The Preachers Son (27 page)

THE PREACHER’S SON

CARL WEBER

ABOUT THIS GUIDE

The suggested questions are intended to enhance
your group’s reading of Carl Weber’s
THE PREACHER’S SON.
We hope you have enjoyed reading this novel.

1. Is Dante the type of man you would want to date or have date your daughter?
   
2. What did you think of Tanisha and would you let her date your son?
   
3. This book could just as easily have been called The Preacher’s Kids; what were your thoughts on Donna?
   
4. What would you have done if you were Donna and the first lady asked you to have an abortion for the sake of the family?
   
5. There are a lot of things positive and negative said about men of the cloth; what is your opinion of Bishop T.K. Wilson? Would you want him as a father?
   
6. Do you think Donna was fair to Shorty? And would you have married him in her situation?
   
7. The first lady seemed to warm up to Tanisha. Why do you think that happened?
   
8. Were you surprised that Bishop Wilson was Tanisha’s father? Could you imagine him and Marlene as a couple?
   
9. After he found out the woman he loved was his sister, Dante went into a depression. What would you have done if you were him?
   
10. Were you surprised to find out Reverend Reynolds was married and do you remember his wife from Carl Weber’s
    Lookin’ for Luv?
    
11. If you were the bishop would you have kept the first lady’s secret?
    
12. Were you happy with the ending?
    

Take a look at an excerpt from Carl Weber’s
highly anticipated book,
The First Lady.
Available in stores December 2007.

“H
ey, Charlene, you ready to get started?”

My good friend and confidante, Alison Williams, smiled as she walked into my hospital room. I tried to smile back when she kissed my forehead, but the abdominal pains I was experiencing wouldn’t allow it. So, I lay there in my bed, grappling through the pain as I watched her sit in the chair next to my bed and pull out a notebook and pen. I pressed the button that controlled the morphine drip in my arm, and Alison waited patiently for my pain reliever to kick in. Six months ago, I refused to use any type of pain medication, but now I understood why the Lord invented addictive drugs like morphine and Demerol. Without them, I probably would have died from the pain of my cancer weeks ago. As it was now, I was pushing the damn drip button every fifteen minutes and I was on the highest dose there was, which meant I only had a few weeks left to live.

I wasn’t afraid of dying, though. I’d lived a good life, married a wonderful man, Bishop T.K. Wilson, raised two fantastic children, and had the honor of being the first lady of absolutely the best church in Queens, New York. If the Lord was ready to call me home, although I considered myself still pretty young, I was ready to go. The only thing I was afraid of was what would happen to my family—more importantly, my husband, T.K., after I was gone. So, I was making preparations to make sure my man was taken care of from the grave.

You see, as good and honorable a man of God as T.K. was, he was still just a man with desires and needs; and men, no matter how bright they may appear to be, are very naive when it comes to women,
especially
slick-ass church women. I could see it now. Fifteen minutes after they put my body in the ground, those church heifers would be in my house trying to figure out the best way to redecorate my shit out. Say what you might about my choice of words, but I’d seen these so-called church women in action too many times in the past.

Last year when Sister Betty Jean White passed away, within six months her worst enemy, Jeannette Wilcox, had weaseled her way into that woman’s house and was sleeping with her husband. A few months after that they were married, and if you walk into that house today, there’s not one memory that Sister Betty even lived there. So, I could envision T.K. in his moment of grief and loneliness letting somebody manipulate him into doing just about anything she wanted, and I was not about to allow that. That’s why, with the help of Alison and possibly my daughter Donna, I was making plans to stop her and any other threats to my family.

I hope you don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t trying to stop my husband from moving on with his life after I was gone. On the contrary, I wanted him to find someone to spend the rest of his days with and be happy. I just wanted to make sure that whoever the woman was, she had his best interests at heart and wasn’t just some ambitious, gold-digging floozy disguised in a church hat and a flowered dress.

I felt the pain medication finally kick in, and Alison helped me as I struggled to sit up. She placed a pillow behind my head then sat back in her seat to take notes as I began to dictate the fourth of seven letters to be given out after my death. The first one was to T.K.; the next two were to my son, Dante, and daughter, Donna. The final four letters, which we would write this day, were to the four women I thought were possible candidates to one day replace me as T.K.’s wife and become the first lady of First Jamaica Ministries.

I started my dictation with a letter for T.K.’s first love, Marlene, the mother of his illegitimate daughter, Tanisha. I never really told anyone this, but I liked Marlene. She had spunk, and from what I heard, a loyalty to T.K. that almost rivaled mine. I must admit, though, that I liked her more when she was living in D.C. with her daughter and my son, who, believe it or not, were married. But that was before I was diagnosed with cancer, when I made it a point to keep any women that might interest T.K. as far away as possible. Now I was happy to hear that she had recently moved back to Queens and had even shown up at a few church services. She, unlike any of the other candidates, had a connection to my family, which made her a very favorable competitor in the race for T.K.’s heart. Her only flaw was that she was a recovering drug abuser…but then again, so was my husband.

The next letter was to be written to Ms. Monique Johnson, the first lady of plastic surgery and implants. I’m sorry, but there was no way a forty-year-old woman with two kids could have a body like hers without something going south. Not only was her body fake, but so was her personality. I’d never met a phonier woman in my entire life. She was always smiling in my face and grinning at my man. She knew she wanted him. Rumor has it that she’d had relationships with at least two high-profile members of the church, both of them married. In fact, when Monique was around with her flirtatious self, every wife in the congregation had her man on lockdown. Like I explained earlier, there was no doubt in my mind that Monique had her sights set on T.K. Some of my girlfriends from the church confirmed that her overtures toward him had become even bolder since I’d become hospitalized. I was sure T.K. hadn’t even given the woman a second thought with me being sick and all, but a question still remained: Would he be strong willed enough to stay away from her after my death?

After we wrote Monique’s letter, the pain was starting to come back, but I fought through it as we started on Savannah Dickens’s letter. Savannah was the church’s new choir soloist. She was a quiet, attractive woman in her midthirties who kept to herself. I didn’t know much about her because she was new to the church and the community, but I will admit I wasn’t much for quiet folks because they were usually hiding something. She was, however, the niece of Trustee Joe Dickens, one of the more prominent older members of our church. Joe was looking to become the chairman of the Board of Trustees. I was sure that after my death he would be trying his best to push T.K. and Savannah together in an effort to consolidate power. It was a move I wasn’t against, because it would probably benefit T.K. in the long run. What I didn’t like was the fact that she was only thirty-five years old. I wasn’t objecting to her age so much; she was only ten years younger than T.K. What I was worried about was the fact that she was thirty-five and didn’t have any children. A woman under forty who hadn’t had a child probably wanted kids of her own, and that was out. The last thing T.K. needed after raising Dante and Donna and putting them through college was another baby to support.

Right before we finished the sixth letter, the pain hit me hard and I had to push the drip. I lay back down and Alison insisted that we’d done enough for the day. God willing, we’d finish the seventh and final letter the next day. It was to my good friend, Sister Wilma Mae Jenkins, one of the church’s Holy Rollers. Although I’m not going to reveal its content, I can assure you that it would shake up a whole lot of people. Six months from now, I’d be dead, but I could guarantee my presence would still be felt.

Can you dictate the lives of your family, friends and enemies from the grave
? Those were the thoughts I contemplated as I waited for the new dose of pain medication to take effect. I could picture the scenario now: The first lady of First Jamaica Ministries is dead. Who will win the bishop’s heart and become the next first lady? Time would only tell.

I leaned forward in my chair and opened my desk drawer, taking out two glasses and a bottle of cognac that I saved for special occasions. I poured myself a drink and one for my best friend and confidant, James Black. There was nothing like drinking some good old-fashioned cognac with James, especially after a day when the fish weren’t biting worth a darn. James and I spent a great deal of time together when it came to both business and pleasure. He was a loyal friend, a former deacon, and now the chairman of the board of trustees of our church. He was also my eyes and ears amongst the members of the church since my wife, Charlene, passed away, God bless her soul, six months ago.

Lately, James seemed to be seeing and hearing more things that I was oblivious to in the church. I hated that because I tried to remain close to all of the members of the congregation, but there are some things that church folks just won’t tell their pastor. That’s where my wife, and now James, had come in handy. They both had a knack for discovering things before they blew up in my face. My wife, because she was very nosy and intimidating, and James because…well, let’s just say he was a ladies’ man, and I had to turn my head every once in a while to his lustful behavior. Nonetheless, they both got the job done in their own way, and I was appreciative.

“T.K.,” James said, swirling his cognac before taking a sip. He stared at me long and hard, as if he was trying to find the proper words to express himself. Normally, this was something James never seemed to have a problem with. I also took note of the fact that he’d called me T.K. instead of Bishop. He only did that when he wanted us to step aside from our roles as heads of the church and deal with each other as men of flesh.

“What’s on your mind, James? You got something to tell me? You haven’t been yourself all day.”

James took another sip of his drink. It was obvious to me he was stalling. “Well, yes, I do,” he finally said.

“All right then, man, spit it out,” I encouraged.

“All right. T.K., I’ve been talking to some of the sisters of the church, and well…they think it’s time.” He leaned back patiently in his chair, obviously relieved to get this off his chest. I just wished I knew what he was so relieved about. I didn’t have a clue what he thought it was time for.

“Time? Time for what?” I stared at him as I lifted my glass and took a swallow.

“Time for you to make a choice. So, I hope you’re ready because life around here isn’t going to be easy until you’ve made your choice.”

“And what choice do I have to make?” I asked calmly, still not sure where he was going.

“Whether we’re going to have Armageddon around here or peace,” he replied between sips, staring back at me with so little emotion he could have been a professional poker player.

I sat up straight in my chair, trying my best to read my friend’s face because
Armageddon
was not a word to be used lightly. “What are you talking about, James?”

“T.K., there is about to be Armageddon in this church, and you’re about to be right in the middle of it.”

There was that word again. James’ face still showed no emotion, but now his voice had a chill that had me concerned. Had James been given some Divine message from God that I had been left out of? Was there dissention in the congregation? Were they about to try to vote me out as pastor? I wasn’t sure what was going on, but before he left my office, my good friend James Black was going to explain himself.

“James, you of all people know I do not like to play games. So, will you please stop beating around the bush and get to the point?” My voice was firm, and I’m sure he knew I was serious.

“Look, I’m sorry about that, T.K.. I just figured you’d want to hear this subtly.” He took a breath before he spoke. “The women of the church are about to tear this place apart, and it’s all because of you.”

I searched my mind for reasons I might have upset the women of my congregation. “What have I supposedly done this time?”

“It’s what you haven’t done, Bishop. These women are losing their minds. Haven’t you noticed what’s going on around here? The women are arriving at church a half-hour early just to assure themselves a spot in the front of the church. I’m not just talking about two or three women. There had to be fifty or sixty of them this past Sunday. And I bet you a hundred dollars there’ll be even more this week. It’s crazy.”

I smiled at my friend with pride. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, James. The word must be getting around that I give one heck of a sermon.”

He laughed. “Are you really that naïve? These women don’t give a hoot about your sermons. They only—”

I shot him a look and he tried to clean up his words.

“What I mean is all they care about is you.” He pointed a finger at me. “They are all bound and determined by any means necessary to become your wife, the next first lady of the church.”

For the first time, I understood what he was talking about, and I dismissed it immediately. Yes, I knew that every congregation wanted their pastor to be married. It just made sense, if you really thought about it. But my Charlene had only been gone six months. That was way too soon for me to even be entertaining the thought of dating, let alone remarrying.

I looked at the picture of Charlene I kept on my desk. Oh, how I missed her. My wife was a spitfire who loved me, my family and this church more than life itself, and to be honest, I wasn’t ready to let her go yet. And I didn’t think the church was, either.

“That’s ridiculous, James. Let me assure you, that’s got to be the last thing on these women’s minds. Trust me. Like I told you, I know these things. I know the hearts of the women of this church. It’s just in their nature to be caring. You can’t go taking it the wrong way, James. I sure don’t.”

“Are you kidding?” He chuckled, but there was a twinge of disdain in his voice. “No offense to your sermons, Bishop, but there’s not a hat shop in Queens with a single fancy brim left on its shelves. There are women in this borough who have wiped out their entire savings, and others who have taken out loans just to buy enough hats for as many Sundays as it’s going to take to catch the bishop’s eye. And how better to catch the bishop’s eye than to reserve a place right across from the pulpit every Sunday?”

“James, stop exaggerating,” I chortled. “These are good church women who just want to hear the word.”

“You can play dumb all you want, T.K.,” James said as he poured the last of the liquor into our glasses. “But you can’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

“Well, thanks for the warning, but I’m sure you’re wrong.”

He held up his glass, a sign for me to toast. I hestitantly followed suit and lifted my glass in the air.

“Here’s to me being wrong,” James said. Before either one of us could put our glasses to our lips, we were startled by a knock on the door. The concern in James’ eyes mirrored my own. That last thing we needed as prominent men of the church was to get caught sipping on liquor. Jesus might have turned water to wine, and even took a sip or two himself with every meal, but God forbid I was caught having an innocent drink with a friend. They’d swear I was a drunk. So, without having to say a word, we simultaneously downed the contents of our glasses. I held out my hand for James to give me his empty glass.

“Come in,” I said as I quickly placed the empty bottle and two glasses in my bottom desk drawer. I did so just in the nick of time because as soon as I closed the drawer, the office door opened.

“Gentlemen,” Deacon Joe Dickens said as he entered the office.

“How you doin’, Deacon?” I asked as James replied with a courteous nod.

“Fine, Bishop. I’m doin’ just fine. Heard you two went fishin’. Hope they were biting,” the deacon smiled, “ ’cause, I’d love to have a few porgies.”

“Put it this way, Deacon,” I told him. “If you or anyone else ever had to depend upon Trustee Black’s and my ability to catch fish, we’d all starve. The only thing we got in that cooler over there is ice.”

Laughter filled the room momentarily before Deacon Dickens cleared his throat so that he could speak on what he’d really come for. “Speaking of food and eating, Bishop, my daughter, Savannah, is going to be doing a little cooking this weekend. You know that cobbler you were so fond of at the deacons’ banquet last month?”

I smiled at the memory of that cobbler. It was quite possibly the best I ever had. “How could I forget? The darn thing was so good I must have gone back for seconds three times.” I patted my belly as I grinned.

“Well, that was Savannah’s doing. She made that cobbler.”

“Sister Savannah is responsible for that cobbler? Well, I may have to stop by your house a little more often, Deacon, ’cause your daughter sure can burn.”

“You’re always welcome, Bishop. Matter of fact, along with that cobbler, she’s cooking smothered pork chops and collard greens for dinner tomorrow. If I remember correctly, you’re rather fond of pork chops, aren’t you?”

“Could eat them every day,” I said with a nod.

“Well, then you’re going to have to come over for dinner tomorrow night. I insist.”

I let out a disappointed sigh. “I wish I could, Deacon, but I already have dinner plans to meet with the bookstore committee for tomorrow night and dinner with my daughter and son-in-law tomorrow. How about a rain check?”

The deacon frowned. “All right. How’s next Sunday sound? I can’t promise pork chops, but I’m sure Savannah will make another cobbler.”

I glanced down at my weekly planner then looked up at the deacon with a smile. “Deacon, it’s a date. And whether it’s pork chops or not, I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Good, good,” he replied. “How’s seven o’clock sound to you?”

“Seven o’clock next Sunday is fine.” I wrote it in my planner then made a mental note to tell my secretary Alison to put it in hers.

“Well, gentlemen, I guess it’s time I got home. I’ll see you at service on.” The deacon shook our hands then left, closing the door behind him.

It was obvious that James could barely wait until Deacon’s footsteps faded down the hall before he exploded with laughter. “Oh my Lord, that guy is hilarious.”

“Why so funny?” I asked.

“What’s so funny? You’re what’s so funny? Can’t you see a set-up when it’s right in front of your face?” James stood up, shaking his head. “Like I told you before the deacon came in, it’s starting, my friend. The battle for who’s going to be the next first lady has started, and it looks like the first woman in the ring is Savannah Dickens. And her father’s the one who’s throwing her in.”

“James, my man, you’re reading far too much into this.”

“Am I, T.K.? Since when does a prominent member of the church invite the pastor to dinner and not at least extend an invitation to any other prominent member of the church who’s in the room? I might as well have been invisible.”

I sat back in my chair and thought about what he was saying. I didn’t reply at first because the more I thought about it, the more his words started to make sense. He did have an intriguing point. Why didn’t the deacon invite him to dinner? He could have at least invited him when I declined. Was the Deacon trying to orchestrate a relationship between me and his daughter? It was possible. The real question was if I was willing to be a participant in his plan.

Savannah was single, and she was also a very attractive woman. She had some of the prettiest black hair I’d ever seen. For the first time, I began to imagine her as a woman and not just a member of the church. The image brought a slight grin to my face, which quickly morphed into a guilty frown as Savannah’s image was replaced by Charlene’s.

“You might be right about the deacon, James, but then again, maybe your dinner invitation just slipped the deacon’s mind.”

James chuckled. “If you believe that, I got a bridge to sell you out back.”

I rose from my chair, reached in my pocket then pulled out some money. “How much?”

James’ chuckle became a full-fledged laugh. “You crazy…you know that, Bishop?”

“That’s what they tell me.” I laughed back.

“So, T.K., what do you think?” Oh Lord, he was starting with those crazy questions again.

“Think about what, James?” I said flatly.

“Savannah. What do you think about Savannah? Old girl does have some hips on her, doesn’t she?” James traced his fingers in the air like he ws outlining a shapely woman’s figure.

“I hadn’t noticed,” I lied.

“Yeah, right. Sure you haven’t.” James waved his hand at me. “Look, T.K., you may have the title of bishop, but you’re still a man. Don’t think I forgot about what happened in the Bahamas.”

Blood rushed to my face. “You’re never gonna let me forget that, are you?”

“Nope. Never.”

“Okay, hold it over my head. Just don’t forget I’ve seen you in a few compromising positions too. At least I was with my wife.”

He laughed. “Hey, whatever happened to what goes on in Vegas stays in Vegas?”

“Same thing that happened to what goes on in the Bahamas stays in the Bahamas.”

“Aw’ight, I get your point. Look, I gotta get outta here. I got a big date tonight with Sister Renée Wilcox.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know why these sisters let you get away with your foolishness, James.”

“Same reason they’re filling the front rows of the church these past few Sundays, Bishop.”

“And why’s that?” I asked.

“ ’Cause a good man is hard to find.” James smiled as he opened my office door. “Remember, Bishop,” he called as he gave me one last warning. “Deacon Dickens and Savannah are just the first.”

I smiled, nodded and waved as James exited the room, halfway closing the door behind him. I proceeded to remove the empty liquor bottle from my desk drawer and stuffed it down in my leather briefcase with the intent of disposing of it in the Dumpster in the back parking lot. I carried the two glasses we’d been drinking from down the hall to the church kitchen to rinse them out.

As I turned the corner to return to my office, I spotted an envelope taped to my door. It actually gave me deja vu because for years, Charlene would leave me messages in the same exact fashion. By the time I got to the door, my hands were shaking and my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest, I was so nervous and confused. She’d been dead for six months, but the envelope taped to the door was from my wife’s personal stationery.