurred in his home. The minister was denying all charges and prominent city leaders and church members were standing by his side.

  “They’re liars, all of them,” Anne hissed. “I’ve got no love lost for Jennifer, but no woman deserves to get beaten. And that asshole beat her. I know he did.”

  “How are you so sure?” Verniece asked, concerned for her friend’s sudden change in demeanor.

  Anne turned and looked at Verniece. “Because Ed Smith is the man I ran away from. The man Reverend Thicke counseled me about and protected me from. That’s why Ed hates him, and is always talking against him. And that’s why no matter what he does and wherever he is, Reverend Thicke will always be my pastor. That man saved my life.”

  “Dang,” Verniece said after taking in all that Anne had said. “There are so many no-good men out there. But I know some good ones are out there too. I just wish I knew where they were.” Anne’s melancholy mood had rubbed off on Verniece, and now tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry for what I said about Reverend Thicke,” she added, through her tears. “God forgive me.”

  Anne took Verniece in her arms. “We’ll get through all of this together, sistah. No matter what, we’ve got each other, right?”

  Verniece nodded against Anne’s shoulder, as Anne comforted her friend, rubbing Verniece’s back. Soon, Verniece’s tears subsided, but she didn’t break the embrace. Instead, she scooted closer to Anne and kissed her neck. Anne’s hand stopped—for a moment. And then she began again, kneading Verniece’s shoulders this time. Verniece kissed Anne again, this time on the cheek. “We’ll always have each other,” she whispered, before placing her mouth over Anne’s and sealing this pledge with a searing French kiss.

  An hour later, the women lay naked in Verniece’s bed, and in each other’s arms.

  “Are you sorry we did that?” Verniece asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure,” Anne replied. “Something happened when you kissed me and I—I’ve never felt this way before.” Anne finally turned to face Verniece. “No, Verniece, I’m not sorry. Does this mean we’re lesbians?” she asked while caressing Verniece’s face.

  “I think it means we’re lovers,” Verniece responded, with a shrug.

  Anne looked deeply into the eyes of her new partner. “Then let’s do it again.”

  63

  Thanks for Asking

  Jennifer felt no joy as she read the latest issue of LA Gospel. It was all there in black and white—the rise and fall of Nathaniel Eli Thicke. She wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had paid Melody Anderson to make the tape. Jennifer knew about Melody from the time Shabach was arrested, the hip-hop artist she’d met in Kansas City when he appeared at a concert sponsored by Mount Zion. Later, an LA connection had filled her in on the details. But she’d never seen the tape her connection claimed was out there.

  Ed might be behind this, she thought as she finished reading the article and closed the paper. And even if he’s not, he’s over there gloating, happy beyond belief that the man he hates has finally been brought down. “I’m glad I didn’t do it,” Jennifer said aloud, thinking about the book she’d helped write, praying it would never see the light of day. She reached up and gingerly touched a still swollen jaw, which along with a black eye, busted lip, bruised ribs, and dislocated shoulder, had all come courtesy of Baton Rouge’s prominent, popular minister, a man that few would believe capable of what had occurred. Had it not happened to her, she wouldn’t have believed it either. Aside from his reputation, which was stellar, Ed Smith wasn’t a big man. Jennifer had been surprised at how strong he was. She’d tried to fight back, but that had only made him angrier. That’s when she’d gotten the dislocated shoulder…and the bruised ribs, from his kicking her after he’d knocked her down….

  Jennifer shook her head and reached for the remote, determined to stop thinking about what he’d done to her. She’d filed charges; now it was up to the courts. And from the slew of dishonest witnesses who had vouched for his being somewhere else at the time she’d said the beating occurred, it was quite possible that he would walk away scot-free. I bet I’m not the first, Jennifer thought, having forgotten already to not think about it. And I won’t be the last. But one of these days, he’ll get his….

  A knock on the door startled Jennifer. She’d rarely ventured out of her house since the incident—only for food and to visit the doctor. Just a couple people knew she was back in Palestine, and she would only be here long enough to heal, pack her things, and return to Kansas City.

  Her eyes widened as she looked through the peephole. She turned and leaned against the door, wanting the company, but at the same time not wanting anyone to see her like this. But after what I did to him, he’s still here to comfort me. Just like a man of God. She turned and slowly opened the door.

  Her visitor’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at her a long moment. The briefest of frowns flitted across his face, before he forced a smile to replace it. “You’re looking powerful pretty, Sister Stevens,” James said softly, his eyes shining with compassion. He stepped into the room and Jennifer fell into his arms. She hadn’t truly felt safe from Ed Smith and his threats of retaliation if she didn’t drop the charges. But now she did. In James’s arms, she felt she could stand up to anybody, or anything.

  “Thanks so much for coming, Deacon Robinson.”

  “Please, call me James.”

  “Thank you, James. Your visit means the world to me.”

  They moved quietly to the couch and sat down. Jennifer turned off the television.

  “I heard about what happened, and had to come by. I’m awfully sorry for your pain. I know Ed Smith, have for a long time, and I believe you when you say he did it.”

  “I never would have dreamed he was capable of being so violent.”

  “That’s because he hides it well behind that polished persona. Just like he hides the fact that he’s an alcoholic.”

  Jennifer stared at James. “I suspected it, but didn’t know for sure. I never saw him take a drink, never smelled it on his breath. But one time his eyes were bloodshot and he was talking rather strangely. The thought crossed my mind then, but only for a moment.”

  “Yes, that’s why Nate stopped dealing with him. When he first took over the ministry, Ed came here and offered to be Nate’s mentor. Nate was familiar with First Baptist and its community outreach and was excited to learn how to incorporate similar programs into Gospel Truth. But the more time Nate spent with him, the more convinced he became that theirs was not a good liaison. He backed away, and turned down an offer to join a networking union Ed had founded. Then something happened with one of our members, something involving Ed, and when Nate took steps to protect this member…well, suffice it to say Ed didn’t like it.”

  “I bet I know what he did, and I wish I could talk to that member,” Jennifer said softly.

  “It’s not my place to talk someone else’s business,” James replied, “but you be encouraged. This isn’t over. The Word says vengeance belongs to God, and that whatever’s right, He’ll pay.” Deacon Robinson looked at his watch and stood. “Sorry, but I have a meeting. I just had to stop by after hearing the news, to ask if there is anything I c
an do, or anything you need.”

  “You can pray for me, Deacon…James. Other than that, I’m okay. But thank you so much for stopping by.”

  “There’s one more reason I stopped by, Sister Stevens.”

  “Please, call me Jennifer.”

  “As you wish…Jennifer. I know you’re feeling a bit under the weather, presently. But when you’re in better health, say in a month or so, would you do me the fine pleasure of joining me for dinner?”

  “Why, James, are you asking me out on a date?” Jennifer answered coyly, smiling despite the pain in her jaw.

  “That is exactly what I’m doing,” the deacon responded.

  “Thank you for asking,” Jennifer answered, reaching up to hug this patient, persistent man. “I accept.”

  64

  First Lady

  “Be sure and stay in touch with me, baby,” Simone said. She acknowledged Mark, who walked up behind her and massaged her shoulders, offering his quiet support as she talked on the phone. “You are such a strong woman. I am very, very proud of you. I love you, Destiny. Let me know when you get there, honey, so I know you’ve arrived safely. Good-bye.”

  Simone placed the cordless phone back on the base and then joined Mark on the couch. “I put on water for tea,” he said, taking the woman he loved into his arms.

  “You’re too good to me,” Simone answered as she snuggled against him.

  “How’s she doing?”

  Simone sighed. “She’s trying to sound strong for me, and so is Nate. But I know they’re both hurting. This was a devastating blow, to say the least. It has to have shaken Nate to the core. Before the tape played, he was unstoppable.”

  “There’s no denying this was a huge hit,” Mark admitted. “But sometimes people have short memories. And the church world can be forgiving, especially when people do what Nate did, own up to his mistake and take the punishment—like a man. After all, Christians aren’t perfect, just forgiven. Nate’s young. His best may still be yet to come.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Simone said. “For Nate’s sake…and my daughter’s.”

  The tea kettle whistle sounded and Mark rose to fix the tea tray. He loved doing these simple things for Simone, loved taking care of her, especially now. He’d always been a sensitive, nurturing man, something he often got teased for growing up. He’d protected unpopular kids from the bullies and cried when his pets died. He still cried at sad movies or sad moments, as he had when he found out about Nate.

  “One cup of tea for my one and only,” he said, setting the tray on the ottoman and preparing Simone’s cup.

  “Look at me, being served by the governor of Louisiana. I am special indeed.”

  Life had changed dramatically for the Simmonses since Mark won one of the tightest elections and biggest upsets in Louisiana’s colorful political history. The opponents had demanded a recount, but when the dust settled, his victory stood. That this Democrat had won in a staunchly Republican state, even running as he did on a conservative, godly platform, had felt like a divine act. Mark’s schedule had filled up overnight, and Simone was thrust into the political limelight. Fortunately the people and the cameras loved her, especially since she played up her familial connection to the state, as well as her Creole roots. Her parties were coveted, and her social secretary was constantly turning down invites to teas, dinners, and the like. Aside from mandatory social functions, Simone had decided to focus on her husband and his needs the first year. His needs—and those of their unborn child.

  Mark settled back on the couch and pulled his wife back against him. He wrapped his arms around her expanding belly and nuzzled her neck. “How’s my son doing?” he asked.

  “Mark Junior is rather active today. I think he’s excited because his daddy’s home.”

  Mark’s heart expanded with love and joy. He’d wanted a child for so long and he’d especially wanted a son. “Are you sure you want to name him after me? Granted, I’d love a junior, but your opinion counts too.”

  Simone turned into his arms. “There can be no greater honor than for this child to bear your name,” she said. “Ooh!”

  “What is it, baby? What’s wrong?” Mark became alarmed, his heart jumping into his chest.

  “Nothing, darling. Calm down. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Your son is simply fluttering his agreement.”

  “Is that how it feels?” Mark asked, putting his hand under her blouse, directly on her stomach.

  “Yes. You probably can’t feel anything yet. He’s too little. Give it another month or two. Then he’ll visibly make his presence known, with a foot or a hand in my side.”

  Mark kissed Simone on the forehead. “I think I should call it a night. My flight leaves at seven-thirty in the morning.”

  “Can’t you call in sick or something? I hate it when you’re out of town.”

  “Oh, baby, don’t make me sad. You know I’ll do anything for you.”

  Simone stood up and held out her hand to Mark. “But you can’t call in sick—you’re the governor.”

  “And you’re the first lady.”

  “I am, huh?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Simone smiled as she followed her husband up the stairs. She never could have imagined a life like this. For many years, she’d thought she knew what she wanted. But God had another plan, a better plan. She chuckled, remembering how hard she’d worked on Nate’s book, thinking the labor had been for her, when instead it had been for her daughter.

  “Why are you laughing?” Mark asked as they reached their bedroom and he began undressing her.

  “I’m just so happy,” Simone responded. “Because I have you, Mark Simmons, and you are more than I ever dreamed.”

  65

  Something Noble: Part Two

  Katherine stood naked in front of her bathroom mirror. She eyed herself critically, turning this way and that. She leaned in closer to the glass and observed her face. There were a few more wrinkles, and a mole where there hadn’t been one before. She stepped back and cupped her breasts. She turned to the side. To her chagrin, even with the squat exercises an infomercial had suggested, her butt was still sagging. Nate had told her she didn’t need implants. But she knew all those Hollywood women with perfectly round tushes weren’t born that way. She’d even read once where Diana Ross used to wear a prosthetic-type device to make her hind end look bigger. Maybe I’ll try that….

  Katherine walked into her closet, pulled on a satin, kimono-style robe, slipped into heeled house slippers covered in rhinestones, and walked out of her bedroom. She ended up in the living room, by the large picture window, looking out at a humid Saturday in August. She looked out her window at the world around her, and for the first time in a long time, wondered where she fit in.

  It had been a month since “the incident,” when in an uncharacteristic display of lost control, she’d combined wrestle-mania with amateur boxing and ended up rolling in the newly mown Gospel Truth grass. She still couldn’t believe it had happened. All her life she’d been ridiculed by other women, the object of either their jealousy or disdain or both. In times past she’d ignored the haters. But on a warm, sunny Sunday one month ago, that hadn’t been the case. Katherine was still waiting for the embarrassment to come, for the regret she thought she should feel as a result of her actions. But when she looked back on that Sunday afternoon, all she felt was…vindicated. After all, Patricia Cook had started it.

  “Hello, Katherine,” Patricia had spat sarcastically as she exited her car just as Katherine was walking past. She relished the fact that Sister, Mrs., or Noble was nowhere in the greeting.

  Katherine turned and glared, said nothing, and kept walking.

  “You must be feeling fairly adrift, since you’ve lost your job as watchdog. Now that Nate’s gone, I’m surprised you’re still bold enough to show your face around here.”

  Katherine quickened her pace, annoyed that because workers had blocked off part of the lot to landscape it, she’d had to p
ark almost a half block away from the office doors.

  Patricia laughed, glad to finally be able to tell this woman what she thought of her. She’d held her tongue because of James and because of Nate. Well, James was no longer a consideration and Nate was no longer here.

  “Yeah, your granddaughter always thought she was above my child. Miss High and Mighty, acting as if she owned the world. And where is she now? With the biggest fornicator in all of Texas, probably working on another illegitimate child.”

  Katherine whirled around. “Better a fornicator than a felon!” she hissed. “Destiny on her worst day is better than Carmen at her best. And you can say what you want about me, but you would do well to keep your mouth off my granddaughter and my son-in-law.”

  “Son-in-law?” Patricia was shouting now, playing to a gathering crowd. “Don’t you mean your lo—”

  The last three letters were muffled as Katherine’s Louis Vuitton bag connected with Patricia’s mouth. A stunned Patricia stumbled back, but recovered quickly. She charged Katherine like a wounded animal, screaming like a banshee. Katherine got off another good whack before Patricia grabbed her hair. The two women tousled, even as security worked to separate them. The women worked themselves away from both men and tumbled to the ground. Patricia had a death grip on Katherine’s mane until Katherine sunk her teeth into Patricia’s forearm. “Ow!” That caused Patricia to release Katherine’s hair, which gave Katherine time to wind up for another Vuitton strike. When the security guard snatched the bag instead, Katherine took off her shoe without missing a beat, unaware that her blouse was ripped, her mouth was bleeding, and she’d lost three nails.

  “Don’t—you—ever—talk—about—what’s—mine!” she screamed, punctuating each word with a heel connecting with some part of Patricia’s anatomy, and a couple blows landing on the security guard trying to subdue her. “As long as you’re Black and paying taxes, don’t do it,” Katherine panted, finally restrained by a guard who looked as if he too had just done battle.

  Just as the fight ended, Deacon Robinson had rushed out of the administrative offices and up to Katherine.