Pastor Needs a Boo (17 page)

 

Chapter Eleven

Reverend Marcel Brown and Bishop Sonny Washington had not seen each other in over six months. Back in the day, a month wouldn't have gone by before they were hopping on a plane, en route to some fun and exotic location, up for whatever was on the social menu for the day. Marcel and Sonny had ho'd their way all over the globe. They enjoyed every single minute of it, too. Those were the good ole days, when they could run through women like crazy and not even have to drink some blue Kool-Aid to keep up with the honeys.

But that was then, and this was now. Marcel always said that whoever came up with Viagra/Cialis/Levitra deserved some kind of medal of honor. Those blue pills made an old man's life sweet.

Only thing was, you couldn't pop those pills like they were Flintstone vitamins. Taking too many would have a brother finding himself in a deep face-to-face conversation with the Lord before he was ready to sit down and talk to the Lord like that. Because as much dirt as Marcel Brown was involved in, he still did not want to die without getting saved.

Folks would be surprised to discover that Marcel looked forward to saying the Sinner's Prayer at some point in his life. But he wasn't ready to give up the world in exchange for walking with the Lord just yet. Marcel wanted to chase a few more rainbows, even though he knew he was playing with fire to keep delaying getting saved.

Marcel Brown loved the thrill of being in the wrong spaces and always finding a way to weasel out of them. He just didn't love the chronic panic, fear, and anxiety that came with being in such a risky state. Reverend Marcel Brown had been in church long enough to know he was playing with fire—literally. He secretly hoped that he didn't ride this train too far, and not be able to get back to the Lord before it was too late.

He discovered the hard way, while still at the preacher's conference in Atlanta, how much he needed to slow down. Against his better judgment, Marcel hooked up with one of those church hoochies he was always telling younger preachers to stay away from. Maybe it was laziness that made him go for a woman who was chasing him down like he was a young man. Maybe it was his ego, that some women would still do anything to be with him. But whatever it was, it caused Marcel Brown a whole lot of problems.

He wished he had listened to LaTina, who told him which women at the conference to stay clear of. LaTina saw that church she-devil in that gray St. John's with the custom-made church hat coming from a mile away. She said, “Reverend Brown, I know that thang lookin' good from where you see it as a man. But Rev, please don't tap that tail. It isn't worth the trouble you'll get after a few moments of pleasure. I'm tellin' you, don't do it.”

Marcel was listening to LaTina, but he wasn't exactly hearing her. There was a strong chance she was 100 percent right. But she was trying to talk some sense into a man whose sensibilities had gone into overdrive every time that woman brushed up against him at the conference.

He didn't know what it was about this woman. Maybe it was the “do me, baby” and “anyway you like it” signals in her eyes. Whatever it was, Marcel was going to throw caution to the wind and do what he wanted to do. He was a grown man—old, too. And he purposed in his heart to hit that before he went back home to Detroit.

LaTina left her new friend alone and made sure he knew to call her if he needed anything. She had a bad feeling about this, and wanted to be on hand in case of an emergency.

That woman had set her cap for Reverend Brown. She didn't just want him for the duration of the conference. She wanted Marcel on a permanent basis. The woman knew he was married, but that was only a minor technicality as far as she was concerned. That woman believed she had the magic touch when it came to men, and she worked what she had convinced herself was some special brand of mojo on Reverend Brown.

And during the first few days Marcel was at the conference, it looked like the woman was correct in her assessment of herself and her skills. She couldn't get enough of Marcel, who was discovering that he was getting more than enough of her. At first he reveled in the way she worked him over, and the way his named rolled off of her tongue over and over and over and over and over again.

That got old quick, however. Mainly because the woman didn't know what the word “break” meant. It was like Marcel was in a dream-come-true version of a nightmare. That woman barely wanted to eat. She had so much going on, Marcel had to pop Viagra tablets like they were Tic Tacs.

The one time he asked her to let him get some rest, she told him, “For years I've been hearing how no one can hold a candle to you behind closed doors. I've been dreaming for this opportunity, and everything those other women have said is true, with the exception of one thing.”

When Marcel stared up at her with a raised eyebrow, she went on, “The older ladies from back in the day all said that they couldn't keep up with you, Presiding Elder. But I guess you are real old now, even if you are the finest thing at this conference. Because I'm not so sure you can keep up with me.”

That's all that crazy woman had to tell Marcel to manipulate him into rising up for her challenge. He went against all common sense and swallowed three more Viagra tablets, heedless of the warnings on the almost empty bottle. He was able to keep up with that woman. He was also able to ride to the hospital in an ambulance, with LaTina, who was so glad he didn't croak. And even worse, he had to ride to the hospital with that Viagra still working overtime. It had been horrible to hear the paramedic laughing when he thought Marcel was out.

That incident reminded him of the time Marcel and his cronies tried to make this Viagra-like drug called WP21, from ground-up watermelon powder. That stuff was so strong, it made the whole body stiffen up. And it also killed a few folk who were too dumb and greedy to use it right. Marcel wasn't trying to go out like that. It would be a long time before he tried something crazy like that again. Tweaki would have to be enough woman for him for a while.

The whole time Marcel was in the hospital, he was praying they would get him straight, and up and running, before somebody thought to call Tweaki. It was one thing for Marcel and Tweaki to have a don't ask, won't tell agreement with each other. It was another thing for something to happen to bring all that Marcel liked to keep hidden in the dark to the light where his wife was concerned.

He was indebted to LaTina, who lied and told the hospital folk she was his niece and would make sure the family was informed of his condition. It was on the drive to the jet that Marcel hired LaTina to work for him, even when there was no work to do. When she protested, he said, “Baby girl, you are a true friend. I have plenty of money, and I want to make sure you always have what you need. Let me put you on my payroll. Okay?”

LaTina hugged her new BFF and said, “It's a deal. Just let me know whenever you need anything. I believe in earning what I'm paid. Okay, Rev.”

Marcel kissed her on the cheek and said, “Deal.” He climbed up the stairs to get on the jet, and felt so odd. This was the first time in his life that he wanted to do something for somebody and not want a thing from them in return. The scripture in Acts about the new Christians sharing what they had with one another became real to Marcel for the first time in his entire life. He'd never realized just how real the Bible was.

Now, just weeks after that satisfying epitome, Marcel was with Sonny at a small, private airport in St. Thomas. They were waiting for Bishop Thomas Lyle Jefferson's limo to scoop them up and take them to the bishop's plush digs high up in the hills of St. Thomas. As much as there was to get into in St. Thomas, and especially while visiting Thomas Jefferson, Marcel knew better than to ho around with Sonny on this trip.

He was still recuperating and didn't want anybody to know that he'd almost overdosed on Viagra. It was a miracle his skin hadn't turned blue from ingesting all of those tablets. Every time Marcel looked at himself in the mirror, he feared that a blue-colored black man would be staring back at him.

The one thing Marcel liked the most about Bishop Thomas Lyle Jefferson was that he didn't live like a bishop. That brother lived like a king. And now he was living even better with that new wife of his—Violetta. Lot of folk didn't understand why Bishop Jefferson wanted that ex–dance hall performer, who was also half his age.

Marcel could have told them why, after he and Sonny found some YouTube videos of Violetta dancing to her hit song, “Burn de House Down.” That was a hot song back in the day. And Violetta was working it when she hopped off of the roof of a burning house in the official video, landed on the ground dancing, and started singing, “I so hot, I burn de house down. With one whip of my hip, I burn de house down, Daddy.” Marcel used to be a big fan of the other famous Caribbean performer, Patra, until he saw the video by Violetta.

It didn't surprise either Marcel or Sonny Washington that the women in Bishop Jefferson's district couldn't stand Violetta Jefferson, and wanted her gone for several reasons. The first and most obvious one was connected to the women who wanted the bishop for themselves. Then there was the group who insisted that their bishop needed a saved wife. And last, there were women in the church who wished their bishop had chosen a woman who attended church at least once before she met him. Violetta didn't act or dress like she even knew where a church was before she met Thomas Jefferson.

Marcel always cracked up whenever he heard a woman in Bishop Jefferson's district talk about Violetta not going to church before she became an Episcopal Supervisor. He always wanted to tell the sister, “What in the world would an unsaved old reprobate like Bishop Jefferson do with a saved woman? Show her how to keep from skidding while backsliding?”

But as much as Marcel hated to admit it, those women were right. It was a glaring problem that Violetta Jefferson was an Episcopal Supervisor. That could be a very powerful position in the Gospel United Church, because she had charge over the wives of the pastors in her husband's district. Marcel understood completely how the pastors' wives felt about that kind of thing. His own mother, God rest her soul, would have led the pack of ministers' wives in protest against an Episcopal Supervisor like a Violetta Jefferson in their district.

The sleek Mercedes limo pulled up to a swanky, pale-brown stucco mansion. Marcel could not believe he had been so deep in thought that he missed all of the beauty of the ride up the hillside. He also didn't realize he was so tired, either.

“I'm getting too old for all of this cheating and slipping and sliding mess,” Marcel mumbled to himself, as he waited for the limo driver to come and open the door for him. This brother was polite, proper, thorough, and willing to get Marcel and Sonny whatever they needed or wanted. Still, Marcel missed being driven around by LaTina. Now that was a real driver. The girl had skills, she knew all about cars, and she knew how to take good care of a high-profile preacher on her watch.

Thomas Lyle Jefferson walked out of his house to greet his guests. He was a tall, slender man with dark brown hair that had a heavy dusting of silver. Sonny Washington always said that Bishop Jefferson looked like a taller, older, and more conservative version of the rapper Shaggy. Sometimes both he and Marcel would look at Bishop Jefferson and wonder if he knew the song “Mr. Boombastic.”

Bishop Jefferson was delighted to see his old partners in crime. He missed the good old days, when they could run through some women, wash down some expensive liquor, and run through some women some more. That was the life, and Bishop Jefferson missed it a lot. Sometimes he wondered how the preachers who were really saved and for real about the Lord could stand it.

Thomas had watched his colleagues Theophilus Simmons and Eddie Tate for years, and just didn't get how they could be so happy and not be able to do the kinds of things that made him feel good. It was rare that Thomas felt happy. But there were many times when he could do something to feel good. He'd never understand what made them so excited when they started talking about the goodness of the Lord or gave a testimony.

Even worse than those two “I'm happy with Jesus alone” jokers were the preachers who used to hang tight with him, getting into all kinds of dirt, and now they were saved and all in cahoots with the Lord. And even more tragic was discovering that all of the fine women who had gotten into some good down and dirty stuff with him had gone soft, talking about how they couldn't take another second of being in the world.

In fact, the last time he was in the States, he'd called one of his women, only to discover that she couldn't talk because the woman was on her way to Bible study. Bible study? Bishop Jefferson was so upset after talking to that woman and trying to figure out what he was going to do now that he had Cialis coursing through his system, he had to go and drink a fifth of scotch to calm himself down.

And to make matters even worse, if that were even possible, that old hoochie had the nerve to start quoting some scriptures to him over the phone. He got mad and said, “You are aware that I am a bishop in the Gospel United Church? Right?”

She said, “Whatever. All I know is that I'm gone pray for you, Thomas,” and hung up the phone in his face.

The house staff ran to the car to get the luggage. They were just as happy to see Marcel and Sonny as the bishop was. Those two old players were good tippers and fun to be around. The staff loved driving them around St. Thomas, enjoying all of the stuff Marcel and Sonny could still find to get into at their age.

Thomas Jefferson grabbed his friends in a big hug and said, “My man, Marcel. My man, Sonny. Lawd, you two old players are a welcome sight to me.”

He turned around to the two servants standing behind him with mojitos made with homegrown ingredients. They hurried to put the drinks in Marcel's and Sonny's hands.