Shante Dogan hated these conferences. “Seems like every preacher on the East Coast is here,” she griped to herself as she surveyed the room at the opening day reception of the Seventy-sixth Annual Convocation of the East Coast Ministerial Association and listened to the steady buzz of ministers loudly greeting one another. Last year, almost five thousand had been in attendance; this year, it looked like many more than that seemed to be crammed into this small reception area.
Despite her distaste, she had attended many of these conferences in the past. To her, it was always the same old thing: a bunch of preachers trying to out-preach or out-sing each other hoping to fill their calendars with speaking invitations for the next year. It was always a diverse gathering—Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal, male, female, black, white, Asian, Hispanic. Year in, year out, the overall mix was basically the same. In fact, the only notable change year-to-year has been in the names of the churches. Traditional names like Mt. Calvary, St. Paul, and King David had morphed into names like Worship and Praise Cathedral, Morning Glory Christian Centers International, and Jehovah Jireh Street Ministries. Some had names so far from the mainstream Shante had to wonder what name-changing process they’d gone through.
Everyone had a business card. Preachers love to show off their titles: bishop, elder, right reverend, or prophet. This is definitely the year of the apostle. I have twenty-three cards, and sixteen of them are apostles, Shante reflected, flipping through what she’d collected thus far.
“Hello, Pastor Dogan,” a deep voice said, “I see you made it back this year.” A light-skinned, morbidly overweight man in a bright yellow suit stood in front of her wearing a big, countrified grin.
“Oh yeah.” One look at his suit and Shante found it hard to keep a straight face. Where does he find his clothes, she wondered. “You know I can’t miss one of these meetings. How are you doing, Bishop Thompson?”
“Oh, I’m blessed and highly favored. How are you?”
“I’m quite well. How is Mother? Is she feeling better now?”
“She’s doing much better. You know she got out of the hospital. The doctor thinks they got all the cancer during the surgery. She’ll be starting chemotherapy next week. I wanted to stay with her, but she encouraged me to come here. Thank you so much for the flowers. Yellow roses are her favorite,” Bishop Thompson said as he moved closer to her and lowered his voice. “So, have you found that husband yet?”
“Bishop, don’t start that again.” She smiled, taking a sip from her cup of juice. It was her protection from the flesh-pressing horde. As long as she held on to it no one would get too close. But Bishop was a different story. He had taken it as his mission to get her married and was always telling her God was sending her a husband.
Getting married was the last thing on Shante’s mind. There were times when she had thought about it, but she was much too busy to get into a serious relationship. Besides, many men seemed intimidated by her success and the fact that she was a preacher.
“Well, you know I told you what the Lord revealed to me,” he said, moving closer still and practically whispering. “He’s probably here at this conference. Mingle a little. He just might find you.”
“Bishop, leave me alone,” she said, smiling affectionately. “I’m getting away from you. Tell Mother I’ll continue to pray for her. I’ll call her when I get back home.”
She left the bishop and walked quickly toward the refreshments table. Midway there, she heard a voice that made her shiver: her ex-husband, Kevin Bryson.
“Hey, Doobie. Where are you going so quickly?”
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t call me that,” she responded. “Excuse me. I have to go speak to someone,” she said and kept walking. She dreaded running into him. Their marriage had not been a happy one, and she had gone to considerable length to distance herself from him. The mere sight of him caused memories from a deep part of her heart to surface, followed by emotions she had fought hard to repress. She had to keep thoughts of him at bay and tried to stay focused on her sermon and on her purpose for being at the conference.
The room reeked with clashing colognes. She hated shaking the hands of many of the male attendees, as their scents would transfer to her hands. God forbid they hug her. Then the foul mix would be all over and she would smell as if she had bathed in something concocted by aliens. She tried hard not to touch too many people, but touching was almost an art form at a conference like this and almost impossible to avoid. The smell was beginning to sicken her. She dug into her purse for a mint to calm her stomach.
“Look a here, look a here,” a hoarse voice said from behind her.
Shante sighed, knowing what was coming next. At that moment, she thought about how hard it was for a lady preacher to attend these meetings and remain untouched by random acts of lechery. There always seemed to be a piranha in the midst trying to hit on you.
In this setting where it didn’t matter how many degrees a woman had or how long she had been a preacher, she was bound to encounter someone trying to test her faith. She thought it troubling people saw women preachers as temple whores and felt free to make suggestive remarks in their presence or even touch their bodies at will. She felt the reason for this kind of behavior was fairly simple: Some men didn’t take a woman’s ministry seriously.
Shante had earned her master’s degree in counseling. She had been in the ministry nine years and had been a pastor for the last seven at the New Pilgrim Baptist Church. She was proud to have been unanimously elected pastor after serving under Reverend Claude Anderson until his death.
She was recognized as an astute businesswoman, a dedicated community leader, and a dynamic minister of the gospel. She had taken New Pilgrim from 250 members at the time of Reverend Anderson’s death to more than two thousand members today. Her leadership had put New Pilgrim in the forefront of community improvements, educational reform, and economic development.
She was highly respected and loved by young and old; the young for her honest, straightforward talk and sense of humor and the old because she continued to incorporate the old songs and sayings into her sermons. Everyone loved her for her teaching, preaching, and bright personality. She was a much sought-after speaker for conferences, revivals, and other events, but none of that mattered to this man, and she knew it.
She knew he was looking at her butt. She was forty-five years old and she knew she looked good. She worked out daily to remain fit and physically able to meet all the pastoral demands of a busy metropolitan church.
“Hey, pretty lady.”
She turned and was face to face with a short, elderly man who was openly leering at her. He looked old enough to be her grandfather. “Hello, Apostle Jenkins,” she said, looking at his conference badge.
“I was checking you out across the room. You know you’re a classy piece of ass,” he said, subtlety not being one of his finer virtues.
That he tried to come on to her did not surprise Shante. However, she was stunned he was bold enough as to say something like that to her in a roomful of ministers. Staring at the old man dressed in a shiny gray suit with a jacket ending below his knees she said, “Excuse me?”
“You’re a classy piece of ass. As I always say, ass without class don’t do anything for me. So what are you doing later on tonight? Maybe we can . . .” Taking no note of her expression, he continued his clumsy come-on. She was insulted. Here she was at a conference of ministers—one of the keynote speakers—and this man didn’t care. He was only looking at her as a female and, therefore, easy prey. Well, today he picked the wrong sister.
“If you think I’m one of those temple whores you meet at these meetings, you better think again. I’m a woman of God. I’m not interested,” she whispered in a tone that left no doubt she wasn’t playing with him. But the man had the sensibilities of a rhino and the finesse of a charging bull.
“That’s what they all say until they find out I drive a Bentley,” Jenkins boasted.
Shante’s heart began beating faster as she tried to keep her voice low. She wished she could attend one of these conferences without someone insulting her and treating her like a piece of meat. Tensed and exasperated, she strained to keep her cool so as not to draw attention to her flushed and furious face. In a low but firm voice, she spat out, “Let me tell you—”
“Hello, Apostle Jenkins,” someone said, interrupting their exchange. Turning, Shante was relieved to see her friend Maxwell Patrick standing behind them.
“Hi, young man,” Jenkins said, giving him a big smile. Trying to look innocent, he stepped back from Shante and began sipping his coffee.
“It’s good to see you again. You’re looking mighty sharp in that suit. Is that your Bentley I saw them parking outside?” Max asked as they shook hands and embraced.
“You know I’m the only one around here who drives that car. Of course, it’s mine,” Jenkins replied, sounding aggrieved.
“You’re trying to make it hard for us young men. We can’t keep up with you.”
“Well, you know I do what I do.”
“And you do it well.” They both laughed. Shante was glad someone had interrupted them. She was sure she could not take much more of this man’s insults. She took slow, even breaths and felt her calm slowly returning.
“Pastor Dogan, how are you today?” Max asked, turning to Shante.
Her body relaxed as she tried to keep relief out of her smile. “I’m well. How are you, Reverend Patrick?” she asked, shaking his hand and fighting the urge to throw thankful arms around him.
“I’m blessed. I wanted to talk with you about speaking at a conference coming up at the church,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She could feel peace, like a refreshing breeze, pass from his hand to her body.
“I see you two have business to talk about. I’ll see you later,” Apostle Jenkins said and began making his way through the crowded room.
“My knight in shining Armani. Thanks for rescuing me, Max.” Again, she was tempted to hug him but did not for fear people would assume something was going on between them.
“I saw him walking toward you. I tried to get to you as soon as I could,” Max said.
“Do you know what he said to me?” Shante asked, trying to pretend she was focusing on the table rather than on him.
“He gave you that classy ass speech, didn’t he?”
“So you’re familiar with that ignorant pickup line?”
“Yeah. He’s used that line all over the place. Did he tell you about his car? He thinks his car will help him get anyone he wants. Shake him off.” Max looked around the crowded room. “There are a lot of people in here. Have you eaten?”
“No, I was going to eat here tonight, but the food looks less than appetizing.”
“I know. As much as we pay to attend this thing, you would think they would have better food. Hey, meet me at the restaurant around the corner.”
“I don’t know . . .” she said, hesitating. “There are too many people here.”
“Come on, you said you were hungry.”
“I can order room service.”
“I’ll tell you what. There’s a little Japanese restaurant a couple of miles from here across from the beach. You can get there in a few minutes. Why don’t we meet there?” Max persisted. “I’ll call you with the directions.”
“A couple of miles from here? Okay. Can we meet in thirty minutes? I want to go to my room and change clothes,” she added, gladly seizing the opportunity to get away from the assembly.
“Thirty minutes is fine. I’ll see you there,” Max said as he walked.
Shante greeted a few people and then made her escape, casually strolling to the elevator. She ran to the bathroom as soon as she entered her room; she had been waiting all day to get out of her clothes. Ready to relax, she was glad she had requested a room facing the ocean. Being in Hilton Head in March before the summer heat had taken over always relaxed her. The sound of the waves had already begun to strip away her tensions. She had arranged her schedule to arrive there a day early to pray, work on her sermon, and unwind. She slipped into her favorite pair of jeans and her Delta Sigma Theta sweatshirt and removed her makeup. Looking in the mirror, fixing her hair, she saw the scars on her face—the remnant of her marriage to Kevin. The half-moon-shaped scar under her right eye where he had hit her with his fist and the ring he wore cut her; the long scar that ran from her left ear to the corner of her top lip that came from hitting the edge of a sofa table after Kevin hit her; the small keloid that formed after he slammed her against the doorframe and cut her chin. They brought back unpleasant memories for her. She wore heavy makeup to cover them up and most people could not tell she had them. But, having known Max many years, she felt no need to get dressed up for him. She could relax and be herself. Having a few minutes left before she had to leave, Shante went out on her balcony to savor the cool ocean air.
The moon beamed down on the Atlantic Ocean, its light shimmering on the dark water. She watched the white waves move to and away from the shoreline. The tranquil scene and the coolness of the March air soon took her into a spirit of worship. She closed her eyes and listened to the roar of the ocean.
“God, you are awesome. You are mighty. You are the one who created the heavens and Earth. All the Earth proclaims your glory. I love you. Each and every day you have shown your grace and mercy. I thank you.”
The sound of her cellphone ringing interrupted her meditation. The caller ID showed it was Camille, her daughter, who was away at college. She wondered why she was calling. She knew Shante would be at the conference and would have a busy schedule. Sighing, she answered the phone.
“Hi, Mom,” Camille said.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, I just called to see how you were doing,” Camille said, laughing.
“How much?”
“What? You act like the only time I call you is when I need money.”
“No, Camille, you call me all the time. We have great conversations, but I know your ‘Mom, I need some money’ tone. What’s up?” She always seemed to know when her daughter wanted money and when she only wanted to talk. She was thankful she had a beautiful and successful daughter and thankful they had a good relationship. They talked to each other about everything. Many of her friends envied their relationship and often asked how she was able to raise an independent twentyyear-old woman by herself.
“You know me too well. I’m going to have to change up my stuff,” Camille said.
“Remember, you came from me, and I know the game.”
They both laughed loudly.
“Are you still coming down next Thursday?”
“I know you didn’t ask me that. You know I am. Gwen is coming with me.”
“Well, I need fifty dollars. Can you put it in my account?”
“Camille, you should have fifty dollars. I just put five hundred dollars into your account last week.”
“I know, but I had things to get.”
“You need to stay out of the mall.” Shopping was her daughter’s weakness. When Camille went off to college, Shante thought she might have to take another job to make sure her daughter wanted for nothing. However, God blessed her and her speaking engagements increased, providing the extra money she needed to help Camille. She suddenly realized she had been on the phone longer than she wanted. Frantically looking around the room for her key, she was paying no attention to Camille as she continued talking about her day.
“Mom . . . Mom . . . MOM,” Camille shouted over the phone.
“I’m here, Camille,” she said, still searching. “But you aren’t listening to me.”
“I am, and I’m also looking for my room key. I have somewhere to go.”
“With Max?”
“Stay in a child’s place.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. You know I got the gift. Anyway, will you put the money in my account?” “I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”
Shante said good-bye, found her key, and hurriedly left the room. As she headed for the elevator, she realized she had forgotten to ask Camille how pledging was going. She made a mental note to ask her the next time they talked. She was already late for her meeting with Max.
Shante burst through the door of the Japanese Gardens restaurant as if she were being chased. She looked around the large, open room for Max. She heard loud laughter coming from the back of the restaurant. She could see Max talking with two waitresses. They seemed to be having a good conversation. She knew he was talking to them in Japanese. He did it all the time. His late wife was Japanese. She had taught him the language, and he frequently went to Japanese restaurants so he wouldn’t forget.
She leaned against the front counter and decided to give him a minute to have his fun. She was over thirty minutes late, so she was just glad he was still there. She stood at the door waiting to be seated. She tried to read a local real estate guide that was on the counter, but she could not keep her eyes off him. Even with age, she thought he was more gorgeous than ever.
She and Max had met in college. He was a Morehouse man and she was a Spelman woman. He was a member of Omega Psi Phi fraternity, and she was a Delta. He was outgoing and involved in many campus activities and stood out in the crowd with his tall, dark-skinned, athletic body. He had always worn his hair short and with neatly lined edges. All the women wanted Max. His teeth were even and pearly white. His lips, perfectly formed and plump, were the stuff of dreams. He could have been a playboy, but he was quite the nerd. Although lots of women chased him, he was only interested in one thing: books.
Max was a voracious reader. Because of his vast knowledge, he could debate anyone on practically any topic. He could spit out dates, times, and events at the drop of a hat. Everyone knew he would be an excellent attorney, and he was. Many a girl dreamed of being Mrs. Maxwell Patrick. But his goal was to graduate with honors and go to Howard Law School, which he did, and that’s where he met his wife, Meko. He actually met her on the DC Metro. She was lost and needed directions, and he helped her out. Tragically, she was killed in an automobile accident a few years ago. That had been a real bad time for him. Her heart had been heavy both for Max and for the loss of her friend.
Shante never expected to see Max or any of her friends again. Living with Kevin was hell, and he had isolated her from her family and friends. She had already lost her parents, both of whom died within a year of each other when she was a sophomore in college, and she relied on her extended family of aunts, uncles, and cousins for support. Kevin took them away from her and kept her a virtual prisoner.
When Shante finally got the courage to leave him, she ran to a place she knew he would not look for her: Charlotte, North Carolina. She knew he would search for her near her family in Jacksonville, and she did not know anyone in North Carolina. A few months after arriving, she ran into Max and Meko at the mall. Max had accepted a job at a law firm in Charlotte after his graduation, and they had moved there. It did not surprise Shante to learn Max had entered the ministry and was an associate pastor at his church. They renewed their friendship, and Meko and Shante quickly became friends and remained close even after Gwen, her childhood friend, moved to Charlotte with her husband. Thoughts of Meko’s sudden death could cause waves of sadness to wash over her so she forced herself to think of something positive.
She focused on Max and smiled as she thought about how he had become the most eligible bachelor in town. He was a successful attorney, pastor of the Earle Street Baptist Church, and father of three very active little boys. The chase had started all over again. Women from the tri-state area flocked to his church in Charlotte because of him, bringing food and gifts for him and the boys. They lavished compliments on his children and overworked themselves in the church to get his attention. None of it worked. His main focus was taking care of his boys—twelve-year-old Joshua, eight-year-old Jonathan, and four-year-old Jacob.
“Miss, your husband is waiting for you,” a server informed Shante.
“Afraid I’m not married,” Shante quickly corrected her. Pointing at Max and waving, she made her way through the black and red tables and chairs in the almost-empty restaurant over to where he was sitting.
“Did you tell that lady I was your wife?” she demanded when she reached the table.
“I was only kidding, Tay. Sit down,” he said, looking at her sweatshirt. “You are always representing DST.”
“You know I do what I do,” she said, imitating Apostle Jenkins. They laughed.
“So how are the boys?” she asked, settling into her seat.
“They’re great. Jonathan is thinking about trying out for the basketball team next year. He has been practicing in the backyard so much I have to make him come in and eat. I brought you their new school pictures,” Max said, handing her three pictures.
“They’re growing up so fast,” she said, looking at the pictures of his sons—her godsons. These boys were one reason she was glad they had been able to keep their friendship secret from the church community. She did not want anyone to try to destroy her relationship with Max. They were only friends, but if people found out they would attach more to it than it was and then the rumors and lies would begin. They had been just friends while his wife was alive and had remained friends after her death, and Shante had been an important presence in the boys’ lives.
“I know. It’s hard to believe they are not babies anymore. Time goes by fast.” He leaned over and took her hand. “Tay, I don’t think I could’ve made it if it had not been for you.”
She slowly removed her hand from his and picked up the menu. “Max, that’s what friends are for. Have you ordered yet?”
She could feel him staring at her, and she became increasingly uncomfortable when he took her hand again. She knew he had feelings for her, but her feelings for him were not the same. She again eased her hand from his and tried to focus on the menu, not wanting to give him the faintest notion they were more than friends. She tried to keep her distance when it came to adding a different dimension to their relationship. She only wanted to be friends, nothing more. She would have loved to be in a relationship, but she was much too busy and had too much drama going on to be involved romantically with anyone.
“Take your order now?” the waitress asked.
“Tay, do you know what you want?”
“Go ahead and order me something. You understand the menu better than I do, and I trust your judgment.”
“Boku wa sashimi teshoku,” Max began his order of sashimi, rice, soup and salad. They continued their conversation in Japanese and they both began to laugh.
Shante wondered what they were talking about and fleetingly wished she spoke Japanese. She guessed they had said something about her because the server looked at her and grinned.
“What did you say about me?” Shante asked after she left.
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me, Max. I know you said something about me. You were probably talking about some Japanese aphrodisiac.”
“I’m glad I got you away from that crowd. You’re beginning to talk like some of them. Sex, sex, sex. Everything is not about sex.”
“I know, but it seems to be an ongoing focus of the world.”
“Am I like the world?” Max asked, suddenly serious. “No.”
“Good. I ordered you steamed shrimp. I know you like seafood.”
“Thanks. How’s your building program going?” Max’s church was building. Construction had been going on for about a year and was almost complete. Max was proud he had completed the first phase of his ten-year building project, which would add a family life center and a school to the church campus.
Max began to talk about budgets and construction schedules, but Shante didn’t hear anything he was saying. She had drifted off into her own fantasy, her mind going far afield. Maybe Bishop was right; her husband just might be at the conference. Maybe it would be nice to be married. Sometimes it gets lonesome traveling alone. It would be nice to look out into the crowd and see a husband supporting her when she preached. She thought about the places she had traveled. Instead of eating dinner with an old friend, she could be enjoying the romantic atmosphere of the island with her husband by her side. But then she remembered her busy schedule and reality brought fantasy to an abrupt halt. As she continued to block out Max’s talk, she thought that she couldn’t bring anyone into the chaos she called her life.
Returning to the real world, she shared a little of her sermon with him, highlighting points she intended to make about Solomon. He inched closer to her and placed his arm around her shoulder. She shrugged it off and reminded him that, although they were miles from the conference, someone could see them. He moved back to his side of the booth and continued listening to her discuss her sermon.
After dinner, they crossed the street outside the restaurant and began walking along the beach. Shante took off her shoes so she could feel the sand massaging her feet. She loved the beach in the evening. It was so peaceful. Following her lead, Max took off his shoes. They walked leisurely along, talking and laughing about their days in college, step shows, hangouts, and old friends. They shared funny church stories. They compared sermons and talked about music. Shante could feel the cool air send a chill through her body. Max took off his sport coat and placed it on her.
“What’s in your pocket?” Shante asked.
“Oh, I forgot.” Max reached into the inside pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box and handed it to Shante. “One of the vendors was selling these and I thought about you. Open it.”
Shante opened the box and saw the silver cross inside. “Max, you shouldn’t have.”
“I know. I wanted to. Here, let me put it on.” As she turned and lifted her short, flipped hair, he picked up the long silver chain and placed it around her neck. It draped slightly between her cleavage. She picked up the cross and looked at it. His hands slowly caressed her shoulders. A chill went through her. She turned.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She hugged and kissed him on the cheek.
As he held her and felt her kiss, he whispered, “A little lower.”
“Thank you, Max,” she said in a much deeper voice, backing away from him. They both laughed. She knew what he was saying but she only wanted to be friends and nothing more. They continued their walk along the beach.
They had been walking for more than an hour when they heard music. It was coming from a luxury beach house; someone was having a party with a live band. The guests were dancing and laughing, apparently having a grand time.
“Looks like they’re having fun,” Max said looking at the partygoers.
“Yeah.”
“Would you like to dance, madam?” He offered his hand, bowing and speaking in an overly exaggerated Southern accent much stronger than his natural Alabama one.
In her best Southern-girl tone, Shante replied, “Well, sur, rally I would.”
She curtseyed and he bowed. He placed one arm around her waist and held her other hand as they swayed to the rhythm of the music. Max danced as if he was with the love of his life, holding her close and breathing in the very essence of the moment with her.
At that very moment, her life was good, dancing with an old friend on the beach, but it would be perfect if she had a special man in her life. She pushed the thought away; she couldn’t focus on that now. Too much was going on in her life—the church, the community, Camille.