Sex in the Sanctuary (7 page)

The Jacuzzi’s jets pounded against Millicent’s back and leg muscles as she maneuvered herself into a position to better benefit from their rejuvenating force. This was her favorite part of the workout, the end. Aaron, her personal trainer, always laughed as she said this to him week after week while he guided her through the routine responsible for her slender thighs and tight abs, “My favorite part, the end!” She’d been adamant about not wanting to look like a weight lifter, just toned and healthy. She repositioned herself again and, with her long hair wrapped in a towel turban-style, slid down into the warm, bubbling water. She straightened her long legs out in front of her while holding on to the steel railings, causing her to float in the oversized pool. As always, her thoughts were on her husband, Cy Taylor. At least he would be her husband if she had anything to say about it!

Millicent, like most women, had fallen in lust with Cy the first time she saw him. Unlike most women, however, she obsessed over making this dream a reality. She’d pursued him
with barely concealed zeal from the moment he became a member and was delighted when, after finding out about his investment background and asking him to look at her portfolio, he’d suggested they discuss it over lunch. By dessert, she’d decided. “I want this man.” Millicent usually got what she wanted.

She pulled herself from the bliss of the Jacuzzi bath and dressed for her dinner date with friend and prayer partner, Alison Groves, an evening she was sure she’d enjoy. Not only was Alison fun and quick-witted, but she was also one of the most spiritual women Millicent had ever met. It was her spirit in fact that had drawn Millicent to her one year during a women’s retreat in Palm Springs, headed by First Lady Vivian Montgomery. It was following a session Vivian had taught on “Waiting on Jesus—Your Mr. Right.” Millicent had been quite moved with some of the points Vivian had so eloquently presented. Not that she’d agreed with all of them, particularly those that admonished her to be still and know that God was God. Millicent was tired of waiting for Cy to make a move. Where he was concerned, she much preferred the Scripture that said faith without works was dead.

After Vivian’s presentation, Alison had seen tears in Millicent’s eyes. She walked over to the chair where Millicent was sitting and asked simply, “Are you okay?” They hit it off instantly and went to a restaurant that night instead of enjoying the conference’s buffet. They were best friends before dessert. Millicent even shared her dream of becoming Mrs. Cy Taylor with Alison. Alison listened intently and shared that she wasn’t picking up Millicent and Cy getting married in her spirit, but that she would be praying for her nonetheless. Alison never judged Millicent for believing it, though—that Cy was her husband—never told Millicent she was crazy or trippin’ or anything like her other friends had when she thought that Duane Lucas was her husband. She’d told every
body about that, in the manner of “name it, claim it,” and had been thoroughly embarrassed when instead of her he’d married a plain Jane named Melissa. After that she’d vowed never to be put out on “front street” again. In fact, she’d vowed never to tell anyone the next time God showed her who her husband was, but the words just seemed to come out of their own volition as she and Alison talked that night. From then on Alison had been there to support her, to pray with her, to hand her a Kleenex when she needed one. She’d already asked Alison to be her maid of honor.

Glancing briefly at the mirrored wall before leaving the fitness center, Millicent looked at her watch and quickened her pace. She’d spent too much time in the Jacuzzi and would be cutting it close to get to Beverly Hills and Crustacean, the chic Asian-inspired seafood establishment, by eight o’clock. She could already hear Alison whining. Alison, who was never late for anything, hated waiting on those who were. Millicent was the epitome of class and success as she crossed the parking lot, her slender build complemented by the narrow, cream-colored skirt she wore just above the knee of her shapely, bare legs. She’d topped it with a cream angora springtime sweater from the Donna Karan collection and contrasted the ensemble with her bone-and-rust-colored sling-back, low-heeled pumps and matching purse designed to perfection in Calvin Klein’s understated style. Her shoulder-length hair glistened against the setting sun, sans dye or weave, and was secured at the nape with a wide, bronze hair clip. She did a quick point and click, deactivating the alarm on her beige 2005 Infinity. Her cell phone rang as she opened the door, and she smiled, knowing it was Alison without glancing at the ID.

“I’m on my way,” she said, laughing while starting the engine and pulling out of her space.

“On your way?” questioned the soothing, masculine voice on the other end.

Millicent’s heart skipped a beat; the very person she’d been thinking about!

“Hello?”

“Cy?” Millicent didn’t know she’d been holding her breath until she let it out.

“Yes, just finished a meeting and heard your message.”

“Oh, right, I did call you earlier. How are you?”

“Besides this crazy traffic on the 405, I’m fine. You?”

“I’m fine, just finished another grueling workout with Aaron. You know how that brother can work you over.”

Cy knew too well, from personal experience. Aaron was one of the most popular personal trainers in Los Angeles, and almost everyone knew firsthand or had heard of his infamous, individually crafted workout routines. But he didn’t want to talk to Millicent about her physical fitness. He hadn’t wanted to call her at all, but hadn’t wanted to be rude either. After all, they were working on a committee together for one of the church’s economic development projects. He’d missed the last meeting, and hoped the call was concerning that. Then again, maybe he was just too much of a nice guy.

“So what’s going on?” Cy prompted, wanting to finish the conversation. “Do you have some information from the meeting at church?”

“No, well, yes actually, but that’s not why I was calling. The meeting was brief, basically a reiteration of the things we’d discussed Sunday afternoon, just an update and confirmation of all the businesses participating in the job fair. We’ll have over a hundred companies represented, and it looks like the classes will be fantastic, especially the introduction to computers course. The office has received a ton of calls concerning it. And your money management class is, as usual, one of the most requested in the lineup. Are you ready, instructor?”

Cy laughed. “For the class or the participants?”

“Both,” Millicent responded, smiling at Cy’s comment.
She was glad he felt comfortable enough with her to admit his women woes. “But I’m sure you can never be quite ready for those participants. Such enthusiasm!”

“Yeah, right.” Cy paused, noting she was the most enthusiastic of all. “So what else is going on?”

“Well, I got a call from Roland about my portfolio. He had some suggestions about diversifying and moving some of my more volatile stock into the safer mutual fund categories. I was hoping to run some of the details by you and get a second opinion.”

“Well, I’d never second-guess the man; he’s one of the best in the business.” Cy had referred her to his friend and business partner shortly after their dating ceased and the phone calls with questions about her portfolio multiplied. “Roland is one of the reasons my portfolio is as strong as it is. He has an innate sense of timing when it comes to the stock market and the seemingly invisible mood swings of our nation’s economy. I’d go with what he says.”

Millicent was disappointed but didn’t want to give up easily. “I was hoping I could fax a copy of the summary page to you and maybe discuss it over lunch tomorrow, my treat.”

“I appreciate the invite, but that’s not going to be possible.” Cy decided to end the conversation before it became even more uncomfortable for him than it already was. “Like I said when I referred you to him, Roland really is the best person I know to guide you through the sometimes murky waters of stocks and bonds. Don’t worry. He won’t steer you wrong. Listen, Millicent, I’ve got to go—”

“Yes, of course. So I’ll, uh, see you Sunday?”

“Sure,” he said abruptly and silently added,
hopefully from a distance,
as he hung up the phone.

Millicent began to daydream after the call disconnected. Before she knew it, she’d driven several blocks past Crus
tacean. Her cell phone rang again as she got in the left-hand lane, made a U-turn and headed back down crowded Wilshire Blvd. She looked at her watch and at the ID. Yes, it was Alison and yes, she was late.

Hope’s mind was moving a mile a minute, and so was she as she rushed past the doors of the main edifice and headed for the walkway that would lead her to the side of the main building and the front of the multipurpose center that stood gleaming fresh and new, next door to the sanctuary. Among other things, the center housed the youth activities and was a jewel in the crown that was the church’s renovation and expansion project.

Two church matrons, whom Hope had secretly named Sistah Almighty and Sistah Alrighty, exited the main building. “Praise the Lord, ladies!” she hollered cheerfully without breaking stride.

She didn’t have to break stride or look back to imagine their reactions. Hope knew that Sistah Almighty thought the skirts she wore, only slightly above the knee, would send her straight to hell, and Sistah Alrighty was always glaring at her whenever she spoke to Pastor King, as if she were going to throw the man on the floor and accost him in the pulpit!
They’re just jealous,
Hope thought as she neared the door of
the youth center, already hearing a swirl of activity inside. And they weren’t the only ones. Hope was aware of how some of the ladies in the church felt about her. They probably thought she was after the preacher. She’d been accused of that before. Well, she didn’t care one iota what those biddies thought; she knew she was flowing in purpose and destiny, and as far as those women were concerned, well, they could just kiss her Bible!

“Hey, Hope, wuz up?”

“Ooh, Hope, I like your shoes!”

“Hope, are we going to finish the routine today?”

“Hope, Selena likes Terron and is trying to get him to go out with her.”

“I’m not either!”

“You are, too.”

“Unh-unh!”

“Uh-huh!”

“You a big fat lie!”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Hope said, grabbing both girls, pulling them under her arms and giving each a chin nuzzle. “Since you both have so much energy, I’ve got some work for you two.” She stopped at the table in the foyer and opened her briefcase. Terron, the leader of the new dance troupe called Heaven’s Hip-hoppers, swaggered around the corner, sixteen years and one hundred sixty-five pounds of testosterone chomping at the bit.

“Hey, Hope! I like that outfit. You’re looking real nice today.”

“Well, thanks, Terron. I hope that routine you’re choreographing impresses me as much as I’m obviously impressing you.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Terron drawled while effortlessly executing an intricately woven series of hip-hop steps before gliding forward and spinning to a stop right in front of her. “It’s gonna blow the roof off, ’cause it’s off the ska-zizzy!”
Hope didn’t miss the quick glance toward the one he was really trying to impress, little Miss Leah, nor did she miss the pout on Selena’s face.
I guess there were two somebodies who liked Mr. T.

“Now, I need one of you to make, say, twenty copies of this and the other to put them inside these folders.” Hope reached for the keys that were somehow buried at the bottom of her purse, even though she’d just thrown them in there. Pulling them out, Hope turned to Leah. “Here’s the key to the office. Be sure to turn the light off and lock the door when you’re finished.”

Leah and Selena started toward the office, their heads together in a Terron-induced conspiracy. “Thanks, girls. And hurry up! We’ve got a lot of ground to cover tonight.”

Hope felt a bit stressed but pleased with how things were going so far. She had been able to contact Righteous Rebel’s management, and they had worked out a midnight concert for the youth to be held in a city auditorium Friday night. In addition to the debut of Heaven’s Hip-hoppers, Hope had lined up a gospel singing group called Yadah, which meant praise in Hebrew, comprised of three lovely and talented ladies from a church in Kansas City. She’d also confirmed the participation of Musical Messengers, the gospel jazz group. Rounding out the evening would be the Angels of Hope dance group, a popular and funny Christian comedian from Chicago with an award-winning monologue called “A Praying Woman,” and Hope’s own dramatic spoken word presentation she’d composed to kick off the evening and entitled “Joyful.” It was inspired by the penned verses of her favorite biblical character David, with whom she felt much kinship, and his now famous Psalm 100. As if someone had turned on a tape player, the words began swirling in her head, and she bobbed slightly to the beat, even as she headed toward the group of girls sitting quietly in a circle near the middle of the basketball court:

“What are you bobbing to, Miss Hope-a-letta?” That would be Miss Get-On-Your-Last-Nerve Carmelita Lopez, whose all-encompassing eyes didn’t miss much. She had a mouth on her but was nevertheless a good kid from a not-always-so-good home. In fact, Carmelita had led her own mother to the Lord after she’d come to one of the Youth Night Holy Ghost parties a year ago. She’d given her life to God that very night, and the church had since become her second home. One Friday night several months later, her mom had come to find out what all the hoopla from her daughter was about. As they rode the bus home, Carmelita had asked her mother if she could lead her to the Lord.

“What will I have to do?” her mother had inquired in a hesitant, skeptical tone.

“Just repeat this prayer that we learned in class Wednesday night.” Carmelita had proceeded to say the prayer taken from 1 John 10:9–10 that she’d learned in their youth Bible study. Her mom hadn’t thought much about the exercise at the time, but the next day, she got a call from the IRS stating she’d been overcharged on her taxes two years prior and they were sending her a check, with interest. It was then Rosa felt there was a connection between her repeating the words with her daughter and the IRS admitting a mistake—a modern-day miracle. Then and there she decided to take a closer look at this “church thing” in which her daughter was so involved.

“That’s for me to know and you to hear later,” Hope answered in delayed reaction to Carmelita’s question while easing down into the circle the girls had opened upon her arrival. “Have you guys prayed already?”

“Yes, we were just waiting on you so we could show you the dance we’ve put together for the last verse.”

“Okay, ladies, show me what you’ve got.” And with that the girls got up, the CD was turned on and the soul-soothing sounds of Nicole Muller’s “Redeemed” filled the auditorium.

“Did you see how tight that girl’s pants were? It’s a shame before God.” Margie Stokes, or Sistah Almighty, was clucking her tongue and shaking her head in righteous indignation. “Somebody should take that girl aside and talk to her about what kind of dress is becoming in the house of the Lord!”

“Just scandalous how these women parade around for these menfolks,” Elsie Wanthers, Sistah Alrighty, replied. “The stench of sin is about to stank up the church!”

“Bringing that dancing into the church. I bet you any ’mount of money that girl got her eye on our beloved pastor.”

“They all do, the hot-blooded hussies.” Sistah Wanthers cut in. “Poor Queen Bee’s got all she can do to keep leeches like her away from poor Pastor King.”

“And you can see how she’s trying to worm her way into his path with this ‘youth ministry.’ She ain’t fooling nobody. You got to get up early in the morning to pull one over on Sistah Marge. Mighty early!”

Just then Pastor King’s black Mercedes sedan pulled into his parking spot. Sistahs Almighty and Alrighty stopped their gossip long enough to watch him turn the car around so it faced forward. They continued to stare as he gathered some things from his backseat before exiting. Not a word passed between the sisters as he stepped out of the car, grabbed his suit jacket, slipped it on and straightened his tie in the window’s reflection before picking up his briefcase and heading
in their direction. As he neared them, he took off his sunglasses and blessed them with one of his brilliant smiles.

“How do, Pastor?” Sistah “Almighty” Stokes gushed as she grabbed both him and his briefcase in a motherly hug.

“Praise the Lord, sistahs!”

“The Lord be praised, Pastor King,” Sistah Alrighty Wanthers murmured softly, batting her eyelashes and fanning the side of her face with her right hand without being aware she was doing so.

“How’s everything, y’all all right?”

“Blessed, Pastor!” Sistah Almighty bellowed.

“Blessed of God in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, bless his Holy name,” Sistah Alrighty exclaimed.

“Good, good.”

Pastor King excused himself and continued into the sanctuary. Sistah Almighty and Sistah Alrighty turned involuntarily and silently praised God for the heavenly way that tailored suit hugged his back and nipped his waist and grabbed his thick thighs just enough, but not too much. Neither woman said a word, but Sistah Alrighty wondered if it had gotten hotter outside or if it was just her. Sistah Almighty turned hastily and followed behind the pastor to offer her assistance in any way he needed, pausing just long enough to bid Sistah Alrighty a hasty “adieu.”

Sistah Alrighty mumbled, “I do, too.” Sistah Almighty wasn’t the only one who wanted to help the pastor. Sistah Wanthers clucked her tongue and followed Sistah Stokes inside.