Curtis checked his speedometer. He didn’t know he was going that fast—eighty-eight miles per hour. The speed limit was sixty-five. He was rolling down Highway 40. Good thing it was almost seven in the evening, or else he’d have been in trouble. Curtis checked the rearview mirror just to be on the safe side. No need to drive this fast and not have sense enough to look for the cops.
He was running late and trying his best to make the thirty-five-minute drive to North Raleigh in as close to fifteen minutes as he could. Curtis couldn’t believe that Gilead had summoned him to an impromptu meeting in the president’s office. He was even more put out when he walked into Sam Redmond’s plush office overlooking the university’s well-stocked lake and Jethro Winters, Eva T.’s newest trustee member, was sitting in a chair sipping on some Johnnie Walker Blue on the rocks like it was a glass of iced tea. Curtis knew that Sam Redmond loved Johnnie Walker Blue and always kept it on hand for special guests.
Curtis did not like the feel of this meeting. Nothing good could possibly come out of a meeting with Gilead Jackson, Sam Redmond, and the rich, white, and very greedy developer Jethro Winters. He thought about all the trouble Jethro had caused his friend Lamont Green, when Lamont would not back down and allow Jethro to roll over him and take the contract to rebuild Cashmere Estates.
The idea that these three snakes had taken time out of their busy day to slither up together long enough to meet with him was troubling enough. But Curtis was even more concerned when he remembered seeing Kordell and Castilleo leaving Sam’s office two days ago. Neither one of those two men was in the ranks of faculty members who would have direct access to the university president. Maurice, who was much higher on the food chain than Kordell and Castilleo, had never met with Dr. Redmond in his office. In fact, Curtis hadn’t met with Sam in his office more than four times since he became the head coach four years ago.
Even more disconcerting was that Kordell and Castilleo left Sam Redmond’s office in a hurry, and then hopped into Rico Sneed’s red Cadillac. Curtis had never taken Rico’s affair with Tangie Bonner at face value like most other folk. He’d always suspected that the affair was a front to give him a reason to be on campus every day. Anyone who understood how affairs worked knew that a man involved in an affair would try to be with his other woman as much as possible. For Rico, it meant that he could come and go as he pleased, and no one would ever think to question his real reason for being at Eva T. all the time.
Curtis was astounded when Gilead told him that the meeting had been called to discuss pending cuts in his budget for uniforms, shoes, towels, and the water, cups, and Gatorade used during a game. That Gilead would want to buy second-rate shoes and uniforms, only to have to turn around and spend money again when they fell apart mid-season, was stupid.
In the past he would have been furious and ready to do battle in a heartbeat over something like that. And Curtis suspected that was exactly the kind of reaction Gilead and Sam Redmond were hoping for when they summoned him to the president’s office to tell him this in front of Jethro Winters. Throughout that entire contrived conversation, Curtis had to remain prayerful to keep his cool. Gran Gran kept telling him to get stronger in the Word so that he’d have something to anchor him when faced with a trial like this one. How he wished he’d been obedient. A good Word from the Lord would have blessed him down to the bone, especially when Gilead handed him a spreadsheet itemizing the proposed areas targeted for the budget cuts. But Curtis didn’t flinch or move a muscle. He took the spreadsheet, folded it up, and put it away in his briefcase before saying, “Is there anything else you need for me to know? I’m already late for an appointment.”
Gilead and Sam Redmond, satisfied that their work was done even if they were disappointed that Curtis had kept his cool, nodded, indicating that the meeting was over. Curtis picked up his briefcase and was on his way out when Jethro Winters, who had never learned how to read black people, opened his big mouth and said, “I would guess that the mere thought of buying one of your players another pair of 200-dollar athletic shoes is pretty ominous about now, huh?”
Curtis tightened his grip on the briefcase, hoping that would help him keep his hands from colliding with that white boy’s face. But God gave him the strength to keep himself in check. He remembered that Jethro loved to race-bait. The room was tense. Gilead and Sam Redmond had just closed their eyes praying that Jethro wouldn’t say another word. Because if he said anything else about those athletic shoes, one of the two of them was going to put a 500-dollar shoe right up the crack in his behind.
Curtis opened the door, said, “Gentlemen,” and walked out. At first he was real upset over what had transpired. And then, miraculously, God placed the words of Psalm 37, one of his favorite psalms, in his heart. Curtis was strengthened and encouraged when he remembered: “Those who are evil spy on the godly, waiting for an excuse to kill them. But the Lord will not let the wicked succeed or let the godly be condemned when they are brought before the judge.”
He didn’t have to worry about any of that, God would be right there working it all out on his behalf. Curtis glanced down at his watch and hurried out of the building to his car. He eased into the plush leather seat, turned on the ignition, slipped in a gospel jazz CD by Jonathan Butler, and pulled off. It didn’t take him long to reach Highway 40.
Curtis started to relax and then tensed back up when he happened to look in the rearview mirror and saw blue lights flashing and headed in his direction. He moved out of the far left lane to let the cop pass him by, hoping for the best. His heart sank all the way down to the bottom of his feet when the car moved with him, as if on cue. Curtis drove for another couple of minutes and then pulled all the way over when it was clear that those blue lights were flashing for him and him alone.
Curtis opened the glove compartment to get his registration, and then raised up to get his driver’s license out of his wallet in his back pocket. This had been some day, and it just kept getting worse. A part of him wanted to call Maurice and ask him to tell Reverend Denzelle Flowers that he was not going to be able to make the Friday-night service held every month at Denzelle’s church, New Jerusalem Gospel United Church. He rolled the window down.
“License and … Coach? Dawg, that you driving like a bat out of Hell on my highway?”
Curtis rolled the window all the way down and stuck out his hand. He couldn’t believe that it was Reverend Flowers’s brother, Officer Yarborough Flowers. He said, “Man, I am trying my best to get over to your brother’s church for the service, and it just ain’t working for me this evening.”
“That’s right,” Yarborough said, “Denzelle wanted you and Maurice there as special guests tonight. He called and asked if I could make it. But as you can see, I have to keep watch on a few negroes with some heavy feet.”
Curtis laughed and handed Yarborough his license and registration card. Yarborough handed it back to him. He said, “Coach, I wasn’t supposed to tell you this because it was to be a surprise. But God laid it on my brother’s heart to get the church to raise money for you and the team. He said that God told him you would need it, and they have a check for 18,776 dollars waiting for you at New Jerusalem. So you go on and please slow down. I’ll call Denzelle and let him know you’ve been delayed and will be there as soon as you can.”
Curtis clasped Yarborough’s hand and nodded in thanks. He was glad that Yarborough had to hurry off, because if he’d stood there a minute longer he would have seen the tears streaming down Curtis’s cheeks. Gran Gran kept telling him that God was an amazing and wondrous God. And right now he was bearing witness to it. His budget was about to be cut by 13,000 dollars, and God had already taken care of the deficit, with surplus to boot.
“Thank you, God,” Curtis whispered and pulled up a handful of napkins from McDonald’s to wipe his face. He laughed. Maurice had once seen the stash of Mickey D’s napkins trying to masquerade as tissues and said, “You are such a negro, Curtis man.”
He relaxed and before he knew it was turning into the parking lot of New Jerusalem Gospel United Church. Maurice was pacing the parking lot, and waved him into the space they’d saved for him. Curtis jumped out of the car and followed Maurice into the church.
“Man, Denzelle wouldn’t start the service without you. So the Praise and Worship Team has given a concert, and they were revving up for a finale when you drove into the parking lot. What took you so long?”
“Gilead called just as I was getting ready to head over here and said that he needed to see me in Sam Redmond’s office. I’m looking at the phone wondering what this was about and if it could wait. Naturally, when I asked if I could come at another time, you know the answer was no. And get this, Maurice, when I get to Sam Redmond’s office, Sam Redmond, Gilead, and Jethro Winters—”
“Jethro Winters,” Maurice said. “Why was he there? He has been getting chummier and chummier with Sam Redmond and Gilead, and that does not sit well with me. He’s on the board of trustees; there is no reason for him to be in a so-called budget-cutting meeting with you and the head of the Athletic Department. Something is real funky.”
Curtis nodded. All of a sudden he felt tired and hoped he could make it through the service. As much as he loved his job, he wished he could do it without being bombarded with stuff that didn’t have anything to do with basketball. University politics at an HBCU could get as messy and ominous as the politics at church. And he hated it when someone’s personal agendas seeped over into an area of the university that was none of their business. But if it offered the means to the end they were working so hard to attain, then they would seep over to wherever they needed to be to get what they wanted.
Curtis and Maurice walked into the vestibule of the church. Curtis had never been to Denzelle’s church and was impressed. It wasn’t as large as his church, Fayetteville Street, but it was a lovely and rather unusual pale pink stone structure. Reverend Denzelle Flowers hurried to greet Curtis and gave him a warm and welcoming handshake.
“Man, my brother called me and let me know you were running late. Come on, before the Praise and Worship Team starts doing the remixes of their songs.”
Curtis smiled and took note of the suit Denzelle was wearing. He said, “You’re kind of sharp there tonight, Preacher. If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get that suit?”
Denzelle grinned and stroked his chin. “It is pretty sharp, isn’t it,” he answered, and pulled back the coat of the sea-foam-colored suit jacket with charcoal pinstripes to reveal a matching vest with shawl collar, sea-foam-colored shirt, and a charcoal tie with bits of sea foam and coral specks in it. The outfit spelled “preacher,” down to Reverend Flowers’s matching sea-foam slip-on gaiters.
“But where’d you get it, man?” Maurice asked, wanting to know where to find some suits like that himself. He also wondered about the cost but had too much home training to ask. But he’d be able to find out, if Denzelle was willing to tell them where those suits were sold.
“I got it wholesale from Mr. Booth,” Denzelle said, and gave a smooth wink to a sister with a butt that could only be classified as a bodunkadunk. She smiled and then giggled before saying, “Reverend Flowers, you so crazy.”
Curtis shook his head and said, “Man, you are too much. You know you are doing nothing but asking for trouble.”
“Dawg, I’m single just like you. I don’t even have a steady boo.”
“But I’m a coach. You are a minister—a pastor, in fact. And man, I just don’t think it’s wise to be running around this church like that. You’re not dating any of the women in this church, are you?”
Denzelle, who looked like a burnished copper version of the late Bernie Mack, got quiet and took a quick look around to make sure nobody was in earshot. He said, “Man, I’ve dated a few. Nothing serious. Just dinner, a jazz concert, good movie.”
“Was it the same lady, or did you take one sister to dinner, another to a concert, and one more to a movie?” Curtis asked him, now concerned. He was a coach, and women liked to chase coaches just as they did preachers. He didn’t know why—it took a very special, secure, and wise woman to be married to a head coach of any visible sport. And to be the first lady of a church was an even more difficult job. Because unlike the coach’s wife, the pastor’s wife had to minister to her husband and serve in some sort of ministering capacity at the church.
Denzelle grinned sheepishly. He knew he didn’t need to date those women in his congregation. His brother had been telling him that all he was doing was asking for trouble.
“Uh … huh … thought so,” Curtis said. “Man, you need to check that and start praying and asking God to send the right woman in your life. You a man, with a man’s needs, and being up in here with all of these women willing to do any- and everything for the pastor is not a good thing for you, dawg.”
“A disaster waiting to happen, is what it is,” Maurice said. He’d been watching all of the women vying for Denzelle’s attention, and none of them was someone he would have picked out for the good reverend. He wondered why the skoochies were so active when it came to trying to lock in on a brother. And he wondered why brothers always gave so much attention to those types of women, ignoring and neglecting the real jewels in their midst, and risking having to wake up next to a skoochie with a weave she wouldn’t even let you put your hands on in the heat of the moment.
“Don’t be so rough on a brother, Maurice,” Denzelle said as he pulled out his wallet and gave the two of them business cards.
“Oh, I know who this is,” Curtis said. “This is Miss Hattie Lee Booth’s brother-in-law. You know, Miss Hattie Lee, who is the cook at Rumpshakers. Charles had been telling me about him—said the brother had some sharp suits for a good price.”
It took Maurice a moment to place Miss Hattie Lee because he had been to Rumpshakers on only one occasion. But he did know who she was because the lady could cook. He turned the card over in his hands. It read DAPPER DRESSING MEN’S WEAR, LOWELL BOOTH, PROPRIETOR. “What are his prices like?”
“Like none you’ve ever seen. Mr. Booth has the best suits, ties, shoes, shirts, and the kind of hats we brothers like. His prices are so good because he doesn’t have a store. You can go to his house, where he has a room just for the merchandise, or he’ll bring it straight to you. Go on his website and check out his suits and the rest of his stuff. I think you’ll like what you see.”
Maurice raised an eyebrow. If Mr. Booth was Miss Hattie Lee’s brother-in-law, he was in his seventies. And from the little bit he’d seen of Miss Hattie Lee, he just didn’t get the impression that this family was Internet-friendly.
“He has a good website,” Denzelle said, fully understanding the question on Maurice’s face. He knew Mr. Booth, and he was definitely not the kind of old school brother who was interested in designing and running a savvy website. “Mr. Booth’s great-nephew, Miss Hattie Lee’s grandson Lil’ Too Too does the website.”
Denzelle heard the Praise and Worship Team stop singing and start giving what he knew would be lengthy testimonies. He opened the door to the sanctuary and said, “We need to hurry and get into the pulpit. If Sister Doreene in the purple suede suit starts talking, we’ll never get out of here.”
Maurice said, “I heard that,” when he spotted Sister Doreene in the purple suede church suit with the matching suede hat with hot pink suede flowers covering the entire brim. Miss Thing looked like she could concoct a testimony that would make Jesus give serious thought to making a trial run of cracking the sky, just so He could tell that girl to take a chill pill, and then go on back to glory to wait to the appointed time to come and gather up His saints.
The three men walked down the side aisle and hurried up into the pulpit. Denzelle sat down in the pastor’s chair, right in the middle of the pulpit podium. Maurice sat to his left, and Curtis, who was very uncomfortable with the overall seating arrangement, was on Denzelle’s right. Curtis would have preferred to sit in one of the front pews with Trina and Yvonne, who he didn’t know was going to be here. But then again, maybe this was the best place to be. He had a full view of Yvonne and her every move—and that was a mighty blessed thing as far as Curtis was concerned.
He took great pleasure in being able to look at Miss Lady in that pretty mint-green knit suit, with what Trina had once told him was a shawl collar, and a skirt that he just knew without seeing hugged every delectable curve on the baby girl’s body. What had started out as an upside of the rough side of the mountain evening was practically looking straight up to glory. Curtis sat back in his chair and smiled at Yvonne, who lowered her eyes, reminding him of how sweet and delightful an authentic church girl was. And while there were a good helping of churchgoing women in the sanctuary this evening, not all of them qualified to wear the title of church girl. Sister Doreene, for one, was anything but authentic. Her need to be seen and heard to the nth degree was proof of that, as far as Curtis was concerned.
The church was packed for a Friday night. Maurice, Trina, and Yvonne had arrived early and were able to get good seats at the front of the sanctuary. The only drawback though was that they had to sit through the Praise and Worship Team too long. Sometimes the Praise and Worship Team leaders had trouble knowing when to bring a song to an end. This group sang one song for fifteen minutes straight, which really worked on Yvonne’s nerves. She was on the Praise and Worship Team at their church, along with Miss Baby Doll Lacy and Marquita Robinson Sneed. They knew how to usher in the Holy Ghost during the pre-service. And they also knew when it was time for a song to end and, even better, when it was time for them to go and sit down.
And not only was this service packed, it was filled with a few very surprise guests. One of the most surprising was Charles Robinson, who Maurice later learned came for two very disparate reasons. One, Charles, who was a millionaire, and trying to find a way to the Lord without giving himself over fully to the Lord, wanted to help with Denzelle’s efforts to support the basketball team. He had written a pretty generous check and had given it to Reverend Flowers to add to the amount raised by New Jerusalem for the Fighting Panthers.
And two, Charles wanted to be able to sit near Veronica Washington, whose divorce was scheduled to be issued any day. He could not understand why Veronica’s pending ex-husband, Robert, actually believed that Tracey Parsons, the woman he had left her for, was the way to elevate himself out of the muck and mire of being a lowlife and a jerk.
Maurice was well aware, sitting in the pulpit watching Trina smile and wave at him, that Denzelle hadn’t called them over to Raleigh for their health—Reverend Flowers planned on making a difference in their lives as it related to their needs for the basketball team. That was one thing Maurice really liked about Denzelle, in spite of his skirt-chasing—the man had heart that led him to help so many people, groups, programs, and organizations in need. Plenty of folks around the Triangle had powerful testimonies about how the Lord used Reverend Flowers to help them when they were in dire need.
Maurice and Yarborough were good friends, and they constantly lifted up Denzelle, asking the Lord to lead him to the right woman, and to give him peace with the time he was to spend with God alone while he waited on the Lord to point the girl out to him.
Denzelle got up and smiled at his guests and favorite parishioners. Unbeknownst to many churchgoing folk, the favored members were not the most prestigious ones, or the ones with the most generous tithe checks. Folks forgot that the most noteworthy tithe in the New Testament amounted to a few pennies because it had been given with such faith and love.
His favorite members were the ones who kept him lifted in prayer, forgave him when he fell short and had to struggle with his battle with the flesh, and always treated him with the love of Christ blazing out of their hearts. They were people like Veronica Washington, L. C. and Lynette Smith, Kevin and Kimberly Wade, Timothy and Sheila Reed, and Marsha Metcalf, who was the only woman at his church who pulled at his well-guarded heartstrings, and she didn’t even know it. Charles Robinson was the only other brother in Durham who guarded his heart more fiercely than Denzelle did.
“Praise the Lord, everybody!” Denzelle said, his heart getting warmer by the second at just the mere thought of the glory of the Lord. Contrary to public opinion, Denzelle Flowers loved the Lord but had a serious battle with being obedient to the Word of God when it came to the area of romance and what he could and could not do. He knew that for him marriage was the answer. God had placed that on his heart years ago when he asked for help after a horrific and embarrassing breakup with a woman Denzelle knew he was not going to marry the first time he went over to her house for dinner. God had told him then, and God kept telling him now, but the boy was just hardheaded when it came to matters of the heart.
Denzelle glanced back at Coach Parker sitting in the pulpit looking like he hoped the Lord wouldn’t get him for sitting in a place he didn’t think he deserved to be. But as much as Curtis would have argued with Reverend Flowers over that decision, Denzelle knew that Coach had a right to be in that seat. Because Denzelle knew that Curtis had a deep hunger for the Lord, and that unlike Charles Robinson he wasn’t trying to barter and purchase his way to salvation. The only reason Denzelle had accepted that check for ten thousand dollars from Charles was to get him in church for a reason other than trying to mack on the sisters he himself didn’t have time for or any desire to be bothered with. This skirt-chasing was getting old, and Denzelle knew his days at his church, the church he had built up from nothing, were numbered if he didn’t repent and get himself together. His brother was right. It would be a sin to let that happen as a result of some trifling booty-call foolishness.
The Praise the Lords, were kind of feeble-sounding, so Denzelle came out of the pulpit and said, “Praise the Lord, everybody. What’s wrong with y’all tonight? We had enough gas money to get here. We’re in our right minds—”
“Some of us are, Pastor,” Lynette Smith called from the back of the church, causing folks to laugh and relax and begin to let the Holy Ghost start to flow again through the church. She always wished that the pastor wouldn’t let Sister Doreene be on the Praise and Worship Team because the girl always managed to throw a wet blanket on the fires of the Holy Ghost when she opened her mouth to testify. She knew that in this case Reverend Flowers was being kind and compassionate. But sometimes that wasn’t all it was cracked up to be—especially in the case of Sister Doreene.
“… Okay,” Denzelle said, flashing the smile that got him in so much trouble, “some of us can praise the Lord because we are in our right minds. And the rest of us can praise Him for giving us enough money to buy our medications so that we can think we are in our right minds.”
“Praise the Lord, everybody” came from one of the ushers sitting on a pew in the back of the church.
By now everybody was smiling and laughing and warming back up. Denzelle decided that he would change the service around a bit. One of the things that he really liked about his Friday-night services was that they could relax traditional service protocol and follow God’s lead concerning what to do and when and how to do it. He said, “You know something, church, tonight we are going to get up and greet each other in a big hug of Christian love. Go find somebody you haven’t seen all week and tell them I love you, and there ain’t nothing you can do about it.”
Curtis came out of the pulpit and headed straight to Yvonne. He wrapped her up in a big, warm hug, kissed her cheek, took in the lovely fragrance of her Stella McCartney perfume, and said, “I love you and there ain’t nothing you can do about it.”
Yvonne stood there in Curtis’s warm and secure embrace, trying to return this church greeting, but found that she couldn’t say a word. So she hugged him back and mumbled out, “Ditto.”
Curtis laughed and kissed her soft cheek again and then went back to his seat. Maurice and Trina just looked at each other. Everybody else was hugging everybody they could find. Curtis had hugged only Yvonne and then gone back to his seat to sit down.
Denzelle decided he needed to go back up in the pulpit when he saw the choir making its way to the choir loft, and two women, whose offers to bring dinner by his house he’d turned down, making a beeline in his direction. When one of the women saw him going back into the pulpit, she ran toward the pastor and almost fell flat on her butt, when Denzelle, who used to be a star basketball player for Eva T. back in the early eighties, leaped out of her way and back up to his podium.
Charles Robinson, who was sitting with his boy and Rumpshakers’ manager, Pierre, started laughing. He leaned over and whispered, “Pierre, man, playah wasn’t playin’, was he?”
“Naw, boss,” Pierre said, cracking up and reaching out his fist for some dap from Charles. “Baby girl was on a mission, and playah wasn’t havin’ it. You know I love coming to Denzelle’s church.”
“Me, too,” Charles said as he took a quick peek at Veronica, who was looking all sweet and churchy in a pale pink St. John dress that wrapped around her body like it was some GLAD wrap trying to keep all of that fresh fineness in. He nudged at Pierre, who was looking toward the back of the church, nodded in Veronica’s direction, and said, “Check it out.”
Pierre turned back around and said, “No, you better check that out.”
Charles frowned. There was Robert Washington standing in the back waiting for an usher to seat him and his woman in the crowded church. The head usher saw them, too. He stared up at the pastor, waiting for a sign as to what to do.
Veronica Washington was the usher’s neighbor. He remembered the day Veronica called him and his wife in tears because Robert had a Triangle Company moving van sitting in her driveway and three movers standing at the door waiting for their orders. Without any warning, Robert had ordered movers to Veronica’s house so he could live with that woman the usher had seen him sneaking around with in Cary because he was dumb enough to believe that he wasn’t going to run into anybody from Durham or Raleigh in Cary, North Carolina—a suburban enclave located between both cities.
His wife had told Veronica to calm down and get herself together. The two of them prayed over the phone while the movers took a seat on the front steps, and the usher went and burned a complete CD of Beyoncé’s Irreplaceable, to be played over and over and over again until the move was complete. It worked. The Lord blessed Veronica with courage and grace she didn’t even know she had. That You must not know ’bout me … you must not know ’bout me, playing constantly, tickled the movers to no end, even though it had made Robert feel like he would go crazy every time it started up again.
The movers figured out exactly what was going on when Robert strolled up to the front door, determined to supervise and control a move at the house he no longer resided in, and found the head usher/neighbor, who was a locksmith by profession, busy changing every single lock in the house. The movers, who were now sitting in lawn chairs and sipping on fresh-brewed gourmet coffee, knew that Veronica was a classy lady. They favored her, ignored Robert, who had to wait in his car during the move, and made sure nothing left that house that needed to stay there.
Denzelle stared at that grinning, raunchy negro marring the back of his church and frowned. He couldn’t help but think about Malachi 2:16: “For I hate divorce!” says the Lord, the God of Israel. “It is as cruel as putting on a victim’s bloodstained coat,” says the Lord God Almighty. “So guard yourself; always remain loyal to your wife.” The first time he’d read that scripture, it had cut through him like the sharpest knife. It was ten years ago and his divorce papers had just arrived in the mail. Denzelle had read the papers, read that scripture, and then gone and sat on his back porch and cried like a baby. That Word hurt him down to the bone. But today he really understood what God was telling him, looking at Robert Washington flaunting around with his woman, Tracey Parsons. This kind of thing was a disgrace, and it was cruel.
Reverend Flowers made eye contact with the usher, who in turn gave the signal to the other ushers to go sit down and act like they didn’t see Robert and the woman with the Stewie-in-Family-Guy-shaped head. Robert bristled, with his nose flaring and air puffing up in the front of his mouth, making him look like a pissed-off swamp monkey. His woman Stewie was hot, and walked right out of the church, with Robert hot on her tail.
The choir was now in place and the musicians started playing the instrumental part of one of the pastor’s favorite songs, which was sure to have folks up on their feet dancing and praising the Lord. But Denzelle didn’t want to stifle the flow of the Holy Ghost when things heated up and decided that he needed to make the presentation right now before the choir started singing.
He motioned for the musicians to calm down for a minute, and then signaled for Curtis and Maurice to join him at the pulpit podium. He said, “New Jerusalem is one of the fastest-growing Gospel United Churches in the Triangle. We’ve been so blessed. We celebrated our mortgage burning a year ago, we have money invested and our investments are earning money, we own property outside of this church, we have built and furnished more houses for Habitat for Humanity than any church, black or white, in Raleigh, and our monthly Friday-night services have been constantly gaining in popularity throughout the Triangle.
“Now, ever since we started our Friday-night services, one thing we decided to do was help someone out. Coach Curtis Parker and Coach Maurice Fountain have been called to lead our beloved Fighting Panthers to a mighty victory this season. I believe that they have a chance to make it into the SNAC play-offs, and at some point make a bid for an invitation to the NCAA dance.”
There were a lot of Panthers in the congregation, and they started cheering, “Gooooooo Panthers!!!!”
“In the name of Jesus,” Denzelle said, laughing, “we are going to the dance. But to get there takes faith, perseverance, and preparation. Our coaches need our help and we prayed as a congregation, and God led us to give you all this.” Denzelle reached inside of his breast pocket and then put two checks in Curtis’s hand. The first was for the expected $18,776. The second, from Charles Robinson, was for an additional ten grand. It was a miracle.
Hours ago, Curtis had walked out of the president’s office facing deep slices into his budget. And now the Lord had made up for the deficit and given them far more than he ever expected to carry the team through. The Lord had truly supplied their every need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus. Curtis felt himself tear up, and prayed that he wouldn’t punk out and cry. He glanced over at Maurice and saw that Maurice was fighting that exact same battle. They both laughed through the tears, thankful that the good Lord didn’t let one fall.
At that moment, Trina was so happy she was a female and could cry shamelessly. Yvonne, who didn’t cry as easily as most folks, felt her eyes watering. She stood up and said, “Praise the Lord,” only to be followed by the rest of the congregation. She looked at Curtis struggling to man up and not cry, and her heart was touched. This was the kind of man she would love to have in her life.
A twinge of sadness swept across Yvonne’s heart when it occurred to her that Regina Young was a part of Curtis Parker’s life. She gave that sorrow over to the Lord and was encouraged with Holy Ghost–anointed joy when God reminded her that He was her true source of joy and contentment, and that she was not to worry because He had everything in control. All she had to do was trust Him and be patient because her blessings were on the way.
Denzelle gave both of the coaches that good old black boy hug, where they leaned toward one another, grasped hands, and parted with a firm pat on the back. He went and sat back down, now ready to hear the choir throw down on the Mississippi Mass Choir’s “I’m Not Tired Yet”: I’ve been runnin’ for Jesus a long time … and I’m not tired yet.
Maurice liked this song, too. He loved that earthy, warrior-for-Jesus-sounding voice of the soloist on the CD. That lady sounded like she’d really been runnin’ for Jesus since she put on her first pair of walking shoes. He turned around to see who the soloist was, and was a bit disappointed to discover that it was the woman with the bodunkadunk booty in the lobby. He couldn’t help but wonder if a sister so bent on swinging that thing in full view of the pastor could really throw down on a song that required a good dose of the Holy Ghost to make the delivery just right.
The musicians gave a robust and hot run of the introduction of the song, getting folks up off their feet before anyone sang one note. Denzelle stood up and turned around, grinning, just ready to be blessed with this song. The musicians played the introduction one more time, wondering if the soloist had missed her cue. She didn’t open her mouth, so they played the intro one extra time for good measure, silently lifting the girl up in prayer.
The choir director started clapping on that third cue, and glanced over to the musicians, indicating that they should give the song intro one more run to make it look as if they were doing this on purpose. She didn’t know what was wrong with the soloist this evening. She’d picked this song because it was on the pastor’s list of favorites, and the pastor was like her brother. She’d also picked this song because she knew the soloist, who loved to get attention, would show out for the company, or all of the visitors in the audience. She also knew Miss Lady had a crush on the pastor and would work extra hard to work that song.
But Bodunkadunk would not open her mouth. She put her hand on her hip and then curled up her lips when they started the song a fifth time. Miss Thing was mad, and she’d been mad ever since she saw her pastor dodging those two heifers during the meet-and-greet, making it clear they were trying to be his woman. She thought she’d made it clear to all of the pastor’s wannabe boos that she was the Head Wannabe Boo In Charge at this church. Pastor Flowers needed to quit ducking and dodging heifers and make a choice. She knew she had the biggest booty of all the women chasing after the pastor. He was a black man, and what black man didn’t like a big booty, especially when it was attached to a woman who could sing?
By now the choir director and the musicians were done with fooling around with this girl and her tantrum. She nodded for the musicians to change the song and gave a signal to one of the tenors to come up and sing another one of the pastor’s favorites, Marvin Sapp’s “Never Would Have Made It.” But they couldn’t get past the first chords before Bodunkadunk sucked on her teeth real loud into the microphone, breathed out like she was too through, and then leaned down and popped Reverend Flowers upside the head.
Charles and Pierre were in the back of the church all under the pews, they were laughing so hard. Charles said, “I saw it coming, man … I saw it coming. When Big Booty wouldn’t sing after the second long intro to the song, I knew something was up. I don’t know why Denzelle won’t check these heifers in his church.”
“He can’t do that, boss—not unless he is clear that he is not going to try and hit on that. You know that is the only way a brother can brush off a sister with a bodunkadunk hanging off the back of her like that, who also knows the power of a big butt.”
“You ain’t never lied, playah,” Charles said, and sat up straight to see what else was going to happen. Maybe he did need to join church if all of this was happening in here. He’d wait on the saved thing, though. Getting saved required a bit too much from a brother.
Denzelle was stunned. Yarborough had told him about flirting with that girl, said she was crazy and a mess waiting to happen. He massaged the back of his head and gave that girl a look that clearly said, “Hit me again and I’m gone forget I’m a preacher and a gentleman.”
Miss Thang had been around before coming back to church. She didn’t miss one word of that unspoken message and made to leave the sanctuary. But she wasn’t the only one mad at Reverend Flowers for not paying attention to her. The two women he had jumped away from now got bold and walked down to the front of the church and stood there, feet apart, hands on hips, with “What you gone do now, Pastor?” expressions on their faces. As if that wasn’t enough trouble, one of the woman ushers came off from the side, picked up a collection plate and tossed it, Frisbee-style, into the pulpit. All three men jumped up as if they were intercepting a pass to catch the plate. It slid past Denzelle’s hand, and Curtis reached out and caught it.
“Thanks, Coach,” Denzelle mumbled and went up to the podium, praying for God to help him out of this mess. He whispered, “I’m sorry, Jesus. You’ve been trying to tell me to straighten up and fly right. This is my deathly wages for my many sins. Lord, I confess this sin of lust and selfishness and fornication. I repent, Lord, in the name of Jesus. And I ask to be forgiven, delivered, and set free.”
“Amen!” “Amen!” “Amen!” came from all around the church, which had heard this prayer clearly over their very high-tech and sophisticated sound system. “Hallelujah!” was shouted everywhere. Folks stood on their feet and began praising God. Despite all of his wayward ways, New Jerusalem loved their pastor. A whole lot of them had been praying for him, and they’d been praying for their church to be set free from that Jezebel spirit on those women who kept trying to run and ruin their beloved church.
The musicians took their cue from the congregation and started playing “Never Would Have Made It” until the soloist could get to the microphone. The choir director was crying. She had been praying so hard for her play brother, and was blessed beyond measure to see him repent and be set free. What a powerful testimony to the entire church to see their pastor freed from this yoke of sin.
Tears were streaming down Denzelle’s cheeks. For the second time this evening, the Book of Malachi was on his heart. This time, Malachi 2:5–8 sliced through him, convicting Denzelle Flowers down to the bone when he thought of what God had to say to him with this scripture, which read:
“‘The purpose of my covenant with the Levites was to bring life and peace, and this is what I gave them. This called for reverence from them, and they greatly revered me and stood in awe of my name. They passed on to the people all the truth they received from me. They did not lie or cheat; they walked with me, living good and righteous lives, and they turned many from lives of sin. The priests’ lips should guard knowledge, and people should go to them for instruction, for the priests are the messengers of the Lord Almighty. But not you! You have left God’s paths. Your “guidance” has caused many to stumble into sin. You have corrupted the covenant I made with the Levites,’ says the Lord Almighty.”
Denzelle’s shoulders shook from the sorrow and sobs tearing through him. He always knew folks in his congregation loved him. But he never knew how hard they’d been praying for him until right now. He didn’t understand and truthfully didn’t want to understand how his sin had hurt and injured them so deeply. He didn’t know that they had seen it all and they loved him in spite of himself. And he was in awe of God’s mercy, grace, and forgiveness to a sinner like himself. He walked out of that pulpit and went down to the altar to rededicate his life to Christ.
Maurice went to stand next to him. Curtis remained in the pulpit, feet feeling like lead, as he resisted the urging of the Holy Ghost to go and join Denzelle at that altar. He wasn’t ready. He hoped the Rapture wasn’t on the horizon because today he wasn’t ready.
Charles’s heart was convicted, and he grabbed the back of the pew to stop himself from going down to that altar and getting saved. This was the first time in his life that he’d ever wanted to get saved. Watching Denzelle be transformed in front of his very eyes was a testimony to the power of the Lord he’d never forget. He took a step and then sat down when he remembered all the money he stood to lose if he went down to that altar.
Curtis had sat down and was gripping his chair, so convicted he thought he’d explode. But he’d have to deal with that conviction because he was hardheaded and wasn’t going down to that altar—not today.