Diary of a Mad First Lady

by Dishan Washington

  “A few dollars? A few dollars? Huh! What a serious understatement! How about you call it for what it is . . . a couple of hundred thousand dollars! And in case you have forgotten, it was you who came to me because you so desperately wanted to have a lifestyle equivalent to that of a certain Michelle Johnson, so you could prove to an ex-boyfriend who didn’t want you broke or with a few dollars in your bank account. So please don’t you get it twisted,” I said, clearly annoyed. “I came in during a time when you were desperate. And as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  Twylah turned back to me again. “How dare you! Don’t try to throw your money up in my face! You were the one who was so infatuated with a certain Pastor Johnson that you were willing to sell your soul just to be close to him. If it hadn’t been for me making sure you knew his whereabouts, as well as Michelle’s, you wouldn’t have gotten as close as you did. And if you hadn’t been so greedy in trying to rush things, you might have had him by now.”

  She knew that was a low blow. She knew that more than anything in this lifetime, I wanted Darvin to myself. The only person that was standing in my way was Michelle. “Well, that might be true, but I have created for myself another opportunity, and like it or not, you are a part of that opportunity.”

  “Daphne, I’m done with your schemes. I can’t take it anymore. I’m sick of your blackmails. Ever since you decided to come back here, I’ve been playing your dirty game. I don’t like how this is hurting people.”

  Was she trying to back out of our deal? “Oh, no you don’t. You are going to continue to do what I say. I have held up my end of the bargain, and you will hold up yours.”

  “I’ve done everything I said I would do. I told you in the beginning that I couldn’t make any promises, and that still stands. I opened the doors for you, but we both agreed that it would be your responsibility to walk into them. Now, like I said, the games are over. I want out.”

  I laughed hysterically. She had really lost her mind. Didn’t she know that you don’t play with dirt unless you plan to get dirty?

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “And why not?” she asked. “You don’t need me anymore.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, you are very much needed, and unless you cooperate, your sainthood will be for naught, because I will make sure that Pastor Johnson and Michelle know every dirty little secret that you have.”

  Twylah glowed with fury and frustration. She glared at me with frost covering her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare! Because I might have to tell everyone your dirty little secrets, Daphne.”

  “You b—”

  “You better not call me out of my name!” she interrupted. “Why are you doing this anyway? You have all of the information you need. You are several steps closer than you were two years ago, and now with you re-creating yourself, you’re sure to succeed.”

  I could have knocked the taste buds out of her mouth for threatening me, but the truth was, I still needed her. I tried to take a softer approach.

  “You don’t get it. The plan is not complete until I’m Mrs. Darvin Johnson. And like it or not, you will see this through to the end.”

  She shook her head. “No. I won’t do it. And that’s all there is to it.”

  A thought suddenly came to me. “You want him for yourself, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You are secretly in love with Darvin and you don’t want to admit it.”

  “That’s ludicrous.” She paused for a span. “Sure, I might have been a little attracted to him at one time, but to say that I’m in love with him is a huge overstatement.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I didn’t believe anything that she said.

  “I’m serious. We all know that he’s good-looking, sweet, charming, funny . . . but I’ve never desired him for myself.”

  “So, why do you want out?”

  “After Michelle came to see me in prison, I thought about the backstabbing and the lies that I’ve told. I thought about all of the things that she said, and I realize that I’ve been wrong. I mean, I knew I was wrong in the beginning, but for some strange reason, I never stopped long enough to care.

  Greed is a monster, Daphne,” she said, staring out of the window.

  “How selfish I’ve been. Breaking into their house was way out of character for me. And to top it all off, I still didn’t find any dirt on Michelle. Just like I told you before you demanded I do it—she’s squeaky clean. So, it has to stop. She may have the life I wish I had, with a man to love like Pastor loves her, but what can I do about it? Besides that—she’s pregnant.”

  I slammed on my brakes in the middle of the highway. Twylah knew that I hated for her to speak of Michelle in a positive way, and I especially hated for her or anyone else to mention that Michelle was pregnant with my man’s baby. Michelle didn’t deserve to be carrying his baby, and when I found out that she was, I was tempted to be mad at Darvin. But I couldn’t blame him for wanting his sexual desires met. After all, my plan had taken far longer than I had anticipated, and he had to do something in the meantime.

  Getting a man of Darvin’s caliber took time. Dedicated and well thought out time.

  Pastors were a different breed. They had to be more careful than the average person, because an affair that leads to divorce for them could cost them their ministry, which would mean losing their livelihood. And I definitely didn’t need that to happen. I could hardly wait until he was sending me on endless shopping sprees and surprising me with exotic vacations—with his money.

  The car horns jolted me back into the present, and I realized that the thought of my life with Darvin had placed a smile on my face. I resumed riding.

  “Twylah, don’t you ever again in your life mention Michelle and her baby to me. Especially not in a way that suggests that I should be happy for her or care one way or the other.”

  “Daphne—”

  I interrupted. “You have got to stop calling me that. One day you might slip up and say it in front of the wrong person.” She was really working my nerves. “It’s Dawn. Daphne is in Florida recuperating from a nervous breakdown, so I would appreciate it if you never mentioned her again.”

  Twylah stared at me. “You are sick. A really sick individual. And you need some help.”

  I reached over and pretended to punch her in the arm. “Aren’t we just the two sickos?” I laughed hysterically before I turned serious. “And you haven’t seen crazy if you try to undermine me, Twylah. I’m serious. You don’t want to cross me.”

  My tone must have made her nervous. She didn’t utter another word.

  Later that night, I drank an entire bottle of Riesling, and in spite of the guilt I felt, I knew I’d done the right thing.

  I tried hard to shake away the happenings of that dreadful day. It was sad that things had to end on that note, but Twylah left me no choice. I’d planned to scare her and offer to give her enough money to leave town, but she kept making it worse. She kept insisting that she had to change her life and start living for Jesus again, as if she were born perfect. It turned out that it was for the best. I was too close to my dream for Twylah to sabotage it.

  Bringing my thoughts back to the present, I took in the beautiful Sunday morning. The melody in my heart was that of an angelic choir. Today was the day that I put the rest of my plan into action. I’d done my homework, and I was ready for the final exam. I took one last look at my reflection in the car window and admired my own beauty. If I didn’t look like the perfect first lady, then I didn’t know who did. The simplicity of the apple red Ben Marc suit was downright breathtaking. Showing just enough cleavage to make your eyes wander, and a hem that stopped just above the knee of my shapely legs, I was ready to make my entrance. The suit was forming to every curve in my body and the matching hat, purse, and accessories were sure to get some of the deacons stirred up.

  I smoothed my skirt, tucked my handheld purse under my arm, and walked toward the building. I was more focused now, and had t
o stay the course. So far, nothing had backfired in my face. No one had suspected my double identity, and the one person who did know was now dead.

  Yep, everything seemed to be working perfectly. I approached the door, and a fine-as-the-morning-sun man dressed in a dark blue suit opened it for me. He was tall with a bald head, and had those bedroom eyes that would make you melt.

  I put myself in check because just looking at him was making me hot and bothered, and I didn’t need to be hot and bothered. Especially in the house of the Lord. I was too close to my destiny, and nothing was going to stop me now. Not even a man whose silent words suggested I meet him in the same spot after church. Nope. Didn’t have time for that.

  The ushers opened the huge wooden doors and let all of us who had been standing in the lobby, into the sanctuary. When the usher realized that he knew me, he immediately escorted me to a seat in the back.

  Trying desperately to remain calm, I smiled, and through gritted teeth said, “I would much rather prefer something closer to the front.”

  The short, scrawny-looking man glared at me. “Look, I know you who you are, Ms. Carlton, and I suggest that you not buck me today. If you do, I won’t be responsible for what I do. Now, you sit your demon-possessed behind in this chair right here,” he said, pointing to the space he selected for me.

  Suddenly, an older woman wearing a floral dress that looked more like drapery, and whose size would have petrified King Kong, took her purse and hit the usher in the same arm he used to point to the seat he was holding for me.

  “Charlie, you need to stop your stuff. God loves sinners too. Now, I’m sure Ms. Carlton here knows she ain’t no saint, but God loves her kind. And besides that, you know the protocol is that you seat from the front to back. Now, I might be old, but I can see that it ain’t near full in the front yet, so you need to move Ms. Carlton closer. And just maybe some Jesus will rub off on her,” she said as she stared at me through bifocals.

  I had never felt so demeaned and humiliated in my life. True, I wasn’t a saint, but did I have to be made to feel as if I were the scum of the Earth? I knew plenty of people who were worse sinners than me.

  “Are you going to follow me, or are you going to stand here staring off into space?” He scowled.

  “Charlie,” I whispered, “you better be glad that we are in the church, because if we weren’t, I would have to show you just what I do to men like you who try to throw their weight around.”

  He hissed and led me down to the third row. It must have been my lucky day because I got the end seat. When I got ready for my performance, I would have perfect access to the aisle.

  Parishioners began to fill up the sanctuary within minutes of my sitting down. Before long the service was underway. I could hardly breathe while anticipating Darvin’s entrance. I was sweating in my hands, on my back, under my arms . . . I was about to start a water ministry on the third row.

  Finally, Darvin came out, and Michelle followed soon after him. One day that was going to be me, and I could not wait.

  Darvin took his place and joined in the praise and worship service. I closely watched how engrossed he became, almost like being in a trance. I held up my own hands, trying to feel something, but I felt nothing but chills running down my spine. I knew I shouldn’t have come back here, because I was no longer able to front. I used to have the whole church thing down to a science, but now it was like I couldn’t even fake anymore.

  Yeah, that was me as Daphne: speaking in tongues, shouting, participating in every ministry that was offered, and serving as an armor bearer to Michelle—even though the last stint didn’t last but a hot second before I’d totally lost my mind and failed my own plan. I got greedy and lost track of what I was supposed to be doing.

  My plan had been to befriend her, but the more I got to know her, the more I realized that it was me who Darvin needed, not her. I was powerful, Category 1 beautiful, intelligent, had a way with people; while Michelle was the opposite. She was plain, Category 2 beautiful, and from the way she always complained, she totally hated her position.

  After I lost it, I had to move back to Florida and get myself together. Shortly after I left, I knew I had to find a way to get back. I kept telling myself that the only reasonable thing to do was change my identity.

  Standing there with my hands raised felt so foreign to me, but just in case Darvin noticed me in the congregation, I didn’t want him to see me not worshipping. If he was going to worship, so was I.

  The service progressed, and I kept my eyes on the prize. I watched every move he made. I even noticed how touchy he and Michelle were today, and how every once in a while, he would just look over and smile at her. The sight of it burned holes in my heart. That should have been me.

  One day, I’d run into one of the ladies from the church at the grocery store, and the gossiping staff member told me that she suspected he and Michelle were having problems. That was obviously a lie, or they were putting up a good front. I heard pastors and their wives did that, but looking at them, it was too hard to tell.

  Darvin moved to the podium, where he took his place to preach.

  “Church, let’s give God a praise,” he said.

  He must not have gotten the response he wanted, because he said it again. “I said, let’s give God a praise. That was good enough for me, but not for the one who woke you up this morning. Not for the one who has you in your right mind, health, and strength. Not for the one who gave you those arms to lift toward heaven and that voice to sing praises. Surely, you can do better than that!” he exclaimed.

  This time the crowd was on their feet. I smiled because Darvin never failed to get the crowd hyped. He always knew what to do and say.

  That had been my only concern about myself. I was not as confident when it came to the church crowd, but could work any other social gathering effortlessly. But since I had not been attending church, I spent the last couple of months watching religious programs. I pretty much had the pulpit jargon down. I’d watched a couple of popular female pastors, and had imitated them long enough to feel comfortable to do it myself if I ever needed to. So, when the time came for me to be his wife, no one would doubt my capabilities. I was already one up over Michelle.

  I spent the entire service daydreaming about my soon-to-be new role as first lady, and I almost missed my cue. Darvin was in the final stages of his message, the part where everyone came alive and was shouting “Yeah,” “Thank you, Jesus,” and “Pastor, you know you preaching,” among other things. It was time for me to shine. Just as the organ got crunk, I fell out. In the spirit.

  I lay there on the floor with my eyes partially open and tears running down my face. Ushers came from everywhere and were throwing sheets over me as if I were covered in leprosy, covering up what would be any chance of skin showing. I could see the prayer warriors were gathered around me, praying that God would speak or deliver; whichever I was standing in the need of.

  I purposefully fell on my side with my face toward the pulpit so I could get Darvin’s reaction to me sprawled out on the floor. He was too busy preaching to notice. I knew that when he stopped, he would see me and come down to lay his hands on me, as with everyone else who got “slained in the spirit.” And I would cherish every second of it.

  I kept the tears coming. I’m sure they thought they were tears of joy because of my gratitude for God. Nevertheless, they were tears of joy for what God was getting ready to do in my life. I couldn’t understand how He would bless me so in spite of my sins, but He sure was doing it. Here I was plotting and scheming, trying to take someone else’s husband, and yet He was allowing me to do it. It must have been in His will.

  I closed my eyes for a brief second, and I felt a touch on my head. I tried to contain my excitement, as I knew it was Darvin coming to me. The hand moved from my head to my arm in such a gentle way I almost forgot why I was really lying on the floor.

  “Get your floozy butt off of this floor. I’m on to your games, and I won’t stand f
or it. You are one sorry excuse for a woman, but if you get up now, you might be able to contain what little dignity you have left,” the voice whispered in my ear.

  My heart started pounding and my hands balled into fist-fighting position. I opened my eyes to see Michelle bending over me with her very round belly in my face.

  I had to quickly remind myself to respond as Dawn and not Daphne, because Daphne would have punched her right in the face. The Dawn in me had to keep my composure, because this was my last chance at Darvin.

  I did the only thing I knew to do; I started speaking in tongues. Maybe not the real ones, but the one that you say so fast no one can tell the difference.

  “E-ro-ha-shun-day,” I babbled. “Un-tie-my-yellow-bow-tie,” I babbled even more. “Como te llama,” I said in Spanish. I kept saying those things over and over again, louder and louder, until Michelle was finally convinced that I was not putting on a show.

  She slowly walked away, and the scrawny usher took her place. He was glaring down at me too, but I was certain that Darvin didn’t miss my performance.

  I wasn’t sure if fear of Michelle had him scared to move, or if he was afraid that being in my presence would expose the true feelings he had for me.

  After about five minutes, the ushers helped me up. They were fanning me liberally with those Martin Luther King church fans, trying to fan away the spirit, so I would calm down. One usher straightened my skirt, and another one tried to smooth my hair back in place. While they were busy trying to put me back together, I kept searching until my eyes locked with Darvin’s.

  In that twinkling of an eye, I knew that I’d gotten in his head. I knew that my work for today had been done.

  My intent was not to come in here and put on a shouting fit just for the sake of being seen in my cute outfit. My intent was to raise questions in Darvin’s head: When was the last time anybody had been slain in the spirit as a result of one of his sermons? According to Twylah, not recently. When was the last time Michelle lost her first lady composure and shouted to one of his sermons? Again, according to Twylah, not ever.