The Choir Director

by Carl Weber

  “Okay.” I gestured for them to come in and have a seat.

  Reverend Jenkins’s friend sat down in the armchair, while the pastor and I sat across from him on the sofa.

  “Aaron Mackie, I’d like you to meet my good friend Bishop T. K. Wilson of Queens, New York.”

  When he said the name, it all clicked. “Bishop Wilson, I think we met a few years ago when Pastor Simmons was alive.” I offered him my hand and he took it. “You got a pretty big church up there in New York, don’t you? First Jamaica Ministries?”

  The bishop smiled, nodding as we shook hands. “I’m impressed you remember my church.”

  “Well, I’ve seen you on TV a few times, and I’m a choir director. Everyone in my field knows First Jamaica Ministries won the national choir championship three years in a row a few years back. It’s hard enough to win that championship one time, but three years in a row, that’s one heck of an achievement.”

  “Well, thank you,” the bishop said.

  “Y’all had Savannah singing for you back then, didn’t you?”

  “We sure did.” He gave me a proud smile. “That young lady really could sing.”

  “She sure could. You guys would have been unstoppable if she had stuck around. I saw her on TMZ last summer. It’s a shame what happened to her career.”

  “It truly is, but that’s what drugs will do to you. I don’t know if we’ll ever see the old Savannah again. She blew a great opportunity … which is kind of why I’m here to see you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. If this was going where I thought it was …

  “We have a vacancy at First Jamaica Ministries, and I’d like you to fill it. I’d like you to be my choir director.”

  I turned toward Reverend Jenkins. “Is he serious?”

  He wrapped his large arm around my shoulder. “Yes, Mackie, he’s serious. But I’ve already told Bishop Wilson that you weren’t going anywhere, that you and I made a promise to Pastor Simmons before he died that we were going to take our church to the next level together. However, with the kind of money Bishop Wilson put on the table, I had to let you hear the offer for yourself, make your own decision. But I know you’re going to do the right thing.”

  “Offer? What kind of offer are we talking about?” I turned back to the bishop.

  “Aaron. Can I call you Aaron?” he asked.

  “Call me Mackie. That’s what everyone around here does.”

  “Okay, Mackie it is.” The bishop nodded. “Now, I heard your choir today. You guys were fantastic for your size. And, brother, let me tell you, you have one phenomenal voice.” The bishop gave me a huge smile of approval that made me proud.

  “Thank you. Coming from someone like yourself, that’s a real honor.”

  “How many people do you have in your choir?”

  “About twenty today, but it varies. Five of them aren’t worth a dime.”

  The bishop nodded his understanding. “What do you think you could do if you had fifty to a hundred members?”

  I sat there for a second, imagining the possibilities as a grin spread across my face. “Man, I’d blow the roof off the church.”

  He gave me a confident look. “I’m sure you would.”

  “Bishop, I appreciate your confidence, but I’ve already got a job. I’m the choir director at Mount Olive.”

  Pastor Jenkins tightened his grip on my shoulder. “That’s what I told him, Mackie.”

  “I know that, but don’t you think it’s time you moved up from the minor leagues to the majors?” Bishop Wilson turned to Reverend Jenkins. “No offense, Pastor.”

  The pastor gave him a sideways look but said nothing. I’m sure he was pissed off.

  “I think it would be quite an opportunity for you. Here you only have about twenty choir members. If you come to New York, you would have your pick of two or three hundred voices. A young man like you could become a big star in New York, Mackie. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a national championship of your own next summer.”

  “I’m just a country boy from Emporia, Bishop. What would I know about being a star in the big city?”

  Of course, I was displaying false modesty. I’d always wanted to be a big star. I didn’t know a choir director who didn’t. I’d studied every choir I could. Heck, Kirk Franklin didn’t have nothing on me. To a huge extent, the bishop was right; I was stuck with a bunch of no-talent hicks, and look what I’d done with them. Man, if I had a real choir that I could handpick, there’d be no stopping me.

  “You probably didn’t know this, but I’m just a country boy, too—from Richmond. So I know what you mean, but some would say I had a gift: a gift that would never have reached its potential here in central Virginia. I believe you have a gift, Mackie. You have a gift to entertain and spread the Word through song. You should be spreading that gift on a bigger stage. I can help you do that.”

  Wow, this dude was deep, and he made a lot of sense. “Okay, let’s just say I was interested—and I’m not saying I am—but if I was, how much money are we talking about?”

  The bishop smiled as if he knew he was about to answer my prayers. “How much do you make now?”

  “About three hundred sixty a week, not including funerals and weddings when I play the piano.”

  “We’re willing to offer you fifty thousand dollars a year and the same deal. You keep all the wedding and funeral money. Plus, we’ll lease you any Cadillac you like. One of our members owns a dealership.”

  I sat up on the edge of the sofa. “Any Caddie? That includes the Escalade?”

  “It sure does, a 2011, any color you want. I’ve got one myself, although I’m a Mercedes man. We usually switch up every two years.” The bishop kept smiling, and so did I. He really did have the answers to my prayers. It sure would be nice to drive a new car instead of the beat-up 1999 hooptee I had parked outside.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked.

  I glanced over at Reverend Jenkins, whose arm was no longer around my shoulder. He was looking a little agitated, probably because he was afraid I was going to break my promise to Pastor Simmons and leave him high and dry. The thing is, though, if the roles were reversed and Reverend Jenkins were offered the opportunity to go preach for a megachurch, I wasn’t sure that he’d be sticking around to honor a promise to our dead mentor either.

  The chances of that kind of offer coming along were pretty slim, though. It wasn’t as if Reverend Jenkins gave the type of enlightening sermons that made everyone flock to a church. No, if our little church had a chance of expansion, it would be through the success of the choir, and I’m sure he knew that. So he was undoubtedly concerned that if I left, his chances for growth were over. I thought of my friend, the late Pastor Simmons, and as much as I dreamed of stardom, I couldn’t see myself breaking my promise.

  “You know, you’re right, Bishop. Deep down I really do want to be on that big stage. I think about it all the time.” I could see the bishop trying to hold back a satisfied smile, like he knew all along that I would accept his offer. But I delivered the sentence that made his smile disappear. “You’ve made quite an offer, and I appreciate your consideration, but I’m gonna have to decline.”

  The look on his face was one of pure disbelief as he sat back in his chair. I’m sure he wasn’t used to people turning down fifty thousand dollars a year and brand-new cars. It didn’t take him long to compose himself, though.

  “Well, ah, what if I sweeten the pot a little more?” He scooted to the edge of the chair. He was looking me directly in the eye, and his face was dead serious. “I’ll up my offer by twenty-five thousand dollars, and we’ll give you fifteen percent of all prize money you win in competition.”

  I sat up straight, more than a little surprised by his counteroffer. “You do realize how much the prize money for the national choir championship is, right?”

  “I sure do.” The bishop wiped his brow. “And that’s not including all the other competitions you can enter. You can make a tidy sum for yours
elf.”

  “Wow, that I could.” I sighed and leaned back casually, hoping to mask my true emotions. My heart was racing with excitement over the opportunity being put before me. I glanced over at the pastor, who looked like he wanted to jump across the coffee table and strangle the bishop.

  I thought again of Pastor Simmons. Although he had been almost twenty years my senior, he had been the only real friend I had before his death. He’d literally saved my life and was a big part of the reason I moved to Petersburg and started working at the church in the first place. So, I did owe him something. I just didn’t know if he’d want me to forgo such an opportunity. Even he couldn’t have predicted this coming.

  I said a quick prayer, hoping to receive some kind of sign that would guide me toward the right decision, but all I heard in my heart was silence. I was on my own with this one, I guess, and I didn’t think I could do it.

  “I appreciate the opportunity, Bishop, I really do, but my answer is still going to be no. I made a promise, and the only thing I’ve really got left in this world is my word. I’m gonna see that through. Me and Reverend Jenkins here, we’ve got a good thing. We might not be in the major league yet, but one of these days we’re going to meet you on that big stage.”

  The bishop paused for a brief second before he nodded and then stood, offering me his hand. It was obvious he was disappointed. “I think I understand. And I appreciate your time, Mackie. I’m really sorry we’re not going to get a chance to work together. It could have been a lot of fun.”

  “I’m sure it would have, Bishop, but who knows what the future holds?” I placed my arm around Reverend Jenkins’s shoulder. He still seemed a little perturbed as the three of us walked to the front door.

  “Here’s my card if you change your mind, or even if you just want to chat. My cell phone number’s on the back. I’m driving up to Washington to visit my son and daughter, but I’ll be back in New York in the morning.”

  I took his card and watched the two of them get into separate cars and pull away. I was still feeling unsettled about turning down such a great offer. Maybe Sandra could do something to make me feel better, I thought as I headed toward her hiding place in the bedroom.

  Monique

  3

  I pulled into the parking lot of the church a little after twelve, knowing I should have been there at least an hour and a half ago to sit in on the finance committee’s meeting while my husband was out of town. I know this sounds irresponsible, and I’m embarrassed that it seemed to be happening more often than not, but I got caught up getting dressed. T. K. was going to lose his mind when I told him why I didn’t make the meeting, especially since he was always complaining about how long it took me to get dressed.

  What made it even worse was that he’d called that afternoon to remind me about the meeting. But I just couldn’t find the right outfit. I must have tried on six or seven different ensembles before settling on the blue skirt suit I was wearing. I’d wanted to wear something a little lower cut, but with everything going on at the church the past few months, the last thing we needed was for people to be whispering about how inappropriate the first lady looked.

  Besides, I’d only recently won over the members of the women’s Bible study group, many of whom hated that T. K. had chosen me to be his wife. After that hard-won battle, there was no need to rile up the members of the finance committee. So, I went conservative—well, as conservative as I get. The skirt was still snug around my round hips, and my blouse was tight enough to make every man in the building take notice, but for the most part, I’d behaved.

  I parked my new Mercedes in my assigned space and frowned at the sight of my husband’s empty parking spot beside mine. He’d been gone only a couple of days, but I missed him so much. I was tempted to call him, but I was afraid of what he might say when I told him I wasn’t at the meeting. He was already upset that this choir director he was trying to recruit had rejected his offer, and I did not want him taking that out on me. I hurried out of my car and headed for the building in the hopes of catching the tail end of the meeting.

  “Hey there, First Lady!”

  I glanced in the direction of the voice and saw my friend Si-mone Wilcox coming out of the administrative section of the building looking fierce. “You might as well slow down, ’cause if you’re trying to catch the finance meeting, you’re about ten minutes too late.”

  “Daggone it.” I snapped my fingers in protest. “How the heck am I going to tell T. K. I missed this meeting?”

  “Don’t worry. I can fill you in if you want me to.” Simone walked over and gave me a hug.

  “Girl, you just don’t know. You’re a lifesaver.” I hugged her back, then gave her the once-over, up close and personal.

  Simone was an extremely beautiful woman in her late thirties. She must have been drinking from the fountain of youth, because she didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Quite frankly, she may have missed her calling as a supermodel. She was that attractive, with her flawless features and long, muscular legs. Many people said she looked like Halle Berry, but personally I thought she was prettier.

  Born on the right side of the tracks, Simone had been spoiled to death by her father since she was a child, and she had a reputation for being quite a diva. Many men had discovered that she could be ruthless when things didn’t go her way. The only way to describe Simone would be to say she was high maintenance all the way. Although she had a good job running her father’s car dealership, she didn’t mind spending her suitors’ money. As a matter of fact, she preferred it. Everything she wore, down to her drawers, was designer. She’d been spoiled her entire life and expected it to continue no matter who the man in her life was. However, with all that being said, she was a very bright woman who ran her family car dealership and was elected chairwoman of the church’s board of trustees.

  I eyed the yellow-and-black tailored suit she was wearing. I wasn’t big on yellow, but I’ll be damned if she wasn’t rocking it to the point I felt like I needed to find one in my size.

  “I’m scared of you, sista. What you wearing and where’d you buy it?”

  “Christian Dior. And I got it at Saks.”

  “Mmm-mmm-mmm, that suit is some kind of bad. Probably set you back a mint, didn’t it?”

  “Please. It didn’t set me back a dime,” she said nonchalantly. “I got Lamar to pay for it.”

  “Oh my goodness. Who is Lamar?” I leaned against my car, folding my arms as I waited to hear about my friend’s latest love interest. She seemed to trade them in every other week. I guess that’s why I liked talking to Simone, because her life was like a juicy soap opera with all her men and their drama.

  “Lamar is just another fool who wants some goodies, but he won’t get any until I’m good and damn ready, which, quite frankly, may be never after last night.”

  I shook my head. “Okay, so what happened last night?”

  “We went out to dinner and I asked him to pay my mortgage.” She sucked her teeth in disgust. “And you know what his cheap behind had the nerve to tell me?”

  “No, what?” I wished I had some popcorn, because this was getting good.

  “That fool told me he’ll see what he can do! This man makes close to six figures and has the nerve to tell me, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ I’m about to put it on him like he’s never had it before, and he tells me he’ll see what he can do? Well, you know I sent him home with a hard dick and told him when he comes up with my mortgage money, I’ll see what I can do about his hard dick.”

  “Oh, no, you didn’t!” I stared at her with my mouth half open.

  “Oh, yes, I sure as hell did.” She looked around, probably hoping no one else had heard her language. Simone knew as well as I did how quickly the people in this church would ostracize you if they deemed you unworthy of their “holiness.”

  “You are crazy. You know that?”

  “Maybe, but I am so glad I didn’t give that man any goodies yet. But it’s okay, because at leas
t now I know he’s really not my type and probably never will be, with his cheap ass.”

  I laughed. I always got a kick out of Simone’s antics. In some ways, her free-spirited attitude reminded me of myself before I married T. K. “I didn’t know you had a type.”

  “Girl, I have always had a type.” She smiled as if she were talking about her favorite subject. “Well, you know I find it hard to resist a really fine man, but to be honest, rich is my type. The richer the man, the more generous he is. The more generous he is, the finer he looks. The finer he looks, the better his chance of getting some of this. Which brings me back to my point: I love rich men. They are so fine.”

  “Simone, you are a hot mess.” I shook my head at the take-no-prisoners attitude of my gold-digging friend. I had to admit, she really was a diva. “Shame on you.”

  “Oh, please. Men are always getting what they want, Mo-nique. I’m just making sure I get what I want, too, by any means necessary. If they don’t like how I do things, they know where the door is. They can give me what I want or keep it moving, ’cause there’s another one just like them waiting right outside the door.”

  She wasn’t lying either. Men had been asking her to marry them since she was sixteen, and she’d broken more hearts than any woman had a right to, all in the name of getting what she wanted. Now she was thirty-eight, still single, and living the good life, with no thoughts of settling down. It was too bad, because for the right man, she would actually be a very good catch.

  “I hear you, girl.” I nodded, ready to end this particular conversation. “Did you know T. K. and I went to see James Black at the hospital the other day?”

  “Oh, really? So how’s he doing?” She looked down at her fingernails, up at the sky, at her feet … everywhere but at me as she spoke. She was trying to come off as uninterested, but I knew better. She was very interested in anything that had to do with James Black. She could act like a diva and talk junk all day about the rules she had for men, but none of that held any weight when it came to my husband’s best friend, James Black. You see, Simone had been in love with James since she was twenty-five years old. She would have married him, too, and had a whole house full of babies for the man, but like most women who were turned out by James Black, she ended up with a broken heart.