by Ronn Elmore
“I’m sorry, Dr. Grandison just left. May I take a message?”
“This is Nina Jordan.”
“Oh, Ms. Jordan,” Monique said. “Dr. Grandison apologized for not getting back to you last evening, but he wanted me to ask if you had an evening session next Wednesday he could observe?”
At least he remembered he was supposed to call, Nina thought. “Yes, next Wednesday will be fine. I’ll plan on him coming.” Nina bit her lip, hoping she didn’t sound anxious.
“He’s looking forward to it. He told me to make sure nothing gets scheduled on that day if it was available for you. So I’m going to put this on Dr. Grandison’s calendar now.”
“That’ll be fine.” Nina resisted the urge to ask to have Dwayne call her.
“I’m sure Dr. Grandison will give you a call later today or tomorrow,” Monique said, as if reading Nina’s mind.
“Thank you.” Nina let the phone drop into the cradle and then leaned back into her chair. “Argh!” she yelled just as the door of her office opened.
“Boy, I don’t know if I should come in and save you or turn around and run,” Lafayette kidded, peering into the room, then seating himself in the armchair in front of Nina’s desk.
“Come in, Pastor. I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”
“How are things going with you and Dwayne?”
The question caught her off guard, and she knew that he had purposely framed it to be taken two ways in the hopes that she would open up.
“Great, Pastor.” Nina turned to the credenza behind her, removing a folder from the top of the pile. “Dwayne is coming next week to observe one of my sessions. We should be able to get going by the beginning of April.”
Lafayette was more than pleased. “Well, I’m glad you and Dwayne are working well together.”
Nina was sure he was still fishing, but she kept a straight face. “Yes, it’s working out fine… between us.”
Lafayette eased forward in his chair as if he wanted to ask another question, but changed his mind. He slapped his hands together against his legs and stood. “Well, I just wanted to check in. Keep me posted.”
“Sure will. By the way, it’s pretty exciting that Dwayne will be doing a TV show.”
“Yeah, it’s interesting.” Lafayette’s smile faded. “I have a board meeting to get ready for. I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Thanks, Pastor.”
The night before when she found herself watching the clock as the minutes passed, until finally realizing she wasn’t going to get Dwayne’s call, Nina had once again vowed to keep a professional distance between herself and Dwayne Grandison. Pulling her digital recorder and pad from the desk drawer, she began recording the notes from last evening’s session. It was time to get back to work.
Dwayne shifted uncomfortably at the head of the conference table. Beverlyn sat to his right as nine others, seated around the large mahogany oval, gave him the once-over. At the other end of the table sat L.W., who was staring intently in his direction. Dwayne closed his eyes and again wondered if he had made the right decision. The doubts he’d had the day before didn’t compare to those he felt now. After all, he wasn’t familiar with the world of television.
Beverlyn touched his arm and stood.
“We’ve already made the introductions, but I wanted to say how pleased I am to have Dr. Dwayne Grandison join our team. As all of you know, this program is important to us because we bring the name of Dr. Grandison, which is well known in the Christian community. Our prayer is that this show reaches the top of the ratings.”
Just pile on the pressure, Dwayne thought.
Before he could respond, another voice intervened, and all heads turned, facing L.W.
“I want to join my niece in welcoming Mr. Grandison,” L.W. drawled, looking directly at Dwayne. It was the first time Dwayne noticed his accent. He glanced briefly at Beverlyn, whose own inflections sounded as if she’d been raised in the Northeast.
“We have a lot of confidence in you, son,” L.W. continued. “We know you’re going to do a fine job for the Lord.”
“Thank you, Beverlyn,” Dwayne said, turning toward her. Then his eyes moved to L.W. “And thank you, L.W., for your confidence in me. I am most appreciative for this opportunity. Like you, my prayer is to bring glory to God.
“When Beverlyn brought this idea to me, I was more intrigued than anything. After hours of thought and many more hours of prayer, I came to see the purpose of not only this show but also this entire network. As I don’t know much about television, I will be depending upon most of you. I trust that I’m in good hands, so let’s get to work.”
The discussion around the table was brisk—with the exchange of concepts and concerns. The show would have a serious talk show format.
“Remember, what’s key,” Maria, the producer, pointed out, “is that along with the people who are on the show to discuss their issues, we’ll have a celebrity—a major entertainer or someone in the news—talking about how God saved them. We will show that God is the solution.”
“I think the thing for us to do now,” L.W. interjected, “is to have Maria work on a mock-up script, complete with guests.”
“We can do that,” Maria said. “Then we’ll all feel more comfortable that this is feasible.” As a new thought came to her mind, Maria eagerly jotted something on the pad in front of her. “Has there been a final decision on the name for the show?”
“We won’t be able to come up with a name today,” L.W. observed.
“How about… ‘Word Up’?” Dwayne leaned back in his chair and looked straight at L.W. “I like ‘Word Up’ because of the play on words. Obviously, ‘Word’ means Lord. And ‘Word Up’ means lifting the name of the Lord.”
“I like it,” Beverlyn said.
“It’s the play on words I like,” Maria added. “It’s young and hip and—”
“That’s the part I like,” one of the interns interjected. “If we’re trying to attract a young crowd, this name could help us do it.”
“That name is ridiculous!” L.W. exclaimed. “It doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re doing. There is nothing about that name that works. First of all,” he noted raising a finger in the air, “our market is Christians. If we get others, that’s fine. But we should provide the highest-quality programming for the Christian market.”
“I agree,” Dwayne countered. “However, who said that Christians aren’t young and hip and—”
“That’s nonsense. We want to glorify the Lord. That’s our primary objective.”
“That’s what we’re trying to do, L.W.” Beverlyn had watched the exchange and was confused by her uncle’s forcefulness. They’d had other meetings on other shows, most of which L.W. had attended, but he’d had little to say, leaving decisions to her and the producers. Why was today so different? She didn’t know what was up, but she was going to end the confusion here.
“I think we have to consider every option, L.W., so that we have the best possible name. I don’t think we should categorically dismiss anything.”
L.W. stared at Beverlyn with what she’d come to know as “the look.” But unlike when she was a child, it fazed her little now.
“I agree,” L.W. retorted. “We should look at all options. I’ve compiled my own list of possible names.”
Both Beverlyn and Dwayne were silent as L.W.’s list was passed around the table.
“I believe these names will glorify the Lord,” L.W. boomed through the room as if he were about to give a sermon. “The one I like the best is first. ‘Higher Ground.’ That encompasses all we want to do.” He raised his hands in the air and made a circular motion. “‘Higher Ground’ says this is a show that is not going to take the low road. That the solutions we offer—Christ-centered answers—are the highest road you can take.”
Suddenly, the sun’s rays filled the room with their heat. A few very long moments passed. Only the sound of people moving outside of the conference room was heard. Most heads were d
ropped, roving over the sheets in front of them and at the same time avoiding the eyes of L.W. Only Dwayne’s and L.W.’s heads were raised, their eyes—and egos—locked.
“So what do you think of ‘Higher Ground’?” L.W.’s tone was serious, but it was the smirk on his face that annoyed Dwayne.
“Like you said before, L.W., we don’t have to make a decision today,” Dwayne responded without breaking eye contact.
“You’re absolutely right, Dwayne, but if we find a name we all agree on, we might as well move forward.” He paused for a moment. The doctor was tougher than he had imagined. “Well, let’s have some feedback.”
“No,” Beverlyn said strongly. “We have the names on the table and we’ll let it rest for now. This has been a really good start. I want to thank everyone for their time.”
Chairs scraped against the floor as people pushed from the table. It took less than a minute for the room to clear—except for L.W., Beverlyn, and Dwayne, who remained in their seats. L.W. finally pushed his chair back and stood. He moved toward Dwayne and stretched his hand forward. “That was a good meeting, Mr. Grandison,” he said, shaking Dwayne’s hand. “I hope you didn’t take offense with anything.”
“No offense taken. This is business.”
“That it is.” L.W. held Dwayne’s stare for a moment and then turned away. “Beverlyn, when you’re finished here, may I see you in my office?”
When the conference room door closed behind him, Beverlyn rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry about that name thing, Dwayne. L.W. didn’t mention it to me.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you later,” she said simply, and walked out of the room.
Dwayne slumped in his chair. This had been a tough meeting. He’d been nervous and he was a novice, but it was L.W. who made him uneasy. He’d felt set up. Was he overreacting? He leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. Yvette would have been perfect for this. Boardrooms, corporate meetings, executive sparring—that was his wife’s forte, not his. All he wanted to do was to help people with his brand of ministry.
He lifted his head. This show was part of what he was called to do. He’d just have to muddle through all of the tricks and traps that were obviously being set in his path. He gathered the loose papers, staring for a moment at the list L.W. had prepared.
“Welcome to show business,” he said aloud.
With a leather portfolio stuffed under his arm, L.W. rushed back to his office.
“Mr. Lejohn,” Kim called, but he closed his office door before she could finish her sentence.
He locked the door behind him, moved across the lush mauve carpet, and tossed the portfolio onto his desk. He left the room darkened, even though the only light was from the sun that was partially blocked by the surrounding concrete buildings. His keys jingled as he lifted them from his pocket and unlocked the door on the left side of the credenza. Gently, he removed the bottle of Hennessy cognac and filled one of the plastic cups he kept with his liquor stash.
Then he leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet onto the desk. His polished wing-tip shoes shined in the room’s dull light. He swallowed two small sips of cognac and grimaced slightly as the smooth, hot liquid slid down his throat. It wasn’t until his cup was empty that he allowed himself to gloat. He had done it—set the rules and laid down the law. And he could see in Dwayne’s eyes that the good doctor had gotten the message.
L.W. got up from the desk and turned to look out of the window. His office was just half the size of Beverlyn’s, but he didn’t care. Superficial signs of success never impressed him. He and Beverlyn had built an empire, and the outer trappings of it were never at issue. He was more concerned about anyone who would dare upset the apple cart. He had worked way too hard to get them where they were. And with what lay ahead with Beverlyn Boudreaux Ministries, there was no doubt that in a few years he’d be one of the most powerful men in the Christian community.
L.W. shook his head as he watched the traffic below crawl along Sunset Boulevard. That was exactly the way his life had been: a slow crawl, a long journey, but one that always had purpose. Life had been a battle, but finally, he was winning.
Fact is, any way you looked at it, L.W. had come a long way from his humble beginnings in Bayou St. Jacques, Louisiana, to New Orleans and now Los Angeles. This was his dream as much as Beverlyn’s—if not more. After all, it was he who had turned a waif into a star. He who had saved Beverlyn from a life that might have ended before she was a teenager had he not rescued her. And he who had come from nothing now held the keys to a multimillion-dollar enterprise.
Oh, if they could only see him now, the uppity Negroes that used to call him a short, high-yellow, bootleg country preacher: his new apartment in Westwood, his seven-figure bank account, the finest duds, a driver, and a burgeoning business empire. Ironically, he really owed this success to his mother. It was she, Beverlyn’s grandmother, who had urged her son to find his niece. “Go to Nawlins and get that child. Bring her home,” his elderly mother had croaked. L.W. remembered how his mother paced the wooden floor of the three-room shack they called home. She had paused and pointed her cane in his face. “You’re a man of God, Bubba. Go find your niece.”
L.W. had winced at his despised nickname but hadn’t said anything this time, because her words interested him more than what she’d called him. He was thrilled to leave home, though he was still angry that his older sister, Niecy, had left more than ten years before, never keeping her promise of returning for “little L.W.”
“You have my word, Bubba,” his sister had said. “As soon as I find a job, I’ll come back for you. And we’ll both get out of this hick town.”
“Promise, Niecy?” twelve-year-old Linton asked with tears in his eyes. What would life be like without his beloved sister? She was the only one he looked up to.
“I promise,” Niecy said, hugging him before she walked out the door.
But within six months, Niecy had written home announcing that she was pregnant and that she wouldn’t be coming back.
L.W. hated his sister from the moment he read the last word of her letter. But ten years later in death, she was providing the escape she’d long ago promised.
“Are you going to do this for me?” his mother had asked with tears in her eyes.
“Yes, Mama.”
He didn’t tell her that it would be impossible to find a child when he only had a name and no address. But he kept his doubts to himself.
“And don’t you worry nothing about that church,” his mother continued. “Ol’ man Stan or Uncle Julius can take over while you’re gone.”
L.W. almost laughed out loud. Surely, his mother couldn’t really believe that he truly cared about Country Baptist. He only started the church because she encouraged him to—and because he couldn’t find another job to his liking. L.W. had no formal training, only finishing high school. His sole credential was that he studied the Bible. Probably more than anyone in Bayou St. Jacques, except for his mother. And even his Bible study was simply because his mother made him and Niecy sit in front of the fireplace every night, even before they could read, and listen as she read chapter after chapter.
In reality, few of the twenty-five or so members of Country Baptist took Pastor Linson Lejohn seriously. Most still called him Bubba, a gesture he found disrespectful. As he sat in the creaky rocking chair that day, he watched his mother limp to their “safe”—a loose plank under the kitchen table—and pull out a stack of bills. When his mother handed him the large roll, it took L.W. only minutes to pack his small suitcase and call a friend to drive him to the bus station.
He kissed his mother good-bye, bestowing on her the same promise that Niecy had given him. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll find her and bring her home.” He said the words, but he intended never to return. And L.W. had fulfilled his intention, returning for the first time six years later to bury his mother in the small weed-filled cemetery behind Country Baptist.
When L.W. arrived in New Orleans, he made onl
y cursory inquiries to find his niece. But to his dismay, within a week he stumbled upon Beverlyn at the New Orleans Children’s Mission. And from the staff, he learned that he’d located her five days before her tenth birthday and two weeks before she was to be shipped to a home for delinquent girls in Lone, Louisiana.
Even though he had no desire to have children, he couldn’t allow a child with his blood to be sent away. So grudgingly, L.W. found a small apartment over the Royal Pharmacy on North Rampart Street, checked his niece out of the Mission, brought her home, and set down the Lejohn law.
“I don’t know what you’re used to, young lady,” he said, pointing his finger in her face. “But now you’re going to follow some rules. You will go to school and come straight home,” L.W. continued as he paced in front of her. “When you come home, you will do your homework, then complete your chores I will set out for you every day. After that, you’ll read this.” He picked up his Bible.
“What’s that?” Beverlyn crinkled her nose and tugged at one of her thick braids.
“This… is a Bible. It is the Word of God.”
Beverlyn rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”
“And we will read this together every day.”
Beverlyn put her hands on her hips. “You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my father.”
His lips spread into a smile, but it was the menacing message in his eyes that made the young girl drop back silently onto the chair. “You don’t even know who your father is,” he said through clenched teeth. “From now on, I am the only father you’ll know. Do you understand?”
That first conversation would set the tone for their relationship. L.W.’s next order of business was to look for a job. So he did the only thing he knew how to do: He opened a church. While he had not been successful with his church at home, L.W. believed he could turn that around. He was no longer working with country folks. This was New Orleans, a big city—the Big Easy. Sin flowed freely through these streets. Surely, on Sunday these people would need a place to acknowledge their transgressions and get saved.
