Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [51]
One of the ministers in that group excused himself to talk to someone in the room, and three others started arranging with a waiter for the group's tables. The remaining two, Marcel Brown and Sonny Washington, stayed where they were over near the top of the stairs, waiting for Glodean Benson to come out of the ladies' room.
"Will you look at that Negro?" Sonny said, looking down the hall to see if Glodean was coming. "Look at him, sitting over there with that fine woman. What is it about him that gets the women goin', like her and Glodean?"
Marcel shrugged. "Looks like you're the one Glodean is studying, walking in here with her hanging all over you. It's no secret that she is looking for a preacher to marry her."
Sonny looked at Marcel like he was crazy and said, "Marry her? No. But I do hear that she is supposed to have the best stuff in all of Memphis, Tennessee. Besides, I singled out Miss Benson for a few other reasons."
Marcel figured that Sonny was protesting too much. He was about to say so when Sonny added, "Man, I'm with her because I'm doing like ol' Bishop Caruthers said, about getting yourself an informant on your enemies. Ain't nobody like a woman who has been in their beds to get the truth on some of these do-right preachers."
Marcel knew what Sonny was talking about. Bishop Otis Caruthers had told him the exact same thing when he was in Detroit about a month ago. He'd said, "Young Rev. Brown, you need to get yourself a couple of Holy Ghost–filled, unfulfilled sisters in several different churches to keep you informed on the progress of your foes." He had then given him a long hard look, saying, "You're one of those smooth, good-looking, high-yellow Detroit boys. I know you know how to work that avenue, right?"
"There sure do seem to be a lot of them these days," Marcel said. "Simmons and Rev. Murcheson James and even Eddie Tate. High-and-mighties who think God called them just so that they could keep an eye on us. Getting all righteousminded—motioning and demanding that the churches in their districts file annual reports, showing their budgets, bank statements, receipts, cash, you name it, including the pastor's personal expenditures. They're making themselves the judge and jury on how pastors act, especially with the churchwomen. Like Simmons—who ought to cast out the beam in his own eye, before he goes looking for the speck in yours or mine."
"Uh-huh," said Sonny, looking at his watch, with a sour look on his face. "What is taking Glodean so long? Even a woman don't need that much time to pee. I know she's in there trying to look her best for that fool sitting over there."
Marcel was surprised at Sonny's bitter tone. "Man, I didn't even know she saw him—she walked off almost as soon as we got to the top of the stairs."
"She saw him all right," Sonny said. "Women see everything—especially a Negro they think they need."
Marcel shifted from one foot to the other a few times, checking the hall leading toward the women's rest room.
"I'm not standing here waiting on Glodean," he said. "I trust she will see us just as fast as she saw him." He headed off with Sonny in the direction of Theophilus's table, thinking he might lay some Detroit charm on this little Mississippi girl, just to spite Simmons. Something he planned on doing in the church lobby before service started and he was pulled away by Bishop Giles.
When Theophilus saw Marcel Brown and Sonny Washington coming toward him, he stopped eating, thinking, "Now what do they want?"
"Good evening, Theophilus, miss," Marcel said slyly as he let his eyes linger on Essie. He enjoyed the discomfort he was obviously causing Theophilus.
"Evening, Simmons," Sonny said and patted Theophilus on the shoulder like they were old buddies. "Rev. Brown and I saw you sitting over here and thought we should