Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [36]
As they made their way back upstairs, Coral insisted that they stop in the church lobby to find D.S., whom she knew had arrived late. As she searched for him, Essie looked around the lobby, which was full of well-dressed church folk, ministers, and bishops, hoping to pick Theophilus out of the crowd. Finally she spotted him on the other side of the room, talking to Rev. James and another minister who looked to be about his age. A small group of ladies walked up to him and gave him hugs and kisses. She could almost hear him complimenting an older woman—whom he held at arm's length, to get the full effect—on the beautiful white crepe suit with navy trimming on the collar she was wearing.
For a moment Essie wondered if any of the women in this group were his admirers. But as she watched them, she decided that, just like her mother, Mrs. Neese, and Coral Thomas, these were the women who sustained the congregation with their tithes and offerings, care of the pastor, care of the sick and shut-in, care of each other, church dinners, fund-raising events, and maintenance of the church building, along with the parsonage. No, these women were not the pastor's admirers—they were the lifeblood of the church.
Theophilus caught sight of Essie and gave her a smile and a wave. Rev. Eddie Tate, the preacher who was standing between Theophilus and Rev. James, asked, "Who are you waving at?"
He looked across the lobby again and then back at Theophilus with a smile. "Umph. That girl is wearing the daylights out of that dress. Theo, brother, you need to take me on over there so I can get a better look at her and then just shake her mama's hand."
Theophilus's body language suddenly changed from relaxed to stiff and defensive. With a chill in his voice, he said, "I'm not taking you anywhere to shake anybody's hand."
But Eddie wasn't put off. "Now, Theophilus," he said. "Judging from the way you're acting, that can only be Essie Lane— the sweet thing you've been hiding down in Mississippi away from the rest of us."
"That's Essie Lane, all right. But I haven't been hiding her. You don't know her because she doesn't run around in any of these fancy church circles and has little if any interest in being seen at an Annual Conference."
"Well, she's definitely going to be seen at this Annual Conference, Theo. Because a man would have to be blind not to see the legs on that woman."
Theophilus bristled at Eddie's comments about Essie's legs. But Eddie just clasped his shoulder and said good-naturedly, "Relax, man. Don't get all bent out of shape with me because your new woman is so fine. Isn't that the dream of every man—to have a fine woman at his side?"
Theophilus smiled, a little sheepish at his overreaction.
Rev. James, who had been listening to the friends with bemusement, now looked at his watch. "Well," he said, "it's time for me to meet Bishop Jennings in the sanctuary and find out where I am to sit during the service. I lost my seating chart and don't have a clue as to where he put me."
The two young men understood what he meant. Annual Conferences were notorious for sparking rivalries among preachers for the attention of the bishops and prominent pastors. On a few occasions, preachers had even come to blows over being placed in seats too far from the pulpit, limiting their access to a bishop or a highly placed pastor. Bishop Percy Jennings had a lot of power in the denomination, so much of the jockeying would revolve around him. Fortunately, he was a stickler for fairness, which extended even to his seating plans.
No sooner had Rev. James left than Rev. Marcel DeMarcus Brown, the son of Detroit's Rev. Ernest Brown, joined them. Theophilus did not like Marcel Brown or his daddy, preachers who would do just about anything for money and power in the denomination—and, worse, used their status in the church to get women in bed. He had particular disdain for Marcel, who adopted a deep, sexy voice when he preached. And Marcel definitely knew how to use that voice—raising it, lowering it, moaning, groaning, and even growling at