Sex in the Sanctuary (17 page)

“Oh, Father, give me strength,” Hope prayed silently as she pulled herself out of the little MG and headed for her apartment. She was exhausted, and the soaring July heat didn’t help. This was the second day of “Leading Us Back to Our Future,” the leadership conference that had taken months to plan and execute. If the registrations and yesterday’s crowd were any indication, the conference was a huge success already. Not to mention Dr. Myles Monroe was closing out the conference. She’d read his books on potential and knew his message would inspire.

Unfortunately, Hope was in no shape to appreciate it. The last two weeks had been an endless flurry of meetings, rehearsals, meetings, phone calling, rehearsals, work, meetings, church, more rehearsals and more meetings. Sleep had taken a distant second to everything else, and her body was feeling it.

She opened the door and headed straight for her bedroom, stopping only long enough to kick off her pumps before falling across the bed. For one quick second, she thought
about not attending the afternoon sessions, then remembered her promise to help one of the coordinators put together some last minute additional materials. That promise and another Angels of Hope rehearsal following the afternoon sessions convinced her to go. She turned on her side and grabbed a pillow, cushioning herself more deeply into the nest of her down-filled comforter. She wondered if a cup of coffee would do the trick. Groaning, she sat up and instantly regretted having gotten into bed in her suit. The linen skirt, already wrinkle prone, was now wrinkle filled.
Might as well change into something that can carry over through tonight
, she thought, opening the closet. She wanted to pay special attention to how she dressed just in case Rashiid accepted her invitation to come hear Pastor Montgomery speak.

Rashiid was handsome and entertaining. But as much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was not her future husband. If she were honest with herself, she’d known this after their second date. Actually, she’d known it by the first half of their second date. When, laying her cards on the table up front, she’d told Rashiid that she was celibate. He’d looked at her as though she’d grown an extra head.

“When the last time you had some, baby?” he’d asked with such sympathy you’d think it was food, not sex she’d gone without.

“A long, long time,” she’d responded.
So long that at times I feel I wouldn’t know an orgasm if it came up to me in broad daylight and shook my hand
. From that moment, she became a challenge to his male ego. Would he be the one who could end her self-imposed celibacy streak? But for the grace of God, he wouldn’t have had to try very hard. Sometimes Hope was so sex starved she didn’t think she’d make another day without an avenue for physical release. Just last weekend, she’d almost seduced the pizza delivery man, actually asking if he wanted to come in and share a slice. And pizza was
not
what she had in mind. Yes, he’d laughed, thinking she was joking.
She was not. After two years of abstinence, Rashiid didn’t know how hot the fire was and that if there ever was a moment of weakness, he, not she, would feel like the sacrificial lamb.

Rashiid made it clear that he wasn’t looking to marry anytime soon. He’d also voiced a general distrust of women after the mother of his child got pregnant while swearing to be on birth control. Funny how this distrust hadn’t prevented him from trying to get into Hope’s panties. He believed that one didn’t have to be married to be committed to another, and that one didn’t have to be committed to another to have sex. He assured her that she wouldn’t be sorry if she let him satisfy her, that every woman needed a man in her life. Of this, Hope had no doubt. But what Rashiid didn’t understand was that sex alone would never be enough for her. He’d never understand that the man she’d follow after would have to be following God. Hope wanted all or nothing, no compromise. And as much as she didn’t want to, she was willing to wait until her “all” came along.

Not that waiting was easy. Just last month, she’d threatened God with another fornicate-by-Friday ultimatum, vowing that if she didn’t meet her husband by the weekend, it would be God’s fault if she “fell from grace.” She’d assured Him that she couldn’t wait any longer, and she had decided that Paul, her friend and coworker from the paper, would be more than happy to oblige her in helping her carry out this threat to God. Well. God didn’t answer her by sending a husband to her doorstep, but Paul also didn’t come to work that Friday. She found out the following Monday that he was invited at the last minute to go to Vegas for a three-day weekend. Guess God showed her, huh?

Despite Hope’s declared motto of “no ring, no thing,” Rashiid kept calling. And in spite of the fact that Hope knew there was no future with him, she continued to take his calls. Call it loneliness, boredom, desperation, whatever, something
about Rashiid’s desire to make her his, no matter how carnal, made her feel like a woman, made her feel special.

Hope’s thoughts wandered to the man who would lead that afternoon’s finance seminar, Mr. Cy Taylor. Almost as quickly as it came, she pushed the thought aside. No! She wouldn’t
even
go down that road hoping he was her future husband. She was sure it was like the road to hell, awfully crowded! Yes, he was fine. Yes, he was a man of God. All right, already! He was everything she could ever hope for, dream about, pray for! He was also a heartbreak waiting to happen—a man who probably had more women than the desert had sand. The last thing he needed was another woman with stars in her eyes panting after him like a dog in heat. No, she wouldn’t even allow her thoughts to begin to go in that direction. There was no way someone like him could be interested in someone like her.

Without warning, her eyes clouded over and the tears began to fall. How much longer would she have to wait? What was wrong with her that the thing she wanted most, to be married and have a family, continued to elude her? Wasn’t she trying to live right, work in the Kingdom, obey the Word? Why did God continue to make her suffer when everyone else was getting married? She’d even read an article that said Elizabeth Taylor was thinking of marrying again. How could God let Elizabeth have a zillion husbands before Hope had one? She had done everything: fasted, prayed, professed, confessed, visualized, prophesied, believed, received, tithed, cried, begged, bartered and nothing,
nothing,
seemed to work. She was still single, still lonely and still hornier than a brass band.

Hope angrily brushed away her tears and straightened her shoulders. She would not have a pity party today. Absolutely not! Forget Rashiid, forget Cy Taylor, forget men period and forget marriage. She didn’t care anymore. She couldn’t care. She’d get dressed up and look good for her own datgum self and let her own self-approval be enough. She’d rehearse the
Angels of Hope to perfection and release her energy by dancing with all her might before the Lord. She’d finish this conference and then take a vacation. Maybe she’d go to Boston and run the marathon, climb Mt. Everest or take up kickboxing. She’d do something to get rid of all this pent-up sexual energy. Maybe it wasn’t in God’s plan at all for her to get married. But didn’t Paul say it was better to marry than to burn?

Still looking through her closet, Hope’s hands stopped at the raw silk tailored suit she’d splurged on five months ago and was still paying for thanks to her Dillard’s charge card. The golden material highlighted her toasty skin color, the short waist jacket with flared bottom accenting her small waist and womanly curves below. The craftily pleated skirt poured over her ample hips and molded to her bubbled derriere with just enough slack to not be sinful before tapering to a finish a couple inches above her knee. Hope moved to her chest of drawers and pulled out a colorful silk scarf filled with bold geometric designs in rust, burgundy and brown earth tones, flecked with gold threads. That accessory, artfully arranged around the jacket’s low neckline would ensure modesty as well as provide a splash of color to the ensemble. She grabbed some rehearsal clothes and a change of shoes before heading to the kitchen for a much needed caffeine pick-me-up and quick sandwich.

Millicent navigated the unfamiliar streets with a level of comfort. She mentally thanked the cheery car rental agent who’d drawn a flawless map directing her to Mt. Zion Progressive Baptist Church in Overland Park. Millicent was familiar with the Midwest, she’d attended business seminars in Chicago, but this was her first time in Kansas. Her ride from the airport down I–35 to Overland Park had been uneventful, the unfamiliar territory rushing by in a mesh of office buildings, gas and food stops and flat green and brown terrain.
Her mind was only peripherally aware of the highway signs as she cruised down the freeway. The rest of it was filled with prayers of thanks that she’d found out about Cy speaking at this out-of-town conference. Maybe Cy would be more open to spending quality time with her away from L.A. and Kingdom Citizens’.

Millicent eased the Ford Taurus to the corner and turned right onto a street of well-preserved homes and manicured lawns. The church on the next corner stood out even from a distance, sparkling white against the Kansas summer sun. A majestic steeple jutted into the sky, housing a gleaming gold bell. The L-shaped layout stretched the entire block with what looked to be offices and classrooms. Cars lined the street on both sides in each direction. Millicent saw a handsome young man in a sharp, black suit and pulled over.

“Excuse me, I’m Minister Cy Taylor’s guest. Where should I park?”

The young man leaned down to the car window, his sweeping gaze giving Millicent the once-over. He smiled appreciatively. “Follow me,” he said with a smile before going across the street and moving aside a bright red cone from one of the reserved spaces. He directed Millicent to the spot and waited for her to park and turn off the engine. Instantly, he was at her door, opening it for her and eagerly awaiting her exit. He was not disappointed when he did so and Millicent returned his approving smile.

“So you’re from L.A.?” he asked, falling into step with her as she crossed the street.

“Yes.”

“Are all the women out there as fine as you?” he asked, grabbing her arm and gently guiding her past the sanctuary and down a sidewalk to what were apparently the executive offices.

“Not all of them,” Millicent replied to the open flirtation with a smile.

“You married?” he continued as he opened the door to the offices and stepped back to let Millicent precede him inside. She felt his eyes on her back as she entered. She ignored the question and instead asked her own.

“What time does the afternoon session begin?”

Her admirer got the message, or so she thought, because he lost the smile and became more businesslike. “In about thirty minutes. Here is the hospitality room. There’s coffee and hot water for tea, along with some snacks if you’re hungry. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll let the office know you’re here. What’s your name?”

“Millicent Sims.”

“Millicent, I’m Tony.” He held out his hand and clasped hers firmly when offered.

“Nice to meet you, Tony.” She hesitated a moment before pulling back slightly, disengaging her hand.

He turned to leave and was at the door when he stopped and turned around. “So did you say yes or no to the marriage question?”

Millicent smiled. “I didn’t say.”

Tony persisted. “Guess that means you’re available.”

Millicent walked over to the coffee and poured a cup. “Thanks for your help, Tony. Please let Mr. Taylor know I’m here.” She turned around and reached for the cream, her back being his cue that the conversation was over and he was dismissed.

Cy leaned back, laughing at King’s commentary on “church folk.” It was easy to see why this was one of Derrick’s best friends. He was very charismatic, intelligent, passionate and shrewd in business. They’d talked only briefly during King’s trips to Los Angeles, but after last evening, with a competitive game of tennis and a late dinner that went past midnight, Cy felt he was hanging with an old friend. The topic switched from members to finances as the diners enjoyed a sumptuous lunch of fried chicken, greens, garlic mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. Within the topic of finance, the focus shifted from fund-raising to community development to tithing.

“I don’t know why folks are so tight,” one minister voiced while cleaning a wing to the bone. “You can’t take it with you.”

“That’s not what Brother Johnson thought,” countered Bishop Anderson from St. Stephens in Ohio. “You heard what happened to him, didn’t ya?”

Men around the table shook their heads in the negative.

“Well,” Bishop Anderson continued, leaning back in his chair
and grabbing a toothpick. “Old Mr. Johnson was tighter than a fat woman’s girdle, shrewd as a snake and nobody worked harder. By the time the old man became ill, he was worth about a million bucks. Well, the time arrived when it became obvious that Mr. Johnson was not going to recover from this illness, and he began taking care of business and making peace with the Lord.

“He worried nonstop about the large sum of cash sitting in his various bank accounts. He’d never married or had children and couldn’t think of one solitary person he wanted to have the money. He wasn’t involved in any charities and, because he didn’t like some of the church members, didn’t want to leave a large lump sum to the house of God. Finally, he decided if he couldn’t spend the money, nobody would. He called his pastor to explain his dying wishes.

“‘Now, Pastor,’ he began. ‘I have called the bank and made it possible for you to withdraw all of my money after I’m gone. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to put the money in the large suitcase in my bedroom back home. Then I want you to bring that suitcase to the funeral, and I want you to put that suitcase on top of my casket after they lower my body down. They say you can’t take it with you, but with your help, I’m going to do just that. I know that as a preacher and all, I can trust you to take care of this last request.’

“‘The Lord will make a way,’ the preacher solemnly replied.

“It was just a couple days later that old Brother Johnson breathed his last. As per his instructions, the preacher went to the bank, drew out the money, retrieved the suitcase from Mr. Johnson’s home and put the money inside. After the funeral service was over, the small gathering of people drove to the gravesite. The preacher spoke a few more words, and then the graveyard workers began lowering the casket into the ground. As soon as they and the scant crowd had departed, the preacher walked over to the grave. Kneeling down he began to speak.

“‘I went and got your money just like you asked. And, true to your wishes, here’s one million dollars.’ The preacher then pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket and let it float silently into the open grave. He paused a moment, then continued. ‘You’ve always been a smart man, Brotha Johnson. And since you knew where you’d spend the money, I’m sure you’ll know where to cash this check.’”

Bishop Anderson let out a loud guffaw after the punch line. The other ministers reacted with equal amounts of laughter and groans. It was apparent that Bishop Anderson, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes, had enjoyed his own joke the most. King looked at his watch just as Bishop McKinney was warming up for one of his long-winded stories.

“Well, I got one better than that for you,” he began in his most prolific preacher’s voice.

King pushed back from the table. “I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait,” he said with a smile. “Duty calls.”

As the men began moving there was a knock at the door. Tony entered and looked around the table for Cy. “Uh, Mr. Taylor, your guest has arrived.”

“My guest?”

“Yes, a Ms. Sims? Millicent Sims?”

“Oh, right.”

“Should I bring her back to join the pastor’s wives?”

“No, just, uh, make sure she gets seated out front, will you?”

“Sure, sir, I’ll take care of it, Mr. Taylor.”

The frown on Cy’s face lasted but a moment and then was gone, but not before King noticed it. He waited until the other ministers had filed out before him and then asked Cy, “Every-thing okay?” He fully expected the typical Christian all’s-right-with-the-world-I’m-fine-just-blessed response and was taken slightly aback when Cy responded, “Not really.”

“You want to talk about it?” King asked before remembering that at present, he was the last person to give advice
on relationships, but also remembering more than one female stalker he’d endured over the years.

Cy paused. “Naw, brotha, it’s just one of those things.”

King didn’t press. He was having “one of those things” with a woman himself. Both men were silent as they walked down the hall toward the main sanctuary.

Tai looked around her as she entered the sanctuary. The place was almost full, even for the afternoon session. Not surprisingly, there were a disproportionate number of females in attendance. Cy Taylor’s pedigree must have preceded him, she thought sarcastically. Yes, she was seeing some members she hadn’t seen in a while.

She continued down the aisle, smiling at some, waving at others. No matter what was going on with her and King, this was still her church, these were her friends as well as members and she loved them. She spotted Sistah Wanthers and Sistah Stokes sitting on the second pew to her right. She hugged both ladies warmly.

“Sistah Stokes, you’re looking good. Is that a new suit?”

Sistah Stokes preened like a peacock in full feather. “This old thing? I’ve had this suit forever, just ain’t worn it much. It’s probably my new scarf that makes the difference.”

“Well, whatever it is, you look lovely.” Tai moved quickly to Sistah Wanthers, lest she feel she was being left out. “Now, I
know
I haven’t seen that hat before! Sistah Wanthers, nobody can wear a hat like you.”

“Ah, go on, Queen Bee,” Sistah Wanthers replied, reaching up and lovingly patting the wide-brimmed hat decorated with leaves and flowers. “My niece got it for me, wasn’t that nice?”

“It sure was. You ladies are going to make it hard for Minister Taylor to concentrate on his topic.” Tai winked conspiratorially.

Sistah Wanthers gasped, pinched back a smile and put a hand to her mouth while Sistah Stokes blushed and began to fan herself with a program. “Now, you just go on, Queen Bee. Everybody knows you’re the finest thing in here! And you’re losing weight, aren’t you? You must be, ’cause that suit sure looks good on you. Sure looks good. I think I’m seeing some curves I ain’t seen in a while.” Now it was Sistah Wanthers turn to wink.

Tai thanked them and moved on, smiling and making small talk with a few more members, inquiring about family and other situations she knew of through counseling sessions and calls to the house. She asked Mother Bailey about the hip that had been bothering her recently, thanked Sistah McCormick for all her hard work on the conference and blew a kiss to Sistah Stronghart. She reached the front row and looked back to see her mother-in-law coming down the aisle, dressed to the nines in a navy blue suit with matching hat, purse and shoes. She had just sat down next to Vivian and two rows in front of Millicent, when the side door opened and the ministers entered. No one could have been more surprised than Tai at her reaction to seeing Cy Taylor. The room got quiet and the earth stood still. Tai’s eyes followed him up the steps, across the platform and down into his seat. It wasn’t until Mama Max tapped her that she realized she’d been staring.

“Now, that’s a sight for sore eyes,” her mother-in-law whispered.

Tai swallowed and nodded, but couldn’t respond. She missed the quick look Mama Max gave her and the slight frown that wrinkled her brow. Tai casually looked around and saw her feelings reflected in the other women’s faces. It was as if the sun and the moon had left their heavenly orbit and come inside the church for a visit. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she saw Sistah Stokes adjust her scarf and Sistah Wanthers rearrange the veil on her hat. Denise Williams,
the administrative assistant, was sitting as still as a statue, her eyes drinking in Mr. Taylor as if he were a cool glass of water in the deserts of the Holy Land. Kimberly Stevens, the director of public relations for the church, suddenly had business with Minister Hays and slithered and swayed down the aisle to conduct it as Lisa, King’s personal secretary, gazed at Cy with undisguised lust. Her eyes were shining and bright, her lips were parted slightly and her body was literally raised off the pew to get a better view of the afternoon’s guest speaker as he sat down.

Tai admonished herself to calm down, even as she admitted it had been forever and a day since her heart had raced like that at the sight of a man. She relished it even as she questioned the fact. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen him before; in fact, she’d eaten dinner with him at Vivian’s house during their last visit. Maybe it was the way he wore that suit, like a second skin. And was his hair longer? It looked as though he’d let it grow out some, giving him an untamed, roguish look. Maybe it was the fact that she and King hadn’t made love in months. Whatever it was that was causing these feelings, she was going to rein it in, tie it up and put a lid on it. She was a married, virtuous woman of God, and she would not let her thoughts stray. She looked up and followed, as if mesmerized, Cy’s hand as he slowly rubbed his mustache while listening to something King was saying to him.
Satan, get behind me!
She would not let her thoughts stray. She would not! But the more she looked, the more her thoughts strayed, as if will had nothing at all to do with it.

Hope waved in what she hoped was a discreet gesture, trying to get Louis, the head usher’s, attention. She hadn’t expected to see so many cars for the afternoon session and was grateful there’d been a parking space left for her in the reserved section, although she thought that Tony Williams’
attraction for her may have had something to do with that. He was always trying to get his flirt on. Well, no use looking a gift horse in the mouth! She was now glaring at Louis, willing him to look at her. She’d purposely waited until offering so she could walk in unobtrusively. The sanctuary was almost full. Some of the members of her dance troupe saw her and waved. She waved back. One of them rushed over to ask her a question, which she answered before shooing the excited teenager away. She saw another getting ready to approach and held up her hand. If she didn’t stop the madness, the whole squad would be back by the door, vying for attention. She wanted to scream at Louis, who seemed to see nothing past the next row he was directing to stand and walk around the offering table. Finally Hope gave up and squeezed into the line, coming up the right aisle of the church directly into Louis’s path.

“Hey, Louis, any seats left up here?”

Louis frowned. For some reason that she could not fathom, Louis disliked her. “I don’t know, Hope, it’s kinda tight already.”

Hope looked around. It was tight. She glanced over to the other side of the church. There were several places left over there, but Holy Jesus and Heavenly Father, the ushers would probably have a cow if she attempted to sit in the area reserved for pastors’, deacons’ and trustees’ wives. “What about up there, next to Sistah Wanthers?”

Louis sighed audibly. “Come on.”

Hope was itching to give an impromptu sermon on the virtue of good manners and brotherly love, but she figured it would be wasted breath. Louis approached the second row and held out his hand stiffly, the motion for her to enter the pew. She ignored the hostile eyes that glanced up at her as she excuse me’d down the row. She almost laughed out loud as she glimpsed the look of disdain on Sistah Wanthers’s face as she sat down beside her. Sistah Stokes looked at Hope
from the top of her sleek hairdo to the soles of her pumps. Her eyes followed as Hope sat and widened with such horror you would have thought it was Hope’s vagina and not knees that showed beneath the hem of her skirt. The drama never ended. God had made her like a Coca-Cola bottle, and she wasn’t going to dress as if she were a Cola can. She met Sistah Stokes’s eyes and smiled indulgently.

“Hello, Sistah Wanthers. That’s a beautiful hat you’re wearing.”

Mrs. Wanthers attempted to change her smirk into a smile but was only half successful. “Your skirt’s a little short. Do you have something to cover yourself?”

“No, ma’am, but I think I’ll be fine. I’ll just, uh, lay my Bible on my lap. Cover myself with the Word of God, hallelujah?” Hope barely managed to bite back a chuckle as she acquiesced to the older woman’s displeasure and placed her Bible at a strategic angle on her lap. “Is this better?”

Sistah Wanthers only grunted before turning to the other side and speaking to Sistah Stokes. Sistah Stokes peeked over, frowned and began fanning furiously with her program while muttering, “Mercy, Lord, mercy!”

Hope hid her annoyance behind a smile. This respecting your elders bit sometimes was a hard pill to swallow. Her kneecaps were barely showing! She spoke to Sistah Stronghart, who was seated on the other side of her. Sistah Stronghart complimented her on her new outfit. “That’s a gorgeous suit, Hope. You look beautiful,” she whispered sincerely.

“Thank you,” Hope responded. Beauty was definitely in the eye of the beholder, and what was sinful to one person was sanctified to another.
Whatever.
Hope opened her program and began reading the afternoon’s topics. She’d been so engrossed in trying to find a seat and then trying to pacify Sistah Wanthers and Sistah Stokes that she wasn’t aware of the pair of golden brown eyes that had watched her ever since she’d entered the sanctuary.

Two things happened that had never happened before when Cy saw Hope for the first time. One, she literally took his breath away, and two, he got an erection. Immediately. In the house of God, in the pulpit, in broad open daylight no less.
My God! Who is this woman?
he thought.