Tangled Roots

by Angela Henry

  Once inside, I followed the others down into the church’s cavernous basement, which had been turned into a television studio. There was a stage set up talk-show style with a desk for the host and an uncomfortable-looking couch for guests. The backdrop on the wall behind the desk and couch was painted to look like clouds with rays of sun shining through. There were about a hundred folding chairs set up for the audience. Each seat had a white gift bag sitting on it. Two television cameras were set up in front of the stage at opposite ends and a large microphone dangled from above. To the right of the stage was a piano and about two dozen more folding chairs. Another microphone hung down over this area, as well.

  The seats in the audience were filling up fast and I grabbed one in the back. The gift bag contained a CD made by the Holy Cross choir called Divine Intervention; a novel entitled I Will Follow Him, depicting a young black woman in a dress with a plunging neckline stretched out in a grassy field with her face and one arm stretched heavenward; a small Bible; and an ink pen with Holy Cross Ministries spelled out in gold letters. The choir filed in and sat in the seats to the right of the stage. Shanda wasn’t with them but her father, Rondell Kidd, dressed in a too-tight argyle sweater tucked into equally tight navy blue dress pants, sat down at the piano. I sure hoped he didn’t have gas or it would be the end of his pants. Rondell’s wife, Bonita, was rushing around with a clipboard, making sure everybody was in the right place and generally bossing everyone around. I noticed more than a few people giving her very unchristian-like looks behind her back. She was dressed just as dowdily as she had been when I met her. Her plaid skirt and twin set looked straight out of the fifties, and not in the stylish, retro kind of way, either.

  Morris Rollins emerged from behind the curtains on the stage and started talking to the camera crew. One of the cameramen must have made a joke because Rollins laughed and when he did, his smile lit up the entire room. I felt my stomach do a little flip-flop. I’ve always been a sucker for a man with a killer smile. I suddenly missed Carl even more. Rollins was dressed casually in tan slacks, a red crewneck sweater, and loafers. I could see the diamond stud sparkling in his ear from all the way in the back row. After getting his wireless microphone attached to his sweater, Rollins started greeting the audience members in the first row, stopping to speak to each one, hugging some, and slapping five to others. You certainly couldn’t say the man was unfriendly. Though one could argue that being friendly was part of his whole problem. Some of the women in the audience whom he greeted had pressed themselves against him in such a familiar way that I wondered just how well they knew the reverend.

  I noticed Bonita Kidd watching from the stage as Rollins made his rounds. She was staring at him with so much naked love and admiration that she didn’t even notice her husband had walked up and asked her a question. Rondell looked from his wife to his brother and I saw a momentary flash of fury on his usually placid face. Rondell waved his hand in Bonita’s face to get her attention and she glared at her husband so fiercely he took a step backwards. I couldn’t hear what Bonita said to Rondell, but whatever it was sent him back to his piano with a hurt look on his face. I wondered if it was in God’s plan for Bonita to be in love with her brother-in-law.

  By the time Rollins reached the third row, which was two rows ahead of where I was sitting, Bonita whispered something to him and he headed back towards the stage to take his place behind the desk. I felt strangely disappointed. Remembering why I was there, I looked around for Nicole Rollins but didn’t see her or anyone else with braids. The lights in the studio dimmed, indicating that it was showtime. The show opened with the Holy Cross choir singing a rousing rendition of “This Little Light of Mine,” which was apparently the show’s theme song, and was included on their CD. I wondered where Shanda was. Probably off somewhere being a punching bag for her psycho-thug boyfriend.

  Rollins’s soothing voice brought me out of my thoughts as he greeted the viewing audience and introduced the show’s guests. The first guest was Ermaline Pierce, a minister from Trinity Baptist Church in Cleveland, who would be discussing the role of female ministers in the modern church. Joining Ermaline were the Trinity Baptist Church Faith Dancers, who would be performing. Also on the show was Melvina Carmichael, a local author of Christian romance novels, who would be discussing her latest release, I Will Follow Him. I flipped over the book that had been included in our gift bags and saw a picture of a solemn-looking woman in glasses.

  Rollins stood and the audience applauded as the Reverend Pierce made her way onstage to the sound of Rondell Kidd’s organ intro. Reverend Pierce was a big, light-skinned woman, almost as tall as Rollins, dressed in a flowing yellow caftan. Her hair was hidden in a multicolored turban, and she wore a large cross on a strand of wooden beads. Her voice was loud and booming and she constantly sounded like she was delivering a sermon. But she was also very funny and a great storyteller. She regaled the audience with stories of how hard it was to be taken seriously as a female minister at the start of her twenty-year career and her struggle to get more women to “heed the call,” as she put it, to become ministers.

  Rollins proved to be a good host and knew just how to graciously move the conversation forward when Reverend Pierce got a little too long-winded. After her interview, and a ten-minute question-and-answer session with the audience, the Trinity Faith Dancers — eight girls ranging in age from six to eighteen — performed to “Stomp” by God’s Property. The girls were dressed in black leotards and multicolored tunics in the same material as Reverend Pierce’s turban. Their energetic synchronized movements mirrored the lyrics of the song perfectly. They received very enthusiastic applause.

  Next up was Melvina Carmichael, who approached the couch like she was afraid it would bite her. Melvina was brown-skinned, rail-thin, and slightly bucktoothed, wearing a shapeless sweater dress and black pumps. I could tell by the way she tipped across the stage that she wasn’t used to wearing heels. She took a seat on the couch next to Reverend Pierce, quickly shook hands with Rollins, and squinted blindly into the audience. She must have left her glasses at home. I heard some scattered giggling and instantly felt sorry for the woman, who clearly was out of her element and didn’t look any happier in person than she did in her picture. Once again, Rollins proved to be a smooth and gracious host.

  “Ms. Carmichael, you’ve written ten Christian romance novels in the past twelve years. Where do you get your ideas?” He leaned forward in his seat in anticipation, like he truly cared about what she had to say.

  Melvina swallowed hard and nervously looked at the audience. “Well, Reverend Rollins,” she began timidly, “I get my ideas from real-life situations. Things that I see going on in society. Then I take those situations and I add a God-centered theme.”

  “Amen, sister,” declared Reverend Pierce so loudly that Melvina jumped and almost fell off the couch.

  “Tell us about your new book, I Will Follow Him,” said Rollins, quickly squelching the dirty look Melvina was shooting Reverend Pierce.

  “It’s the story of a young woman who must decide whether to stay at home and marry her college sweetheart or go to Africa to work as a missionary.”

  I wondered what in the world that had to do with the scantily clad woman on the cover crawling across an open field. Maybe the answer was in the book.

  “Ah, yes, I remember my own missionary work quite well,” said Reverend Pierce. It appeared the reverend was reluctant to give up the spotlight. Her comment was met by a smattering of applause, which Reverend Pierce took as her cue to continue. But Rollins pressed forward before she could say anything more.

  “So, does the ‘Him’ in the title refer to God?”

  “Now Reverend, I don’t want to give away too much of the plot,” said Melvina, giggling. “Let’s just say that my heroine has a hard time deciding which ‘Him’ to follow, her sweetheart or her Lord.”

  “Yes. Yes. The eternal struggle between matters of faith and matters of the heart, I understand it all to
o well,” said Reverend Pierce, shaking her head. “I’ve counseled many women who are going through the same situation. Ah, the stories I could tell.” She turned to face the audience like she was going to tell one of her stories. I could almost hear the anticipation in the room.

  Rollins attempted to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand. But Melvina, realizing her interview was rapidly going down the tubes, decided to take matters into her own hands. She jumped up from the couch and teetered perilously close to the edge of the stage.

  “Are there any writers in the audience?”

  The audience, disappointed at being denied the chance to hear Reverend Pierce’s story, was silent. And the silence was brutal.

  Why I raised my hand I do not know. Maybe it was because I was having a flashback to my senior year of college, when I gave a grammar workshop while doing my student teaching. A roomful of bored and semi-comatose high school students, who would rather have had their eyelashes pulled out one by one than answer any of my questions, did not make for a good time. I knew how the shy author was probably feeling. Or maybe I was just trying to impress Rollins, who was staring at me with a mixture of surprise and relief. Either way, I was the only one who raised a hand and Melvina smiled at me so gratefully that it was too late to turn back.

  “What’s your name, miss?” asked Melvina, flashing a triumphant glance at Reverend Pierce, who was looking sulky.

  “Yes, please stand up and tell us about your writing,” said Rollins, who was smiling mischievously. “I’m sure Ms. Carmichael has some helpful tips and advice for you.”

  Wonderful. I wasn’t expecting this. I stood slowly, my mind desperately trying to figure out what I was going to say. I’d never written creatively in my life unless you counted a few horrific poems written in college that my poetry professor deemed twaddle. I didn’t even know what twaddle meant but I knew it wasn’t anything good. Everyone was staring at me as I stood with my mouth hanging open and my hands twisting nervously. My composure wasn’t helped at all by the knowledge that this was being taped for television.

  “Don’t be shy,” said Melvina encouragingly. I noticed how much more relaxed she seemed now that the spotlight had shifted to me. Why in the world did I raise my hand? A thumbtack enema couldn’t be worse than this.

  “Uh, my name is Kendra Clayton,” I began. My mouth was dry and my voice came out sounding strangled. “And I…um…am writing a science fiction novel,” I declared. Melvina looked a little taken aback. Apparently she wasn’t expecting my answer. Neither was I.

  “How fascinating,” she gushed.

  I wished Reverend Pierce would interrupt again as I was now dying to hear her story, but she just rolled her eyes and sat back in defeat.

  “We’d love to hear all about it, wouldn’t we folks?” asked Rollins, who had come out from behind his desk and was now leaning against it. The audience clapped enthusiastically. He was getting a big kick out of this and I wanted to punch him.

  They were all waiting to hear about my masterpiece in progress. I quickly thought about all the episodes of Star Trek that I’d seen. I thought about the Star Wars movies and even E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial.

  “It, um, takes place on the planet Zircon. And involves a forbidden romance between Zirconian Princess Zippy and Prince Qumquat of the planet Ooom.” I looked around, daring anyone to laugh. Rollins looked like it was taking everything in him not to bust a gut, Melvina looked like she was wondering what kind of an idiot I was, and Reverend Pierce was laughing and trying to disguise it as a cough, or maybe she was choking. I couldn’t tell, but figured she was laughing when no one rushed over to administer the Heimlich maneuver. The audience looked confused.

  “What’s the title of your book?” asked Melvina.

  “The Princess and the Planet Oom,” I replied like it should be obvious.

  “How original. And is this a stand-alone novel or will there be other books about the planet of Doom?” Melvina asked, standing so close to the edge of the stage I was afraid she’d fall off.

  “Oom, not doom. It’s the planet Oom,” said Reverend Pierce, who was now laughing and not bothering to hide it. I was starting to get a little mad. How dare she laugh at my imaginary book!

  “Did you have something to ask me about writing, dear?” That was a good question. What advice could I ask her about a book I wasn’t really writing?

  “Yes,” I said. “How do I get published?” I figured it was a safe enough question. But Melvina’s face turned hard and she crossed her arms and shook her head in disgust. You’d have thought I’d just asked her the color of her bloomers.

  “All you aspiring writers are the same,” she spat out, still shaking her head. “You all seem to think that there’s some big secret to getting published that we published authors are keeping from you. Well, I’m here to tell you that there isn’t. Getting published takes a lot of hard work and persistence. I studied the publishing business and I mastered my craft. It took me almost twenty years of rejection before I signed my first book contract. And I know what you’re going to ask next,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “The answer is no. I won’t show my publisher your book about the planet of Doom or Zoom or whatever it’s called.”

  “It’s Oom,” I said weakly, but she didn’t hear me.

  “You have to put forth some blood, sweat, and tears. You have to pay your dues like I did. There are no free lunches in this life.”

  You could have heard a pin drop as I sank back down in my seat. I was mortified. I couldn’t believe I’d felt sorry for this woman. Even Reverend Pierce had stopped laughing in the face of Melvina’s tirade. Rollins’s look was unreadable.

  “Thank you, Ms. Carmichael. That was very helpful,” he said with just enough sarcasm to make the audience giggle and Melvina slink back to the couch and take her seat.

  Rollins quickly thanked his guests for being on the show and reintroduced the Trinity Faith Dancers, who performed to a song by the Holy Cross choir. Rollins ended the show with a passionate plea for donations to Holy Cross Ministries. His pitch was so slick and his demeanor so humble it almost had me digging deep into my own purse. But I was ready to leave, having accomplished nothing more than getting myself embarrassed on television. Nicole never did turn up. I got up from my seat and headed towards the basement steps when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Rollins smiling down at me. He smelled like Lagerfeld, one of my all-time favorite colognes.

  “I hope you’ll accept my apologies, Ms. Clayton. I’ve known Melvina Carmichael for many years and she’s always been wound a little tight. She’s really quite a lovely lady when you get to know her.” He had taken my hand and was squeezing it lightly. I felt a warm, tingly sensation running up my arm and I had an overwhelming urge to climb the man like a tree.

  “No harm done, Reverend,” I said, looking away from him. His intense gaze was making me nervous. “I guess that’s what I get for lying,” I said, laughing to show I wasn’t mad, at least not at him. I tried to pull my hand away but he held on.

  “There’s no fault in trying to be helpful. You were very amusing. I haven’t had much to be amused about recently. Everyone’s been telling me I should postpone the tapings for a while. But being here at Holy Cross gives me so much comfort. Keeping busy keeps me from thinking about my loss. I’m so happy you decided to come tonight.”

  “Well, I found myself with some free time this evening and decided to take you up on your offer.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  He finally let go of my hand, but I could still feel the warm imprint of his fingers. “I was hoping to meet your wife this evening. I didn’t get a chance to meet her at the funeral. Is she okay?”

  Rollins looked uncomfortable. “Actually, she’s not doing very well. She’s grieved herself sick. She’s got a bad case of the flu and is at home under a nurse’s care. She can’t have any visitors.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, but somehow knew he’d told me
a lie. Why didn’t he want me to talk to her?

  “If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Clayton, I have some details I need to attend to.” He started to walk away and I realized my chance to get more info on Nicole was walking away with him.

  “Reverend Rollins,” I called out. He turned and gave me a quizzical look. “I have a confession to make. I’m having a personal problem and I really need to talk to somebody about it. I was hoping you’d have some time for me this evening. I mean, if you’re not too busy, that is?”

  That predatory look, the one that had said “fresh meat” when I’d first met him at Inez’s funeral, appeared again briefly before he gave me a kind smile. “Of course, I have time for you. You’re more than welcome to wait for me in my office. I promise I won’t be long.” He gave me directions and I headed up the basement steps wondering what I’d just gotten myself into.

  Chapter 10

  Rollins’s office was located just off the large atrium at the church entrance. The door was unlocked and I let myself in. I was expecting a large, lavishly decorated office and that’s just what I found. Lush, pale gold carpeting covered the floor and a large circular oak desk sat in the center of the room like an island. The wall behind the desk was made of multicolored glass blocks and gave a distorted view of the street below. Instead of chairs in front of the desk there was a dark gold love seat with red silk accent pillows. The shelves built into the cream-colored wall to the right of the desk were filled with books, glass vases, and several small woodcarvings. A sliding panel in the wall to the left of Rollins’s desk was open and revealed a large-screen television, CD/DVD player, and an aquarium of tropical fish. I looked up and saw that a mural depicting Rollins in the pulpit delivering a sermon had been painted fresco-style on the ceiling. Good grief. Somebody needed to get over himself.