Nya Hampstead is another story. No matter how long it takes, I’ll figure out how to make her pay for what her lie has done to me.
I press hard on the gas pedal and increase my speed, because I don’t have time to waste. I have a plane to catch in the morning.
I’m going to Texas, where they say everything’s bigger. I’m planning to supersize my anointing, supersize my finances, and supersize my blessing. I’m sure they need grant writers in the big ole state of Texas. I can make a lot of money there to add to this stash I already have. Suddenly I’m feeling in my spirit that Nya Hampstead isn’t ready for me. And that’s exactly how I want her. Unprepared.
PART II
Five years later
CHAPTER 30
NYA
After five years on the air, Suddenly Blessed is moving from its seven o’clock evening slot to a four in the afternoon spot. This is the time slot where Oprah, Ellen, and Dr. Phil became popular. The time when stay-at-home, middle-class moms have picked up their children from elementary school and have already fed them milk and cookies. It’s the time for us to cross over and become mainstream. A sweet spot.
Because of this huge change, the network wanted to meet with me and Penelope about strategy, branding, marketing, and all that. We now have a team. We didn’t have a team before; we had a few stylists and Monet Barnes calling the shots from the sidelines.
“The first thing we want is for Penelope to stop calling Nya ‘evangelist’ and ‘pastor’ during the show,” Bill, the executive producer, says.
Penelope’s eyes widen. “I didn’t even realize I was doing that.”
“We want you two to seem like girlfriends,” Bill says.
“We are girlfriends,” I reply. “We don’t have to just seem like we are. We’re not acting.”
“And she is an evangelist,” Penelope says.
Monet clears her throat and raises one hand to stop the conversation. “Everyone who follows you realizes that you both are in ministry. This isn’t taking anything away from that. It’s just that the show isn’t a pulpit. It’s a talk show. We’re going to do makeovers and motivation. Penelope makes over their look, and Nya motivates them on what to do to get that blessing.”
“Except that we’re not going to call it a blessing anymore,” Bill says.
Monet nods. “That’s right. With the new time slot, the show is going to be called Suddenly You.”
I can’t even fix my mouth to form words. Which is fine, because Penelope’s mouth is already opening wide.
“So, it’s not about Jesus anymore? Who exactly is Evangelist Nya . . . I mean just Nya . . . supposed to be motivating them with?”
“Listen, we’re not saying it’s not about Jesus. We’re just not going to say Jesus. We’re going to say their faith, or belief system.”
“But what if their belief system is devil worship or something like that? What if they’re a witch?” Penelope asks. “I don’t know what to do with that. I’m straight Jesus over here.”
Bill looks at Monet with a confused expression. “I thought you talked this over with Bishop Bowens. Didn’t he say this wasn’t going to be an issue?”
“Bishop Bowens is making decisions on the show?” I ask.
“No, no he’s not,” Monet says. “He is simply acting as an adviser to us. He believes this approach will actually open the door to inviting more people to Jesus. You’ll build a bigger following for your conferences, and that’s where you can Jesus them to death if you want.”
“Jesus them to life, maybe?” I ask. “I don’t know about this.”
“Think of it as advertisement for your churches that we pay you to do,” Bill says.
“It’s not like you aren’t making money too,” Penelope scoffs. “The advertisers must like us if we’re switching time slots. Are we talking about a raise for us too?”
“Yes, that’s the best part. You both will be paid one-and-a-half million per season. We’ve already signed on for two seasons in this slot. That’s unheard-of.”
I blink at hearing the amount we’ll be paid. We both got two hundred fifty thousand per season for Suddenly Blessed. That was a lot of money. More than I ever expected to make sitting down and ministering to people. This, and the insane amount of money we make from the conferences and speaking engagements, is almost scary. But our church is paid off, our house is paid off, we have a full-time staff at the church, who receive both salaries and benefits. We’ve adopted a ministry school in Cameroon and are building homes for twenty of the students’ families. We are blessed beyond measure, and the rain continues to fall.
“Where do I need to sign?” Penelope asks. I guess she started calculating how many shoes and handbags she could buy with that check, and her misgivings disappeared.
Bill slides a new contract across the table to Penelope and one toward me. “I know you both have to let your legal teams look over these.”
“Absolutely,” I say. “And my husband.”
“Do you think Greg will object to one-and-a-half million dollars?” Penelope asks.
Greg isn’t motivated by money, nor is he impressed by it. He wouldn’t care if they were offering a billion dollars. If he didn’t feel God was pleased with it, he wouldn’t do it.
“He might. I don’t think he will, but it’s possible,” I say.
“Well, you ladies better put your heads together and pray that he doesn’t object. This is an opportunity that will only come around once. It’s not often that network TV executives want to mainstream a pastor and a pastor’s daughter.”
“Not Jesus on the main line. Jesus on the mainstream,” Penelope says with a chuckle. “Sounds like my daddy’s dream come true.”
I have no doubt that Bishop Bowens will press Penelope forward even if Greg doesn’t want me to do the show. He’ll want his daughter’s name to be known in Hollywood, and by every soccer mom in Suburbia, USA.
“So, I hear you’re something like a gypsy fortune teller,” Bill says to me. “Do you think you could read my palm and tell me my future?”
The silence is so thick, one would think the air in here is made of corn syrup. Did this uninformed beast just call me a gypsy fortune teller?
“I don’t do that.”
Bill narrows his eyes and looks at Monet. “I thought you said. . .”
“I said she’s a prophetess,” Monet says. “And it’s not a joke. She told me something only God knew about.”
“Well, what’s the point of that? You already knew about what she told you?” Bill asks.
I stare at him, not blinking, trying to decide if I should educate him. Then, after a long awkward silence, I choose to explain.
“Sometimes when I prophesy to someone it’s to give them confirmation about a decision they’re about to make or to help them forgive themselves from a choice they already made. It’s not always about learning the future, although many times it is. Sometimes it’s about getting free from the past.”
Bill looks skeptical. “So you’re saying you can’t see my future.”
“I only see what God shows me. He’s not saying anything about you.”
“I feel like that was an insult,” Bill says. “But maybe that’s a good thing. If God isn’t talking about me, maybe I’m not doing too badly at all. I might just make it through the pearly gates.”
“You should probably visit Nya’s and her husband’s church,” Monet says. “They’ll introduce you to Jesus.”
“I’m good. Seems like every time I visit a black church I get separated from my cash and hit on by a gay choir member,” Bill says, his smirk almost looking like a sneer.
I gather the contract documents and slide them into my briefcase. I try not to let his negative view of the church take away from the fact that Penelope and I are about to reach a whole new audience.
“Well, you’re always welcome,” I say. “We don’t turn anybody away.”
“You’re open to all the wretches, huh?”
I nod. “Absolutely.
Who needs a hospital but the sick?”
“So you’re saying I’m sick?”
“The Bible says it. We’re available anytime for you to come get your healing.”
“I’ll remember that,” Bill says. “Next Sunday, as soon as I kick the girl outta my bed, I may just come to church.”
“Your choice.”
I don’t doubt that we won’t see him anytime soon. People like Mr. Bill need something or someone to break them down before they go running back to Jesus.
Greg and I used to be able to touch these kinds of people with a message of redemption. Now something is missing, and it feels like we’re just trying to make it from one day to the next.
CHAPTER 31
NYA
These days, Greg’s laughter doesn’t always come with the correct corresponding emotion. He’s laughing right now, but it’s not joyful. I’ve not said anything funny. I just showed him the new contract for my talk show. And his highly inappropriate response is laughter.
“What’s funny, Greg?”
“You keep pushing. Harder and harder. This started with one little speaking engagement. Then one little tour. Then one little television show. You don’t even know how to stop, do you?”
“Why should I stop walking through doors that God is opening?”
“I am still not convinced this is God’s doing. Every opportunity you’ve got over the past five years has pulled you farther away from this ministry. And me.”
“Everything I’ve done over these five years has given our ministry a voice. You’re a household name all over the world now. We couldn’t afford a website, let alone airtime on cable TV, but because of open doors, we’ve been able to truly become an international church. Our name isn’t a joke anymore.”
Greg shakes his head and tosses the contract on our bed. Our king-size bed with sheets so decadent I almost don’t want to get out of bed in the morning. Sheets purchased because of my opportunities.
“When is the last time we preached together, Nya? Do you remember the tag team? You are a co-pastor, but in name only. Your congregation has to watch you on TV. It’s like I’m a single parent.”
A huge sigh escapes me. He’s right. We haven’t preached together in over a year. But it’s not because I haven’t wanted to. It just seems like we are never on the same page anymore when it comes to hearing from God. It’s just easier to let Greg run everything at Love First. He’s a great pastor. The congregation loves him.
“Do you want to preach together on Sunday?” I ask.
Greg laughs again. “What’s the message going to be? Suddenly you?”
“No, Greg.”
“Then please share. What do you want to preach about?”
“I’ve been doing a study on the one-on-one conversations Christ had with people. I’m thinking of writing a devotional on these conversations.”
Greg’s not laughing anymore. He sits down next to me on the bed.
“Please continue,” he says when I stop talking.
“Well, I’d like to start with the woman at the well. I know it’s a much preached-about passage, but I just love how Christ dealt with her there.”
“I know the passage. In John, chapter four. Jesus acknowledged her sin, told the woman who He was and . . .”
“How to worship. In spirit and in truth.”
Greg smiles at me and takes my hand. “I guess you do still know how to tag team.”
“How could I not, Greg? We are covenant partners. I love you.”
“Let me run you some bathwater, then. What kind of bubble bath do you want to use?”
Now I’m laughing, but it’s the joyful kind. “Who said I need a bath?”
“You just got home from Atlanta, and you are trying to prove your love to me. So get yourself smelling good and prove yourself, woman.”
“I didn’t say anything about proving my love.”
“You didn’t? Oh, then that must’ve been me.”
Greg stands and goes into our huge master bath. I hear the water come on in the jetted bathtub that I insisted on having.
“Since you didn’t reply, I’m putting that peaches-and-honey bubble bath in. It’s my favorite,” Greg calls from the bathroom.
I get up and follow him. The scent of peaches fills the air now, mixed with the steam from the hot water. A bath is actually pretty appealing right now.
“So, we can go over our sermon before I go do the conference this weekend. I leave on Friday.”
“Oh right. Well, are you going to be back on Sunday?”
“My flight leaves Saturday evening. I’m on the last flight out of New York City.”
“We can start on our sermon after you handle your wifely business.”
I shake my head. “Ugh. We’re gonna write a sermon after getting it on?”
“It’s the perfect time. My head will be nice and clear.”
I laugh out loud. “This is blasphemous.”
“It is not! Sex is a gift from God. So we’re about to get it on, and then give honor and praise where it is due.”
I slap Greg with a washcloth. “Okay. Get outta here so I can bathe.”
“What if I want to watch? We can play David and Bathsheba.”
“You are doing too much, Greg. They were adulterers.”
“Yeah, well, they got married eventually. I bet he still watched her bathe.”
“Out.”
Greg chuckles as he heads for the door. “Okay. Well, I’ll be out here waiting. Patiently. Well, not really patiently, so hurry up.”
The nervousness I felt in my spirit regarding telling Greg about the new show disappears. I know that he isn’t totally on board, but at least he’s stopped standing in my way. He voices his objections and then keeps it moving. That much I do appreciate.
But out of everyone, I want him to be happy for me. Greg is truly my best friend. He’s the one I know I can count on. He prays with and for me. I want him to rejoice with me too. I’m sure preaching with him on Sunday will be a good step toward getting our mojo back. Baby steps toward our destiny are fine. As long as we’re moving in the right direction.
CHAPTER 32
FELICIA
Today is my four-year anniversary being a member of Love First International, where my pastors are Greg and Nya Hampstead. They don’t know me, though. No one here does. It’s easy to hide in a congregation of thousands when you come in late, leave early, and don’t participate in any church activities other than Sunday service.
But today is my coming-out party. It’s time for me to meet the man and woman of God.
Actually, I’ll just be meeting the man of God. Nya is out of town, again. This time, according to the church announcements, she is launching her Get Yo’ Blessing conference in New York City. Every major gospel artist in the country is going to be there, and she’ll be signing copies of her book, Unlocking Your Blessings.
I bought a copy. I am not impressed.
When I moved here with my hush money, I bought a beautiful brownstone less than a mile from where my pastors built their home.
Making contact with Greg is not going to be all that easy. He’s got a huge entourage. That happened after Nya got famous. But I’m patient. I’ve waited four years for this. Five years since Nya lied to me and told me I would be blessed.
For a while I was okay. Lance tried to come for me about those cars until I reminded him that he’s a murderer. I paused on that move to Texas, because I was thinking maybe I was wrong. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to go after Nya. I just waited for confirmation—a sign on what I should do. And then I started having pain in my pelvic area. I didn’t think it was anything at first, maybe hormones. And then my abdomen started to swell. It was tender to the touch and warm.
When I went to the emergency room, I was told that I had a horrible infection from tissue left behind when I had the abortion. It had progressed so badly that I had to have a complete hysterectomy. It saved my life, they said. But now I can never give life again.
&n
bsp; Even though the doctors tried to convince me that it wasn’t my fault, I knew what it was. God wasn’t through punishing me yet.
Atlanta is behind me now. It’s in the rearview mirror. I’d thought about doing more to Lance and Jasmine; making them pay even more. But Lance has his own consequences coming from God, and who knows? Every now and then I may just reach out to make sure he knows I still have the power to get him, even if I don’t act on it.
Anyway, the real person behind all of this is Nya Hampstead. Even though Lance was definitely on assignment from the devil, the only reason I fell for what he was selling is because I was looking around every corner for this blessing Nya had promised me. She said that I was lonely and God was going to send a relationship, vision, and purpose. None of what happened to me since she told that prophe-lie has been a gift from God. She is a false prophet and she must be exposed to the masses.
It’s obvious to me that she shouldn’t even be in ministry anyway. She doesn’t honor her husband. She goes all over the country speaking and appearing on talk shows and whatnot. She has a Jezebel spirit. I can see it all over her when she struts across the pulpit with that fire-red hair. She looks like her name should be Babylon.
At the end of service, Pastor Greg stands in front of the church greeting people, surrounded by his entourage. He says hello, prays for some, chats with others. And it’s only for a limited amount of time. When the bodyguards say he has to go, he waves to the rest of those waiting in line.
But I’ve been watching. I know the way beyond the veil.
Right before service lets out, I walk up to the front of the church and slide into a pew next to the church’s head mother-in-charge, Mother Olivia. I have purposely dressed very modestly for this occasion. My off-white church suit has a skirt that falls to the middle of my calf and while the jacket is tailored and fitted it isn’t snug. If I want to cozy up to Mother Olivia, then I can’t look like a woman trying to get in bed with the pastor.
Mother Olivia whips her head to the side as I sit and gives me a scolding look.
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