Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [118]
Cleotis, who now recognized Saphronia, poked Laymond on the shoulder and shook his head no, warning him not to lay a hand on Saphronia. Laymond tried to shove him away but Cleotis stood his ground and now said out loud, "Don't hit her, man."
Laymond tried to shove him again and said, "Get out of my face."
Cleotis pulled at his coat sleeve. "Don't hit that woman unless you want to end up down on that floor next to Rev. Brown."
Laymond was furious that this scrawny funeral home Negro had the nerve to talk to him like that. He spun around to deal with Cleotis and stuck his face right in the nose of the gun, which Cleotis had taken out again.
"Are you crazy? Put that doggone gun away."
"When you decide to leave Miss McComb alone, I'll put this gun away," Cleotis said.
Laymond wasn't sure he had heard Cleotis right. He looked at Saphronia again and, sure enough, she was definitely Rev. Brown's fiancée. Laymond began to look scared. He had just known something was wrong when he let her in tonight.
"Well, then, you take care of her," he told Cleotis, and beat a hasty retreat.
Cleotis, still holding his gun, held out his free hand to Saphronia. She took it and got up to stand by his side. The sight of the gun made her feel squeamish. It had never even occurred to her that the people involved in this business might have to shoot somebody.
Marcel now stood up, holding the side of his head, his face contorted by anger and throbbing pain.
"You think you have really done something to me, don't you, Saphronia?" he said. "Well, just know this. You haven't done a thing but give me the reason I've been looking for to call off this wedding. Never wanted to marry your big old stuck-up butt in the first place." He laughed, then stopped because his head was hurting. "Did you know that my father and Bishop Giles made me pick you over Precious? Huh?"
Tears formed in Saphronia's eyes and started running down her cheeks.
"I see you didn't know that. But now you do," he said and spread his hands out like he was saying, "See, you can't have this." He sighed heavily and then gave her a nasty smirk. "Well, Miss McComb, hear this. Because you have proven yourself unworthy of marrying a pastor of my status, I am now free to go and get the woman I should have asked to marry me in the first place. See, despite your credentials, Miss McComb, the woman who has my heart is Precious Powers. So you just did me a favor, baby girl."
Saphronia stopped crying and smiled at Marcel, knowing that the news she was about to deliver was going to wipe that cocky smirk right off of his face. She looked at him for a moment and said, "Who do you think sent me here, Marcel?"
His face got guarded and he said, "What do you mean, sent you?"
"Just what I said," Saphronia answered. "Do you honestly think I could pull this off by myself ? Not me, with my big-old-stuck-up-butt self."
Marcel began to advance on her but she raised that purse up and he backed off.
"Marcel, I don't think you are getting married to anybody anytime soon. You just made it clear you never wanted me. And now I just have to tell you that the woman you want so bad no longer wants you. And she sent me here to get you straight after she heard you in bed with some woman when you were supposed to be with her. So right now, I don't care that you never wanted me. Just telling you that Precious doesn't want you is enough to ease my pain."
Saphronia watched Marcel digest that information. She didn't care that her face was swollen and hurting, and that she looked a mess, because she had not felt this good since she was five years old and won her first speech contest at church.
Cleotis Clayton started to question her about just how much Precious Powers told her but changed his mind. He had earned all the money he needed to launch the funeral home, and then some. He would be happy to close up shop because he was tired of these preachers, every last one of them.
Chapter Twenty-seven