Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [37]
"Marcel Brown," Eddie said to break the tense silence. "Surprised to see you at this conference. I always thought Memphis was too far south for a smooth Dee-troit boy like yourself."
Marcel shook Eddie's outstretched hand, saying, "Rev-rend Tate. Kind of surprised to be here myself. But, what the hell— Daddy insisted that I drive my presiding bishop down to Memphis. Said Bishop Giles would grant me a few favors at the Michigan Annual Conference if I came with him. I will be glad to get back to the Motor City, though. Nothing here but a highway that takes me further down to nowhere—Mississippi."
Marcel knew full well how Theophilus felt about him, and the animosity was mutual. He said, "The good Rev. Theophilus Simmons. Why, someone was just telling me what a big hit you were down in Atlanta with some of our dedicated saints. So, how's it going in Memphis?"
It was obvious that Marcel was referring to Glodean, though Theophilus couldn't imagine who had bothered to revive that ancient scandal. But he resented Marcel's insulting effort to imply that they were on the same level, both preachers who would have their way with women. Rather than shake Marcel's hand, he stuck his own in his pocket, saying, "I'm making it, Marcel. But I can't possibly be doing as well as you. Way I hear it, there are a lot of sisters in Detroit who make sure everybody knows just how much they love the pastor."
Marcel adjusted the ruby velvet stole on his black robe and said, "What can I say? I try to make all of my church folk feel happy and blessed. And if I were you, Simmons, I'd count this particular week as filled with happiness and blessings just waiting to be had. Nothing like an Annual Conference to get some of these good sisters all overheated and anxious to do a little extra something for the pastor.
"Take that one," Marcel said, zeroing in on Essie. "My . . . my . . . my. Will you all look at the legs on that girl? Now, that's one I'd like to know better than I know the Bible when this conference is over."
Eddie was getting uncomfortable, knowing how much Marcel was offending Theophilus. He pulled at the sleeve of Marcel's robe and said, "Leave it alone, man. He is working on that."
"Oh, yeah?" Marcel said to Theophilus. "You need to mark off your territory a lot better than you're doing, if you don't want the rest of us preachers prowling around that woman."
Theophilus couldn't say a word. It was taking everything in him not to punch Marcel in the mouth.
In fact, Marcel had already staked his claim on a woman at the conference, Saphronia McComb, who was invited with her grandmother to attend out of respect for the late Bishop Harold. Marcel's father had been pushing him to marry, to curb some of the scandals his womanizing had gotten simmering in the church. As soon as he laid eyes on Saphronia Anne McComb, he recognized how perfectly she fit his father's image of the right kind of wife for him. So he had sought her affections—effortless work, with his light skin, curly black hair, and deep soulful eyes—and set her to blushing whenever he flashed his charming pastor's smile at her.
But Simmons's woman was far more enticing than Saphronia, despite the latter's level of education and status in the church community. He envied Theophilus and decided to walk over and introduce himself to Essie, just to spite him. But he quickly changed his mind when he saw his presiding bishop, Lawson Giles, heading into the lobby, talking to a retired pastor from Grenada, Mississippi. Excusing himself from Theophilus and Eddie, he hurried over to join Bishop Giles.
Theophilus thanked the Lord for helping him hold his temper, as provocative as Marcel had been. Now he decided that he just might do what Marcel suggested, go over and "mark" Essie as his "territory." He walked up to Lee Allie and kissed her on the cheek,