Reverend Feelgood (3 page)

Nettie Thicke Johnson had already been praying for hours when the phone rang.
I need to get that.
She rose from her kneeled position at a chair in the living room and headed for the cordless phone in the kitchen. The phone had rung several times during her conversation with God, but since this was the first time she’d thought to interrupt their dialogue, the others had obviously not warranted her immediate attention.

Most speculated that the prophetic anointing that was on Nate’s life came from the prestigious line of ministers on his father’s side. That was only one of several mistakes one made where Nate’s attributes were concerned. Nettie, his mother, was the one in the family with “the eye,” the ability to prophesy so accurately that she could not only tell you the color of underwear you wore at the moment, but the pair you’d choose a week from now. Her son’s brilliance was also courtesy of his mother, as was the compassionate heart that often got his lower extremities into so much trouble. Nettie knew her son well and had finally concluded:
Two out of three ain’t bad.

“Hello?”

“Nettie? Maxine Brook.”

“Lord have mercy, Mama Max!” Nettie’s mood immediately brightened at the sound of her voice. Maxine Brook had four children of her own, but she mothered almost everyone she met. Everyone loved her for it, and everyone affectionately called her Mama Max. “As I live and breathe, sistah, the Lord put you on my heart just yesterday. Told me you’d be calling.”

“Well, chile, your hearing is good because the Lord sho put you on my heart a couple days ago. The Reverend Doctor has been ailing a bit, but I knew I’d call first chance I got. He’s resting now, praise be to the Almighty, so here I is. How you doing, Nettie Jean?”

“Oh, tolerable. I can’t complain.”

“Gordon?”

“He’s fine, too.” Gordon Johnson was Nettie’s quiet, hardworking husband of the past nine years.

“And the ministry?”

Nettie’s sigh was barely audible. “God is good.”

“God may be good but that quality don’t always extend to church folk. Talk to me.”

“Oh, Mama Max…you’ve been on this road long enough to know what the scenery looks like. It ain’t changed since you and Mama first became friends.”

Nettie’s mother, Amanda, met Mama Max when both were minister’s wives surviving harsh winters and even harsher congregations in the Texas countryside. Ten years her senior, Amanda became Mama Max’s confidante, and Mama Max had known Nettie since she was a child. When Amanda went to be with the Lord more than a decade ago, after battling cancer, Mama Max stepped in and did her best to fill the shoes that no one else’s feet could ever truly fill. She’d done a pretty good job of mothering though, supporting Nettie through crises and controversies, always there with a dose of “Mama Maxisms” and a listening ear.

“Naw, chile, you’re right about that,” Mama Max replied. “The felines might change from a pedigreed Persian to an alley cat but at the end of the day…it still comes down to pussy.”

“Mama Max, you get on away from here with that kind of language!”

“Chile, don’t act like I shocked you. You’ve been knowing me too long to think I’d change. So am I right?”

“About what?”

“About the problem revolving around puss ’n boots. Some woman’s pussy and some pastor’s boots?” Mama Max whooped at her own Maxism. “Nettie Jean, you’re fifty-four, got three kids, and been in church your whole life. The truth ain’t always pretty but it’s usually pertinent. And you
know
I’m telling the truth.”

Nettie laughed. “Well, there is a little something going on.”

Mama Max crossed her legs and waited, took a sip of black coffee and looked out her picture window at the snow-covered lawns of a Kansas winter.

“It’s Nathaniel. He’s getting married.”

“To who? When? How long has he known the girl?”

“Whoa, Mama Max, one question at a time. Her name is Destiny. They’re going to have a long engagement, and he’s known her since, well, since she was born.”

“Known her since…Nettie? Are you trying to give me a heart attack so I can join your mama in paradise? You better explain yourself and quick, lest I be on the first thing smokin’ outta Kansas for Texas. Nate may be grown, but he ain’t past a good butt whoopin’.” Even as she spoke, Mama Max picked up a newspaper off the coffee table and swatted the furniture twice—for practice.

“It’s Katherine’s grandbaby, Destiny.”

“Katherine Noble? Lord have mercy, Jesus, and Mary, mother of God, why can’t the Thicke men stay away from those Noble women?”

“Well, I could use your words to provide an answer, Mama, but I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

“Go ahead, girl. Tell the truth and shame the devil. It’s puss ’n boots, baby, the man of God’s ultimate weakness. From David to Sampson, Adam and every Thicke who’s ever approached the throne of grace. You forget I been a preacher’s wife for nigh unto fifty years. Married one and raised another. Now, it’s many a saint who’s been splayed by the split. And those Noble hussies are Satan’s soldiers. You don’t have to tell me, chile. I’ve been there. I know.”

For Mama Max, the Noble name had been a curse word for most of her adult life. The acrimonious origins harkened back to a challenging time in Mama Max’s marriage to her husband of almost half a century: the Reverend Doctor Pastor Bishop Overseer Mister Stanley Obadiah Meshach Brook Jr. She could remember the incident as if it had happened yesterday. Where: Dallas, Texas. When: 1963. What: the National Baptist Convention. Who: Katherine’s mother’s sister, Dorothea Noble. Why? Mama Max had finished a long day of conferences and teachings, and had foregone a dinner invitation with her husband in favor of a good night’s sleep. She’d gone back to the hotel right after service and was already snoring when the phone rang.

“Sistah Brook,” an unfamiliar voice had whispered into the receiver. “I don’t mean to be nosy or rude, but I just saw your husband come into the lobby and I don’t think he’s headed to your room.”

“Who’s this?” Mama Max had demanded, suddenly wide awake.

“You can just say I’m my sister’s keeper.” Then the line went dead.

Mama Max jumped out of that bed as if lightning hit and started praying in tongues. “Give me the spirit of discernment, Holy Ghost,” she intoned as she paced back and forth and around the room. After about fifteen minutes a number came to her clear as day: 915. Without hesitation, Mama Max slipped on her caftan, pulled on her slippers, and checked her always perfectly coiffed hair in the mirror before leaving the room and heading for the elevator. When she reached room 915, she knocked on the door. After a moment, a quiet voice asked tentatively, “Who is it?”

“It’s your worst nightmare!” Mama Max had explosively responded. “Wife of Bishop Stanley Obadiah Meshach Brook and mother to his four children: King, Queen, Daniel, and Esther,” Mama Max yelled for the world to hear. “Open up this door, you two-bit hussy. I think you’ve got something that belongs to me!”

“Mama Max? You still there? Hello?”

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Memories just took me down hell’s highway. Now what were you saying?”

“I was asking you to pray for Nathaniel, and this decision he’s made. I think Destiny’s got a good heart, and strange as it seems, I think she’s God’s choice for him, but she’s still a child.”

“How old is she?”

“Almost seventeen.”

“Almost? Lord have mercy, Jesus, son of Mary, brother of James, Savior of nations. That boy of yours is playing with fire. Nate best be sure his sins don’t find him out.”

“I’m praying for mercy,” Nettie responded.

“Well, pray without ceasing,” Maxine replied. “Because the devil is sho ’nuff busy, and if that slew-footed horned scoundrel has his way? Chile, I get the feeling your son’s gon’ wind up needing more than mercy…a lot more!”

Simone Noble allowed herself the luxury of stretching her five-foot-nine, one-hundred-forty-pound frame toward the ceiling. She had been tense for two weeks, ever since her mother’s visit…and the news. Except for the previous weekend when he’d been swamped with meetings and putting out church fires, Nate had been out of town since Katherine told her about his intentions—that he would not only cover her daughter, Destiny, but marry her as well.

Any other mother would have been thrilled at this news. Nathaniel Thicke was a prime catch, by either secular or religious definition. But Simone Chastity Noble was not any other mother. She was the woman who’d left a well-paying job in Dallas, Texas, to move back to Palestine, and along with it, the very real possibility of going from the advertisement firm owner’s employee to his wife. But when Katherine had called and suggested Nate might be looking to settle down, Simone hadn’t thought twice about giving up what she had for what she could have. After all, ad firm owner Leon Bates’s millions were no match for Nate Thicke’s hammer—and potential to make millions. Simone had been blessed with the pounding of that tool on a few occasions, during breaks home from college and once just before she relocated to Dallas. At that time, Simone had never considered a relationship with Nate. Back then, she hadn’t been ready to deal with being part of the then-named Palestine Missionary Baptist Church harem. Thinking it would spur him to change his ways, Simone had told Nate she was leaving, and that when he got ready to settle down, to give her a call. But he hadn’t called her, Katherine had. In the end it hadn’t mattered who called, but that the phone had rung with the message that Nate might be ready to marry. Simone put in a two-week notice and was back in Palestine a month later. That was four years ago, and now that Nate had finally decided to take a wife—Simone wanted to be that woman.

Simone looked around the room. Satisfied that the stage was set for seduction, she glanced in the mirror one final time before walking from her bedroom to the living room. She knew her look was impeccable; at her mother’s urging, she’d spent a lifetime insuring this visage stayed intact. Her outfit was a simple, D&G design: a chocolate-colored pantsuit tailored to Simone’s surprising curves for such a lanky body, paired with a tan-colored knit shell and matching pumps. She’d washed her hair just that morning and knew it was shiny and smelled of lavender, one of Nate’s favorite fragrances. She’d just gotten a manicure and pedicure, and her flesh still tingled from yesterday’s bikini wax. There was not a scar or blemish on Simone’s body, not even a pimple. On the outside, she was the epitome of elegance and control. Inside, she was an emotional wreck.

She’d tried to handle the news about Nate covering Destiny the way Katherine had handled the news about him covering her. But she couldn’t. Katherine had known there was no chance for marrying Nate, while becoming Mrs. Nathaniel Thicke had always been Simone’s dream. Up until two weeks ago, she’d felt a marriage between them was inevitable. Even the vivacious, booty-full Jennifer Stevens hadn’t ruffled Simone’s feathers, despite the fact that she knew Nathan had covered her. Simone never thought she’d have to compete with a sixteen-year-old for her pastor’s affections, much less her own daughter. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Now appeared to be one of those times.

Simone was startled out of her reverie and self-examination by the chimes of the doorbell.
He’s here,
she thought, rising to open the door for her beloved.
I’ve got to find a way to show him the mistake he’s making. Simply telling him won’t be enough.

“Hey, Nate.” Opening the door, Simone hoped her voice sounded casual as she worked the two-syllable greeting around a bundle of nerves. She signaled him to enter, and then sauntered back into the living room. She took up an offensive position in the hallway between the combination living/dining room and kitchen and asked, “Would you care for some tea?”

Nate had a lot on his mind at this moment. He knew Katherine was still reeling from the news he’d shared about his decision to marry Destiny and from the fear that their sexual liaison might be over. He also knew that Simone was pissed about his decision, and he hadn’t yet had time to think about how to approach the woman-child who’d captured his heart. Adding to this pressure was the fact that his self-help book was due to the publisher in thirty days, his church was bursting at the seams with new members signaling the need for a new building, and his five-year anniversary, where the Total Truth Association would officially welcome him and his congregation into their ranks as a member in good standing, was all happening in less than six months. Anyone would agree that there was a lot to care about.

“I’d love some tea, beautiful,” he said to Simone. Not so much because he was thirsty but because the simple act of her making tea would hopefully chill out the tension he’d felt as soon as he’d entered the room, no matter how much Simone had tried to hide it. He figured the best way to deal with the situation was up front. With this in mind, he followed Simone into the kitchen.

“You’re upset with me.”

Simone was glad for this opening to discuss Nate’s decision. Now she didn’t have to worry about how to broach the subject herself. “Upset? That’s putting it quite mildly, Nate. The nonviolent person you’re looking at could probably render you unconscious with her bare hands. But what purpose would that serve besides messing up my nails?”

Nate laughed. Simone had always had that affect on him, the ability to loosen him up. While he believed that her daughter possessed it as well, along with every other characteristic he desired, he admitted that each Noble woman owned a particular uniqueness he enjoyed. With Simone, it was definitely her dry yet vivid sense of humor. For Katherine, it was her ability to nurture him, make him feel powerful and special. Nate had his pick of almost any woman at the Gospel Truth Church, but the Nobles and he shared a special bond. He knew that his father, Daniel, had taken Simone’s cherry, even though Katherine had sworn him to secrecy after finding out Simone hadn’t shared this news. Katherine obviously knew her daughter quite well because Simone had denied it when he finally asked her about it just two years ago. And even though Simone was aware of the Thicke-Noble history, how each Noble woman had been deflowered by a Thicke man, Nathan didn’t think she knew as much as he did. Specific information had been given to him as a rite of passage when he entered the ministry—almost as instruction on his duty to cover not only the Nobles, but other female parishioners of the flock. It is this history that made Nate feel verified, justified, and qualified to introduce Destiny to the ways of womanhood, and to not only cover her, but to get her commitment to become his wife.

“I probably should have told you first about my decision, you being Destiny’s mother and all.”

“Probably, but it wouldn’t change how I feel about it. First of all, Destiny is too young to marry anybody. Secondly, I thought when you walked down the aisle, it would be with me.”
There it is
, Simone thought. The truth was out.

“Marrying Destiny doesn’t have to change the relationship between us,” Nate said softly. “But I’ve heard from God, Simone, and Destiny will be my wife.”

“I heard from God too,” Simone said, not backing down one inch. She turned off the teapot and shook away the sudden image of pouring the boiling water over Nate’s foolhardy head. Instead, the water flowed into two mugs, which she placed on a tray, along with a bowl of honey, a saucer of lemon slices, and a dish of butter cookies. Simone didn’t miss the irony of the homey moment as she picked up the tray and left the kitchen.

Walking into the living room, she continued. “You know I’m the one who is best suited to serve you, Nate. Destiny is beautiful, I’ll grant her that. She’s also intelligent, charming, and refined. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? But I gave up everything to come back here and serve in the ministry because I realized this is where I belong. You are my heart’s desire, Nate, and I’m not too proud to be very clear that it’s you I want. I intend for the words we’ve penned together to come alive in
my
life.”

Nate sighed inwardly as he sat on the couch and watched Simone prepare his tea: two dollops of honey and two lemon slices, just as he’d instructed her years ago. He understood Simone’s disappointment, but he’d actually expected more outrage from Katherine; after all, they’d been together longer. Simone had always been like a best friend as well as a lover. For some unknown reason he’d thought she’d just shrug her shoulders and understand. He’d thought wrong.

Simone scooted closer to Nate and put her hand on his chest. “Nate, my darling, you know I can help ensure your success: materially and spiritually. We’re a great team, you
know
this.”

She smiled, licked her lips subtly, and kissed his cheek. In spite of his resolve to not cover her this day, Nathaniel hardened.

“The book I’ve ghostwritten is going to make you a bestselling author, I can feel it!” With that, Simone left the room, her genuine, dazzling smile still permeating the area after she’d gone.

Nathaniel watched her go with mixed emotions. Simone was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, her daughter notwithstanding. And in many ways, she was right. They were well suited for each other, spiritually, temperamentally, and especially physically. Nathaniel would never deny to anyone that he loved Simone, but he was
in
love with the daughter whom he hadn’t yet kissed.

Nathaniel reared back on the couch and remembered the moment when he knew Destiny was meant to be his bride. It was a few months ago—three to be exact. His reflection was cut short by Simone reentering the room. Her eyes glowed as she walked toward him carrying a small box of papers. “I finished it last night,” she said proudly.

Nate immediately sat up. “This is my book?” he asked.

Simone simply looked at him and nodded.

Nate got up and took the box out of her hands. “I can’t believe you finished it already! When I told you the publisher had moved up the deadline—”

“Then meeting that deadline became my singular goal. I took my vacation time to finish it, stayed home all last week and worked on it every minute. I barely ate or slept,” Simone gushed, remembering both the agony and the ecstasy of seeing Nate’s dream come to life at the tip of her fast-typing fingers. “I’d do anything for you, Nathaniel Eli Thicke…anything.”

Nate walked into the dining room and pulled out a chair. Running his hand over the cover page, he read reverently: “
Give Up Everything and Have It All,
by Nathaniel E. Thicke, Senior Pastor, the Gospel Truth Church, Palestine, Texas. All Rights Reserved.”

He looked up at Simone with a gaze full of appreciation and gratitude. “I couldn’t have done this without you,” he admitted with undisguised pleasure.

“It’s only the beginning of the things we can do together,” Simone answered. “It was as if your very spirit flowed through me as I typed these words. I think I captured both your message and your voice, not only from our discussions and the tapes of your sermons, but from what I know about you. The Spirit fell as I typed, and I saw what God has in store for you. You’re going to be big, Nate. One of the biggest preachers the world has ever known.”

Nate scanned several pages while Simone talked, his heart swelling with gratitude at this accomplishment, his first book. Thanks to Simone, he had no doubt that he would meet his publisher’s deadline. He was sure he’d find little that she’d have to correct. Now, Nate believed he owed Simone for two babies: the one she’d birthed sixteen years ago named Destiny, and the literary one she’d help birth right now.

He looked over at Simone, his dark brown eyes boring into her hazel green ones. “What can I ever do to thank you?” he asked sincerely.

It was the moment Simone had waited for. “Cover me,” she said simply. “I need to be loved by the man of God.”
And I need to try and fuck some sense into your head!

Without another word, Nate stood and headed toward Simone’s bedroom, shaking off the promise he’d made to himself to not have sex with anyone tonight. He was a Thicke man and Simone was a Noble woman. Satisfying her was his obligation. Nathaniel removed his tailored suit jacket as he walked toward her bedroom. He watched the way her derriere moved in the form-fitting slacks and was suddenly no longer sorry for the fact that…duty called.