I Say a Little Prayer (10 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I
t
had been a week since I looked at Damien’s Web site. Now I was pulling up behind a candy-apple-red BMW 500 series with a bumper sticker that read, “I’m Gay and I Vote,” and I wondered what had I gotten myself into. Vincent had called and asked me to attend a meeting he and some other church members were having to discuss the upcoming revival with Damien. It couldn’t hurt to attend. I pulled out the piece of paper with the address of the choir member who was hosting the meeting and realized that it was a couple of doors down from where I had parked my car.

It was the first time I had been in Stone Mountain in about two years. I’d told my mother and father that I was going to a dinner party, and they told me that when I was a little boy I had participated in a march against the Klan in Stone Mountain with members of my church. I didn’t remember, since I was only four years old at the time, but I thought it was ironic that I would find myself in Stone Mountain again fighting against another form of discrimination: straight churchgoers versus gay ones.

I reached the rose colored front door of a traditional brown-and-white brick town house and rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, a portly black man with a bald head answered the door with a plastic cup in his hand and a bright smile covering his face.

“Oh, it’s the singing star. Baby, you turned it out when you sang a couple of Sundays ago. My name is Bruce Maxwell. Come on in,” he said as he extended his ringed hand. “Come on in.”

“Chauncey Greer,” I said as I shook Bruce’s hand and followed him into a marble foyer.

“Come on into the kitchen and get something to drink. I think Vincent is in there,” Bruce said.

We walked through the living room, tastefully decorated in black and white, with two matching black leather love seats and a few white ottomans scattered about. There was a high vaulted ceiling that gave the room extra light.
I bet Bruce gives some awesome parties in this house
, I thought as I followed him into a large kitchen with beautiful maple floors and matching cabinets. There was a long island in the middle of the room. There were about fifteen people drinking and eating as I glanced around the room searching for Vincent.

I was happy that the crowd looked evenly divided between men and women, and equally pleased that I couldn’t tell anyone’s sexual orientation by just looking at them. I recognized a few of the faces from church, but most of them were not familiar.

I spotted Vincent placing some chicken wings on a paper plate, and our eyes met before I reached him.

He put the plate down, moved toward me, and we engaged in a brief but awkward hug. He whispered in my ear, “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem,” I said.

“Come on, get something to eat. We’re going to be starting in a few minutes, because it looks like everyone is here,” Vincent said.

I got a few wings, some vegetables and dip, and then moved toward the large great room, where folding chairs were set up. I took a seat in the back row but suddenly wanted something to drink, so I returned to the kitchen and got a bottle of water from an open ice cooler.

When I walked back into the room, a couple of young ladies had taken seats in the back row as well.

“Are you ladies trying to take my row?” I said as I sat back down.

“Yeah, we figured if we sat back here we wouldn’t get called on. You know, like in school,” one of the girls, a beautiful young lady with a short haircut, said. “My name is Lisa, and this is my girlfriend, Paula.”

“Chauncey Greer. Nice meeting you, Lisa and Paula,” I said. I wondered if she meant sistergirl girlfriend or sleeps-in-my-bed girlfriend, but I would find out soon enough.

“You’re the guy who sang at church. You were amazing. I didn’t know you were family,” Paula said.

“Thank you,” I said, noting that Paula had used the insider word “family” that referred to the community of gay folks.

A few minutes later, Bruce stood in front of the room and thanked everyone for coming. Then he turned the floor over to Vincent.

“Why don’t we give Brother Bruce here a round of applause for allowing us to use his house, and for whipping up some vittles,” Vincent said as he started clapping. Bruce stood up, bowed, sat back down, and then stood back up and said, “There’s plenty of food in the kitchen, so please eat as much as you want and take some home if you want. I’m watching my weight, so I am eating like a supermodel.” Bruce laughed.

“Plus size or Tyra Banks?” Vincent joked.

“You know me and Tyra are like this,” Bruce said as he crossed his fingers.

Vincent laughed before his face took on a serious expression.

“Again, thanks for coming,” he began. “What we want to do is to come up with a plan that will let Pastor Kenneth know he can’t let this Bishop Upchurch and his crew come down here and take over our church. I, for one, am tired of switching churches to avoid the hateful rhetoric from the prosperity pimps who think they are spreading the word of God. I am here to tell you they don’t represent my God,” Vincent said. “We can’t let these people take another church from us.”

“Amen, Brother Vincent,” a few voices said in unison.

“So this is what I propose. Before the good bishop arrives from Denver, we let Pastor Kenneth know how important we are to his congregation. I think that we should have a Sunday of Absence when all of us who are gay, bi, transgender, and our supporters skip the church services when Bishop Upchurch and his cohorts come. Brother Bruce has once again offered his home, and we can have a service here. Let’s see who’s left at Abundant Joy to direct the choir, greet the guests, and, more importantly, fill up the tithing plate,” Vincent said.

Someone close by moved, and I looked over and saw Paula standing up.

“May I make a suggestion?” she asked.

“Sure, but why don’t you tell us your name, sister?” Vincent said.

“My name is Paula Minter. What I think might be more effective is if we pack the church in big numbers a few Sundays before Bishop “Upchuck” brings his traveling show to Atlanta. Each of us should put it upon ourselves to bring five friends to church and to make sure they put a little something in the offering plate,” Paula said. “And while this is a beautiful home, I think we should consider renting a hotel space and including people from other churches.”

“That’s an excellent suggestion,” Vincent said.

It was a good idea, but I didn’t know where I was going to find five people to bring unless I asked Ms. Gladys, Skylar, and Celia to loan me a couple of their friends.

“May I say something?” I heard another female voice ask. I looked up and saw a short, middle-aged woman with beautiful gray hair standing up near the front of the room.

“Sure, Sister Esther,” Vincent said.

She turned and faced the room, holding a dainty handkerchief. Sister Esther’s face painted a picture of anguish, and I was certain that she was getting ready to tell us that our plans were wrong.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Sister Esther said, her voice breaking.

“Take your time, darling,” Vincent said as he moved closer to her and placed his arm around her shoulders.

“I’ll be all right. I just don’t know what I would do without Vincent. Not only can he play the piano and organ, but he has been a good friend to me and my family. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Esther Mae Smith and I have been attending Abundant Joy for almost three years. I love the church and what Pastor Kenneth and Sista Vivian are doing. But something is bothering me. Vincent said that we can’t let them take another church from us, and I want you to know that it’s not just gay folk who feel that way,” Esther said.

She paused for a moment, took her handkerchief, and dabbed the corners of her eyes. Then she placed the cloth over her mouth for a moment, paused, removed the handkerchief, and began speaking again.

“Me and my late husband, Herman, were founding members of Mount Olive Baptist Church out in Decatur, and we were proud members for over twenty-five years. Herman and me were married there, and my two children were baptized there. Our church was no bigger than a couple of large walk-in closets, but I felt the presence of the good Lord every time I stepped foot inside the sanctuary. Well, many of you know Mount Olive is a lot bigger than any closet these days. Ever since our founding pastor, Ralph Sinclair, retired and turned the church over to his son, Ralph Sinclair the Third, the church has been expanding. You know, his services are now telecast on television not once, but twice a week, and they have outgrown their second sanctuary. They even have a school and credit union now. I ain’t got no problem with the church expanding, especially when it’s helping our people. But I left Mount Olive at least two years too late. I should have been out of there the moment that young man told me…” Sister Esther stopped talking, and this time she could not get the handkerchief up to her eyes to prevent the tears from flowing freely down her face.

“Take your time, Mrs. Esther,” Bruce said.

“Yes, Mama, take your time,” Vincent added. The room was suddenly silent. I glanced at Paula, who was holding Lisa’s hand and gently stroking her hair.

“I just don’t know if I can finish the story. Vincent, you know it. Please tell these young people what that church did to me,” Esther said.

“Are you sure? We can wait,” Vincent said.

“No, you go on, baby. I’m going to sit down, but before I do, I want to tell you young people that I am with you whatever you decide. But I also think we all need to go home tonight, get on our knees, and ask the Good Lord for direction,” she said through her tears before she sat down.

Vincent looked eager to finish her story.

“The church wouldn’t let this wonderful woman have the funeral for her son, my best friend, Bennie, in the church he had been raised in. It was a scandal and an embarrassment, and that’s why we can’t let this happen at Abundant Joy,” Vincent said.

Vincent went on to tell the crowd the situation. The minister had told Sister Esther that if she dared to bring her son’s coffin there, he promised to stand at the door and block her entrance.

Vincent had to pause before he told the rest of the story. “That man actually told Sister Esther that he didn’t want Bennie’s kind in his church—dead or alive.”

As Vincent continued, I could hear not only Sister Esther crying, but several others as well. He ended the story by sharing that Sister Esther had stayed at the church some two years after Bennie’s death, but left the day after she buried her husband, Herman.

I found myself wondering why Sister Esther stayed at the church so long. But no matter what her reason, I had to do something. It was time to take a stand and not allow what had happened to Sister Esther and her son to ever happen anywhere again.

When I got back home, I went to my office computer, and looked again at Damien’s site. I noticed a white pad where I had scribbled down a Denver phone number I’d found for a Damien Upchurch. I didn’t know yet if it was Damien’s number, but I decided I would give it a try and determine if he really had changed that much since our youth.

I jotted down numbers for Restore Ministries and his campaign headquarters. There was a place where you could send an e-mail to Damien, but I decided not to. I was certain he had a personal assistant or someone answering them.

I picked up the phone and dialed the number. After a few rings, an answering machine picked up. “Praise God from whom all blessings flow. This is Bishop Upchurch, and right now I am away from my office, out in the community doing God’s work. Please leave a name and a number, even if you think I have it. Please know God wants you to have a blessed day, and so do I.”

The voice sounded the same, and there was no doubt that it was Damien. My heart fluttered at a rapid rate, and I felt like a young boy making his first phone call to someone he intended to make his beloved. But instead of leaving a message, I simply hung up and let out a long sigh of disappointment.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I
t
was Friday, and I was looking forward to the weekend. I walked out of my office and saw Ms. Gladys taking off her heels and putting on her tennis shoes, a ritual that meant she was heading home.

“You got big plans this weekend?” I asked.

“Naw, baby. Just church and my club meeting on Saturday,” she said.

“Is Celia still here?”

“Yeah, she in there with that girl,” Ms. Gladys said, her face twisted with disgust.

“What girl?”

“You know, the one who looks like she trying to be in one of them BET videos,” Ms. Gladys whispered. “Girl wear her skirts so short you can see the color of her underpants.”

“Oh, Lontray,” I said. Lontray, who, Celia had explained, was named after a combination of her father, Lonnie, and her mother, Tracy, was one of Celia’s ghetto friends she had not been able to shake from her high school days. Celia referred to her as “hood rich” Lontray. When I asked her what that meant, Celia responded, “You know, when your car note is five times your rent.”

“I guess they getting ready to go out to the club. Miss Celia just changed from that nice blouse she had on and put on a top that look like a Christmas tree decoration.”

“So you think it’s safe for me to go in there?” I laughed.

“Wear some sunglasses, baby. They are sparkling in there. I’m gone,” Ms. Gladys said as she pulled her purse from under the desk and headed toward the door.

“Have a good weekend, Ms. Gladys. See you Monday.”

“You too, baby,” she said. “Be careful in there with those girls.”

As I got closer to Celia’s door, I heard laughter mixed with loud music. I guess the party had started early. I tapped on the door and opened it at the same time. The first thing I saw was Lontray swinging her arms above her head, dancing with a low-cut top, short skirt, and body glitter accenting her cleavage. They didn’t notice me, since Celia was adjusting her makeup while facing the window.

“That’s my cut, girl. TI is crunk.”

“He is aight, but Fiddy still my man,” Celia said. “Vivica Fox is crazy for letting that go.”

“Hey, Celia, are you up for church on Sunday?” I asked.

She turned around with her lipstick still in her hand. “Let me get back to you on that. You remember my friend Lontray.”

She smiled at me.

“Yes, I do. Hello, Lontray.”

“Hey, Mr. Chauncey with your phine self.” Her grin covered her entire face. “How come you didn’t ask me to go to church with you?” she asked, still moving her head as her blond-streaked weave ponytail bounced to the beat of the rap music that played from Celia’s computer.

I started to tell her that she didn’t strike me as the churchgoing type, but I said, “Do you want to go?”

“Is it going to be like a date? And are you paying?” she said with a roll of her neck. “Church expensive now ’days. Not to mention I’d have to get my hair and nails done.”

I had to hold back my laughter. “Now, Lontray, you know I’m old enough to be your daddy,” I said. This was not the first time she’d flirted openly with me.

“That’s fine, ’cause I’m always looking for a daddy. A sugar daddy, that is. Hey, do you know any good lawyers? I’m trying to get my baby’s daddy, Marcel, to give me more child support. He working two jobs now, but he still behind with his support payments,” she complained.

“You know Chauncey don’t know nothing about no child-support lawyers,” Celia said, turning back to her reflection in the window.

“Why couldn’t I meet someone like you?” Lontray asked as she moved closer to me. When her drugstore perfume reached my nose, I stepped toward the door.

“Must be looking in the wrong places,” I said.

“Why don’t you come to the club with us?” Lontray said.

“Yeah, come on, Chauncey,” Celia encouraged. “You might meet somebody nice.”

“Meet somebody nice? I got what he needs right here,” Lontray said, her grin becoming even wider than I thought possible.

I ignored her and said to Celia, “I’m going to pass. Call me if you want me to pick you up for church.”

“I will,” Celia said.

“That bopper’s ass ain’t going to church. She gone be at the club or pushing up on that tired-ass Marvin,” Lontray said.

“Bitch, didn’t I tell your ghetto ass we don’t cuss in the office,” Celia said. “Yeah, Chauncey, I’ll go to church with you, and I’m going to bring Ms. Need Some Jesus with me,” she added, as she looked at Lontray and rolled her eyes.

I shook my head and smiled as I left the office.