The Bishop's Daughter

by Tiffany L. Warren

  Finally, I make eye contact with Darrin. His slow smile is making me nervous, but I hope he can’t tell. He starts walking toward me, and I’m fidgeting with my hands, trying to wipe the sweat off my palms and maintain what little composure I have left.

  “Brother Darrin! I’m so glad that you could make it out,” I blurt with a tight smile.

  “Thank you for inviting me.”

  He’s close enough that I can inhale his cologne. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, allowing his scent to fill my nostrils. When I open my eyes, he’s grinning, and his eyes are dancing. He knows he’s got me open.

  “You cut your hair,” he comments.

  Self-consciously, I move my hand to my hairdo. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it.”

  He says that like he really means it, and I feel butterflies. I’m so glad I took the extra time to do everything, because he’s taking me all in, from hairdo to toe rings. He’s drinking in my look like a cold glass of red Kool-Aid on a ninety-degree afternoon.

  Dorcas breaks up our moment. She shoves a notebook in Darrin’s face so forcefully that he has to take a step back. “You need to register.”

  “Thanks, Dorcas,” I answer, and grab the notebook. “I can handle it from here.”

  “Well, he’s my guest,” Dorcas spits angrily.

  I look at Darrin and note his response. This brother is enjoying this. He must be used to women acting stupid over him. Fighting over him. He’s got me messed up.

  He smiles and takes the notebook from my hand. “Well, it seems like you’ve both invited me. I’m so grateful that everyone is making me feel so welcome.”

  Oh, I am not about to sweat him. I don’t care how fine he is. That is not my style. At all. Well, technically, I don’t have a style, but if I did have one, it wouldn’t be this. I glance around the room for an escape route, and even though it kills me to do it, I leave Darrin with his number one fan, Dorcas, and walk over to chat with my number one fan.

  Oscar immediately accosts me with “We don’t know anything about him.”

  “Who are you talking about?” I ask, even though I know he means Darrin.

  “This Darrin person. We don’t know anything about him. I want you to be careful.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m grown, Oscar.”

  “He comes from another city and immediately tries to get close to you and Dorcas?”

  “I think he’s just being friendly. Plus, it looks like Dorcas is the one trying to get close to him. Now what?”

  Oscar frowns. “I still don’t trust him. I’m watching him.”

  “Why don’t you watch me walk right back over there and give our new member the welcome he deserves?”

  Dorcas has obviously marked her territory, because all of the other single women have gone back to talking among themselves. I’ve never seen this side of Dorcas. She’s tossing her hair back and forth, and dare I say, her freckled skin looks radiant.

  “Emoni,” says Darrin as I approach them, “Sister Dorcas tells me that you are the editor in chief of the church newsletter. Are you looking for any additional writers? I’d love to join the staff.”

  “Yes, we’re always looking for new writers. You can bring me a writing sample on Sunday, and we’ll take it from there.”

  “Great. I’ll come up with something riveting for you.”

  “I’m sure you will.” I hope there was a hidden meaning to his statement. I raise one of my eyebrows and squint, thinking maybe his gesture is coquettish. I admit, I’m not an expert on flirting. I twist my body a little bit to make sure Darrin has a good view of my … blessings.

  Dorcas looks about ready to breathe fire, so I decide to back down. For now. “I’ll let you two finish your conversation. Darrin, we’ll talk more about the newsletter on Sunday?”

  “Absolutely. Thank you again for the welcome. I don’t know anyone in town, so it really helps.”

  “The pleasure was all mine.”

  Chapter Eleven

  DIARY OF A MAD BLACK BLOGGER

  So, I turned my life over to Christ, y’all … Had to say that all casual, though, ’cause I don’t want to lose any more cool points. Yeah, I lost a whole lot of them standing up at the altar crying like a bi … Well, I’m not gonna use that word, because honestly, I did just give my life over to Christ.

  But I’m afraid.

  Why, you ask? Because I don’t know how to be saved. I mean, I’ve been around saved people my whole life. I could probably speak in ten unknown tongues, and I know all the steps to cast out a demon. But I don’t know how to live saved.

  I’m trying it out, though. So … um … those of you who know the words of prayer … keep me lifted up.

  But back to my story about Bishop So-and-so and his daughter. Well … the plot thickens. Let’s add to the mix a fine redbone that is ALSO feeling me and don’t have no problem telling it on the mountain.

  I can mos def see this scenario getting all out of control, like one of those Street Fiction titles. Don’t trip like y’all don’t be reading that stuff! My title could be Fornicating Behind the Pews. Don’t play. It would go all the way to number one on the Essence best-seller list.

  But anyway, don’t forget about the prayers, ’cause right about now, I’m a WIP Christian. Work in Progress for the unchurched.

  Hit me up in the comments section.

  COMMENTS

  Tyrone 11:01 p.m.

  Naw, dawg. Say it ain’t so! You can’t be trying to get righteous on us. We need you to still bust your story wide open. My mama’s pastor just got caught with an illegitimate baby by one of the nurses. Dude. You the voice for the people, bro. Don’t get caught up.

  Jia 11:15 p.m.

  Shut up, Tyrone! I’m glad MBB has given his life to Christ. But I still think you’re obligated to speak up if there’s a scandal. Maybe that’s what God is calling you to do.

  Sister Mary 1:01 a.m.

  The Lord ain’t playing with you boy. You giong strait to hell for trying to find dirt on a Bishp.

  Lee-Lee 2:32 a.m.

  Sister Mary … spell check is a beautiful thing. MBB, I’m proud of you! I’m praying for you. When you gone show us a photo? ’Cause I bet you fine …

  Chapter Twelve

  Darrin

  This afternoon is a first for me. Well, it’s a first date with Dorcas, but that’s not the first that I’m referring to. Since I’ve entered adulthood and taken part in the human mating ritual, I have never met a woman at our date destination. It has always been me picking her up, or if I wanted to get straight to business, I’d invite her to my apartment.

  But I’m here, in Atlanta of all places, finally trying to live right. So I’m taking Bishop Prentiss’s advice. We’re meeting at a coffeehouse in the afternoon for tea and dessert. The unsaved Darrin would’ve meant for dessert to be a double entendre, but the new me actually means Heath-bar cheesecake.

  Dorcas is already here, and she waves at me to come and join her. She looks nice and casual in a jean skirt and tank top. Her hair is in some kind of grandma bun, but her sexy hoop earrings make up for it.

  This is going to sound weird, but part of me wishes I was meeting Emoni and not Dorcas. A huge part of me. Made me want to lose my salvation when she showed up at the singles’ ministry meeting in that red pantsuit and fly haircut. I almost asked her out.

  But the truth is, I’m still looking for a story. Bishop Prentiss might preach a message to call a sinner like me to repentance, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a skeleton or two of his own. If God could use a donkey to send a blessing, then He can surely use a crooked preacher.

  Seriously, though, I wouldn’t be mad if there were no story. Bishop Prentiss is growing on me like moss on the shady side of a building. I want to be able to refer to Bishop as my father in the gospel. Wow, did I just say that?

  Father. In. The. Gospel.

  Wow. I’m already using the church terminology and whatnot.

  But right now I’m thinking a
bout my natural father and his not so idle threat of taking away my source of income—his wallet. I’ve got to come up with something to keep him off my back. A brotha’s got to eat, right?

  “Dorcas … you look stunning,” I say.

  She laughs. “Boy, you better quit playing and sit down.”

  “I mean that, Dorcas. You look great. Sometimes less is more.”

  She looks down at herself and shrugs. “Whatever floats your boat.”

  “What are you drinking?” I motion to her half-empty teacup.

  “Passionfruit green tea and vodka.”

  “What?”

  She bursts into laughter. “I’m playing! It’s just passionfruit green tea.”

  I exhale loudly and laugh a little. Her joke wasn’t funny, but it definitely broke the ice. I don’t know why I’m so uptight.

  “So what did you think of our singles’ ministry meeting?” Dorcas asks.

  I answer as honestly as possible. “It was … interesting.”

  She frowns. “You didn’t like it?”

  “Let’s just say I felt like a T-bone steak at a pit bull’s feeding time.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Tell that to the steak.”

  We both laugh, and I feel more relaxed. I order a cup of tea from the waitress.

  “Okay,” I acquiesce, “it wasn’t that bad. It’s just that I would’ve rather been a spectator for my first meeting. I don’t know the Christian dating rules yet.”

  “What rules?” she asks with a highly skeptical look.

  “Like, is it okay to date more than one saved lady at a time? I don’t know. Is it okay to get someone’s phone number at the singles’ ministry meeting? Is it okay to fornicate on Saturday if I repent on Sunday? I just don’t know.”

  Dorcas picks up her purse and sunglasses and stands. She is ready to go.

  “Sit down, girl,” I say with a laugh. “I’m joking.”

  Dorcas chuckles. “It seems like neither one of us is funny.”

  “I think you might be right!”

  She sits back down and leans forward. “But while you’re talking about it, I do think you have another admirer at Freedom of Life.”

  “Who?” Of course I know she means Emoni.

  “The bishop’s daughter. I think she wants to get with you.”

  She’s fishing. Smart girl.

  “I thought you said she was digging that trustee dude.” My tone gives her absolutely nothing to work with. Game recognizes game.

  “Sometimes I don’t know about her and Oscar, because he’s asked her to marry him so many times.”

  “Seriously? She keeps turning bro man down, huh?”

  Dorcas nods slowly. “Yep.”

  “I think she’s just being hospitable to me.”

  “I know Emoni, and she doesn’t get that excited about most new members. You’ve been to three services, and already you’ve got the bishop’s daughter smitten.”

  “And what about you? Are you smitten?” I ask playfully.

  Dorcas pretends to ignore my question. “So, you’re from Cleveland. What brings you all the way to Atlanta?”

  “Well …” I should’ve thought of an answer to this question before I left home. It’s not like I can tell her that I’m writing a story about Bishop. “I’m pursuing my writing career. I’m afraid there weren’t many opportunities in Cleveland.”

  “What do you write?”

  “Freelance essays and editorials, mostly. One day I plan to write a novel.”

  Dorcas seems truly interested. “You’d definitely be good for our church newsletter. It’s not huge, but it has at least ten thousand readers monthly.”

  “I know. I showed Emoni a writing sample yesterday, and she was excited to have me volunteer.”

  “Well, well, well. It pays to have crushes in high places.”

  “The heavens have smiled upon me.”

  “So it would seem.” Dorcas’s eyes dance flirtatiously, accentuating her mascaraed eyelashes.

  I venture again. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Are you smitten?”

  “I don’t know yet. You haven’t given me enough to be smitten about.”

  “What else do you want to know about me?”

  “Hmm … Where are you working in between your freelance gigs? Our apartment building isn’t cheap. And I peeped that Hummer you’re driving.”

  This is too easy. Well, almost too easy.

  “Are you serious? You want to know if I’m paid, huh? You a gold digger?”

  Dorcas purses her lips and frowns. “Why can’t a woman ask about a guy’s financial status these days without being classified as a gold digger?”

  I comically wipe my brow. “Whew! I’m glad you’re not a gold digger, because I’m broke.”

  “You are?” She looks disappointed.

  “Seriously, I am. But my parents are rich.”

  “Oh, so you’re a trust-fund brat?”

  She says it with such disdain that it sounds like an insult. “I guess so. For now, anyway. I’m about to blow up.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I’m only doing these freelance gigs until I get my book deal. I’m thinking I can pull a five- or six-figure advance, like Omar Tyree or Eric Jerome Dickey.”

  “Wow. No one can say you aren’t ambitious.”

  Do I detect a hint of sarcasm? “I’m just trying to chase a dream. What about you? What do you dream about?”

  “What I really want to do,” says Dorcas as a wistful look comes over her face, “is open a school for physically challenged kids.”

  I don’t even know how to respond. She’s got noble plans and ideas. I want to land a book deal. She must think I’m shallow.

  “Wow. That’s great.”

  She smiles. “I didn’t mean to get all ‘save the world’ on you. It’s just that my sister had cerebral palsy. She died when we were teenagers, and I’d like to do something to honor her.”

  “That’s a beautiful thing, Dorcas. I’m an only child.”

  “I have five brothers, and I had one sister. I always wanted to be an only child.”

  I put my hands up in feigned fearfulness. “Five brothers? Oh, I cannot holler at you.”

  “They’re harmless.”

  I wave for the waitress. “Unh-uh. I don’t believe it. Girl, I’m paying this check right now. Forget you ever met me.”

  Dorcas is cracking up and holding on to my arm, trying to keep me at the table. After a couple of moments, I stop struggling and really look at Dorcas. She’s grinning playfully, blinking up at me with those big, beautiful brown eyes.

  I think I might be the one who’s smitten.

  Chapter Thirteen

  DIARY OF A MAD BLACK BLOGGER

  What’s cracking, cyber homies and homettes? I’m sending out a bat signal to some of you saved folks, ’cause a brotha’s got a dilemma. Here’s my question: If you’re kicking it wit a church girl, how soon is too soon to pop the question?

  Whoa! Not that question! A brotha ain’t going out like that. I’m talking about how soon can I invite her for a sleepover? Aw, don’t act like y’all don’t know. Saved women talk a good game, but they be giving up the panties, too.

  I see all y’all super saints talking about me. I can see y’all through my computer screen. Well, I just got baptized! I’m not all the way saved yet.

  Dang. Writing that just convicted me in my spirit. Literally. Y’all forget I asked that, and please keep me in your prayers.

  COMMENTS

  Sister Mary 11:03 p.m.

  The blood of Jesus is against you. I’m gone pray for that girl you trying to coreupt.

  Tyrone 1:00 a.m.

  Keep the real talk coming. I be seeing girls from the club in the choir stand every Sunday!

  Jia 2:14 a.m.

  Oh for heaven’s sake, Sister Mary. You are hurting my eyes with all that bad spelling. And if you hate this blog so much why
do you keep coming back?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emoni

  For Darrin’s first assignment on the Freedom of Life newsletter, I’ve invited him to cover a fund-raiser dinner for the community recreation center. Daddy is speaking, and it should be an easy way for Darrin to showcase his writing skills.

  It also gives me another chance to show him what he’s missing out on by not getting with me. I overheard Dorcas telling one of her friends that she and Darrin had gone out for tea one afternoon. Supposedly, it was their first date.

  If I have anything to do with it, it’ll be their last.

  Even Daddy brought up the new couple. He said at the dinner table, “I hear Dorcas is dating that young man who got baptized at Bible study.”

  “Is she? Wow, that was fast,” Sascha replied with a laugh.

  “Well, he seems like a decent young man” was Daddy’s judgment.

  Sascha added, “Emoni, I thought you wanted him, or somebody else, what with this new look you got goin’.”

  “What? I haven’t paid him any attention. I can’t even tell you what he looks like.”

  Everyone sat at the table giving me a blank stare. They can go on with that. I’m not that obvious.

  I’ve picked out a black and silver gown to wear to the fund-raiser; it accentuates all of my curves and cinches in at my waist.

  “Whoa,” says Tyler as he peeks into my room. “That dress is nice. What’s gotten into you lately?”

  “Nothing. Just trying to step my game up a little bit. What about you? Aren’t you going to the fund-raiser?”

  “Nah. I gave my ticket away to one of the deacons.”

  “But you go every year.”

  He nods slowly. “I know. But Pastor David asked me to go with him to speak to troubled youths at a detention center.”

  “Pastor David?” I flinch at the informal title for a supposed man of God.

  “That’s what he likes to be called. He says it makes him more approachable.”