I took a deep breath and waited for the objections. I hoped that my presentation, along with my research and statistics, was convincing, but inevitably at least one person was not going to agree. Bishop Donaldson cleared his throat.
I knew that he would be the one to object. Bishop Donaldson had never wanted to hire me for this position—he had someone in mind from his own congregation. He was old-fashioned, and would have rather had a black man at the helm of the bank. He was against women in leadership positions, period. Not one female minister or evangelist would ever grace his pulpit.
“And how do you propose we choose these worthy individuals?” Bishop Donaldson asked. “You’re talking about giving loans to ex-felons here. How do we know whom to trust?”
“I leave that up to the heads of the respective congregations,” I said, my negotiating skills kicking in. “Typically, we are looking for individuals who have been outstanding examples in the church and have completely turned their lives around. I’m speaking of someone who is working steadily, even if it’s menial labor, and who consistently makes financial offerings to the church.”
“Are there any types of ex-felons we’ll exclude? What about those with fraud charges or thieves?” asked Bishop Gordon. “No matter how much we want to serve the church, we are still a financial institution.”
I replied calmly, “I’m glad you asked that, Bishop. We will look at each individual on a case-by-case basis. There will be a list of criteria, with the type of crime being only part of it. Remember, we want to assist those who normally wouldn’t be given a second chance by society. It is my dream that an individual can come into the church and start over.”
Bishop Donaldson chuckled. “That’s a noble sentiment, Sister Ellis. Very noble indeed. I don’t know how practical it is, though. If we do this, we’ll need to take it slowly. There are wolves out here that would take advantage of the church—”
“But there are also sheep,” Pastor Jenkins interjected. “And these are the ones Charmayne is seeking. We shouldn’t discard an idea just because it may attract wolves.”
“I agree,” said Pastor Strong. “There is a poverty stranglehold over our congregations, and I think that this is a move in the right direction. If we are successful, maybe more Christian business owners will follow suit and employ members of the body of Christ.”
Pastor Frank, who was usually quiet in the meetings, added, “I move that we implement this program, at least in its preliminary stages. I trust that Sister Ellis will provide us with the details, and some general guidelines for applicants.”
“Of course. The documentation on this project is already prepared.”
Pastor Jenkins said, “I second that motion.”
“All in favor?” asked Bishop Gordon.
When all of the other board members had agreed to the plan, Bishop Donaldson reluctantly added his approval. I could’ve squealed with delight, but I didn’t. I almost never gave way to displays of emotion at work.
After the vote, Bishop Donaldson said, “I want to see the paperwork on this, first thing in the morning. I still have some reservations.”
I eased back into my chair. Now that I’d gotten the approval of the board, the real challenge was making the program work. I finally had my chance to create a success story, and in the process maybe win over my critics.
I was on cloud nine as I walked back to my office. Even the thoughts of Travis that lingered in the back of my mind couldn’t dampen my mood. Donna handed me a message as I entered my office.
“It’s from your sister,” she said. “She’s going to be half an hour late for your lunch date.”
I was glad that she’d called, because I had forgotten all about the lunch. We were planning a surprise party for Mama’s sixtieth birthday. I should say that Dayna was planning it, but she wanted to make it seem as if I was involved.
“Donna, I need you to print out the documentation of the Teach a Man to Fish program. Fax a copy over to Bishop Donaldson immediately. The rest can go in the regular mail.”
“Will do.”
I returned a few telephone calls and then headed out to the Italian bistro that Dayna picked for our lunch meeting. That was one thing we had in common—our love of Italian food. The difference was that the thick pastas and creamy sauces seemed to have no detrimental effects on Dayna’s figure. She was built like our father. He was five foot four, and couldn’t have weighed more than 130 pounds.
Even though Dayna had said she was running late, she actually beat me to the restaurant. She had an irritated look on her face, and she was looking at her watch.
“Hey, baby sis!” I called across the patio, trying to sound as upbeat as possible. Dayna looked up and her expression immediately changed. She grinned and shook her head.
“I see some of us are still operating on CP time,” Dayna joked.
Of course, I knew that she meant “colored people.” I’d heard Dayna say that line thousands of times. I’d seen her break off promising relationships if the brother had a problem picking her up on time for a date.
Since it was a sunny afternoon, we decided to be seated on the patio. Usually we didn’t indulge in outdoor dining, because the humidity would cause our hair to swell into thick Afros. That day, however, the air was not the least bit moist.
We ordered our food from an overly friendly waiter—I was having the antipasto salad and Dayna chose the sausage marinara. My stomach started to grumble just thinking about what my sister had ordered, but I was trying to eat healthy.
Dayna pulled a huge notebook out of her bag and placed it in the center of the table. “Everything is in here! It’s going to be a perfect party, Charmayne.”
I picked up the notebook and flipped through about twenty pages of caterers, locations, and a guest list that had over two hundred people. Who was Dayna kidding? Mama did not have that many friends.
I laughed. “I was thinking we were going to do something just a little bit more intimate.”
“Intimate? This is Mama’s sixtieth birthday. It should be a bash.”
“And who is going to pay for all this?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Well, I’ll chip in, but I thought you were going to handle most of it. You know Erin just started kindergarten at Sacred Heart. That tuition is kicking my butt.”
I shook my head and frowned. Dayna and Ron always had big plans for everything, but never any money. The year before, they had wanted to get Mama a big-screen television for Christmas, but they wanted me to come up with one thousand of the fourteen hundred dollars. They didn’t get me that time; Mama got a robe and slippers.
“Well, if I’m paying for it, then I get a say in how much we’re going to spend. We need to scale this thing way back. You act like Mama’s getting married.”
“Not that you would know anything about that,” Dayna said under her breath, barely loud enough for me to hear.
I folded my arms and squinted angrily. “I see you been talking to Mama.”
“She just mentioned that you dogged out yet another perfectly eligible bachelor.”
“You and Mama need to mind y’all own business.”
“And what about that guy I saw you dancing with at Lynette’s wedding reception?”
“Oh, he’s history, too.”
Dayna shook her head and asked, “Why, Charmayne? Don’t you want to be happy?”
“Who said that I wasn’t happy?” I responded, my voice going up an octave. “I don’t need a man to make me happy.”
Dayna rolled her eyes. “The only women who ever say that are the ones who don’t have a man. I believe that God created us to want a husband. Saying that you don’t need one is unnatural.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. I had heard this line of reasoning so many times that I could repeat it verbatim. In fact, I’d heard it so much, I was starting to believe it. As much as I hated to admit it, I did feel that there was something missing in my life without a family.
“Are you going t
o try to bring a date to Mama’s party? She would be so happy if you did.”
I thought about who I could bring. I wished Travis had waited to tell me about his felonies. It would’ve felt nice to have Mama doting on my boyfriend for a change.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll have a date,” I replied, not knowing at all if that was the truth.
CHAPTER Eleven
Past
When it finally sank in that my first romance was over, I called Lynette to receive some compassion. Lord knows I’d cried with her through enough breakups. But instead of being kind and supportive, she tore into me like a lion into a freshly killed antelope.
“I cannot believe you,” said Lynette in a bitterly scolding tone.
“Well, believe it,” I replied with a conviction that I didn’t truly feel. “I’m not just going to marry the first man who comes along. I’ve waited far too long for that.”
“The first man! He’s the only man you’ve been the least bit interested in since Marvin Baker. You act like you just have eligible bachelors lining up to be with you.”
“I’m not about to argue with you on this one. The Lord said no, and that’s that.”
Lynette scoffed, “You kill me with the Lord said this and the Lord said that! Since when did you become such a deep wonder? You’ve been hanging around with Ebony too much, and she don’t have a man, either!”
I purposely ignored her dig at Ebony. “I’m not trying to be deep. I just know that Travis is not the man for me.”
“And you’re sure about that? Did Travis do or say something to influence your decision?” asked Lynette.
I thought about the felonies. I wondered if God’s hand was truly in the situation or if Travis’s revelation had been the only reason for the breakup.
“Look, Travis told me that he’s a convicted felon. Even if I didn’t think God was directing me, I’d still say no.”
“What brotha doesn’t have felonies these days?”
I was taken aback. I’d expected Lynette to back me up, but she was nowhere near being in my corner. I started thinking that I’d called the wrong friend. I should’ve known better. Between the two of us, I was the one with common sense. Lynette’s nonchalant attitude was what drew me to her in friendship. I’d always lived vicariously through her.
“You’re talking crazy, Lynette! You know the kind of man I want to get with. And that man does not have prison time under his belt.”
“I’m not the one who’s crazy. Let me bring you back to reality. You are thirty-six years old. You’re overweight to a fault. Yet one of the finest, saved men in Cleveland wants to be with you. But you, all of a sudden, are hearing from heaven that he’s not the man the Lord sent.”
Her words hit me like a boxer’s blows. “I don’t have to listen to this!”
“You need to listen to this! You are so caught up in your own deepology that you’re going to miss out on a good man.”
I responded angrily, “Well, maybe if you had been sensitive to the Spirit of the Lord in your life, it wouldn’t have taken you so long to find Jonathan. I don’t need the hard knocks, I can just look at yours.”
I was not surprised when I heard the dial tone in my ear. Lynette was good for hanging up on people, especially in the heat of an argument. I hadn’t meant to throw her past mess-ups in her face. I wished that I had more experience with men. It frightened me to think that Lynette’s rant included so many elements of truth.
Ebony and I sat in First Lady Jenkins’s office, licking stamps and putting them on invitations to our annual women’s conference. I couldn’t believe that it was already September and conference time again. It seemed as if we had just finished all the work from the previous year’s event.
To top it all off, Mama’s birthday party was a week away and I still had not found a suitable date. Of course, I hadn’t actually asked anyone, but it wasn’t like I had a little black book or anything. My choices were slim to none—closer to none. I was trying to get up the nerve to ask Brother Marvin, although he was my absolute last resort.
When I’d told Ebony about my breaking up with Travis, she was characteristically silent. She’d nodded and whispered Jesus under her breath—probably a prayer for my strength.
“The conference is going to be so anointed this year,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “I can’t wait to hear what the Lord has to say to the women.”
“I know! I’m looking forward to it, too,” I replied, trying to catch some of Ebony’s enthusiasm.
“I’m sure the Lord has a word for you, Charmayne. Be encouraged.”
I nodded and continued my stamp licking. Sometimes Ebony’s stoic manner got on my nerves. I needed her prayers, but sometimes I just wanted her to get real with me. That was the reason I needed a friend like Lynette. She would pray for me, too, but only after she’d gotten angry, tearful, and bitter right along with me.
First Lady breezed into her office looking as if she didn’t have a care in the world. I knew that to be untrue—she had more cares than the average woman. I admired her ability to retain her joyfulness even in the midst of trials.
She said, “Ebony. Will you please go make one hundred copies of this memo to the auxiliary heads and ministry staff? I want to make sure no one says they didn’t know about their special offering.”
Ebony graciously took the memo from First Lady’s hand. I was glad that she hadn’t asked me, because the copier needed replacing and would only print ten copies at a time without jamming. Ebony’s job would take at least an hour to complete.
When Ebony was safely out of earshot, First Lady asked, “Charmayne, how are you? You seem too quiet.”
“I’m blessed, First Lady,” I replied with an upbeat tone, trying to mask my true feelings.
I knew that First Lady wasn’t going to accept my response. She’d only asked me how I was doing because it was obvious something was wrong.
She asked, “Whatever happened with that young man you were dating? I haven’t heard you talk about him since Lynette’s wedding.”
“I broke up with him, First Lady,” I replied sadly. I swallowed hard to keep from crying.
“So soon? He seemed so nice.”
I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. “He was! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
“Well, now, I’m sure you had a good reason,” she responded in the caring tone she used when she counseled the women of our church.
“He has felony convictions and he spent time in prison.”
First Lady nodded pensively. Lynette had made me self-conscious about my deepology, so I didn’t say anything about how I felt in my spirit.
“Did you go to God in prayer before you made your decision?”
“Well, no, but the night before, I’d prayed about the whole situation because I was feeling uneasy. I believe that the Lord exposed Travis’s past as a way of saying no.”
“If you feel that the Lord is telling you no, you did the right thing. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“But,” I cried, “I don’t feel any peace about anything. Shouldn’t I feel peace when I follow the will of God?”
“You will feel peace—just don’t let the devil take it away.”
First Lady got up and walked to the other side of her desk. She perched on the edge directly in front of me.
“You know,” she continued while handing me tissues to dry my tears, “Prince Charming doesn’t always have to come in a pretty package.”
I supposed that she was referring to Travis’s looks. She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. In fact, I’d always expected my Prince Charming to be more of a court jester. It wasn’t until I’d met Travis that I even dared to dream about someone tall, dark, and handsome.
“I know, First Lady.”
“Brother Marvin asked Pastor about you the other day.”
My eyes widened with disbelief. “He did? What did he ask?”
“In a roundabout way he asked if you were dating
anyone.”
I didn’t know whether to be indignant or joyous. Why, of all people, would Marvin ask our pastor who I was dating? If he wanted to know, then he could’ve asked me himself.
I said, “Well, I had thought of inviting him to a birthday party, but I didn’t think he’d be interested.”
First Lady responded excitedly, “So now that you know he’s interested, what are you waiting for? Ask him! He’s right outside Bishop’s office. They’ll be leaving for Toledo soon. Hurry and catch him.”
First Lady’s enthusiasm was infectious, because before I knew it I was rushing out into the hallway, looking for a brother who barely even said hello when he saw me. I nearly collided with him as he walked out of Bishop Jenkins’s study. I greeted him with a big smile, but I thought I detected a hint of nervousness on his face.
“Praise the Lord, Brother Marvin!”
“Praise Him, Charmayne,” he responded quietly.
“Um . . . how have you been lately? We haven’t talked in a while.”
The nervous look changed to irritation. I wasn’t sure that First Lady Jenkins knew what she was talking about. Marvin didn’t seem at all comfortable with talking to me.
“I’ve been good.”
“Look, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me to my mother’s birthday party,” I blurted almost unintelligibly. I hoped that he didn’t ask me to repeat myself, because I was sure that I couldn’t.
“You mean as a date?” Marvin asked, clearly not thrilled with the idea.
I stumbled over my words. “I mean, not necessarily as a date. More like an escort.”
Marvin’s eyes shifted from left to right. I guessed that he was trying to find a way to refuse without seeming like a jerk.
Farther Than I Meant to Go, Longer Than I Meant to Stay Page 9
