Chapter 8
Samantha sat behind the desk back in her old office. The room and all its contents were completely white except for an arrangement of thirty-six long-stemmed, blood red roses. The flowers sprayed from a large etched-crystal vase sitting in the center of a liquid glass, round conference table that was surrounded by ten white high-back leather chairs. The plush snowy white carpet showed no hint of footprints or remnants from treading shoes. There was not a speck, twig, or fleck on any inch of the entire room. There were eight massive mirrors, each framed in carved white lacquered wood. No light fixtures were visible anywhere in the room, yet each surface was illuminated from sources unknown. The room was a stark, yet elegant canvas that served only to display Pastor Samantha Cleaveland.
From the window she could see construction cranes scaling the skeletal walls of her New Testament Cathedral, which was being built across the street. Cement trucks churned, drills whizzed, and hammers pounded, but there was no sound in the snow-white cocoon. Samantha’s glass desk held only a white telephone and a white computer screen. There were no papers or mementos, family pictures or holders of things normally associated with a workstation. The glass was so clear that the telephone and computer screen seemed to float in the air.
The sound of the intercom pierced the stark white silence. “Excuse me, Pastor Cleaveland,” interrupted the voice. “Catherine Birdsong would like to see you. Shall I send her in?”
Samantha did not hesitate. “Yes, send her in.” Samantha spun her white leather chair to face the office door and waited, steely-eyed, for the door to open.
Catherine entered, fueled by anger and hate. She didn’t pause at the threshold but instead walked purposefully toward the desk at the opposite end of the long room.
“What can I do for you, Catherine?” Samantha asked matter-of-factly.
Catherine found no need for decorum. “You can start by telling me what I’ve done to deserve being treated with such disregard.”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I mean. You humiliated me in front of my entire staff. You demoted me without having the common decency of first explaining to me why.”
Samantha remained seated and said, “First, let me remind you who you’re speaking to, Ms. Birdsong. I’m not Hezekiah, and I don’t have an overwhelming need to be nice or polite to the hired help. Secondly, I feel no need to show you the respect that you have never shown me, and I don’t have to explain my actions to anyone.”
Samantha rose from the chair, walked around the desk, stood squarely in front of Catharine, and continued. “I haven’t fired you yet, Catherine. I’m giving you the opportunity to prove that you can be loyal to me and meet my expectations. I’m not Hezekiah. My standards are higher.”
“Everyone here knows you’re not Hezekiah, Samantha.”
“Do not call me Samantha,” she snapped. “If you are to remain in my employ, you will address me as Pastor Cleaveland.”
Samantha took a step closer and continued. “God in his wisdom saw fit to take my husband from me. I don’t know why, but I have learned to accept it as his will. God has also seen fit to place me at the helm of this ministry, and I will do everything in my power to make sure it grows even larger than Hezekiah could have ever imagined. In order for this to happen, I need to surround myself with people who share my vision. And to be honest with you, Catherine, I’ve never felt you ever really understood what I’m capable of.”
“I think I understand perfectly what you are capable of.”
“No, I don’t think you do. You see, Hezekiah underestimated me, too, and you see what happened to him.”
Catherine looked at her curiously. Samantha’s words slowly registered. Catherine felt a chill envelop her body as Samantha stared coldly into her eyes. There was fear like none she had ever experienced, a fear that could be caused only by the presence of pure evil. Catherine took a step backward and looked away from Samantha’s frozen glare.
“I . . . I understand, Pastor Cleaveland,” Catherine stammered and physically demurred. “I don’t ever want to be perceived as an impediment to achieving your vision for the ministry.”
“No, you don’t,” Samantha chimed firmly.
“I hope you know that was never my intent.”
Samantha did not respond but held her gaze.
“I apologize if I ever made you feel unsupported. I think you are an amazing woman . . . Pastor Cleaveland.”
Samantha gestured with her head for her to say more.
“I think it would be best for all parties involved if I submitted my resignation, effective immediately.”
Samantha broke her gaze and slightly relaxed her posture. She turned away from the wilting woman and returned to her seat. “I think that would be best, Catherine.”
Catherine looked bewildered and dazed. She attempted to speak, but Samantha interrupted.
“I will have security meet you in your office while you clear your things.”
Catherine looked at her one last time and said, “Thank you, Pastor.”
She began the long walk to the door over the harsh white terrain. Her pointed shoes left no indentations in the woolen snow. As she reached for the door handle, she heard Samantha call out and turned abruptly.
“Catherine,” Samantha said.
“Yes, Pastor?” she asked hopefully.
“Please don’t speak to anyone on your way out,” Samantha said with a smile usually reserved for television cameras. “I’ll inform your staff you decided to leave us for unexpected personal reasons.”
Samantha’s personal security guard, Dino, opened the rear door of the black Escalade at the construction site of the new sanctuary. Samantha extended the tip of her brown alligator pump from the rear of the car. Her four-inch spiked heels landed firmly in the soft dirt.
“Shall I wait at the car, Pastor Cleaveland?”
“No, come with me,” she instructed Dino as she walked toward the shell of the building. “This may be a difficult conversation.”
Dino unsnapped the leather holster under his left arm, then buttoned his jacket. Construction of the new sanctuary had not stopped after Hezekiah’s death. Samantha had received a call on the Monday after the assassination from the site foreman, asking if they should stop working for a day of mourning.
“No,” Samantha had answered abruptly. Then she’d remembered she was in mourning. “No. Please have your crew report for work as planned,” she’d said with an added dose of grief. “I know Hezekiah would want the work to continue.”
“Hello, Pastor Cleaveland,” said a round, ruddy-cheeked man wearing a plaid shirt and faded denim overalls.
Benny Winters was the general contractor for the cathedral construction project, which would soon be the new twenty-five-thousand-seat home of New Testament Cathedral and its media complex.
Samantha did not extend her hand but instead continued her stroll into the building. “This is the first time I’ve been on-site since my husband’s death, and I want to make sure you and I are on the same page.”
Dino followed a short distance behind the two.
“First, let me say how sorry I am about what happened to Pastor Cleaveland,” Benny said, removing his fluorescent yellow hard hat in respect. “He was an amazing man.”
“Thank you, Benny. We all miss him very much. My first question is, are we on schedule?”
Benny looked surprised. “Yes, ma’am, we are on schedule. Building inspectors from the city were out just last week and gave a green light to the HVAC system. The satellite tower is en route on a barge from Beijing as we speak and will be in place by the end of next month. The subcontractors handling the stained-glass windows have been here every day this week, preparing for installation next month.”
Samantha, Benny, and Dino continued the tour through the interior of the building. Workers balanced on ladders connecting webs of electrical wiring. Sturdy men and women in hard hats drilled, hammered, s
awed, and screwed as the three walked past. The smell of cut lumber and burning solder filled the building
The three entered through the main doors of the new sanctuary. The cavernous room spilled down in cantilevers in front of them. The pulpit seemed like it was a mile away. The ten-story-high, slanted, and jutting cathedral walls were constructed of five hundred thousand rectangular panes of glass. They were woven together by threads of glistening steel, forming a patchwork quilt of light and blue sky.
“We’ve got three new JumboTron screens waiting to be installed. There’s going to be one there, there, and there,” Benny said, pointing to the front and both sides of the sanctuary.
Samantha looked out at the massive effort laid at her feet with mild amusement. “Where will the waterfalls be placed?”
Benny looked bewildered. “Waterfalls?” he asked cautiously. “There are no waterfalls in the plans.”
Samantha looked perturbed. “I told Hezekiah I wanted waterfalls.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but he never discussed that with me. I’m afraid we’re too far along in construction to make major changes like that.”
“Nonsense,” she snapped. “I want one on either side of the pulpit. Each constructed with boulders that lead to pools of water on the pulpit. Don’t worry. I’ll oversee the design personally.”
“But, ma’am, that’s just not possible. Something like that could add at least a million onto the cost and . . .”
Samantha looked Benny in the eye, and Dino stepped closer. “You seem to misunderstand me, Mr. Winters. I’m not asking your permission. I’m telling you what I want. This is not a debate.”
Benny’s bulbous head became flushed. He noticed the imposing Dino staring coldly at him over Samantha’s shoulder.
“Is that understood?” she asked after a brief silence.
“I suppose we can move the two side JumboTrons a little farther from the front and place the fountains there, but . . .”
“Please, no buts, Mr. Winters. If you are unable to make this happen, please let me know now so that I can have you replaced.”
“Replaced?” he barked loudly. “What do you mean? We’re in the final stages of . . .” He saw Dino move in closer. “I haven’t made a move on this project without Pastor Cleaveland’s approval. You can’t—”
“You are not in a position to tell me what I can or can’t do, Mr. Winters. My husband is dead, and I am now the pastor of this church. I am paying for this cathedral. I am signing your check, and I am going to be the one standing on that pulpit every Sunday. So what I say goes. Is that clear?” she asked, with her tone escalating at each syllable.
Dino slowly unbuttoned his jacket without taking his eye off Benny. Benny could see the leather strap leading to the bulge under his armpit.
He looked over his shoulder into the structure that had been his life for the last two years. Sweat began to form in crevices all over his little round body. He then looked again at Samantha, took a deep breath, swallowed, and replied, “Yes. I understand, Pastor Cleaveland.”
“Good,” she answered in a slightly softer tone.
Dino rebuttoned his jacket.
“Now, tell me more about the pipe organ. I’m not sure it’s going to be big enough. Where is the baptismal pool going to be placed? I want to see swatches of all the carpets Hezekiah selected and samples of the tiles. Our tastes were very different. I want the pastor’s suite of offices to be in a different location than the one Hezekiah selected. Follow me. I’ll show you where I want them.”
The conversation continued for the next three hours, with Samantha changing much of what Hezekiah had approved and Benny repeatedly responding, “Yes, Pastor Cleaveland,” as Dino closely monitored the exchange.
After the lengthy talk with Benny at the construction site, Samantha went back to her office. She had made a point of changing as much of the building design as possible, especially elements that she knew her husband had been the most excited about: the color of the carpet, the marble in the baptismal pool, the custom light fixtures that Hezekiah had designed himself, the tile in the hallways and, especially, the design of the podium. She changed the solid mahogany podium to a glass one so the cameras would always have a full and complete view of every curve of her figure. Give the men a reason to send in checks and the women a reason for envy.
“Excuse me, Pastor Cleaveland. You have a call from Brother David Shackelford. He would like to speak with you for a moment. He said it’s important.”
“What does he want?”
“He wouldn’t say what it was regarding. Only that it was very important that he speak with you.”
“Why do you put these people through to me without screening the call? Tell him I’m busy and to make . . .” Samantha paused mid-rebuke. She remembered that she was only the interim pastor and would possibly require Scarlett’s vote to make her position permanent.
Samantha despised Scarlett for the affair she had had with Hezekiah when she was his secretary, and hated her even more when she learned she was carrying his child. When Hezekiah appointed her to the board of trustees, Samantha knew it was only to keep her from leaving the church. Samantha had forbidden him to have any contact with the child. But she could see the way he looked so lovingly at her some Sunday mornings from the pulpit. She could see that he loved the little girl that Scarlett held in her arms as much as he loved Jasmine.
“Never mind. Put him through.” She paused a moment, then said, “Brother Shackelford, so nice of you to call. How is Scarlett? I know she took Hezekiah’s death very hard.”
“I would imagine that you more that anyone knows just how hard she took his death,” he replied ominously.
David sat in his car, looking out over the Pacific Ocean from a parking lot at the Santa Monica Pier. The iconic blue and white arch over the pier that read SANTA MONICA *YACHT HARBOR * SPORT FISHING * BOATING CAFES was to his left. The sky was dotted with clouds. Seagulls perched on the edges of rusted trash cans, waiting for the stray french fry or hot-buttered popcorn kernel to drop from a passing tourist’s sticky fingers. White foam from waves danced at the battered wooden feet of the pier, which strained under the weight of a whirling Ferris wheel, concession booths, a roller coaster, and the sandaled feet of tourists from every corner of the world.
He had been parked in the same spot for two hours. The car smelled of cigarettes and alcohol. He had driven around the city until he ended up at the end of the earth in Santa Monica after the shocking revelation from his wife. He hadn’t realized that he was in the parking lot until the pimply-faced parking attendant said, “Sir, sir, that’ll be ten dollars.”
Samantha sat upright in her chair. She deliberately placed the solid gold pen she had been using to sign thank-you letters on the desk. “Yes, I know how much she cared for Hezekiah,” she said, proceeding cautiously.
“I would imagine they were very close when Scarlett was his secretary. What do you think, Pastor Cleaveland?”
Samantha did not respond.
“Samantha? May I call you Samantha? Are you still there?” he asked coldly.
“Yes, I’m still here. Brother Shackelford, I appreciate you calling with condolences, but I was just about to—”
“Oh, this isn’t a condolence call, Samantha. By the way, why don’t you call me David? After all, we’re almost related.”
“I’m not sure what this is about, but I really must be going.”
“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say, Samantha.”
“Then, please, say it. I’m very busy.”
“I’m afraid you are not in a position to rush me, Samantha.” David’s tone turned aggressive. “Wouldn’t you like to know how Natalie is holding up, or are you that cold of a bitch?”
Samantha did not speak.
“You can imagine how difficult it must be for a child to lose a parent.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” were the only words Samantha could think of to stall for time to plan her
next move. “Have you been drinking?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. I’ve got a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s sitting between my legs like a hard dick. Oops, I hope I didn’t offend you, Pastor. I get like that after a few drinks.”
Samantha knew there was no need to pretend. “What do you want?”
David laughed loud and hard, so hard that it quickly turned into a bone-rattling cough. He tossed a smoldering cigarette butt out the car window and onto the pavement. “I don’t know what I want,” he finally replied.
“Is this about money?”
“Don’t insult me,” he shouted.
Samantha removed the telephone from her ear. “Calm down, David,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
David dropped the cell phone into his lap and took a deep breath. He could feel the familiar racing of his heart. His eyes blurred, and the sound of the rhythmic beating of ocean waves seemed to throb in his head. He knew from experience that a panic attack was sure to follow. He began gasping for air. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead.
The attacks had, years earlier, forced David to abandon a full partnership in one of the city’s most prestigious law firms. While standing before judges and packed courtrooms, he would suddenly experience an overwhelming and all-consuming fear. White-collar clients who he knew were guilty of fraud, embezzlement, and other gentlemanly crimes sat on the edge of their seat. Jurors would stare blankly at the frozen lawyer. Bailiffs would stand at attention, fearing the statue that he had become mid-sentence would reanimate in a violent rage. After the third incident, the other partners in the firm decided his work should include only cases that didn’t require court proceedings. His cases now consisted of advising rich old ladies of the best way to disperse their worldly possessions after their deaths.
“Hello . . . David. Are you there?” came Samantha’s voice from his lap.
The pier and the sun-drenched tourists began to spin in time with the Ferris wheel. David shut his eyes tight and took three deep breaths, as his therapist had recommended. As the panic slowly subsided, he retrieved the telephone from his lap.
When Sunday Comes Again Page 10
