Pastor Needs a Boo (30 page)

“This is a cool project even if Denzelle has to do the fox-trot,” Marsha told them. “Plus, we have raised a lot of money and sold a lot of tickets.”

“It is a good project,” Keisha conceded. “But I won't lie. I can't wait to see how you are going to pull off doing the fox-trot of all things to ‘Life of the Party.'”

“Well, whatever you plan on pulling off, Marsha,” Veronica added, “you need to get over here before five p.m. Everybody has gone through their numbers but you and the pastor. Denzelle has been here at church warming up, trying to remember all of the steps to the dance, and trying to look all cool while he is messing up.”

Marsha laughed. She didn't know if she wanted to know what Denzelle looked like over at the church trying to do a “Who's Your Daddy?” version of the church version of
Dancing with the Stars.
She said, “I'm on my way.”

“Hurry and get here as fast as you can,” Keisha said. “Because now, Pastor is acting like he is going to try and weave in a sermon with you all's dance number. That is not going to go over well at all.”

“I better hurry,” Marsha said, and sprayed herself with Coco Chanel before she left the house.

 

Chapter Twenty-one

Denzelle was in the church's gym admiring its transformation from the place where good basketball games were played into a dazzling showpiece for the dance competition. Keisha Jackson, with the help of Bay Bowser, contracted with Yvonne Fountain Parker and her team of design students to decorate the gym. They outdid themselves with this project.

Denzelle always thought Keisha and Bay made for a good team. He also thought they needed to get together. He and Charles Robinson both agreed Keisha was the perfect woman for Bay. Only thing, neither knew how to tell the brother that. So Denzelle put it in prayer, laid it on the altar, and left it with the Lord. He figured God made Keisha and Bay. And God knew exactly what was needed to get those two together.

He looked up and smiled—crimson and cream balloons covered the entire ceiling. Keisha and Bay promised to replenish the room with a batch of fresh balloons the day of the event. They thought filling the ceiling with balloons now would help build up anticipation for the competition. They were right, too. Folk would come in the gym, see the decorations, look up at the balloons, and go and buy some more tickets. At the rate they were going, this was going to be a sellout crowd.

This event had been widely publicized, thanks to Veronica Washington, who worked tirelessly to secure corporate donations, get a whole bunch of church folk to buy those ten-dollar tickets, and encourage the different auxiliary ministries in the church to provide in-kind service to make this event a big success. Thanks to those ministries, they had saved a lot of money on catering, supplies, and food. This promised to be a great kickoff for Denzelle's campaign for bishop, and not to mention a whole lot of fun.

Now, if only the architect of this thing would show up, so they could learn this dance. Fox-trot to Charlie Wilson's “Life of the Party.” Whoever heard of doing the fox-trot to a hot number like that? Denzelle liked the song. He just wasn't sold on the notion that it would work for that dance.

One of the side doors opened. Denzelle smiled, and then tried to hurry and look preacherly, and like he was solely about the business of the Lord when Keisha Jackson and Dayeesha Mitchell walked in. They knew he thought they were Marsha, and was clearly disappointed when he saw them.

“We're here to observe how Marsha is going to do that dance to that song,” Dayeesha said, and then went and took a seat. She pulled out a bag of red Twizzlers and started chewing on them like she was at the movie theater.

As much as Denzelle didn't want to do the fox-trot to a Charlie Wilson song, he was looking forward to learning this dance with Marsha Metcalf. Having a legitimate excuse to hold her in his arms would make dancing in front of his members a worthwhile endeavor. Marsha in his arms—that was about the best thing he'd thought about all evening.

“What are you smiling about, Pastor?” Dayeesha asked, chewing on a Twizzler. Keisha held her hand out for one and started laughing. It was pretty clear Pastor was thinking about
something
with that kind of look on his face.

“Uhhh,” Denzelle began in the voice he used when meeting with his Trustees or Stewards. “Just so pleased about the way things are going. The event is in a few days, and I'm blown away at how it has all come together.”

“Well, if you ask me,” Veronica said, “you have the same look on your face brothers have when folk start talking about Janet Jackson or Beyoncé or somebody like Angela Bassett.”

“What look?” Denzelle asked in his preacher voice.

“The look that was plastered across your face before Dayeesha called you out,” Veronica told him, laughing.

“I see you have jokes, Ms. Veronica.”

Marsha walked in carrying the shoes she'd dance in during the competition. They were some black velvet, Mary Jane–styled shoes with a decent heel and rhinestones all over them.

“Oooo, love those shoes, Marsha,” Keisha said. “Where did you get them?”

“Miss Thang's Holy Ghost Corner and Church Woman's Boutique,” Denzelle said while stretching out his calves.

All of the ladies turned to look at their pastor.

“What? Y'all think the only folk shopping at that store are women? I have a mom. I have cousins. And…”

“You used to have a bunch of women who were high maintenance and expected gifts from Ms. Theresa's store,” Dayeesha said. She could only imagine the tab their pastor used to run up trying to keep his women happy and in check.

Marsha didn't know what to say on that matter. Dayeesha was probably right. But it was weird hearing it put out there like that. She'd never thought about how much money Denzelle had to spend back when he was waving the playah's card all over the place.

She sat down and started putting on her shoes. They were sharp and very comfortable. Theresa had called in a shoemaker to design these shoes for her. Denzelle stood off to the side admiring how good those shoes looked on what he surmised were size six feet. His eyes wandered from the sexy shoes up to Marsha's calves. A part of him wished she needed someone with strong and firm hands to knead out the kinks in one of those calves.

Denzelle noticed both Dayeesha and Keisha watching him intently. Those two were too busy and inquisitive for their own good. He was going to have to tell Metro that he was falling on the job with Dayeesha. She had what he always described to his boy Charles Robinson as “too much freed-up mental space.” It was dangerous for a brother when a woman had that kind of thinking time on her hands.

As far as Denzelle was concerned, women loved to sit around and think about and figure things out anyway. And when one had that kind of luxury to mull over her thoughts extensively? Watch out—especially if she was smart, observant, and had the gift of discernment like Dayeesha. If Metro put
something
on Dayeesha's mind, she'd be sitting around thinking about
that
instead of trying to figure out if he wanted to go with Marsha Metcalf.

“Again,” Denzelle said to Marsha, “why are we dancing the fox-trot, of all things, to Charlie Wilson's ‘Life of the Party'?”

“Denzelle is right,” Veronica said. “Why the fox-trot and ‘Life of the Party'?”

They were getting on Marsha's nerves about the dance and song selection. She knew what she was doing. The fox-trot was a great dance if you did it right. Most folk had only seen watered-down versions of the dance, performed by mediocre dancers, with mediocre songs. When she got through teaching Denzelle Flowers their routine, he would need a great big bowl of crow to munch on.

She didn't even deign to give any of them a response. As much as she loved them, they could really get on her nerves. Marsha knew she could be goofy and off-beat at times. But they always acted like they were so hip and cool—especially Dayeesha and Keisha. Those two acted like they taught a graduate-level course called “Swag” up at the college.

Marsha nodded toward the DJ box and Marcus put the song on, anxious to witness what he was hoping and praying would not be a hot mess. Marcus loved his mother. But sometimes she could take the dance to the beat of a different drummer position too far. Who ever heard of doing the fox-trot off of Charlie Wilson's “Life of the Party”? Next thing you know, his mother would be teaching folk how to do the waltz off of Trina's “Long Heels Red Bottom.”

Marcus started cracking up at just the thought of his mother's reaction to that song at this dance event. He played it for a second, just to get a rise out of his mom. As soon as the first beats thumped out, Denzelle looked up at Marcus and said, “Come on, Son. You can't rock some Trina at church. What you trying to do? Get us all jolted-up with some lightning?”

Dayeesha was rolling with laughter. She said, “Keisha. Girl, who knew Rev was up on some Trina? Girl, Trina?”

“I know,” Keisha answered. “Who Rev been playing that song for? You know if a brother is listening to some Trina, his mind ain't nowhere near thinking about some church.”

“I heard that,” Dayeesha said, still laughing. Their pastor was a trip. Dayeesha couldn't even imagine what Reverend Flowers was like back in the day. She figured that he and Mr. Charles Robinson ran some serious game on women when they were in college. And they were Kappas, and smooth, and fine? They probably had notches all over those Krimson and Kream Kanes.

“Marcus, put on Charlie Wilson,” Marsha said in her mom voice.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“What's wrong, Marsha?” Denzelle asked, with a soft laugh. “You don't wanna do this dance off of some Trina?”

“Trina?” Marsha said. “That's who made the ‘Black Pumps, Red Soles' song?”

“Lawd. Lawd. Lawd,” Keisha mumbled out loud, shaking her head. She said, “Pastor, would you tell your member the real name of the song?”

“‘Long Heels Red Bottom.'”

“Huh?” Marsha said, looking at all of them like they were the ones who were off base.

“‘Long Heels Red Bottom' is the name of the song by Trina. Not, ‘Black Pumps, Red Soles,'” Denzelle told her.

“You know the real name of this song? You like this song?”

“Yeah, and yeah,” he said and looked over at Marcus, as if to say, That is
your
mama.

Marcus just shook his head and did what his mother asked—put on the Charlie Wilson CD. When the first notes on the keyboard rang out loud and clear, Marsha started to move to the beat. It had never occurred to Denzelle that Marsha could really dance. He liked the way her entire body caught and held on to the beat. It was like the notes were wrapping themselves around her hips and shoulders.

“Gone, Shawty,” he said, with a wink. “I didn't know you had it like that, Girl.”

Dayeesha and Keisha exchanged looks, as if to say,
Shawty
?

Denzelle stood back and watched Marsha work the song, and put together the basic parts of their dance steps. It hadn't occurred to him that she had done the choreography and was going to teach him the steps.

“See, this is how we will start off,” Marsha was saying. “We'll begin in the traditional position for the fox-trot, do the actual dance, separate…”

She did a lovely pirouette, and moved back toward Denzelle.

“Then we'll fox-trot across the floor, using all of the space with movement and energy.”

Marsha bounced across the dance floor so smoothly, they all wanted to just sit back and watch her do the fox-trot with herself. She did the tiny leap and foot movements that so defined this dance like a professional dancer. Her movements were beautiful.

“I never really thought about how nice this dance was,” Veronica said to Dayeesha and Keisha. “It has some real pizzazz to it.”

“I know,” Keisha responded, head bobbing to the song and Marsha's dancing.

“I never knew Marsha could move like that,” Dayeesha said, and sneaked and videotaped it on her phone. There was no way she was going to be able to fully describe this to Metro.

“
Dancing with the Stars
ain't got nothing on Miss Thing over there,” Keisha said, amused at how captivated the pastor was with Marsha and her fox-trot.

“So, is that it?” Denzelle asked Marsha with more cool and confidence than he felt.

Marsha made every step performed appear effortless. And why did she have to look so doggone cute doing it? He had been so mesmerized by those dancing shoes, he had not taken in her dance outfit. No one but Marsha Metcalf would have been able to glide across the dance floor in some skinny jeans and a white, graphic T-shirt with glittery black stars all over it.

“Uhh … yeah,” Marsha told Denzelle. “I think that's enough. Don't you?”

“It's sufficient,” Denzelle said, knowing he was fronting big time. Because all he could think was, “How in the world am I going to learn those steps and then do the dance without looking like Masta P when he was on the real
Dancing with the Stars
?”

“Pastor looks like he is getting cold feet,” Dayeesha said.

“That's because,” Veronica began with a heavy sigh, “old boy is acting like he is in control, and he's not.”

“Including his feelings for Marsha,” Keisha asked.

“That, and discovering how good a dancer she is,” Veronica said.

“Denzelle thought Marsha was going to do a relatively competent—‘I just learned how to do this dance correctly'—version of what she just performed. He didn't know she was going to work it like that. Denzelle is out of his league with Marsha right now, and he ain't happy. Last thing on his mind was a Marsha holding a version of some cool points he is incapable of earning.”

“Can Pastor even dance?” Dayeesha asked them