Diary of a Mad First Lady (36 page)

Defeated, Darvin just looked intently at me.

“Good. I’m glad both of you understand that this is my show—my game—and we play by my rules.”

“Michelle . . .”

Slap!

“Heifer, didn’t I tell you not to speak my name out of your mouth? Huh? Are you hard of hearing?” I yelled at Daphne.

They were both appalled at the fact I’d slapped her. And if she didn’t do as I told her, I would do more than that.

“Now, Daphne, can you please tell me why you have done everything in your power to destroy my life? I mean, if this was all about Darvin, why not just seduce him like most other women would have done? That way, at least, it would have been fair game.”

She didn’t say anything.

Slap! Slap! This time I slapped her twice; one time for each side of her face.

“Don’t you hear me talking to you, you sorry excuse for a woman?”

I saw tears stream down her face. Sadly for her, I wasn’t fazed one single bit. For all I was concerned, it was an act. And she definitely deserved an Oscar for her recent role.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you! I thought you were so bad. What happened to the bully that’s been going around bribing everybody? Why aren’t you trying to choke the life out of me like you tried to with Twylah?”

“What!” Darvin exclaimed.

I forgot that he didn’t know any of the information I’d discovered. I hadn’t had time to tell him when he had finally arrived at the hotel. I was waiting for him in his room, and had only shared the basics of what was going on.

I continued. “You left her for dead in that house. It wasn’t good enough that she turned on me thinking she had a friend in you. No, no. You had to take it further and try to get rid of her when she realized her mistake. What kind of animal are you? What kind of tramp would do all of that just to get a man? And now you’re sitting here looking at me like a sick puppy. You make me sick to my stomach.”

“I never meant to hurt anyone. I only wanted to be with Darvin. By any means necessary,” she said, looking into my eyes.

Then out of nowhere, she gained momentum.

“Why do you care? You don’t want this lifestyle anyway. You’re never there to support Darvin, and what little he asks of you, you reject. Who he needed was a woman like me to come into his life. A woman who knew the type of man she had at home, and knew how to take care of him. And if I get my way, that woman will be me,” she finished, satisfied with herself.

I stared holes into her for more minutes than I could count. There was no doubt that she was totally insane. I recalled everything that she’d done to me, and the more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

Rage swelled in my chest.

Wrath plagued my eyes.

Fury became my conscience, and I lost all knowledge of right and wrong.

Before I could stop myself, I leaped over onto her, like a bird learning how to fly, sending Daphne and the chair to the floor. I balled my right fist, leaned it back as far as I could, and with the speed of a race car the first blow went just above her left cheek. And, just in case she was feeling spiritual and wanted to turn the other cheek, I reached back and punched that one too. By the time she could come to grips with the fact that she was getting a butt whooping, I pulled her hair, brought her closer to me, and socked her in the nose so hard blood gushed into my face. While I was at it, I went ahead and pulled a track or two out of her head, and used it to wipe away that fake mole that had once convinced me that she could have really been a twin.

Honey, I beat her like Floyd Mayweather, Jr. beat Juan Manuel Marquez.

With every swing of my arm and every pound of my fist, I released every shred of dismay that I’d bottled inside for so long now.

I beat her for every first lady who had ever had to deal with a Daphne or a Dawn Carlton.

I beat her for every woman who tried to remain classy even amongst women who were constantly trying to pull them out of character.

I beat her for every woman who had lost her man to a Jezebel or a Delilah.

I beat her for every day I felt I had to hold my anger in because I was a first lady.

I beat her until Darvin pulled me off of her.

Epilogue

Michelle

It had been almost a year since the trial was over.

“Daphne Carlton, you are being sentenced to ten years in prison for the attempted murder of Twylah Andrews, and an additional three years for violating the restraining order put in place by Darvin and Michelle Johnson It is my hope and desire that the next time you gain your freedom, you will really be a changed woman, and not just the impersonation of one,” Judge Crothers had ordered.

With the slam of the gavel, Darvin and I were on the road to picking up the pieces of our life and starting all over again.

Sitting here on stage at Bethelite brought a smile to my face. I would have never imagined leaving Atlanta and the people at Mount Zion, but after going back and enduring the court battle with Daphne, we felt we needed a change.

Bethelite was that change. Even after a year, they had still not gotten a pastor, and were eager to learn that Darvin had reconsidered.

The people at Mount Zion were devastated at the announcement of our departure. Thousands of tears were shed at the farewell banquet. There were so many memories there, and their faces would never be forgotten. The day that we drove away, I knew that nothing for them would ever be the same.

The move was challenging, but Bethelite had covered all expenses, and had even sent the pastoral aid team to Atlanta to help us pack. They were more than any pastor could ask for.

Overall, we were happy. We were Daphne Carlton–free, and that was the best freedom in the world.

Twylah and her brother, Solomon, were taking care of their mother. She and I had found a way to reconcile, and were on a long journey of trying to rediscover a friendship that we once had.

Chanice was relocating to Baltimore with us. I was relieved to know that she’d wanted to follow us; I certainly didn’t want to go through the woes of finding another armor bearer.

DJ was getting bigger by the day. Darvin and I had even discussed adding to the family once we got settled in. As of right now, DJ was a handful by himself.

Today was our installation service. It was something all Baptist churches did to mark the official beginning of a pastor’s tenure at a church.

My girl, First Lady Lisa Hodges, was in town with her husband, Charles, and they were our special guests. I was cherishing every moment with her, because I severely missed those Thursday nights with the girls. When I left Atlanta, we’d had one last meeting. Of course, the entire time, the only topic of conversation was about the one thing I’d refused to let them talk about prior to then: the night I beat up Daphne Carlton. I was in no way proud of what I’d done, but at the same time, it sure did feel good. God heavily convicted me about taking vengeance into my own hands, but He’d also forgiven me. And I wouldn’t need His forgiveness anymore on that issue, as long as He allowed Daphne Carlton to stay far away from me, my man, and my son.

Life is too short and too precious to worry about facades and saving face. Darvin and I were too busy trying to be the perfect pastor and first lady; we almost lost everything we loved.

It’s easy to get caught up in titles, but at the end of the day when you’re at home and you’re only known for who you are and not what you do, who then are you? You’re simply just who you are.

Through it all, I can truly attest to the fact that there’s a fine line between being wise as a serpent and humble as a dove. Never again will I be so naive.

Reflecting on that last night with the ladies, I made a mental note to make plans to establish a group here in Baltimore. That support was necessary, and maybe one day my challenge would be starting a global network for first ladies. Lord knows it’s needed.

After the service, Lisa pulled me over to the side and into my new office as we waited for our husbands.

“I have something to tell you,” she said.

Sensing that something might be wrong, I said, “What is it, girl?”

“I’m pregnant,” she said solemnly.

“That’s great, Lisa! I’m so happy for you. Even though you and Charles got an army of kids already, I’m still happy for you.” I nudged her in the arm.

Lisa was quiet—abnormally quiet. I got the feeling that she wasn’t telling everything.

“Are you okay? You’re happy, right?”

“Michelle, I’m not pregnant by Charles.”

The wind was knocked out of me. I sat down on my couch, for fear of passing out. I gazed up at Lisa, who was still standing. It didn’t make sense.

The least likely of any of the pastor’s wives in our circle, Lisa had had an affair.

Darvin and Charles walked in, and they both detected immediately the shift in the atmosphere.

Charles looked from me to Lisa. “Who stole y’all’s cookies from the cookie jar?”

No, who stole yours
?

Turn the page for an excerpt from DiShan Washington’s next novel,
The Diary of a Mad First Lady: The Story of First Lady Lisa Hodges

Diary of a Mad First Lady

The Story of First Lady Lisa Hodges

Chapter One

“Hello, Sister Hodges, how are you doing today?” Mother Askew asked.

“God is good,” I replied. What I wanted to do was burst into tears. My life was less than good, and everybody at Pilgrim Baptist Church seemed to make it worse, with the exception of a few people.

“Honey, you got yourself a witness, because God is sho’ nuff good! Praise Him!” she shouted as she did a two-step shouting move.

I stood watching her as she danced to the beat of her own music. I looked around and was glad no one was here to stop and watch. Even still, most were accustomed to her “shouting” outbreaks. They normally kept moving on with business as usual.

I touched her on her shoulder to get her attention. At this rate, she would have been doing the holy two-step for another hour.

“Mother Askew, I’m going on to the back now, okay?” I asked in a loud voice. When she was caught up in the spirit, she was also hard of hearing.

“Did you hear me?” I asked again.

She stopped shouting. “Whew. Sorry about that, Sister Hodges. I just had to get my praise on. You know how that is, don’t you?” she asked.

I simply smiled. “Yes’ mam. Well, you have yourself a fine day in the Lord.”

“You do the same. You tell Reverend I said hello, and give him a big ol’ kiss,” she said, demonstrating the affectionate gesture to the wind and referring to my husband, Charles. “I just stopped by to drop off his peach pie with Simone.”

“Uh-huh, I will,” I said, walking away before she had the opportunity to prolong.

I continued my journey down the hall of Pilgrim Baptist Church to my husband’s office. Charles had been waiting on a proposal all morning from the real estate investors who wanted to purchase some land that we owned downtown. It had come to our home office, and I decided to stop by his office at the church on my way to volunteer at the nursing home.

I volunteered every Wednesday afternoon, and had been doing so for the last year. I felt some sort of weird connection with older people. Where some didn’t understand them or appreciate their wisdom, I cherished it. I never grew tired of listening to their old stories, no matter how many times they told them.

Walking into Charles’s office made me wish that I had called prior to stopping by. Sitting on his desk in a much too provocative way was Simone Anderson, his executive assistant. In her early twenties, she was beautiful and sexy in an innocent way; a way that I used to be, but since had lost. And it didn’t help that I’d had three kids, all before turning thirty. Some would envy my size ten frame after having that many kids, but that which was a virtue to them was a vice for me.

Charles liked them skinny. He liked them tall. He liked them light- skinned with long hair (real or fake), and he liked them constantly stroking his ego—all of the things that I used to do and possess. Over time, I had gained weight, cut my hair, and had long ago quit stroking his ego.

I found it difficult to love a man that I could never love right. There was always fault found in everything that I did. Nothing was ever good enough. Nothing was ever pleasing to him. It was always this or that. So, one day, I quit trying. I didn’t worry about what he thought. It was all about the church anyway. And as long as the parishioners of Pilgrim Baptist were happy, he, too, was happy . . . to a degree.

I walked in as if I had been invited. “Charles, this fax came for you,” I said, glaring at Simone.

She didn’t even bother to move. One reason was because she was a two-timing, trifling skank, and the other was because she knew that Charles wouldn’t make her.

When we’d first gotten married, I used to argue with him all the time about how women would never respect me unless he made them. He had always failed to see my point, so, once again, I gave up on that too.