The First Lady (11 page)

Ten minutes later, I’d returned the Xbox and was standing in front of Reggie and his two friends. “You know you gotta do all three of us now, don’t you?” Reggie taunted.

If I had a gun, I would have shot him, but I didn’t have one. I only had a monster craving for some smoke. So I simply nodded my head and walked toward the alley. “Yeah, I know what I gotta do. Come on, who’s first? Y’all already said you ain’t got all day, and neither do I. All I wanna do is get high.”

The bishop and I were at Umberto’s seafood restaurant in Brooklyn having dinner. When I’d suggested a few days earlier that we get together, I used the guise that I wanted to talk further about my bookstore idea, but so far, he hadn’t said a word about it. Not that I minded. His silence on that subject just confirmed my suspicion—oh, all right, my hope—that his invitation to dinner was more than a meeting, that it was a date. So, instead of talking business, we’d been enjoying our surf and turf, making the kind of small talk that people do when they’re on their first or perhaps even second date.

As we joked and laughed together, I found myself liking him even more. The way he stole glances at my behind and my breasts made me feel beautiful and sexy, but plenty of men had admired me for my body. With the bishop, it was different. The way he spoke to me and the way he listened so intently to the things I said made me feel funny and smart. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that, as with every other man I’d dated, in the end, this whole thing would come down to him getting some and liking it, but he still made me feel special for something other than my body.

Of course, I knew that my approach had to be subtle. Most of the men I’d dated made no qualms about what they wanted, and neither did I. But Bishop T.K. Wilson, despite his wants and needs, was determined to be respectable, even though my ultimate goal was to get him in my bed so we could consummate this relationship. After all, he, like no other man I’d ever met, deserved what I had planned for him—a night of lovemaking he’d never forget. Since I was pretty sure the man hadn’t had sex since his wife died, and probably for months before that, he must be ready to jump out of his skin with desire. Well, I knew just what he needed, and I was more than eager to show him my appreciation for this wonderful evening.

I thought that sharing a bottle of wine over dinner might loosen him up enough to get him over to my place, but he declined my offer. He admitted that he did drink socially from time to time, but not tonight. So, as I sat drinking my second glass of wine, I thought about other ways I might be able to get him to come home with me. My momma always said the way to a man’s heart was straight between your legs. And I’d never met a man whose heart I couldn’t win.

Although I was confident that it was just a matter of time before I got the bishop into my bed, I knew it was important that our lovemaking happen sooner rather than later. I wasn’t sure if or when I would get another chance to be alone with him like this, so I had to seize the moment while it was right here in front of me. Rumors in the church led me to believe that I had serious competition for the bishop’s heart, so I had to act fast, especially since I would be leaving for Mississippi soon to help my mother after she had her hip replacement operation.

Word among the women of the church, many of whom made no secret of their dislike for me, was that high-and-mighty Lisa Mae Jones had also set her sights on the bishop. And she had good reason to think she would get him. Not only did she have the support of most of the women in the church, but rumor had it that she also had the blessing of First Lady Charlene Wilson herself. Unlike the negative letter I’d found taped to my door, asking me to stay away from the bishop, the buzz around the church was that Lisa Mae had received a letter asking her to take care of him and his church. Now, if that wasn’t some stiff competition, I don’t know what was. Maybe I needed to try the alcohol plan one more time.

“Are you sure you won’t have some of this wine, Bishop?” I asked, taking a sip from my glass and hoping I didn’t sound as desperate as I was feeling. “It’s delicious.”

“No, Sister Monique. I have to drive. The Lord wants me to make sure I get you home safely tonight.”

“You are so considerate. You always have my best interests at heart, don’t you?”

“That’s exactly the reason why I haven’t had a glass of wine.” He smiled as if he knew about my naughty plan.

“Thank you, Bishop.” I shifted in my seat to sit up a little straighter, and the movement had the desired effect. Just the slightest backward movement of my shoulders and my cleavage stood out even more. And just as subtly as I had moved to display my best features, his eyes traveled to my chest for a quick glance. Then, ever the gentleman, he looked up into my eyes and gave me a seemingly innocent compliment.

“I must say, Sister Monique, you’re looking exceptionally beautiful tonight. I absolutely love that dress.”

“Thank you, Bishop,” I said with a gracious smile. I knew it wasn’t really the dress he wanted to comment on, but rather the package contained beneath it. After all, this dress was the plainest one in my whole wardrobe. The only skin it revealed was my cleavage. But it was okay. The way he’d been looking around the restaurant, always pausing to rest his eyes on my chest for a brief moment, said everything he was too polite to put into words. Just like every other man I’d ever been to dinner with, he was thinking about how he’d love to get a look at my beautiful breasts.

At least that’s what I thought was going through his head, until he kept talking about the dress!

“Sister Monique, I know it’s not my place, but may I make a suggestion?”

“Sure, Bishop. I’m open to any suggestion you may have.”

“Now, this is a little personal, so if the conversation goes into a direction you’re uncomfortable with, just let me know, and we’ll drop it.”

A little personal? Now that was what I liked to hear. I was hoping he was about to ask me to take him home and show him what I was working with beneath this conservative outfit. Oh, how wrong I was.

“No, Bishop, you just go ahead and say whatever is on your mind.”

“Well, Sister … like I said before … I absolutely love your dress. And well … I wanted to know how come … how come you don’t wear dresses like this more often.”

Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. He was the first man who ever wanted me to wear more clothes. My shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “You don’t like the way I dress, Bishop?”

“No, no, it’s not that I don’t like the way you dress. I do like the way you dress, but—”

“But what?” I asked, trying not to become defensive.

“I think it takes away from who you really are.”

Well, that was almost sort of sweet, I thought. At least he didn’t tell me I looked like a whore, which I’d heard from jealous women and spurned lovers on more than one occasion. I remained quiet and let him explain himself.

“To be quite honest, people around the church find your choice of clothing to be distracting.”

No kidding. It was supposed to be distracting. How else was I supposed to get a man’s attention? But he was making it sound like a bad thing. As far as I was concerned, if those people in the church judged me because of my outfits, well, that was their problem, not mine. I was curious to know, however, if the bishop felt the same way as the other church members. I had hoped he was different.

“And you, Bishop? Do you find my clothes to be distracting?”

He couldn’t look me in the eye when he answered. “Sometimes.”

My feelings were a little hurt. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Bishop.” I placed my napkin on the table and started to rise from my seat, but he placed a hand on mine and asked me to stay. I sat down again and leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive posture as I waited for him to try and remove his foot from his mouth.

He leaned across the table and whispered, “Monique, I like you, and I think I can like you as more than just another parishioner, if you know what I mean.”

This took me by surprise. Just a moment ago he had really hurt my feelings, but these words offered me more hope of a relationship than anything else he’d said the whole night. I was encouraged, but not yet ready to let him off the hook for his previous comment. I uncrossed my arms, leaned over, and kissed his cheek, then waited silently to hear what else he had to say.

“I’m the pastor of the church, Monique, and if the way you dress is less than admirable in the eyes of the church members, then anything we might share would be doomed from the start.” He exhaled as if he’d just let the weight of the world off his shoulders.

“You know, Bishop, it’s not like I haven’t heard any of this before. I don’t know if you know it, but women in the church have been saying things about my outfits to my face and behind my back for years.”

It looked like my words made him uncomfortable. Of course they did, I thought. Knowing the way the first lady felt about me, he had probably heard her talk about me on plenty of occasions. But he didn’t have to worry. I wasn’t going to hold him responsible for what she said. The only thing that mattered to me now was that he didn’t judge me the same way.

“I never understood why those women have such a problem with what I choose to wear. I always felt like God knows what’s in my heart, so it shouldn’t matter what I’m wearing. I pay my tithes, and I’m an active member of the church. As long as God knows my devotion to Him and the church, my clothes shouldn’t matter to anyone but me. I mean, you’ve preached about tolerance on many occasions. I hope you’re not telling me that you don’t take your own words to heart, Bishop,” I challenged.

“Sister Monique, I meant every word I ever preached about tolerance,” he said, sounding a little sad now. “I know you’re a special woman, a good woman, no matter what you’re wearing. But that doesn’t change the fact that others in the church will judge you differently because of what you wear. And while I wish I could just ignore their opinions, they are my congregation. Whether their opinions are fair or not, there would be no First Jamaica Ministries without its parishioners. They’re like my extended family. And you have to know how important it is to get the approval of a man’s family.”

“I see,” I said. “So, you’re saying that you’re choosing the opinions of a few jealous women over dating me?”

“No, I’m saying that I like you, and I want them to like you too. But your clothing sends the wrong message to them, so they don’t want to even take the time to get to know you.”

“That’s so hypocritical,” I complained.

“Perhaps it is,” he answered.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re saying I should change the way I dress so that those people will like me more?” This whole thing was pissing me off. I wasn’t changing how I dressed, not even for the bishop, but suddenly an idea came to me, the perfect way to implement my original plan for our evening. Once I had him in bed, none of this would matter.

“You know, maybe it’s not my whole wardrobe that needs to be changed. I might have a few dresses in my closet that the ladies of the church wouldn’t mind. If you’d like to come back to my place, I could show—”

“Oh, dear God,” he said, cutting me off. He leaned away from me quickly, a look of concern knotting his brow.

“What is it, Bishop?”

He cut his eyes toward the door, and I turned my head in that direction. Now I knew why he looked so concerned. Two prominent elders of the church, Trustee Forrest, chairman of the church’s finance committee, and his wife, Evelyn, had just walked through the door. She was one of the biggest gossips in the church, and he was without a doubt the most conservative trustee.

I turned back to the bishop. “What are they doing here?”

“My sentiments exactly.” He looked like he wanted to run and hide.

“Did they see me kiss you?” Part of me hoped they did. I wanted the world to know how I felt about the bishop even if he didn’t want the world to know.

“I’m not sure,” he said nervously.

As big as Evelyn’s mouth was, this little date might be front page news on the church bulletin unless we did something fast. Not too long ago, I might have said I didn’t care what that old biddy thought of me, but now the stakes were higher. If I could show the bishop that I understood what he meant by keeping rumors at a minimum and keeping peace in the church, he would see just how right I was for him.

“Well, what do you wanna do? If you’d like, I could go to the bathroom and then sneak out the back door.”

Did I really just say that?
I wondered. If I was going to change my behavior to please these church women, this was going to take some getting used to. But as much as it went against my nature to give in to them, I was willing to try it if it meant proving to the bishop that I could make a good first lady.

He spoke in a whisper. “Too late. They just spotted us, and they’re coming this way.” His forehead was starting to perspire.

Within a few seconds, they stood beside our table. The bishop stood and smiled broadly, shaking the trustee’s hand, then kissing his wife on the cheek. It was unbelievable. The man had just changed from a nervous wreck to happy, damn near gleeful, in a matter of seconds, like some type of chameleon.

“Trustee, Sister Evelyn, you know Sister Monique.” Bishop gestured toward me.

The trustee greeted me warmly as his wife glared down at my cleavage, shaking her head ever so slightly. Instead of feeling anger at her obvious judgment, I felt sorry for the bishop, who was already running on protection mode and about to kick it into high gear.

“Yeah, well, it’s good to see you two. Sister Monique and I were just going over her Christian bookstore proposal,” the bishop said as he picked up the folder marked
bookstore
I’d brought with me, showing it to the trustee and his wife. He had no idea what was inside the folder, since we hadn’t opened it once that night.

“Is that right?” the trustee replied. He glanced at his wife, and Sister Evelyn smirked, staring at the rose on the table, which Bishop had bought from the man who walked through the restaurant selling flowers.