The First Lady (13 page)

He turned his head to look at me. “What do you mean by that?”

I really couldn’t stand James Black, and I wasn’t the only one in the church who felt that way. I knew Charlene had never really approved of James, either, but she hadn’t pushed the issue with her husband. When I became first lady, I would have to end that friendship for good. For now, though, I tried to state my opinion subtly.

“From what I can tell of Trustee Black, it just seems you two are like night and day. Actually, you seem to have very little in common.”

“Yeah, we are different in a lot of ways, but he’s a good man and a good friend.” The bishop didn’t sound defensive, but for all I knew he was sugarcoating his true feelings just like I was.

“Well, yes, I’ve heard
quite a few
of the sisters say he’s a good man.” As soon as I said it, I realized I should have just kept my mouth shut. I knew better than to put a man’s friend on blast, but I had done just that.

“Well, Sister Lisa Mae, I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to say. Why don’t you elaborate?” Now I was sure there was a defensive tone to his voice. I worried I might not be able to save myself now.

“Let’s just say maybe we should find your friend a steady girlfriend and perhaps a wife before he’s been with every single woman in the congregation.”

Damn, Lisa Mae, I told myself, you really need to learn some more self-control when it comes to your mouth. I hoped I hadn’t ruined the date before it even started.

“Every woman in the congregation? Really, I think that’s quite an exaggeration.” Yes, there was that tone again, and it seemed to be bordering on anger now. I was glad that we arrived at the restaurant so we could get off this touchy subject.

In spite of the tense discussion we’d just had, the bishop asked me to remain in the car as he trotted around and opened my door. I’d seen him do this a hundred times for his former wife, Charlene, and I’d always been a tad jealous. The man really knew how to treat a woman. A lesser man would have still been pouting about my comments concerning his friend.

I was just as impressed when he took my hand as we entered the restaurant. That simple gesture was kind, and to our surprise, it was also sort of the official “coming out” for us as a dating couple. The waiting area was filled with more than fifteen prominent members of our church. Ironically enough, the group included the subject of our previous discussion, the bishop’s best friend, Trustee James Black.

“Bishop? I didn’t think you were going to join us for the scholarship meeting,” Trustee Black said.

“Well, to be completely honest, Trustee, I thought the meeting was being held at the church. When did this all happen?”

“You know, last night I was talking to Sister Maria here … on the phone … about having some Italian food. When I woke up, I decided it would be a nice treat if I took the committee out to lunch. So, here we are.”

“That’s wonderful, Trustee. Don’t you think so, Sister Lisa?”

I nodded my head, but Trustee Black didn’t give me a chance to speak. Typical. He continued, “You know, I would ask you two to join us, but you look like you want to be alone.” He looked at our intertwined fingers, then placed a hand on the bishop’s shoulder. “I don’t know when this happened, but I’m really happy for you.”

As the bishop turned to the hostess to ask for a table for two, Trustee Black gave me a hug. This took me by surprise, as we had obviously never been close friends, but I didn’t mind. There was no better way to smooth over the friction I’d caused with my earlier comments to the bishop. I hugged him long enough for the bishop to turn around and see us. He smiled at me.

Trustee Black’s hug started a deluge of hellos, handshakes, and congratulations from the remaining seven men and eight women who comprised the scholarship committee of our church. One of the women present was Sister Evelyn Forrest. Let her run back and spread this news to the congregation, I thought. Trustee James Black may have been a ladies’ man, but I decided right then and there that I liked him. He may not have realized it, but he’d accidentally established me as the bishop’s girlfriend, and the heir apparent to the first lady’s chair. God, I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Loretta.

I walked into the house and dropped to my knees. “Thank you, Lord. Thank you!” I shouted with excitement at the top of my lungs. Hopefully I had allowed the bishop, after he walked me to the door, to get far out of earshot. “Thank you for answering my prayers!” I yelled again.

“Lisa Mae!” Loretta said as she came charging out of the kitchen. “What in the world is wrong with you? You trying to wake the dead?”

“No, girl, I’m trying to praise the Lord!” I ran over to Loretta, grabbed her hands, and began jumping up and down as we spun in a circle. My eyes shone with tears of joy, and my smile felt as wide as the ocean. My emotions must have been contagious because the next thing I knew, Loretta was jumping up and down and smiling too.

“What is it, Lisa Mae?” Loretta asked. “Come with all the details. I want to know why I’m standing here jumping up and down like a damn fool.”

I looked at her and opened my mouth to tell her the reason behind my excitement, but all I could do was scream again, and this time Loretta screamed right along with me.

After a few more seconds of acting like Laverne and Shirley, I was finally able to speak. “Now, you know I never did care all that much for that whore of a man, Trustee Black,” I started as I released Loretta’s hands and led her over to the couch where we sat down. “But I swear I could just kiss that man.”

“With all the places that man’s lips have been, this must be good. Keep talking,” Loretta insisted.

“Well, thanks to Trustee Black, you are now looking at Bishop T.K. Wilson’s girlfriend, which means eventually I’m going to be the next first lady.”

This time Loretta screamed. “Ahhhhh!” She jumped up from the couch. “Okay, how did it happen? When did you see Trustee Black? Don’t tell me he done talked the good bishop into double dating with him and one of his hussies.” Loretta quickly sat down and started speaking again before I could answer any of her questions. “Who was it? I bet it was that Sister Maria, huh? I could tell by the way she dropped her offering in the basket he was holding last Sunday, you know, like she was slipping him her hotel room key or some—”

“Will you let me talk already?” I finally cut her off. “This is supposed to be my moment.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Loretta apologized. “I’m all ears.”

I proceeded to run down the details of our date, how we’d showed up at the restaurant hand in hand, none the wiser that Trustee Black and the other members of the scholarship committee were dining there. Loretta couldn’t have been happier for me, but no more happy than I was for myself.

Still, even though I was overwhelmed with joy, I became over whelmed with worry. I wasn’t exactly a shoo-in for first lady just yet. The congregation of First Jamaica Ministries was as hard to please as an audience at the Apollo, and although the women from the Bible study class had shown their approval when they heard I’d received a letter from Charlene, nothing was guaranteed. Those wenches could turn against me at the drop of a dime if they felt for one moment that I couldn’t handle the responsibilities of being the wife of Bishop T.K. Wilson.

I knew that I could handle it, though, especially since I’d had experience as first lady of my late husband’s church. There was not a situation I couldn’t handle; I just had to prove that to the congregation, who would be watching like hawks. Then an idea came to me. With the monthly membership meeting coming up in two weeks, I couldn’t think of a better time to start “interviewing” before the congregation. I turned to Loretta to get her help in formulating a plan.

The sun beamed directly on my face through the hole in the curtains over my bedroom window, finally waking me from my comatose sleep. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, then scratched my arm out of old habit and a need to get high. I didn’t have a clue what time it was, but I was sure it wasn’t morning, because of the hustle and bustle of the afternoon traffic under my apartment. I’d only been living here ten years off and on, but I guess I could call myself a true New Yorker, being able to distinguish morning traffic from afternoon.

As I lifted myself from the mattress, I grabbed my head, my fingers fighting their way through the weeks of unkempt naps. Wearing nothing but a cranberry-colored bra and some coffeebrown panties, I slowly attempted to get my tired body all the way out of bed. I turned to the edge, and before I could get either foot on the ground, my thirteen-year-old son, Aubrey, came through my bedroom door.

“Ma, you aw’ight?” he asked. It sounded more like a statement of surprise, like he wasn’t sure if I had been asleep or dead.

“Yeah, baby,” I said, putting my feet on the old hardwood floor and opening my arms wide. I saw a sense of relief in him, but at the same time, lurking behind Aubrey’s eyes I could have sworn I saw disappointment and a little fear. Not regular old fear. It was a different kind, but an all-too-familiar look, the same one his sister used to have while growing up. The look was one I had promised myself my children would never have to wear again, yet here we were, and the fear was in his eyes.

Aubrey came over and gave me a hug, then planted a kiss on my cheek. “Ma,” he whispered, then took a step back to make sure I acknowledged him. It took me a few seconds to look in his face, but when I did, he said, “You been smoking again, haven’t you?”

I rolled my tongue around my dry mouth, then bit it as I stared at my son with contempt. “You better take your ass on, boy,” I snapped, trying my best not to get mad. I wanted to smack him for asking me some shit like that, even if part of me knew he was just asking out of love.

“I will, soon as you answer my question.” He folded his arms, looking like a little man, staring at me like he was the parent, same as his sister used to do. Damn, I hated to be in this position. I was suddenly amazed and proud of how much Aubrey had grown up, but at the same time I was wishing he would just go the hell away so I could go get high without his judgment.

Aubrey really loved me despite my shortcomings. I don’t know why, with all the wrong I’d done to him over the years. Even when I nursed the crack pipe more than I nursed him, he still loved me. After I rented out our own apartment to dealers to use as a crack spot, he still loved me. I would even put my smoking buddies before him, allowing them to loiter, sleep over, and even eat the last crumb of food. By the time Aubrey would wake up for school, there was nothing in our cupboards, but he still loved me. And even after Child Protective Services took him away from me the time I was arrested, yes, he still loved me. When I didn’t love me, my son did. And now here I was looking like the crackhead momma he hadn’t seen during my three-year sobriety. I guess he did deserve an answer to his question.

I looked up at my son and half-smiled as I gestured for him to come closer. I held his chin in my hands so he could look directly in my eyes. “No, baby, momma’s not smoking again,” I assured him, stroking the side of his face. I could see the tension release from his shoulders. He had been carrying a heavy weight for someone still so young, and even if it was a lie, I was glad my words took some of that weight off him. As bad as I looked, I wasn’t even sure if he believed me, but I knew my baby
wanted
to believe me, so he didn’t push the issue any further.

“I made you pancakes for breakfast, but they’re old now. You want some lunch?”

“Lunch? What time is it?” Although I had already guessed it was afternoon, I still wanted to know just how late it was.

“Two o’clock in the afternoon,” Aubrey answered. “Do you want some lunch? You know I can make a mean PBJ.”

I ran my hands over my matted hair again, slightly confused as to how so much time had come and gone without my even knowing it. I couldn’t even remember when I laid down or why I laid down.

“Do you want some lunch?” he repeated. “No, baby, I’m fine,” I said, standing up slowly, once again being reminded that I had a splitting headache. “You go on and watch television while I get myself together.”

I watched Aubrey head out of the doorway, pausing to look over his shoulder at me. There was that look again in his eyes. I smiled and he moved on. As I headed to the bathroom, I spotted my red polyester dress with the lace trim around the bottom, puddled on the floor. I couldn’t even remember putting it on, much less taking it off.

I bent down to pick up the dress, and that’s when I saw the letter. Lying next to the lamp on my nightstand was the second letter I’d received from Charlene Wilson. At that moment, everything came back to me like a yo-yo hitting me smack on the forehead. I slowly sat on the bed and looked over at the letter. I picked it up and reread those words:

When I finished reading, I thought, Who the fuck is she to say she’s disappointed in me? Besides, bitch, you were the one who lived my life and fucked my man for over twenty years. Well, fuck you.
The letter said she’d be in touch, but what the hell could a dead woman say to make me change anyway? ‘Cause I sure as hell didn’t believe in ghosts.

I let the letter fall out of my hands onto the floor. I looked down and saw that my palms were sweating like a one-legged man trying to run a marathon in ninety-degree weather with a fur coat on. “Goddammit!” I cursed myself. “Why did I have to go and read that letter again?”

Now I felt the same way I had after reading it the first time—like I wanted to get high. It was all coming back to me now, everything. Now I knew exactly how I ended up passed out on my bed, letting an entire day get away from me.