Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [39]
The steady hum of excited voices circulating around the crowded church quieted down as it came time for the service to begin. The trickle of latecomers hurried to their places, and Glodean Benson, who was in this group, gave one of the male ushers a big, batting-eyes smile as an incentive to find her a seat. Being late was part of her strategy this afternoon, because she wanted to make a special entrance. If there was one thing Glodean Benson could count on, it was commanding everyone's attention when she walked through a church sanctuary.
She was a striking woman, standing five foot six, with an hourglass figure, milk chocolate skin that was as smooth as satin, smoky brown eyes, and coal black hair that hung down her back past her shoulder blades. But it wasn't her beauty alone that made so many take note when she promenaded down a church aisle. It was her inviting walk that got under their skin.
A regular conference goer, Glodean doted on preachers, and according to the pastor of one Knoxville, Tennessee, church, she delivered on every single thing hinted at in that walk. As he had confided to a handful of ministers at one of the Tennessee/Mississippi District's midwinter meetings, Glodean was as close to heaven on earth as he was going to get. He had said rather wistfully that when he was with her, he felt that he could have lain on her pale pink, perfumed sheets for all eternity. And when a little sweat formed on his forehead at the mere thought of Glodean Benson, he pulled out a handkerchief, stomped his feet, and wiped his face like he had just finished a good sermon.
As Glodean followed the usher to her seat, the enticing scent of her pricy signature perfume wafted behind her. Known for her expensive pink outfits, today she was wearing a pink and gold low-cut lace dress with capped sleeves that molded itself to her body. Her long hair was knotted into a heavy chignon at the nape of her neck—barely visible under a pink silk hat, with a wide brim that curved down toward her face and was trimmed with silk rosebuds. Her beautiful face was adorned only with the dark pink lipstick she always wore on her full, wide lips. And she had on diamond earrings and pink lace gloves, on top of which she wore an array of diamond rings—gifts from pastors over the past years.
All eyes were upon her and she knew it.
While Glodean was walking down the aisle, Essie nudged Lee Allie and said, "Mama, look at that woman. I can't believe she would hold up the service to carry on like that."
Lee Allie took a good look at Glodean Benson, wondering if all of the woman's brain circuits were fired up right. She glanced over at Coral and saw that she was looking sour. "Coral, you know her? She walkin' up in here actin' like she think she the Queen of Sheba."
"Honey, that there is Glodean Benson. She lives in Atlanta now, but she grew up in my church. And she may think she the Queen of Sheba but she ain't nothin' but a sanctified tramp."
"A what?" Essie asked.
"You know, a woman who only want to sleep with a preacher 'cause she crazy enough to believe that in a preacher's pants there some kind of pipeline to heaven. Cain't meet no decent man 'cause she so fixed on preachers and becoming the first lady of some church. That woman don't believe in dancin', smokin', or drinkin' but she wiggle under those sheets with some preacher every chance she get. Baby, it's a sickness and these mens don't know how to or even want to stop Glodean's goin's on. Sometimes these so-called mens of God sho' do a lot to help out the devil."
"That's a shame, Miss Coral."
"Sure 'nough is, Essie Lee. She just wastin' and usin' herself up on some crazy-thinking foolishness."
"And," Coral thought, "I still don't understand how in the world Rev. Simmons got himself all tangled up with that crazy woman."
Marcel stood in the processional line with his friend, Rev. Sonny Washington, watching this woman advertise herself, with pure amusement all over his face. As much as he liked to tomcat his way through churchwomen,