“I’m not in the mood for games, Charleston. I just had the worst face-to-face in my career and I want out. I want you to do something. Get me out of this!” Tamia demanded. “Incense-carrying! Muslim oil–smelling! Dirty dreadlock–having! Son-of-a—”
“Whoa, girl! This is a place of business.” Charleston went to close the door. “Who are you talking about? The doughnut man downstairs?”
“My new client. He’s some ’hood rat with no class. He came into my office and attacked me,” Tamia said. “You’re right. This case is a dog. I have to get out of it and I need you to help me. I can’t—no—I refuse to work with that…that…ruffian!”
“Wait, he attacked you?”
“Well, he was very nasty. Asking me questions and sitting at my desk. Whoever heard—”
“That’s not the same as an attack. You know that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tamia said before lowering her voice to a secretive whisper. “Look, I know how these things work. I’m with you and there has to be some benefits to that. I need you to talk to your people upstairs and pull me out of this.”
“I already did that,” Charleston revealed softly as he prepared to tell his tale. That morning, when he walked into the office, he’d gotten a tip from an older and nosy security guard about Tamia’s suspicious night visit to the office. Just a brother looking out for another brother. The man laughed loud and long, imagining how slick Charleston would need to be to worm out of not being where he told a sister like Tamia he would be. He was sure there would be hell, but Charleston’s laugh was louder and longer. He’d been there before. The trick to getting caught in that kind of lie, especially with a woman he cared about, was to tell her what she already knew before she approached him about it and cover with a better lie that was wrapped around her. It worked like a charm. It always did.
“What?” Tamia uncrossed her arms and looked at Charleston sensitively. “You already spoke to someone?”
“Look, the other night, after we had dinner with Nathaniel, I went and had a drink with someone high up to talk about the case. Someone who owes me a favor.”
“Really?”
“Well, you seemed upset and I just, I couldn’t let you go out like that. So, instead of coming to the office, I went and tried to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Now, I got them to drop the co-counsel so you don’t have to deal with Jones anymore.”
“I guess that’s why Malik said reception forwarded him to my office.”
“But no one wants to step on toes and they won’t completely reassign the case.” Charleston’s tone was even and frank, like a salesman in the middle of his “I’m not pitching” pitch. He was telling the truth about not going in to the office, both he and Tamia knew that already, and he did have an important meeting with a colleague, but it was at a swingers’ club and included both the colleague and two of her married, yet bored gym buddies. Needless to say, there was little talk of Tamia. Awaiting a sexy tap from the whip a nude Charleston was holding, Phaedra had agreed to remove Jones from the case if he would have sex with her.
“I can’t believe you did that for me,” Tamia said, feeling foolish for stalking Charleston’s office and even considering that he’d lied to her. She’d been the one pushing him away.
“Yeah, well, you’re my woman and I want to protect you,” Charleston said, grinning at Tamia. “But it looks like the old plan is going to have to stand. Do what you have to do to get in good with this guy and just let the dog die. I’ll work on my side to make sure your next case is front page.”
“Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Hey, like you said, there has to be some benefits to dating a brother of my stature.” Charleston pulled at his suspenders and rocked from his heels to his tippy-toes.
Lovely Lowdown Liars: Top Ten Reasons Men Lie in Love
Like navigating the Bermuda Triangle and figuring out how to best hide your weave tracks, some things will always remain a mystery. For women, at the top of this list is why men lie. For eons, sisters have met in kitchens, cafés, and coffee shops to figure it out, but really, where men are concerned, it’s quite simple. The lie—the good or bad lie (which you almost always discover in the end)—is used to escape, abate, or ward off drama. Below are the top-ten reasons men lie. While knowledge certainly won’t help you avoid the lies, at least you’ll know why.
10. He doesn’t like your family or friends: If he suddenly has the flu the morning of your family dinner, the lie might be a sign that he simply doesn’t like them. It isn’t personal.
9. He’s hungry: A man’s stomach is a living, breathing thing. If over dinner he senses that saying “Of course I love your mother” will make you stop talking so he can eat, he’ll do it.
8. He’s tired: If it’s 2 a.m., you’ve proven your point, you’ve thought about it from every angle, and you two still can’t figure out what to do about something he can’t even remember, he’ll lie about, agree to, and confirm anything to avoid another “but we haven’t talked about…” statement.
7. He’s broke: No one likes a broke man. Even a broke man doesn’t like a broke man. If his pockets are shallow and no green is coming in, he might say, “I don’t want to go out.” Translation: “I can’t go.” The lie is used to protect his ego.
6. He wants to sleep with you: This is when a man might not even know he’s lying. The smaller head thinks for the bigger one and anything is liable to come out.
5. He’s already lied before: Sometimes he needs to cover the little lie with a medium lie and then the medium lie with a large and ridiculous lie—which is usually when he gets caught.
4. He doesn’t want you to cry: Crying is a man’s kryptonite. It makes these natural protectors soften. If he loves you, he’ll say anything to avoid seeing you cry.
3. He’s been caught: Some lies are told to stay out of trouble. Other lies are told to get out of trouble. If he knows that you know he’s lied, a lie might be created to avoid punishment. Opening line: “I lied before, but now I’m telling the truth.”
2. He loves you: Love is a gift and a curse. If he loves you, he’ll lie to keep you.
1. He’s a liar: Over time, lying can become a reflex. If he thinks the truth might cause conflict, he’ll lie…just because he can.
After a lengthy prayer where Troy happened to open her eyes and see that she and Myrtle were the only women whose eyes had been closed—everyone else was looking directly at Troy (one woman even gave her a thumbs-up)—things went as usual at the Virtuous meeting. The bake sale was planned. They voted not to accept any contributions that included alcohol—on account of a rumor that one of the Sunday school children purposely purchased and ate an entire rum raisin pound cake to see if he could get drunk. Also, they would move ahead with plans to cosponsor a block party with the women of the Rosary Society at the Catholic church on the corner—as long as they agreed to ban alcohol and gambling (in the form of playing bingo) on site. Last year, the mixture of BYOB and seemingly Catholic-only winning at the bingo game had led to a brawl on the church steps.
“Now that we have old business out of the way,” Myrtle said, shifting some unimportant papers around and handing a few to a tense Troy, “let’s go ahead with any new business. Do we have anything from the floor?”
What was supposed to be a ten-second pause for additions amounted to two seconds, and without fully scanning the room, Myrtle went on to what she’d wanted to add to the new business.
“Well,” she continued, “if there aren’t any other—”
“Wait a minute now, girl,” a gruff and defiant voice interrupted from the far end of the table. It was Eloise Perkins, a church mother whose age alone gave her the right to be feisty.
“Yes, Mother Perkins, I apologize,” Myrtle said, rolling her eyes a bit. “What is it? Do you have new business? You know we’ve already planned the bake sale?”
“Girl, I’m old, not deaf. I’ve been sitting in this room just as long as you.”
> There were some laughs and even Myrtle dealt a courteous smile.
“Now, I think someone in here has something to say,” Mother Perkins went on. “Something that we all need to hear.”
Troy literally felt what little courage she’d had leave her. Quickly she’d transformed from a fierce feline pumped up on her Queen Bee mission to the cowardly lion in The Wizard of Oz. It was as if a microphone had been jabbed in her hand and cameras were rolling, awaiting some wise word she hadn’t written yet.
“Someone? Who?” Myrtle snickered. “New business? Is there anyone?”
From her place on the other side of the table, Kiona looked at Troy and wrestled with Troy’s lack of confidence with bugged-out eyes. Troy was saying, “No,” and Kiona was saying, “You’d better.”
Troy kept thinking she couldn’t lead them. She couldn’t lead all of these women. She knew half of what they knew. They needed someone else, someone like Myrtle who was saved and knew the Word. Someone who wouldn’t lead them the wrong way like she’d done to Kyle, inviting the incubus and succubus into their bedroom. What was she thinking? She had no right to step in and take over. She couldn’t. That was just some angry talk she’d had with her friends at a bar she probably shouldn’t have visited—she’d have to remind herself to pray about that.
Finally, Kiona broke her stare.
“Well, since no one has anything, I’ll just go ahead with my—I mean our—new business,” Myrtle said and the groan in the room was audible, yet she ignored it. She’d been waiting for weeks to bring this suggestion to the women. “Now, I’m so excited about this new venture for us, sisters. For years, the Virtuous Women have stood for leadership, self-love, and a commitment to Christ. What we are, sisters, are strong black Christian women who humbly worship a living God.”
“That’s right!” Mother Wildren agreed jovially.
“Amen,” someone else said and others clapped.
“Now, as we celebrate that, we must also consider how visible our image is in the church,” Myrtle said as Troy and the others tried to figure out what she was adding up. “Now, I know that image might not be as important to some of you, but we must understand that if we are not known, others won’t know our way. Won’t be aware of just how committed we are to our worship, to our ministry. Before I get to my point, I’d like to point out that right now, more than 60 percent of our church is women. Fifteen women serve in leadership positions. And while all of this is true, no women sit at the altar on Sunday morning. Does that make any sense?”
There was silence as the women thought of who they saw sitting on either side of Kyle every Sunday. From the deacons to the assistant pastor and the head of the men’s ministry, Myrtle was correct; they were all men. Even Saptosa, the secretary, who was in the room, was always instructed to sit in the first pew.
“But that’s just how it is,” said Elizabeth, the church treasurer and Myrtle’s confidante who’d preplanned her seemingly even statement, “how it’s always been. I’ve been here for ten years and I don’t recall any woman ever sitting up there. Maybe you’re right…maybe it is time for a change.”
“Oh please, those are the rules of the house. They always have been. Why change them now?” Mother Perkins asked.
“Well, I think that’s a good question,” Myrtle said. “I have given it lots of thought and I think we need to change because it’s time. Women don’t simply sit in the pews anymore. We work, we lead, we teach. We should be recognized for that.”
“Well, what are you proposing?” Kiona asked and she was probably the only person who’d figured out what exactly Myrtle was about to pull out of her metaphorical bag.
“Well, with Easter right around the corner, I’m proposing that we seek representation at the altar, at the left hand of Pastor Hall. I think Easter should be our suggestion. It’s a time of resurrection and hope. And it’s also a time for family and togetherness. We represent that.”
“Representation at the altar? On Easter?” Elizabeth asked innocently. “Who? Who could represent us?”
“Well, it only makes sense that the person representing the Virtuous Women is the leader of the Virtuous Women—me,” Myrtle said and looked straight ahead as if she was unaware of Troy’s glare.
“Say what? Say what now?” Kiona quizzed, her head bopping as if she was preparing for a street fight. “You want to sit next to Pastor…? On Sunday…? Every Sunday…?” Kiona gasped and looked at Troy. “Lord, please speak up in here.”
“You know,” Elizabeth said, “I think it’s a good idea and maybe we should vote—”
“Vote on what? There’s no motion,” Kiona pointed out, trying to stall.
“Well, somebody make a motion,” another sister said. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“I’ll make the motion,” Elizabeth said, smiling at Myrtle. “I move that—”
“Hold up a hallelujah minute!” Kiona stood up quickly, raising her hand. “I want to make the motion.”
Both Troy and Myrtle looked at her, confused.
“You want to make the motion?” Myrtle said.
“I think that…I mean, I am making a motion that we formally request a seat on the left side of Pastor Hall on Sunday—”
“But—” Troy tried, but Sister Glover, excited that Kiona was supporting her appeal, dug the heel of her shoe into Troy’s foot beneath the table. “Ouch,” Troy said.
“With one exception to the original suggestion,” Kiona added, stepping back from her seat and walking toward the top of the table, where Myrtle and Troy were seated. Everyone looked on as if they were awaiting a groundbreaking speech or a fight—it really was a toss-up. “That the representative of the Virtuous Women be the First Lady of our church.”
“What?” Myrtle laughed and a few others around the table joined her, with Elizabeth’s haughty snicker being loudest. “That’s just ridiculous. The person that represents the group has to be the president—the leader…not…not…the First Lady…just because she happens to be the First Lady right now. I represent the organization and therefore I should be the appointed representative.”
Hearing the retreating chatter and seeing head nods around the room, Kiona and Troy knew the battle was lost.
“Look,” Myrtle went on, rising from her seat and stepping in front of Kiona, “it was my suggestion and I think it should be voted on, as is—with the leader of the organization representing us as a whole at the altar. That’s the only thing that makes sense and as the president, I…”
As Myrtle captured the opinions of the women seated around the table, Troy’s vision was growing from white, to pink, to red. The full, anxious pit she usually felt in her stomach whenever she was seated at the table was aflame. It was a moment. One that even Troy, the flighty, passive air sign, knew put a lot on the line. She knew she had to do something, but fear kept her frozen, stuck in her seat as Myrtle walked circles around her. Then she remembered the Queen Bee Competition and what she was supposed to be doing with herself that day, in that room. She saw Tasha’s face and heard her command: “Snap out of it!”
“…so, let’s just vote now and stop with these ridiculous suggestions from the floor. As the president, I should—”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be president anymore,” Troy said. “Maybe it’s my turn…no, it is my turn.”
“What?” By this time, Myrtle had trolled to the other side of the table and looked over at Troy like she was crazy.
“I’m ready to be president of the Virtuous Women,” Troy said confidently this time.
“Ready? But you’re not even…” Myrtle paused and pretend she was regrouping. “Look, Troy, I know what you’re trying to do, take some responsibility, get a little attention, but it’s not necessary. You’re not ready.”
“Ready?” Kiona asked. “Ready for what?”
“Yeah, ready for what?” someone else chimed in.
“Well, she just joined the church, and she wasn’t raised Baptist. She doesn’t know how to—”
&n
bsp; “I wasn’t born Baptist either. I was raised Muslim,” someone else said. “So I’m less of a member than you?”
“No, what I mean is,” Myrtle tried, “she doesn’t really know the Word and she’s not knowledgeable about the church rules. You can ask her yourself.” She looked at Troy.
“Do you know the rules of the church, First Lady?” someone asked.
IT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN. THE FIRST LADY IS ABOUT TO LOOK LIKE AN ASS was texted from a sister at one end of the table to another.
“I don’t know everything…. Well, I’ve been studying and I’m getting better,” Troy said.
“Better?” Myrtle laughed. “You don’t even know when the church was founded.”
Everyone looked from Myrtle to Troy.
A KNIFE TO THE BACK! THAT HAD TO HURT the text messenger responded.
Over two hundred years ago…subtract that from 2010…carry the one…she was so bad at math. Troy had no answer. She wanted to disappear and wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
“Well,” Sister Oliver started, “haven’t you been in charge of the First Lady’s instruction over the last two years? Haven’t you been her mentor? If she doesn’t know anything, maybe it’s because you haven’t taught her anything.”
TAG TEAM OPERATION! another text read.
“Yeah,” Kiona agreed. “And who’s going to know everything? I don’t know when the church was founded and I’ve been here longer than you. And since you’re so into history then, Myrtle, you should know that the original constitution of the Virtuous Women states that the president of the organization should be the First Lady and if she is new to the church, leadership of the organization should be given to her upon approval of the organization’s members, or suggestion of the pastor. Basically, you have no say.” Kiona walked over and was now standing in front of Myrtle.
“Hum” and “That’s true” and “I don’t know that either” were heard around the table, and heads that were just nodding for Myrtle were now nodding toward Troy.
Playing Hard To Get Page 10
