The First Lady (36 page)

Not a sound was heard in the room as the bishop concluded the letter.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering,” he said, “who this woman is my wife was referring to.”

A few people were bold enough to nod in agreement, while others sat back, pretending they hadn’t been gossiping for months about the bishop’s love life. Lisa Mae, of course, was not wondering, because she was so certain that the person Charlene wrote about was her. She shuffled her feet nervously, waiting for the moment she knew was coming, when T.K. would call her to the front of the room and propose to her.

“Brothers and sisters, I want you to know that my wife is right: I am in love. The woman I’m in love with loves me, but she loves the Lord more. She’s been a faithful member of this congregation—in fact, I don’t know of a time when she’s missed a church function.”

Loretta patted Lisa Mae on the back. She smiled, showing all of her pearly whites.

“Sister Monique Johnson, I’d like for you to come up here,” Bishop requested. The audience, including Monique, erupted in one collective gasp. Monique looked around the room, then raised her eyebrows and pointed to her chest. “Yes, you,” he confirmed.

Bishop reached for Monique’s hand as she stepped tentatively onto the platform. She wondered if the audience could see her heart pounding through the fabric of her dress. She was glad she had chosen another conservative outfit to wear this night, especially when the bishop said, “A lot of you folks have had negative things to say about the way Sister Johnson dresses. But none of you ever tried to see past her attire.” He gazed into Monique’s eyes. In the audience, Lisa Mae felt like she was about to faint. “'Cause if only you had looked further than her clothes, you’d know Monique is a good woman, a God-fearing woman who wants to be loved and respected and who also has First Jamaica Ministries at heart.

“The rumors about the way Sister Johnson carries herself have got to stop. Truth be told, my beloved Charlene started many of those rumors. But I’m sure if she could speak to you all today, she’d take those unkind words back. I know this to be true, because the woman Charlene was referring to in that letter was Sister Monique Johnson. Charlene’s told me to follow my heart, and that’s what I intend to do. Some of you may want me to leave First Jamaica Ministries after this, but for the record, I ain’t going nowhere.”

Bishop reached into his jacket pocket for the second time that night and pulled out a small box. He kneeled on one knee in front of Monique and opened the box, flashing a two-and-a-half-carat princess-cut-diamond ring. Monique’s tears began to flow fast and steadily, but they were tears of joy. Lisa Mae’s eyes were also wet, but for another reason entirely. She sat on the edge of her seat with her eyes and mouth open, frozen solid—"stunned” would be an understatement.

“Monique Johnson, it took me a while to come around, but at least I did. Better than not coming around at all, right?” He smiled. “I realize now that I was letting Man decide how I should live my life instead of letting God do His business of further wedging you into my heart. And Lord knows best, ‘cause I’ve learned that in my heart is exactly where you belong. All I wanna know is will you allow me to love you always and forever? Will you become my wife?”

Monique was so excited, she couldn’t even speak for a second. She had to blurt her response in order to get it out. “Yes! I will,” she cried.

Lisa Mae tried to stand up and protest, but her knees turned to jelly as she watched the scene unfolding before her. She turned to Loretta, then looked back at Bishop embracing Monique. Loretta hardly had time to catch Lisa Mae as she fainted.

Bishop placed the ring on Monique’s finger, then pulled her into a tight embrace. Again, the members of the church jumped to their feet and roared with cheers and applause. Even those people who had judged Monique most harshly through the years were moved by the depth of love that the bishop displayed for this woman. God works in mysterious ways. They had all heard the saying before, and this night they were witness to the truth in those words.

E
PILOGUE
: A
LISON AND THE
F
IRST
L
ADY

From the graveyard, I could hear the church bells ringing, signifying that the bishop had just been married; now Monique Johnson was the new first lady of First Jamaica Ministries. The flowers I’d left last time I visited Charlene’s grave were wilted, and I made a mental note to bring some new ones back in a couple of days. I removed the flowers, then knelt down, placing a lavender box at the foot of the headstone. I began to pull up the few weeds that had sprouted, and when the gravesite was weedfree, I stood up and read the inscription written on my best friend’s headstone:

HERE LIES CHARLENE WILSON, WIFE, MOTHER, AND FIRST LADY OF FIRST JAMAICA MINISTRIES. EVEN IN DEATH HER PRESENCE WILL
ALWAYS BE FELT.
1962–2006.

As always, when I read the inscription, a few tears sprang to my eyes. I took out a handkerchief, wiped the tears away, then began to clean off Charlene’s headstone. It really wasn’t that dirty, but I needed something to keep me busy as I tried my best to avoid the conversation I knew was inevitable.

Eventually, I just said, “Charlene, they’re married now. The bishop and Monique are married now, so it’s over. You can let go. You can rest in peace, girl.”

A strong wind blew by, giving me a chill. I believed it to be a sign from my friend, and she was not happy. Not happy at all.

“I know you’re mad at me.” Tears began anew. “I know you’re mad at me, and I’m sorry. But I just couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t give him that letter suggesting that he marry Lisa Mae.”

I glanced down at the lavender box. There were still more than fifty undelivered letters in it, each one written to encourage or discourage Bishop Wilson’s suitors. For the last six months, I’d been handing out those damn letters, following and spying on people to be sure that the correct letter was left so that we would get the final result Charlene had desired. And it was working too. We plotted and planned, and even when things looked like they weren’t going our way, we had another letter that I would deliver to set things right.

But after I left the bishop’s office the day he busted me, I did some serious thinking about everything that had happened since I started handing out letters. While I was observing the “competition,” I did feel twinges of guilt from time to time, but I managed to put them out of my mind and continued to deliver letters in order to stay loyal to Charlene’s dying wishes. Then, when Bishop suggested we were playing God, I realized he was right. These were human beings we were playing with. Every letter we wrote, we tried to predict how it would affect the bishop’s love life, but we failed to even think about how it would affect the emotions of all people involved.

We never stopped to think that Marlene, already fragile from years of drug abuse, might be pushed over the edge if she started to feel pressured. Lisa Mae, who was once an outgoing and likable person, now seemed always stressed, like it was impossible for her to relax once she started to feel the competition. It seemed she was paranoid of everyone except Loretta. And Monique … I knew Charlene never liked her, and I never cared much for her, either, but sitting with her as she suffered through her guilt in that abortion clinic, I realized she was a human being with feelings, and I couldn’t help but think that we’d been unfair to her. Maybe she wasn’t the right woman to be first lady of the church, but that wasn’t my decision and didn’t mean she deserved the cruel letters I delivered to her.

The only person who seemed to derive any benefit from our letter-writing campaign was Savannah. At least her interactions with the bishop had caused her to loosen the chains her father had her in. She was getting out more often, and even her singing voice in the choir on Sundays sounded more brilliant than ever. But still, I wondered, was it right to even suggest to her that she should compete for the bishop’s affection? The more I watched her, the more I realized that Savannah had a lot of growing up to do. She needed to branch out on her own, spread her wings outside of her father’s house before she allowed herself to become involved with a man. And I think the bishop realized this, too, because any time I’d seen him speaking with her, he behaved more like a mentor, or even a father figure, than someone with romantic interests. Savannah should never have been included in our list of potential candidates. Charlene and I had been way off base with this one.

In fact, now that I saw the human side of what we had done, I realized that we might have been way off base with all of it from the start. I know she loved her husband dearly, but maybe Charlene should have just let him make his own decisions. After all, he was a kind and thoughtful man. He would never do anything to intentionally hurt his church or any member. I couldn’t really say the same thing about me or my best friend.

In the end, I could tell that just because it was right for us, it didn’t mean it was right for Bishop Wilson. So, just when he seemed to be ready to ask Lisa Mae to marry him, when I was supposed to give him the final letter Charlene wrote, suggesting how happy she would be to have Lisa Mae as the next first lady, I wrote a new letter and gave it to him. That was the letter he read to the congregation. He didn’t know that Charlene had nothing to do with that particular letter, but it was the one that helped Monique Johnson become the first lady.

I kicked the box, and the letters began to flop away in the wind, bouncing off tombstones and grass with the heavy wind. “This was wrong, Charlene. We shouldn’t have ever done this. No, you should have never done this, and I shouldn’t have ever allowed it. It wasn’t your choice to decide who the bishop was going to marry. It was his choice, and I’m starting to think he made a damn good choice.”

A READING GROUP GUIDE

THE FIRST LADY
CARL WEBER

ABOUT THIS GUIDE

The following questions are designed to facilitate discussion in and among reader groups.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. Who did you think was going to marry the bishop when the book started?

2. Would you marry the bishop or a man like him?

3. What did you think of Lisa Mae?

4. Did you think he would sleep with anyone else?

5. What did you think of Alison? And would you have done what she did for the First Lady?

6. Did you feel sorry for Marlene?

7. Who was your favorite character in the book?

8. Were you turned off when the bishop slept with Monique?

9. Would you want to choose your spouse’s next relationship if you were terminally ill?

10. Did the bishop make the right choice?

Turn the page for a preview of Carl Weber’s next book, SOMETHING ON THE SIDE!

I could feel myself getting excited when my twin sister Karen’s car turned down my block. I was excited because I’d spotted a light on in my apartment and my boyfriend Tony’s SUV parked on the corner. With any luck he was in my bed naked waiting for me. Trust me, I needed him to be there after discussing Mary B. Morrison’s new book with my book club. Lord, talk about a sexually charged conversation. I don’t think one of us walked out of that meeting without the need of a panty liner and some good old-fashioned male companionship, if you know what I mean. I swear I don’t think I’ve ever been so horny in my entire life. Even Mrs. Turner, the seventy-year-old mother of my sister’s best friend Tammy, who hosted the meeting, said she was going home to wake her husband up.

“Well, at least one of us is going to get some,” Karen mumbled jealously as she pulled up behind Tony’s truck to let me out. I felt sorry for my sister but it wasn’t my fault she didn’t have a man. Karen’s standards were so damn high she wanted someone with Russell Simmons’s money and Terrance Howard’s looks. The fact that she couldn’t find him made her bitter.

“Why don’t you call Greg? I’m sure he’d be willing to stop by for a booty call.”

Karen raised her finger as if to chastise me, then hesitated for a second, giving it some thought. She shook her head. “Nah, if I give Greg some I’ll never be able to get rid of him. The boy’s got some good
dick,
but he can’t keep a job.”

I shrugged my shoulders, then leaned over to kiss her. “You mean he can’t keep a six-figure job.”

She changed the subject ‘cause she knew where I was going. “Hey, Kim, speaking of dick, you’ll never guess what Tammy asked me.” She was right, I would never guess. Tammy was always up to something.

“Girl, I ain’t got no time to be guessing nothing. My man is upstairs, and I need to get to him before he falls asleep.”

“My God, will you calm down a second. You act like that man’s dick is made of gold. Damn, it’s only gonna take a second.”

“Whatever.” I stepped out of the car, then leaned my head into the window.

“Well, you know Tammy always gives Rashad a birthday party every year, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, she’s not having a party this year. Guess what she wants to do this year.”