Diary of a Mad First Lady (11 page)

“I know that I can be difficult to deal with sometimes. My personality is strong, and I can come across in the wrong way. I can be very intimidating, but I really don’t mean to be. And—”

I interrupted her with the wave of my hand. “Do you think that you’ve somehow offended me with your ‘intimidation,’ as you call it?”

“No, not at all. Although I must admit that I did recognize a little apprehension between us, and I assumed that it was because of my aggressive nature.”

“No, Daphne, it was because of your not-so-subtle flirtatious gestures toward my husband and your pastor.”

She folded her hands, placed them in her lap, and then sighed. “I’ve done it again,” she said softly.

“Done what?”

With her left hand, she massaged her right shoulder and said, “I always seem to give people the wrong impression. I didn’t mean any harm by any of the remarks or comments that I’ve made to Pastor Johnson. True, I’m a single woman looking to find a good Christian man, so my desires sometimes override my better judgment to pay more attention to what I do and say when I’m around the type of man that I want to marry. But I certainly have better sense than to hit on my pastor.” Her eyes softened. “You all are my spiritual parents. I would never do anything like that.”

Once again, I felt reduced to my shoe size. I vowed that I would give the poor woman a chance. She genuinely wanted to get to know me, and I had almost pushed her away.

“Daphne, I’m sorry.” This time I dropped my head. “It’s just that it’s so hard to trust people when you’re in ministry. It seems that everyone has a motive and an agenda, and good, honest people are hard to come by.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t. But if you feel God is leading you to walk in this same anointing one day, then you will understand. Until then, you can never understand.”

The atmosphere grew still, and I was eager to change the subject to a lighter one. “So, you want to serve me, huh?”

She smiled. “Yes. I do.”

I returned the smile. “I must say, I haven’t heard that one before. I’ve had a lot of people offer many things, but never to be my servant.”

“Well, I’m not sure if
servant
is the word.”

“I’m only kidding. I know what you meant. You’re asking if you can be my armor bearer?”

“Is that what you call it?”

“That’s what we call it in the church. Many people desire the title, but hardly anyone understands the work. It’s more than what it seems. I don’t just need somebody following me all over the place and carrying my bag; I need someone who is going to have my best interests in mind. I need someone who is going to pray for me when times are tough and even in times when it’s not, so that I’m prepared for when it does get tough. I need someone who’s just as spiritually sound as I am, so that if I’m ever not where I need to be, I can be reminded of where God is taking me.”

By the time I was done explaining what it meant to be an armor bearer, she was sitting with her mouth open.

“That’s a serious job description. I don’t know if I qualify for that.”

I stood and walked over to sit next to her.

“Daphne, do I look as if I’m qualified for this position? Do I look as if I have all of the answers or that I know exactly what I’m doing?” I gave her a moment to think about it before I continued. “No matter what it looks like, as I said before, looks can be deceiving. The truth is, I don’t know it all, and

I don’t have it all together. Ministry is a journey, and understanding ministry is a process. You will never understand it completely. You just have to trust God that He will lead you in the right direction.”

“And what if He doesn’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if God doesn’t lead you in the right direction? What do you do then?”

“Daphne, God always leads you in the right direction. We just don’t always follow his instructions.”

She nodded. “So, do you think I can be your armor bearer?”

I was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. I know nothing about you. You wouldn’t believe how many women would die to be my armor bearer at this church. None of them have ever had the boldness to ask, but I have my way of knowing.”

The noticeable look of shock on her face told me that Daphne had just realized she was just one in the number trying to get close to me.

“My intentions are good and my heart is pure. I don’t want to hurt you, and I hope that one day you will be able to trust me.”

Once again, I studied her intently. “Maybe one day I will. Right now, let’s get you through new members’ orientation and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

“In the meantime, do you mind if I help you out in any way that I can? I mean, I don’t have to do any major stuff, but just if you need help with something, I would like it if you gave me a call.” She paused. “I really want to help.”

“I’ll do that, Daphne.”

She leaned over and gave me a hug. I got an eerie feeling on the inside, but I ignored it and embraced her as well.

We both stood and I walked her to the door.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” she said.

“The pleasure has been all mine.” I opened the door. “Have a good afternoon.”

“You do the same, First Lady.”

She walked out the door and I stood staring at her.

I couldn’t help but wonder who Daphne Carlton really was. And only time would tell.

Chapter Eleven

Michelle

That day in the office was one of the few light moments Daphne and I shared. It, among others, was a moment I would later live to regret. She’d somehow deceived me into believing that she was concerned about my best interests, when all of the time she’d been thinking only of herself.

As I drove downtown, I tried to temporarily escape my thoughts of Daphne, and not let any thoughts of Dawn appear. It was a crisp evening, and the stars were peeking delicately out of the black silk of the sky. The beautiful scene created a peaceful calm in my spirit as I drove to my weekly meeting. The meeting was a gathering of the minds; specifically, the minds of other first ladies.

A few of us got together and decided that it was in the best interests of our sometimes demanding congregations and even more demanding husbands that we take one night a week and vent to each other the frustration that came along with this much-desired-by-women-who-didn’t-know-any-better position. Our husbands were affluent and highly respected men in the community, and it would not look too good if each of their wives slowly lost their minds. So, our group met for the purpose of supporting each other, because we all understood pointedly what the other was going through. Therefore, the men never complained about our weekly gathering at Houston’s.

The first ladies who had children left their husbands to fend for themselves at precisely 6:30
P
.
M
.
every single Thursday night. Some left even earlier than that, depending on their drive time. But none of us ever missed a meeting. I didn’t have kids yet, so my desire to escape wasn’t fueled by the need to have an adult conversation instead of one that included Sponge-Bob and popsicles. My driving force was to get around a group of women who had no expectations of me, and who knew all too well the challenges I faced from day to day.

I drove into the parking lot of Houston’s just off Peachtree, silently wishing that they had a valet. The parking lot was already full, and I knew that I would have to walk a short distance from my parking space to the door.

It was getting harder by the day to do things that I did pre-pregnancy with little to no effort. A few months ago, I would have appreciated the walk, but tonight, my feet were swollen and I was almost out of breath at the very idea of walking.

I managed to make it inside the restaurant without collapsing in fatigue.

I glanced around, hoping to get a glimpse of the other ladies, but apparently I was the first one to arrive. I looked down at my watch and noticed that I was a few minutes early. I stepped to the hostess’ station and gave her the information she needed to secure our table, and went to sit on the bricks they referred to as the waiting area. Once again, I noticed a pre-pregnancy vice. Before tonight, I never paid attention to how hard the bricks were, but tonight my butt was already starting to become numb and my back was sending pain signals straight to the numbness, creating an uncomfortable mixture of annoyance and aggravation.

Just as the hostess was motioning to me that the table was ready, all five of the first ladies, my girls, were walking in at the same time. Each of them was clad in outfits to kill, diamonds that would catch the attention of anybody, and bright, confident smiles that would intimidate the sun. They strutted over to me and did their usual; they each tried to measure my stomach to see if I had gotten any bigger since the week before.

“Ladies,” I said, “hello to you too.” Since announcing to them my impending arrival, they no longer cared how I was doing; their only concern was the baby and if I was taking care of myself. For the sake of the baby, of course.

“Michelle, girl, you know you looking good,” Marjorie, the next to the youngest first lady and my best friend, said. Her husband was the pastor at Renewed Faith Christian Fellowship out in Stone Mountain. They had only been married for a year. Her ride to the “front row seat,” as we called it, was packed full of drama. Before she and her husband Stephen met, his church was filled to capacity every week, with women hopeful of being the first lady seated in the front row. Marjorie told us hilarious stories about the weekly shenanigans the women underwent to get Stephen’s attention, even after he’d announced their engagement to the congregation. She told of one woman who had a crying fit one Sunday during altar call, exasperatedly proclaiming that she was supposed to be First Lady Thompson and not Marjorie. She proclaimed that Stephen was going to cause the church to suffer because he was disobeying God.

During this time, Marjorie informed us that her only tactic was to stay controlled and poised—two attributes that landed her the marriage proposal in the first place—until she became Mrs. Stephen Thompson. Then, and only then, would she deal with those man-stealing, low-down, dirty women whose motives were to destroy relationships.

I continued to beam as the ladies complimented me on how well I was carrying the pregnancy and how gorgeous I looked in my green apple sundress with an embroidered green-and-gold jacket to match. Darvin had bought it for me while away on one of his preaching engagements in Virginia. It was customary for him to bring me expensive gifts from his out-of-town trips.

The rumble in my stomach immediately brought to my attention that we’d done enough greeting one another, and it was time to eat. I was starved, or at least I felt that I was.

We walked to our table, which was situated in its own little corner in the back—just as we preferred. We never wanted to take a chance on having one of the members of our congregations listening in on our conversation.

We sat down, and before long, had ordered our drinks, appetizers, and entrees. None of us needed to look at a menu, seeing that each of us had tried everything on the menu at least once.

“So, Michelle, I hear that it was you who had the most interesting week of us all,” Pamela House said. She was the oldest among us, and had been married to Bishop William House for more than twenty-three years. Together they served as pastors and founders of New Light International Fellowship Church, in Decatur.

“Yes. To say that it was interesting is definitely an understatement.” I told them the entire story that I was sure Marjorie must have already told, but my version was much more dramatic. If I had not lived it, I wouldn’t have believed it myself. I had been asking myself all week the likelihood that the sister of my former terrorist had not only appeared at my church, but had appeared with the desire to become a permanent part of my life. It was ridiculous. The more I tried to understand it, the less I understood.

“So, what I want to know is, did you knock her into her eternity, or at least her teeth down her throat?” That was spoken by the youngest member of our group, Shaunie Anderson, a first lady for a good three months. She was also the rebel of the group. She couldn’t understand that our position required us all to try to remain dignified, regardless of how many irate members we encountered.

After we silently bored holes into her, she shrug-ged her shoulders and said, “What? I’m just being real; something that all of you chicks need to try at least one time in your life.” She took a swallow of her water. “Because I’m going to tell you like this: if that broad had walked up in my church, her true intentions would have been revealed based on where she woke up.”

“Woke up?” I asked in confusion.

“Yeah. If she woke up in hell, then her motives weren’t right. If she woke up in heaven, then she was sincere. Either way, she would have died and went somewhere. My objective would have been to protect myself, my husband, and our congregation. Because I swear to y’all, I would have killed her.” She rolled her eyes as she picked up a piece of garlic cheese toast.

“Shaunie, you have a lot to learn. You can’t go around killing everybody that poses a threat to you,” I said. “You’ve got to learn how to strategize without compromising your position as a first lady, or the reputation of your husband.”