Diary of a Mad First Lady (4 page)

While most were talking, she was busy doing. I had accepted her against my better judgment. As a result, she’d dined with us. She’d shopped with me. She’d spent long hours talking to my husband about various ways she could help us improve the ministry. She’d traveled with me to my speaking engagements and had served me just as if she’d been called by God to do specifically that. And in all of that, I was too blind to see that she wanted to be me. Her plan included taking over my life. As me.

Trying to figure out my next move, I sat looking at Daphne as she swayed softly along with the choir that was now singing J. Moss’s “Forgive Me, Oh Lord.” I knew that it was wrong to think it, but I just didn’t want God to forgive her. I wanted her to pay for every single thing that she had done to try to annihilate my life. Sure, that wasn’t the Christian thing, but I was mad. And there weren’t too many Christian-like thoughts coming to mind right now.

“Baby, you’ve got to snap out of it,” Darvin said as sweetly as he could. “Don’t let the devil steal your joy.”

What did he just say? Was he being the husband or the Pastor right now?

If he was being the husband, then that was the wrong thing to say, and if he was being the Pastor, then he’d better find someone else to give a word to, because I didn’t need it. Not that one anyway. Because the devil was sitting right in the back of our congregation, and she had already stolen my joy.

The rest of the service went by in a blur. I was extremely agitated that the joy I had when I started the day had been replaced by dreary gloom. My stomach was starting to feel upset, and I felt like I was about to hurl every morsel of my breakfast onto Darvin’s tailored suit. He was sitting there looking so good in the charcoal gray suit that he had chosen to complement with a smoky gray shirt, matching tie, and black gators. And if that weren’t enough to make him look as if he’d just stepped out of fashion heaven, the salt-’n-pepper hairs that were peeking out of his goatee were sinful enough to drive any woman to hell if she wasn’t careful.

Admiring my husband and his delightful taste in clothing took my mind off Daphne, but only for a moment. My pleasure was short-lived, because I returned to my previous thought. Why was Daphne back?

My eyes swerved back to the place where Daphne was sitting, but she was no longer there. I blinked, making sure that my contacts hadn’t become dry, thereby giving me the illusion that people were disappearing. What I did see clearly was Darvin taking his place at the wooden podium to deliver his sermon. I turned and saw my two assistants sitting behind me. I saw Mother Hampton dozing off to sleep in the Amen corner, and I saw Deacon Brown following suit, his snores becoming a part of the amens and hallelujahs.

What I didn’t see was the person who had just occupied the last seat on the back row. Beads of sweat began to rise on my face like condensation on the outside of a cold glass of water. I tried to think positive and not believe that something bad was about to happen as Darvin began his sermon on faith.

“Church, we’ve got to believe that no matter what we go through, no matter what situations we face, God is right there,” he said.

Hmph. Where was God when that psycho Daphne was trying to kill me?

Bad memories flooded my mind. Among the many things she’d done to sabotage my life—running my car off of the road and poisoning my food—convincing a locksmith to change all of my locks, leaving me to stand outside in below freezing weather at ten o’ clock at night trying to get into my own house, was just low-down and dirty.

God, I know you’re always there, but I have to wonder sometimes if you’re always looking.

Darvin was deep into his message before I started to listen again.

“When you can’t do anything else, put your trust in God! Believe that He will make a way out of no way! Believe that He will turn your darkness into day!” Darvin proclaimed. “Why do I want you to believe today, saints? Because if you believe in God’s Word, I’m a witness that it can and will change your very life!”

Darvin spoke with power. He inspired and had people standing on their feet, shouting praises to God. Mother Hampton, who had been asleep just minutes earlier, was now tearing down the “amen corner,” stomping her size 13 shoe, and hoisting all of her 325-pound, six foot three frame up and down. The ushers took their positions behind her as if they were about to go to battle. Getting Mother Hampton under control was no easy task, and it took an army every Sunday to finally calm her down. By the end of her weekly show, her hat always ended up sitting on top of one of the deacon’s heads. It was all that I could do not to burst out into laughter, because if no one else thought that Darvin’s sermons were rousing, he could always count on Mother Hampton for a little extra affirmation.

Darvin had brought his message to a close and was now, through outstretched arms, extending the offer for anyone who was not saved to come down to the altar. Just as every week, ministers dressed in black suits joined him. They began to walk down the aisles with their arms open wide, as we all stood to our feet and began to pray that someone would give their life to Jesus.

I closed my eyes and remembered the day that I’d made that decision to receive salvation. This element of the service was the most important, because it was always a possibility that someone in the midst was between life and death.

I heard a thunderous applause erupt, symbolizing someone had chosen to take the walk down to the altar. But just as abruptly, it came to a halt. I opened my eyes to see Daphne waltzing to the front of the church. And if looks could have killed, she would have died right before she took the last step that had her facing my husband.

I looked at Darvin because I knew that the sweat on his face had made an appearance for two reasons. One: he was tired from the sermon. Two: he knew that if Daphne couldn’t contain herself with the little bit of sense that she had, his pregnant wife would be making the front page of the
Atlanta Journal- Constitution
before the sun could greet the morning.

“Ms. Carlton, is there something that you would like to say to the church this morning?” Darvin asked.

Darvin reluctantly put the microphone closer to her mouth so that everyone could hear her speak. Everybody at Mount Zion knew how this woman had tried to destroy our lives, and from the looks on their faces, they were wondering why Darvin was even taking a chance on allowing her the opportunity to cause further destruction.

“Yes, Pastor,” she said. “I want to first thank the Lord for my being here today, and I want to thank you for giving me this opportunity to say a few words.” She looked pointedly at Darvin. “I came up here, Pastor, to ask you and First Lady Johnson for forgiveness. I never would have expected things to get out of hand, but somehow they did. So, on behalf of me and my family, we want to formally ask your forgiveness and the forgiveness of this great church.”

Darvin’s eyes had reduced to mere slits. He was probably thinking the same thing that I was, which meant she would definitely not get away with this little charade. The nerve of that little heifer! She was good. She thought that she could play the Lord-have-mercy-on-me card, and that everyone would come rushing to her side, praying for her—declaring destiny over her life, casting out all the demons of her past so that she could walk in the newness of life. Well, she was sadly mistaken, because nobody was about to do no praying up in here if I had anything to do with it. And I was fully aware of the nonsense I was thinking, because the church is where you should come to get healing; but she wouldn’t find it today, not at Mount Zion Baptist Church. Not at the church where my husband was the pastor. Not at the church where the first lady would tolerate no hussy like Daphne Carlton continuing with this insane woe-is-me act.

I’m glad that Darvin found the words to finally speak before I did.

“Sister Daphne, we—”

She interrupted, but not before I noticed the look of confusion on her face. “Pastor, I’m sorry to interrupt.” She hesitantly glanced around the church as if to search for the remainder of her words. “But I’m not Daphne. Daphne is in the care of my mother back home in Florida.” She paused before she continued. “I’m Dawn. Dawn Carlton. Daphne’s twin sister.”

That was the last thing I heard before everything faded to black.

Chapter Three

Michelle

It must have taken all but three minutes for them to get me out of the main sanctuary and into the office where I was now resting on our plush leather couch. I could hear the uneasy chatter of the parishioners outside of the door as I was trying to will myself to open my eyes. I couldn’t shake the soft voice that kept reverberating in my mind.

When it finally registered that the soft voice I kept hearing in my mind belonged to Daphne . . . Dawn . . . or whoever she was, my eyes flung open, and I sat up as if I were being raised from the dead.

My head began to throb, and I quickly lay back down. Chanice and Twylah were at my side almost in an instant.

“First Lady, are you all right?” Chanice asked, her voiced laced with concern.

“Yes,” I mumbled. The truth was I was not all right. I was a perfect mixture of confusion and disgust. Just as it seemed that my life was starting to take a turn for the better, my worst nightmare seemed to be metamorphosing into a reality.

“Do you need us to get you anything?” Twylah asked with questioning eyes.

“No. Where is Pastor?” I asked. I needed to see my husband because I was sure that he could make me feel better. His positive spirit about everything was contagious.

Twylah and Chanice exchanged glances. “Um . . .” Chanice began, but didn’t finish.

The expression on their faces told me that they were having one of those moments, trying to determine whether they should tell me something.

I was all too familiar with that look. Since I had become pregnant, everyone’s concern around Mount Zion was making sure that I was not stressed or upset by anything.

Twylah, who knew me best, spoke first. “First Lady, Pastor asked us to let you know that he will be in here shortly.”

I rolled my eyes far into the heavens before landing them back on my two assistants, who were definitely avoiding something.

“Twylah, where exactly is Pastor?” And before she could answer, I continued. “And what exactly is he doing?” My tone was direct, and even if Chanice hadn’t learned yet, Twylah knew that it was in the best interests of them both to tell me before I switched out of my “first lady mode.”

Twylah cast her eyes to the floor before meeting my own. “He’s in his office talking to Dawn Carlton.”

I wanted to scream until I raised everyone out of the graveyard that flanked a portion of Mount Zion’s property. I could not believe that he would so much as entertain anything that woman had to say. I swung my legs over the side of the couch and began to scan the room for my shoes that had obviously been removed when they settled me down.

“First Lady, are you looking for something?” Chanice cautiously asked.

“Yes. I’m looking for my shoes.”

Chanice looked at Twylah as if I had spoken French. Her timidity sometimes aggravated me, and this was one of those times. “Chanice,” I tried to say as calmly as I could, “where are my shoes?”

Instead of answering with her mouth, she answered in one motion as she moved to the other side of the room. Instead of grabbing the shoes that I’d worn to church, she chose a pair of slippers that I kept at church in the event that the cost of beauty became too expensive, resulting in my swollen ankles.

She placed the slippers on, and no sooner than she could slide them on, I was standing. I smoothed the invisible wrinkles out of my blue jean skirt, and tried to shake away the pain that was piercing my head. I had no time to worry about my physical inabilities; I needed to get to my husband’s office.

I needed to have a few choice words with this Dawn Carlton person, and I needed to do it now. The headache would have to wait.

I moved toward the door, and I could discern that both Twylah and Chanice wanted to interject, but for the sake of avoiding a reprimand, they thought better of it and let me peaceably and without objection walk out of the door.

In the hallway, Elder Tyrone looked as if he’d seen a ghost when he saw me. Before he had the opportunity to tell me about his worries of me walking around instead of resting comfortably in the lounge, I waved my hand in a way that suggested his silence for the moment. I would hear his concerns later. As of right now, my destination was clear: the pastor’s study.

As I passed my own office en route to my husband’s, several church members offered everything from prayer to homemade soup, to help me cope with what was obviously a situation no one could define. After brief moments with one or two of them, I steadied myself as I prepared to mentally confront the sister of the woman who’d tried to ruin my life. I could only pray that God would have mercy on her, because mine had run out completely. While I knew that she didn’t have anything directly to do with Daphne’s behavior, I had a feeling that she was going to be instrumental in continuing the saga.

I could hear my husband’s voice before I opened the door.

“So, let me get this straight,” I heard him say. “You’re Daphne Carlton’s twin sister and your sole purpose for being here today is to reconcile with me and my wife on behalf of your family.” After a brief pause, he continued. “Because, Dawn, I’m having a hard time believing that. You could have easily extended your apologies via phone or e-mail. You didn’t have to come here in person. I take it that you know the trauma that your sister caused not only my wife and me, but my church, and it’s interesting to me that your step toward reconciliation would be to show up in person. Please, help me understand because right now, I don’t.”