The Choir Director 2 (2 page)

My stomach was full of butterflies when I poked my head into the sanctuary from the side door. The church was packed from wall to wall with folks dressed in their Sunday best, and Bishop TK Wilson stood at the altar with Bible in hand. It wouldn't be long before the bishop gave the church organist the signal to play and we'd be heading out to the pulpit ourselves. In all honesty, I couldn't believe how nervous I was. I mean, technically this should all be a cinch. It wasn't like we hadn't practiced and gone over the whole thing last night. Besides, I'd mounted that pulpit hundreds of times before as the choir director. But none of that could stop my nervousness.

I glanced over at my mother and my aunt, Bertha, sitting in the front-row pews. They'd traveled all the way from Virginia to be here for this very special occasion, and the look of pride on my momma's face was priceless. I don't think she had a clue just how much I loved her.

I pulled my head back into the room feeling like I was going to pass out from the anxiety. The butterflies in my stomach had morphed into bats. I turned to Ross Parker, my lifelong friend and the newly appointed business manager for our church choir. He was sitting on the small, worn-out sofa about three feet away from me.

“You okay? You don't look so hot,” he said, gazing down at my trembling hands.

I took a deep breath, as if I could exhale my nervousness. I tasted bile at the back of my throat. “I feel like I'm gonna be sick,” I said.

Ross stood up and closed the short distance between us. “Dude, you're getting married in about five minutes. It's a big step. Everyone has last-minute jitters before they get married. I bet Tia's out there thinking the same thing.” He reached over to the table and picked up a can of Sprite. “Here, take a sip of this. It will calm your stomach.”

I did what I was told, my hands shaking as I tipped the can up to my lips. “I don't know, man. I don't think I've ever been this nervous. Am I doing the right thing?”

Ross took the soda from me, placed it back where it had come from, and then turned to me. As he straightened my collar and adjusted my tie, he looked me dead in the eye and asked, “Do you love her? I mean, do you
really
love Tia?”

I looked back into my friend's dark eyes and nodded. “Yeah, man. I love her more than anything in this world. If any woman is my soul mate, it's Tia.”

“Well, if that's the case, what are you worried about?”

I made a gesture in the direction of the sanctuary, where so many people were waiting for the opulent ceremony to begin. “I didn't want all this,” I said. “I didn't want a huge wedding. As far as I was concerned, we could have gone down to City Hall and gotten married by the justice of the peace.”

“Oh, that would have worked out well,” Ross said with a laugh. “Besides the fact that you're the choir director in this church and Bishop Wilson would have killed you, every woman wants a big wedding, man. They want that day. You know that.” He patted my shoulder. “Besides, when that music starts playing, all this nervousness is gonna go away.”

No sooner had he spoken the words than the sound of the organ music filled my ears, signaling that it was time.

I looked at Ross and told him, “You were wrong. It hasn't gone away.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Aaron, you'll be fine.”

I dropped my hands to my sides and shook my head. “I'm still nervous. I don't think I can go through with it.”

“Man, if you don't get your behind out there…” He pointed at the door. “Do you know how beautiful she must look right now, standing outside the church waiting for your black ass?”

He'd finally said the right thing. An image of Tia flashed through my mind, and I knew there was no way that I could leave her at the altar. I really did love her and wanted to marry her. I exhaled loudly and shook my arms to release the tension, announcing, “Okay, let's do this.”

Ross gave me a final once-over to make sure nothing was out of place, then he patted my shoulder. “You look good. You ready to get married?”

I nodded, straightened my shoulders resolutely, and walked out the door into the sanctuary. I stopped momentarily before ascending the steps in front of the altar, and I felt Ross's hand on my back.

“We out here now, bro,” he said. “Ain't no turning back.”

I looked at him over my shoulder and said, “Wasn't trying to turn back, my man. Just stopping to pinch myself to make sure this is not a dream.”

“Oh, it's real a'ight. Now get your ass up there.”

I continued up the steps on wobbly knees and didn't stop until I was in position next to Bishop Wilson.

“You all right, son?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, Bishop. I'm good to go.” I nodded nervously as I looked out at the crowd.

The bishop studied me momentarily then said, “I've never met a man who wasn't nervous on his wedding day, including myself.”

Ross said with a chuckle, “He's fine for now, Bishop. Let's just speed this up a little before he changes his mind.”

“Well then, let's do that, Brother Parker.” Bishop Wilson turned and nodded to the organist again. On cue, the music changed and another, more majestic song began.

I stood at attention, still nervous but with a feeling of excitement, too, as I looked toward the doors at the back of the sanctuary. Every head in the church turned to see the first of four women being escorted down the aisle and into their positions at the altar. Each wore a form-fitting blue dress with white trim. They were being escorted by my groomsmen, who wore black tuxedos and blue vests.

The last bridesmaid was being led by John Nixon, or Pippie, as we called him. Pippie was one of my childhood friends from Virginia. He wasn't the most attractive brother, but he'd been there for me when no one else was, including Ross. That's one of the reasons why I'd asked the bishop to give him a job upon his recent release from prison. Being the janitor at First Jamaica wasn't what I would call a high-achieving job, but Pippie was grateful.

Once everyone had taken their places in the front, all eyes were on the matron of honor, who happened to be none other than First Lady Monique Wilson, wife of the bishop. It was no surprise that Tia chose her to be the matron of honor. She'd been a good friend to both me and my wife-to-be.

To distinguish her from the bridesmaids, Monique wore a hat made out of the same material as her dress—which was custom made to accentuate her very large breasts and rather grand rear. If she were anyone else, I would have sworn she was trying to upstage Tia, but I knew Monique well enough to understand that she wasn't doing anything but being herself. She was definitely not like any other first lady I'd ever met.

Monique took her place across from Ross, and then I knew the time had come. The flower girl had dropped her last petal, and the doors to the church sanctuary had closed. I glanced over at my mother, who blew me a kiss as she stood with the rest of the guests when the first strains of the “Wedding March” began.

So far, everything had gone just as I expected, and the butterflies in my stomach had settled—that is, until the time stretched on into a second and third repeat of the “Wedding March,” and still no sign of my bride. I felt the butterflies taking up flight again.

I glanced at the bishop, who was looking at me with raised eyebrows. I shrugged. Bishop turned to Ross, who also shrugged.

We all looked to the first lady.

“Where is she? I thought she was going to ride in the limo with you guys,” I whispered to Monique.

“She did,” Monique whispered back. “It was a little chilly outside, so she stayed in the limo with her brother when we got out. I sent the driver back to get them right before I came through the doors.”

“Then where is she?”

I looked over at my mother and then at the crowd. People were starting to get restless, some sitting back down and others mumbling their confusion to each other, swiveling their heads around as if they'd find the bride somewhere other than coming down the main aisle. I was sure everyone was wondering the same thing I was: Where was my bride?

God, this cannot be happening. Tia wouldn't leave me at the altar, would she?

“Everybody just relax,” Ross said to the group assembled in front. “You know how women are. She'll make her grand entrance and get the reaction she's hoping for. Just chill.”

I tried to buy into his confidence. “Yeah, man. Yeah, you're right,” I said, loosening up my shoulders and then cracking my neck.

Once again I turned my attention to the closed sanctuary doors. After a brief, confused pause the organist started on her fifth repetition of the “Wedding March.”

Finally, the sanctuary doors opened. I felt a momentary rush of relief when I spotted Tia's brother, Kareem. She'd asked him to escort her down the aisle to give her away.

I heard my mother let out a pronounced, “Thank you, Jesus!”

There was a collective sigh of relief from the crowd, and my heartbeat slowed down a little, but only for the few seconds it took to register that Kareem was striding toward the front—alone. The noise from the guests in attendance was no longer a whisper, but more like a frenzied buzzing. The organist stopped playing altogether.

As Kareem got closer, I could see the expression on his face, and I knew it meant nothing good.

He came up the steps and stood in front of me. “Look, Aaron, man, I'm sorry.” Dude could barely look me in the eyes. “I'm really sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” I gave a nervous laugh.

“It's Tia. She's gone,” Kareem said.

“What do you mean, she's gone?” Bishop's voice was barely above a whisper, but he was still clearly taking charge of the situation. I was glad for that, because I sure couldn't. As weak as my knees felt, I was lucky I was still standing.

“She's gone, Bishop, as in ‘she's not here,'” Kareem answered.

I looked to Monique, whose expression told me she was as confused as I was.

“What—where…?” I couldn't even finish my sentence. I felt a splitting headache coming on.

“I don't know, man. Once Monique got out of the limo, Tia burst into tears. Then she told me she couldn't go through with it and asked me to tell everyone.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Where is she, Kareem?” I snatched him by the collar, but Ross quickly pulled me off of him.

“Stop, Aaron! This isn't his fault.”

“Then whose fault is it?” I was on the verge of tears. “Somebody tell me something.”

“I don't know what to tell you, Aaron,” Kareem said, sounding apologetic.

I stared off at nothing in particular. “Tell me she's coming back. That's what you can tell me. I thought she loved me. I thought she wanted to marry me.” What was I supposed to do now?

All hell had broken loose at First Jamaica Ministries with Tia not showing up for the wedding. As Aaron's manager, it was my job to do damage control, which was part of the reason I shuttled everyone from the groom's side of the wedding party into the bishop's office to regroup. I wanted Aaron as far away from all the gossips, cameras, and press as I could get him. I knew it would only be a matter of time before the entire borough of Queens knew about our runaway bride. I was also sure that the local news would be on the story as well. I could already hear the anchors of the six o'clock local news:
In a sad local story, First Jamaica Ministries' award-winning singer, songwriter, and choir director, Aaron Mackie, was left at the altar by his bride this afternoon.
I could only pray that the story didn't get picked up by the national media, but with Aaron's rising stardom on the gospel circuit, I didn't have much faith in my prayers being answered. Representatives from
Ebony
and
Essence
magazines were already in attendance, so I figured it was just a matter of time before we'd get a call from TMZ.

Still, the bishop always said “Be thankful for what you have,” so at the moment I was giving thanks for the fact that we were in the safe confines of his office. It was time for me to stop acting like a manager and more like a best friend. My poor buddy looked like he was about to break down and cry.

“You okay?” I asked, placing my hand on Aaron's shoulder. He was sitting in a chair in the far corner of the room with his head hung low, and didn't bother to answer me. A few of his groomsmen stood by helplessly.

“Did you two have a fight?” the bishop questioned from his seat behind a large mahogany desk.

“No, everything was great. I thought we were the happiest people on the face of the earth. This whole thing doesn't make any sense, Bishop.” Aaron shook his head rapidly as if it might wake him up from this nightmare.

“No, it doesn't, son,” the bishop reassured him. “It doesn't make any sense at all.”

“I never much liked that heifer anyway,” Aaron's mother blurted out in her characteristic fashion. I'd known Mrs. Mackie for years. She was a sweet old woman—except when it came to her son. She'd go gangsta in a minute if she thought someone was doing him wrong. If you crossed him, you crossed her, no matter what the circumstances. “If you ask me, you were too good for her trifling behind. I'm sure you're better off without her.”

“No, Ma, I'm not!” Aaron protested. “I'm a much better man with her than without her. I just don't know what happened. I thought we were happy.” The look on his face was one of pure devastation. “I just want to find her so she can tell me what I did wrong.”

“Ha! You say you wanna find her? If I could get my hands on her, I'd wring her skinny little neck!” His mother's voice shook with rage, and although I loved Tia, I imagine I would have felt the same thing if it had been my son Tia left at the altar.

“Sister Mackie, we just have to give God time. We may not know it today, but there is always a reason,” Bishop preached. “We need to trust that God has a plan.”

I could see from her eyes Mrs. Mackie was about to say something to the bishop that wasn't very Christian-like. She was looking for a scapegoat for her anger, and the bishop seemed to be directly in her crosshairs. Luckily, her sister spoke up before she could do any damage.

“Emma, why don't we get on out of here and head over to the reception hall. We got a lot of family from outta town to see, and they're going to want some answers.”

“I'm not leaving my baby,” Mrs. Mackie protested.

“Aaron is in capable hands. He'll be okay. Besides, in times like these, men need to be with men. You don't want them to think Aaron's some kind of momma's boy or a sissy, do you?” Mrs. Mackie snapped her head toward her sister and they shared a long, hard stare before she nodded, conceding to her sister's request.

A few minutes later, after hugging her son like he was a little boy, Aaron's mother excused herself and left the room with her sister.

Silence overtook the office, each of us lost in our own sense of disbelief over the day's events. A strong knock on the door jolted us back to the moment.

“Come in,” Bishop called.

The door opened and a tall, well-dressed man, probably in his late forties, walked into the room. I had no idea who he was, and from the looks on their faces, neither did anyone else. Whoever he was, he was a confident SOB, striding in like he owned the place. It was as if the dude's feet weren't even touching the floor. He just floated inside.

“Can I help you?” Bishop asked. He stood from his chair to greet the man.

Instead of acknowledging the bishop and stating his business the way most people would, this guy didn't even look in the bishop's direction as he walked past him.

“No, you can't help me, but he can.” He stopped directly in front of Aaron, staring down at him over his designer glasses. This had suddenly become really interesting. Who was this guy and what did he want with Aaron? I hoped he wasn't a process server, because that was the last thing Aaron needed.

“Hello, Aaron. Can I call you Aaron?” he asked, continuing to speak without waiting for an answer. “My name is Jackson Young. I'm with the Johnson Morris Agency in Manhattan. I'm sure you've heard of us. We're one of the most prestigious agencies in the world. I realize that this is not the most opportune time, but I really would like to speak to you about your career. We're very impressed with your talent, and I think we could take your career to the next level.”

Of course Aaron knew what the Johnson Morris Agency was, and so did I. Jackson Young wasn't lying. An agency like that could take him and the choir to new heights.

“You're right, Mr. Young, this is not the most opportune time. I kind of have other things on my mind.” Aaron gave the man a withering look, but his tone remained polite. “If you have any business with me or the choir, you should talk to our manager, Ross Parker.”

He motioned toward me. I stepped up, eager to take the guy's card. I had no idea how he ended up in the bishop's office today of all days. Maybe his timing was a little off, but I still wanted to hear what he was offering. Young, however, held on to the card, eyeing me up and down like I was some kind of joke. He finally let it go with a little chuckle, but he'd officially put himself on my personal shit list.

“I'll give you a call on Monday,” I said.

“You would want to. It's in your best interests,” he said, stepping closer to me. He turned back to Aaron. “I hope everything works out for you. I always found that working takes my mind off my problems. I'll be in touch.” Without another word, he headed for the door, only to run into First Lady Monique Wilson as she entered the office. She'd been in the sanctuary, trying to calm some of the chaos and inviting everyone to the reception hall for lunch. The food was already paid for, and it was the least we could do considering how far some people had traveled to be at the wedding.

“Why, hellooooo, pretty lady.” Jackson grinned, eyeing the first lady provocatively.

Before any of us realized what was happening, he reached down and took her hand to kiss it. First Lady Wilson's cheeks flushed bright red, and to be quite honest, I wasn't sure if it was because she was flustered or because she was flattered. Whichever it was, her husband's loud “Ahem!” helped bring her back to reality. He clearly wasn't happy, but the man carried himself with so much dignity that he didn't show it for long.

“I have got to start spending more time in Queens. This borough is full of surprises.” Jackson kissed her hand again. “I mean, who knew there were real live queens here?” He was slopping the syrup on First Lady as if she were a stack of pancakes.

“Um, hello, I'm First Lady Monique Wilson,” she said, forcing the formality into her tone.

“Pleasure to meet you, Monique. You certainly are a beauty. Are you by chance an actress?” He was grinning at her like she was the only person in the room.

Her cheeks were still red, and I swear she looked like she was about to start fanning herself. “No. What would make you think that?” she asked, sounding on the verge of giddiness.

“Sorry, your beauty has me so mesmerized, I forgot my manners. I'm Jackson Young. I'm a talent agent at the Johnson Morris Agency.”

“Oh, really? What exactly does a talent agent do?”

“We make beautiful women like you into stars.” That fool was smiling so hard you could see every one of his teeth, including his molars.

“Well, no, I'm not an actress, but I have acted a little in plays here at the church.” By this time it was pretty obvious that she was falling prey to his game.

“Oh, I bet you were the star of the show,” Jackson said, reaching into his pocket for a business card. “We should have dinner tonight and discuss me being your agent.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bishop rising from behind his desk. Dignified or not, no man could sit by and watch some other dude hit on his wife without speaking up.

First Lady Wilson didn't seem to notice her husband at all. “Are you serious? You'd like to represent me?”

“I'd love to represent you. I think I can make you a star.”

She looked like she was about to burst wide open with glee, but then the bishop stepped up to stand beside her, and her whole demeanor changed. “I'd have to talk this over with my husband, of course.” She gestured soberly toward the bishop. “Have you met my husband, Bishop TK Wilson?”

Jackson glanced over at the bishop then back to the first lady. “No, I haven't, but he's really not relevant to this conversation. I'm not interested in making him a star. My interest is totally in you, so please give me a call so we can have dinner.” He reached out for her hand again, leaning down to kiss it for the third time. “Monique, we have so much to talk about. You have something. Even a blind man can see it. I just hope you allow me to help you reach your full potential as an actress.”

Bishop Wilson finally spoke up. “She's not interested.”

“I wasn't talking to you,” Jackson replied.

“But
I
was talking to
you
,” the bishop snapped back.

“TK!” the first lady scolded her husband.

The groomsmen, who'd been standing in the corner leaned against the wall, were suddenly standing at attention. We were all gearing up to break up a fight.

“I didn't marry any actress. You are plenty busy around here being first lady of this church,” Bishop insisted. His eyes were focused on Jackson. “Mr. Young was just leaving when you came in. I think it's time he left.”

Jackson shook his head and shot the bishop a look of pure arrogance. “You know, it's a shame when a man tries to hold back a woman just to coddle his own ego. I guess it's true what they say about all you preachers.”

“And what exactly is that?” the bishop growled.

“You all wear panties under your robes.” While Jackson was laughing at his own joke, the bishop lunged after him. Before he could get a good grip, Aaron and I grabbed him. He struggled, out of control. Pippie pulled Jackson toward the door.

“Monique, you have my number. Please give me a call. Anytime.” Jackson left the room looking every bit as confident as he had when he entered.