Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [114]
He remained silent for a moment, searching her face, looking like he was ready to hurt her if she didn't come up with the right answer.
Saphronia was kind of scared, but she opened her eyes real wide and raised her eyebrows as if to say, "What that got to do with me?"
She looked around the porch like she didn't have the faintest idea where she was, adjusting her bra strap and sucking her teeth like she was extracting a piece of food. And when she said, "You gotta toothpick I could borrow," he relaxed. Most of these ho's were kind of dumb—even the well-dressed ones like this girl—and if she hadn't been sent by Reverend Washington, she would have backed down and tried to leave. He moved back an inch or two, making a little more space for her to come through the door.
"I gonna be real nice to your dumb behind and let you come in here and do whatever you were told to do, if you're capable of remembering that."
"I thinks I 'sposed to serve and stuff like that."
Laymond just looked at her, wondering if she could hold a tray of food right and said, "Yeah, whatever. But I want you to remember something."
"Uh huh, what's that?"
"I want you to remember that the next time you come here to work, you better remember everything you were told, including your work number. I don't stand for no dumb ho's working at my establishment. You got that straight?"
Saphronia swallowed hard and forced herself to give him a toothy grin as she switched and wobbled her way through that tiny space he had allotted for her in the doorway. He had some nerve calling this place his establishment, when he was nothing but a lackey for Cleotis Clayton and these preachers. She wondered how many of the women working here really believed that Laymond Johnson was running this place.
The grin and that big old butt swaying up against him made Laymond relax enough to feel that perhaps she was okay after all. He smiled back at her and then reached out and rubbed his hand over the curve of her behind. He liked the first feel so much, he took the liberty of getting another one and said, "Maybe you should think about more'n just serving up some food this evening. That fine-looking behind you got swinging off the back of you is a moneymaker if I ever saw one."
He caught a glimmer of something in her eye that made him feel uneasy, the same kind of look that uppity Precious Powers always gave him. He pointed down the hall and nudged her to get to walking in the direction of the Sanctuary and went to find something to eat.
When he was gone, Saphronia leaned against the wall and fought back the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. She could not believe that man had the audacity to touch her like that. A sob rose up in her throat but stopped cold when she suddenly realized that Laymond had not touched her behind, he was patting on a "ho'." Her spirits lifted and she marveled at her own successful subterfuge. With a swell of confidence, she walked to the end of the hall, past two rooms set up for funerals, and knocked boldly on the Sanctuary door. After a brief questioning by some kind of security guard, she was in.
What she saw shocked her. She had expected a room that looked something like those two parlors she passed in the hall. But this room was so sophisticated that it must have taken months of work to ready for the Triennial Conference.
The walls were painted baby blue, and the molding, doorways, and windowsills were a soft, creamy white. The furniture was an eclectic but tasteful assortment of velvet and silk damask couches and butter-soft leather chairs in various shades of blue. The roomy and comfortable-looking leather armchairs were navy blue, the velvet couch and silk damask love seats were a matching robin's egg blue, and the smaller-looking wood and leather chairs were all upholstered in a rich, jewel-toned turquoise.
There were large crystal vases filled with multicolored bouquets of fresh roses—pink, yellow, ivory, and peach—placed on gleaming mahogany tables that were next to the armchairs and in