“What would I do?” I asked intrigued.
“In the book of Revelation heaven is people from every tribe and every language and every nation. You have the perfect background for increasing our diversity. Churches in the south have been segregated for far too long.”
I nodded. A well-timed ‘amen’ wouldn’t have been amiss, but the call and response of his kind of church was as foreign to me as Latin and incense would be to him.
Collins continued, “You’ll need to work with our team to find effective ways to reach new congregants. Work to keep the current ones engaged in what we do here. You’d have a lot of autonomy on how you’d decide to do that. I’m not saying that Jesus is for everyone. What I’m saying is that a smart young woman like yourself could really cut her teeth. Then, when you’re ready, you can go to New York or Boston.”
“Why do you think I’d leave?” I asked, though I knew deep down in my bones that I would.
“Women like you? They always leave. You come back thinking that Louisiana, the South will be your home again. But once you move north, you’re changed. This place will eventually chafe. When that day comes, we’ll give you a party and send you on your way. What I’m saying, though, is that this job will teach you a lot and put you on the path to wherever you want to go.”
My mother had always said if something seemed too good to be true…
“Why are you doing this? Surely you must have a long list of applicants.”
“The position hasn’t been advertised, so no list. When your dad shared how lost you were, I wanted to help. Ministering to those in need is the actual definition of my job.”
I started to protest.
“I’m not—” Collins swiftly interrupted.
“Preaching the word of God is not the only way to minister people. Something about your name or your story or the picture of you in your cap and gown that your dad shared called to me. It was as if God whispered in my ear that I would be called upon to help you in any way I could.
“In a state like Louisiana, I don’t spend any time trying to talk people out of blindly following the Pope and going to Mass. But what I can do is help you. Give you the space and time to figure out what you want all the while helping you to learn lifelong skills.”
“What do you get out of it?”
“One very loyal employee.”
“Loyal?”
“The position starts at seventy-two thousand.”
It was only a nanosecond lapse before I caught myself, but I knew my jaw had nearly dropped open in shock. Loyalty? With money like that, he could buy a lot more than loyalty.
“If you need time to think it over, the offer stands until Friday close of business. After that, I’ll move on to the next step.”
“I’ll take it.” I spoke well before I could form a thought or make a thorough analysis of the pros and cons of putting a Southern megachurch on my résumé—my soon-to-be northern city calling card.
“I’d hoped that’s what you would say. Let’s formally put your start date at…” He gazed at a Palm Pilot that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. “The seventeenth of June.”
I nodded my acceptance. Thought about what I’d do with my last five days of freedom. Tried not to spend the six thousand a month that would be mine without strings.
“Good. I’ll walk you over to payroll. Gosh now, it’s all Human Resources. I’ll take you over there to get the paperwork set up. First lesson, don’t spend your whole paycheck on new sneakers, okay?”
I looked down at my modest heels, then toward his very shiny loafers and did an internal shrug. Maybe that’s what he thought my generation wore to work nowadays. I silently vowed to myself to drive over to Macy’s at the Lakeside and add more pumps to my wardrobe.
“Why don’t you come to my office when you arrive? I’ll introduce you to your new boss, Lana Hawkins, then she and I can lay out the New Day vision for you.”
“All that works.” I stood and gathered my portfolio. He’d never even asked to see the résumé I’d rushed to get printed on heavy cream stock.
Finally, he stood and we walked toward the door. Then, offhandedly, he said, “Oh, you’ll be coming from Metairie every day, right? How was that drive this morning?”
Even with a throwaway question, Collins’ face was creased in genuine interest. He was an odd duck. Maybe he actually did care? Though if pressed, I’d still say it was all an act. I left open the possibility that I may be judged him too hastily and answered the question asked.
“Not too bad. About an hour, but traffic was okay this early. I figured maybe I’d catch a ride with my father some days…” I stopped speaking because announcing your daddy would drive you to work was not the height of professionalism. Nepotism was one thing, immaturity another.
“I do have another suggestion,” Collins offered.
“Go ahead.”
“It’s up to you, but we do have a small apartment building on the grounds you could use. Nothing fancy, but we have a couple of studios available. Furnished. If that’s something you think would make your commute easier. Happy to oblige.”
I was both surprised and not that there was housing here on a church campus. Even from my quick glance around while driving, it was pretty obvious that New Day certainly had everything else.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. On the one hand, it would solve the problem of my home situation. On the other hand, something in my gut was rebelling. I wanted to take a minute to listen to the voice in my head. Collins gripped my shoulder with his hand, but not before sweeping my hair back. I almost flinched but caught myself.
Southern men were more touchy-feely than anyone I’d encountered in the northeast. Maybe Collins was right and I was changed. I didn’t want to be, so I employed the skills of a polite southern woman and laid my hand on the arm outstretched toward me so he didn’t get any closer.
“That one also comes with an expiration date,” Collins said with a shoulder squeeze to emphasize his point. “There’s a list of folks that would be interested in the living space if it’s not up to your liking.”
I flashed on the last two weeks I’d been home. My sleeping accommodations had alternated between the couch in my father’s study or the daybed in my mother’s.
The latter was more comfortable, but I had to lift piles of yarn and bolts of fabric each night. It was like there were fairies in the house in reverse because every night, I found everything had materialized back on the daybed like I’d never moved them. It was my mother at her passive-aggressive best. I may have been able to eventually outwit her and her backward fairies, but Collins’ generous offer gave me a handy solution to a problem I hadn’t even planned on solving right away.
“You’ll have a lot in common with your neighbors. About half are from East Baton Rouge,” Collins added.
For a long second, I wondered about commonalities. East Baton Rouge was known as a diverse area, about half black and half white. Maybe it had a lot of college graduates or people in the middle of transition or God forbid he meant lesbians.
I didn’t seek clarification, because I probably wasn’t going to like the answer. Everyone down here thought I’d gone to an all-women’s college because I liked women. It was a narrow-minded path I didn’t wish to traverse before I’d even started the job. I guessed I’d learn a lot about the area and the church’s values once I started the job.
“I’ll take it.” I’d made the split-second decision when I started thinking about whether I’d be able to open the windows of my father’s study wide enough to get the smoke out tonight. After the drive back, I wouldn’t be up to heavy lifting.
“Let me take you over,” Collins said. He backed away from me, then shrugged off his sport coat, rolled up his sleeves as he prepared for the heat. “Show you the place first just to be sure.”
On the way over, Collins filled me in on the history of the church, the evolution of all the ministries, and the Bentley his congregation had splurged on for him last Christmas. I managed to control my eyebrows on that last one. My father was still driving his usual Cadillac. He had a new one every year. I hadn’t thought about who may be funding it.
The small apartment building was obviously new, the bricks still clay colored, not a whisp of ivy or other vines anywhere near the mortar.
“Oh, this is nice.” Swiftly I put the cardigan I was carrying up to my mouth. I hadn’t meant to say any of that out loud.
Seth Collins’ laugh was a bark of surprise.
“It’s okay. You’re not the first. For some reason people hear ‘church’ and they think ‘public housing.’” Collins, ever the gentleman, put his hand at the small of my back. I hoped he didn’t feel the damp sweat gathering there.
“Here, let me get the door for you,” he offered, then stepped aside to pull it open.
The door was plate glass. Not a single smudge marred the pristine surface. The upper part of the building was covered in siding that reminded me of Cape Cod with its blue-gray color. We took a silently swift stainless-steel elevator to the fifth floor. At five oh three, Collins produced a key from his pocket. Opened the door. Following his prompt, I stepped in front of him and walked through the door.
It was gorgeous. There was no other word for it. Modern, too. Nothing like I was used to in New Orleans or anywhere in Louisiana. The walls were bright but not a harsh white. A compact but fully equipped kitchen was on the left. A small bathroom on the right.
A huge walk-in closet was just beyond that. It wasn’t much bigger than my senior dorm room, but there was enough space in the well-laid-out plan for a double bed, breakfast table and chairs, full-size sofa and coffee table. A huge Trinitron was on a console opposite the couch.
“They all have cable TV and air. Not sure we get BET or anything like that, but MTV for sure.”
I decided to forego the bait he dangled. I was not in the mood to defend the taste of today’s youth. I only hoped I could shut that down once I started working and they realized that twenty-somethings weren’t all frivolous music video junkies. I had seventy-two thousands reasons to make a good impression.
“Who is all this for?” I asked. My arms spread out to encompass all that I was seeing.
This was not your average church shelter. Priests and nuns didn’t have it this good. Not that evangelicals or any Christians took a vow of poverty. The Bentley was evidence of that.
“It’s for whomever needs it. During one of our first congregation surveys, we found there was a huge need for transitional housing. Divorce. Short-term unemployment. As I’m sure you learned at that fancy school of yours, our country doesn’t have much of a safety net. Churches have long been that. New Day aims to be that, too, but in the modern century.”
“So how does this work?” I was already peeling some bills off my paycheck to pay for this. I’d consider it my donation to the church.
Collins walked to the kitchen counter and picked up a set of keys. He lifted my hand. I opened it reflexively, my sweater falling to the ground. He ignored that and instead placed the keys gently into my palm, then closed my fingers around them.
The air crackled with something, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. My stomach felt a bit odd again, but I ignored that and instead bent as gracefully as I could in a pencil skirt and retrieved my fallen garment from the shiny wood floors. The grain caught my attention, and I realized it was repeated. The wood looked good but wasn’t real.
“The keys are yours. There on the fridge are the numbers of anyone I think you’ll need. Facilities. Maintenance. Off-hours emergency.”
I glanced at the printed magnet. Everything was slick. No scarred floors. No frayed edges. No wrinkled paper.
“Thank you. This is just what I needed,” I admitted.
Collins’ hand came out, smoothed down my hair, then snatched his hand back as if he were surprised by something. The gesture was both intimate and not, paternal, but not quite.
Without comment, he stepped back out of my space.
“Parking’s in back. The spaces are numbered by apartment. I’ll see you Monday, then?”
“What time do you start?”
“Nine on the dot. People get the South all wrong. We’re very civilized.”