The Choir Director

Book 5: Church Series

by Carl Weber

Genres: General Fiction; African American; African American Christian; African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Carl Weber is a New York Times best-selling author who’s made a name for himself with wildly entertaining works marked by his trademark wit and storytelling panache. In The Choir Director, Bishop T.K. Wilson is banking on dynamic new choir director Anthony Mackie to reverse the failing congregation’s fortunes. But while Anthony’s got more than enough chops to raise a heavenly chorus, he’s also got a weakness for the ladies that could make the Devil himself stand up and take notice.

Release date: March 19, 2013

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

I stepped off the elevator and onto the third-floor oncology unit of Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, holding the hand of my wife, Monique. We were accompanied by my good friend of more than twenty years, Deacon Maxwell Frye. As we walked down the hall, I recognized the pungent odor of medical disinfectant. It didn’t matter what hospital I visited; the smell was always the same, and it seemed to embed itself in my nostrils. I hated it because it always reminded me of the imminent deaths of the people in the rooms around me. Oh, I’d learned to tolerate it over the years, especially since visiting people in their last days was part of being the pastor of First Jamaica Ministries, but today’s visit wasn’t just to any old parishioner on his deathbed. No, today’s visit was much closer to home and way more personal for me and Deacon Frye. We were here to see our very dear friend James Black, who was dying of lung cancer.

“T. K., Monique, get your behinds in here,” James coughed out when he saw us standing in the entrance to his room. He hadn’t seen Deacon Frye yet. Despite his condition, it was obvious he was glad to see us.

As we entered the room, Monique’s grip tightened around my hand. I could tell she was struggling to conceal her shock at just how bad James looked. I had tried to prepare my wife before we arrived, but words couldn’t describe how much he had deteriorated.

This was the first time Monique had seen him since he’d pled guilty to murder charges a little over a year ago. I still couldn’t believe he’d willingly gone to jail for a crime he didn’t commit, but I guess some parents will go to any lengths to protect their children. Can’t say whether I would have done the same, but I was glad I had never been put into that position. He’d been given a twenty-year sentence, but I pulled some strings after a recent visit when I heard his prognosis, and he was released for medical reasons. Cancer had taken a vibrant, six-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound man and turned him into a talking skeleton. Even more unbelievable was the fact that his hair was completely white. He seemed to have aged twenty years in less than a year’s time.

It didn’t take my wife long to gather her composure. In a matter of seconds, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around James to give him a kiss on the cheek. She shot me a pointed look when she spotted a picture of his two grown children sitting on the night table beside his bed. Monique hated the idea that his daughter and son were both missing in action and hadn’t come to see their father once since his arrest. I didn’t fault her for feeling that way, but I knew a little more about the situation than she did. I’d made a promise to James not to share what I knew, even with her.

“James, I’ve got a surprise visitor for you.” I gestured toward the door and watched as a grin broke out across James’s face.

“Wait, don’t tell me, T. K. You finally pulled it off. You got Holly Robinson-Peete to divorce her husband and become my personal nurse until the Lord takes me home.”

“Holly Robinson? Have you lost your mind? Here you are supposedly on your deathbed and the woman you want to spend your last days with is Holly Robinson-Peete? You couldn’t set the bar any higher than that? I mean, come on, James. If you’re going to fantasize about a woman, you need to go all out and do it with a bang!” Maxwell joked as he appeared in the doorway. He and James had always been like that.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Maxwell Frye, how the hell are you?” James smiled from ear to ear. “I’ll be honest, brother. I didn’t think I’d see you again in this lifetime. How long you back for?”

Deacon Frye had been in Iraq for almost five years. His company, Maxwell Enterprises, was a minority contractor for the government and was doing infrastructure work in Iraq. One of the stipulations in the contract was that he oversee things personally. He’d been back stateside only a few times briefly since.

Maxwell walked around to the far side of James’s bed and gave him a hug. “I’m back for good. I was having some heart problems, and they had to fix me up with a pacemaker. Sorry I’m just getting around to seeing you, but I’m only now starting to get readjusted. Things have really changed around here.” He glanced over at me and my wife. We had not been married when Maxwell left for Iraq. Like many other church members, Maxwell was surprised by my decision to marry Monique.

“Change . . . don’t I know it,” James said. “It’s good to see you, Maxwell. The Wilsons over there are gonna need your help keeping these church folks in line.”

“Well, you know I’ll do whatever I can, James.”

“I know you will. I feel better about things already.”

James turned to my wife as Maxwell took a seat in the chair on the other side of his bed. “So, Monique, how are you? You’re looking good as ever.” He looked at me and winked. “No offense, old friend, but your wife just gets finer and you just keep getting older.”

“I know that’s right,” Maxwell added.

“None taken.” I chuckled. “I think she looks pretty good myself. That’s why I married her, remember? And as far as getting old, well, I’m like a bottle of wine: I get better with time.”

“Mmph, you sure do, honey.” Monique gave me a smile, then turned her attention back to James. “To answer your question, I’m doing fine. What about you? How you doing? You look good.”

James laughed. “Girl, I swear, you have fit right into that first lady’s role, haven’t you?”

I watched my beautiful wife blush.

James spoke gently to her. “Now, I know I look like crap, so you don’t have to lie to me, Mo.” He sighed. “I know my best days are behind me. I made my peace with that a long time ago. I’m ready to die.”

“Who said anything about you dying? You’re probably going to outlive us all, you old coot.” I was trying to break up the mood in a way only a true friend could do.

“If I do live that long, it’s only to be a pain in your ass, T. K.” he joked, forcing himself to sit up. My wife helped him by propping a pillow behind his neck. “But seriously, I’m tired and I’m ready to go home. I just hope the Lord’s willing to let me in the door.”

I hated to hear him say things like that, so I tried to offer him some encouragement. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, James. I think you’ve sacrificed enough, don’t you? The Lord—”

James shot me a glance that basically said, “Let’s not go there.”

I nodded my head out of respect for his condition and his feelings, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. That man had sacrificed his entire life for the love of his family, and he had been willing to die in a jail cell because of it.

James quickly changed the subject. “So, Mo, how about him? He taking care of you the way he’s supposed to?”

She reached out to take my hand as she answered. “I couldn’t have asked for a better man. I couldn’t have asked for a better life.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” James nodded his approval. “Are those wenches in the church treating you all right? They’re not trying to run over you, are they? ’Cause all you have to do is kick one of them in the ass and the rest will fall right in line,” he said with a laugh.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ve got them right where I want them.” Monique and I had had a rocky start to our relationship, because certain members of the church—mostly female—thought her rumored past was too dicey for her to be considered a candidate for the role of first lady after my first wife died. She was strong, though, and had withstood the storm. Now she was well respected and loved by most church members. Even those who had been adamantly against our marriage knew enough to treat her cordially now and kept their opinions to themselves.

“Besides,” she continued, “we have bigger problems than that at the church. With—” She stopped when I squeezed her hand, signaling for her to shut up, but it was too late. James’s body might have been failing him, but his mind was still sharp as ever.

He sat up straight as a board, ignoring the pain. There were three things James loved most in this world: his two children and our church. He knew the ins and outs of church politics like nobody’s business. He’d been both a deacon and a member of the board of trustees just as long as I’d been pastor, and we made quite a formidable team. But now, with him being sick, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that what we had built together over the years was slowly crumbling.

“What’s going on at the church, T. K.?” He was staring directly at me, and his eyes did not budge from my face.

“It’s nothing, James, seriously. I can handle it.” I glanced over at my wife, who was trying to apologize with her eyes. I loved her to death, but just this once I wished she had kept her big mouth shut.

When I turned back to James, he was still staring at me, waiting for an answer.

“What, do I look stupid? If it was nothing, you would have told me by now. Now spill it. I wanna know what’s going on at my church.”

My church. He was still claiming ownership in our church, even though most of our members had turned their backs on him when he was arrested for murder. If they only knew how selfless he really was.

He looked at Maxwell. “What do you know about this, Deacon Frye?”

“I’ve been trying to—”

I cut off Maxwell before he could put himself in a bad position. “He knows what I told him and nothing more.”

“So tell me what you know, T. K.,” James demanded.

I began to pace back and forth in front of his bed. “James, you’ve got other things to worry about. You don’t need this nonsense. You need to concentrate on your health.”

“Dammit, T. K., my health ain’t worth a damn right now. Face it—I’m dying. The only thing I got left is that church. Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to make some calls and find out myself?”

“Tell him, honey,” Monique prodded. “You two have always worked well together. Maybe he can come up with an idea to help.”

“Thank you, Mo,” James said matter-of-factly.

I continued pacing for a short while before I finally sat down next to my wife and looked at my friend, ready to tell him the truth. “The church is in trouble financially. We’re down about thirty-five percent in attendance and almost forty-two percent in revenue. The board’s thinking about closing down the school next year if things don’t get better, and that’s just the beginning.”

“What?” His body tensed up angrily. “I built that school. We had plenty of money put aside in the school fund before I went to prison.”

“Priorities changed when you were arrested. The country went into recession. People aren’t giving as much as they used to. The rates on our adjustable mortgages have reset much higher than anyone expected. I tried to keep things simple, but Simone Wilcox was voted chairwoman of the board of trustees, and last year she pushed to have money directed to the building of new senior housing. We’ve got a lot of working capital tied up in that project.”

I could see James running the numbers through his head. He’d always been good with figures, which was why he’d been elected chairman of the board of trustees despite his reputation as a womanizer.

“You gotta be kidding me. We can’t afford to be building at a time like this. What’s that heifer Wilcox trying to do, bankrupt the church? Why the hell you let them elect that woman head of my board, I don’t know. She’s not her father, T. K. Simone Wilcox ain’t out for anyone but herself. The woman’s a diva with an agenda. Trust me, she’s always got something up her sleeve.”

“You of all people would know, James,” Maxwell joked, taking a jab at the fact that James used to sleep with Simone.

“Don’t get smart, Maxwell. That was a long time ago.”

“Not to her,” my wife commented. “But in her defense, James, she’s got an MBA, and she runs one of the largest car dealerships in the area.”

“Oh, give me a break. That’s only because her daddy retired and didn’t have any sons to leave it to. She could never have built a dealership like Wilcox Motors by herself. I bet you half her staff has already left. I’m surprised it’s still standing.” James shook his head. “I know she’s your friend, Mo, but Simone’s best asset is between her legs. I could tell you some stories.”

“That’s chauvinistic, James. You’re just hating on her because she’s a successful woman,” Monique snapped.

“No, that’s just realistic. There are plenty of women who could have done a good job as chairwoman. Simone’s just not one of them.”

“Like who?”

I glanced over at Maxwell, shaking my head. My wife had just opened up a can of worms she might not be able to close.

“Did you guys take Lisa Mae into consideration?”

Monique scrunched her face like there was a bad odor in the room at the mention of Lisa Mae, a onetime rival for my affection. “No, we did not consider that woman,” Monique told him. She didn’t know I knew it, but she’d secretly campaigned to make sure Lisa Mae never had a shot at the chairmanship. “However, Simone couldn’t have been but so incompetent. Things were going pretty well until attendance dropped.”

James was clearly frustrated by this news. “Answer me this: Why’d attendance drop? Something must have pissed everybody off. What, did Simone start charging a fee at the door for people to get in? People don’t just stop going to church en masse.”

“They do when the choir director’s trying to sleep with their husbands and sons.” Monique was trying to hold back a laugh. The situation definitely wasn’t funny, but just like plenty of other people, my wife had a weakness for gossip.

James looked at me with a frown. “Oh Lord, it was Jackie, wasn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Well, I guess he wasn’t as harmless as you thought. I told you we needed to get rid of that SOB years ago, T. K.”

Clearly, James had been much better than I at judging the truth. I’d wanted to dismiss it as rumors. James had always predicted Jackie would cause trouble, and he had been painfully correct.

“Yeah, you did.” There was nothing I hated more than listening to one of James’s I-told-you-so rants. “I just wish I had listened to you. That man’s wife has got the whole congregation in an uproar.”

“What’s she doing?”

“She found his journal. Turns out all those rumors were true, and he recorded every sordid detail in that diary,” I admitted. “She didn’t waste any time spreading the news either. Over a third of the men in the choir found themselves in that journal in some capacity or another, and the other two-thirds were considered guilty by association.”

I felt badly for Jackie’s wife, and part of me could understand why she reacted the way she did. You can imagine how devastating the discovery must have been for her, and, well, misery does love company. Unfortunately, her coping method left me with a huge problem on my hands. Word spread quickly, and within two weeks, the entire choir disbanded, even though Jackie had already been fired and was no longer attending the church. My wife and I had been trying to put it back together to no avail. I never knew how hard a choir director’s job was until then.

“Now we’ve got no choir,” I said as I finished summing up the turmoil we’d been struggling with. “Now, I’m a heck of a preacher if I do say so myself, James, but nothing goes better with the Word than music. Our choir has always been a cornerstone of our church. Putting my ego aside, wasn’t it you who once told me that half the people in the pews on Sunday were there to hear the choir and not me?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Well, from where I’m sitting, you’re sounding more and more like a prophet.”

“Man, I can’t believe something like this could take down the church,” Maxwell added.

“Neither can I. Plus, when you add that to the financial troubles we’re having, it’s like the perfect storm. To be honest, I don’t know what we’re gonna do. We’ve got a huge balloon payment on one of the church’s mortgages next year.”

“You’re right. Only thing that’s gonna save us is getting people back in the church. What about Savannah Dickens? Maybe we can get her to help,” he suggested. At one time, Savannah Dickens’s voice could light a fire in the soul of even the greatest heathen. But like so many other things, that had changed too. She left the church to start a career singing pop music. It looked like she was going to make it, too, until she got hooked on drugs. She fell hard and she fell fast, and no one in the church had seen or heard from her since.

“Already thought of that, James, but it looks like Sister Savannah has lost her way to drugs. She’s not even a member of our church anymore.”

“I know what we have to do, honey,” Monique interrupted. “We have to hire a choir director. But not just any old choir director. We need someone young, someone so talented and so charismatic that he can put together a choir that will blow the roof off the church. This choir has to be so good that everyone in the borough of Queens will be fighting for a good seat in the pews just to hear them sing.”

“I understand what you’re saying, baby, but do you have anyone in mind? ’Cause I don’t know anybody like that.”

James snapped his fingers. “I do!” His sunken features suddenly looked a little brighter. “T. K., do you remember last year before I got locked up when we went to visit Reverend Simmons’s church in Jarratt, Virginia?”

“Mmm-hmm. What about it?”

“Do you remember his choir? There was only about ten of them, but they were some kind of good.”

“Yeah,” I said with excitement. “I remember. They had that young kid leading them with all the Kirk Franklin moves and the BeBe Winans voice. What was his name?”

We sat quietly for a moment, both of us trying to remember. James finally recalled it. “Aaron,” he announced with a smile. “His name was Aaron Mackie. And he’s exactly what we need.” He folded his arms. “He’s the total package, T. K. He’s got looks, charisma, and sex appeal in a church kind of way. There’s no doubt in my mind the boy could save our church.”

“Well, then, I guess I’m gonna have to go down to Virginia and have a talk with Mr. Aaron Mackie.”

“Yes! Yes! That’s it, Aaron! Make me sing, baby! Make me sing!” Sandra pleaded, but I paid her no mind. I didn’t even understand why she’d brought up singing at a time like this. This wasn’t choir practice, and even if it was, singing wasn’t her strong suit at all. So, no, I wasn’t trying to make her sing. I was trying to make her come, which is why I had her bent over my kitchen table, pumping my Johnson into her like I was drilling for oil. Nope, I didn’t want her to sing, but a few loud moans and groans would have been nice, and after a few more healthy thrusts, that’s exactly what I got.

“Oooohhhhh, Lord have mercy!” she finally screamed, making my own excitement that much more intense. A few strokes later, I did a little moaning of my own as I exploded and then collapsed on top of her, drained but satisfied. I had to give her credit—she might not have been able to sing, but Sandra sure knew how to please a man. I’d never been with a woman who made me feel that good on the very first time. Then again, she was full of surprises today, the first one being that she broke into my house after church, and the second one being that she was waiting for me on my sofa wearing nothing but her Sunday hat.

I have no idea how long I lay on top of her, but I could have stayed there all afternoon if it weren’t for a loud knock on my front door. I reluctantly lifted myself off of her and the table.

Sandra reached back, trying to stop me from exiting her. “You’re not going to answer that, are you?” She sounded offended.

“Nah, I’m just gonna peek out the window to see who it is. Then we can continue our activities in the bedroom. I know I must have been getting a little heavy lying on you like that, and that hard table’s got to be uncomfortable.”

She gave me a smile as she slid off the table. “No, you and it were just fine. I’ve never done it on a table before, and I like doing new things. I love how spontaneous you are.” She stood up, and I admired her body. Those women in the rap videos didn’t have a thing on her.

“You were pretty spontaneous yourself. But if you think that was something, let me see who’s at the door and then I’ll be back to show you just how spontaneous I can really get.”

“I don’t know how you’re gonna top the kitchen table.”

“Oh, really? Have you ever done it on top of a washing machine on the spin cycle?”

Sandra shook her head, blushing. “No, but I’m willing to try anything. Tie me up and spank me if you want to. Baby, it’s been a long time since I had lovin’ this good, and I’m ready for everything you got.”

“My girl. Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” I grinned, chuckling to myself. It never failed. Most of these churchwomen were nothing but a bunch of undercover freaks. The more sanctified they claimed to be, the freakier they were when you finally got them in the bedroom.

Whoever was at the door knocked again, so I put on my clothes and excused myself. I walked into the living room of my two-bedroom house. My first guess was that the visitor was one of my other lady friends in search of some Sunday afternoon loving. I wasn’t married and made it very clear that I didn’t have a steady woman, so I wasn’t worried about any drama. But what I wasn’t prepared for when I peeked out the window were the two men standing outside my front door. One of the men I knew very well; the other seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I knew him from.

“Crap,” I said out loud.

“Don’t tell me it’s one of your women, ’cause I don’t do threesomes, and there’s only enough whipped cream for two.”

I turned to see Sandra standing in the doorway to the kitchen, as naked as the day she was born, with whipped cream smiley faces on each of her breasts. And she had the nerve to call me spontaneous. I don’t think she would have been so damn spontaneous if she knew who was standing on the other side of my front door.

“No, but you might want to get rid of the whipped cream and put your clothes back on. Reverend Jenkins is outside, and he’s got someone with him.”

The color drained from Sandra’s honey-brown face as she went into panic mode. “Oh Lord! What’s he doing here?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but they saw me when I looked out the window, so I gotta open the door.”

“Don’t you open that door,” she threatened as she ran frantically back into the kitchen. I could hear her scrambling to gather up her clothes, and a few seconds later, she was standing in front of me wearing only her bra and panties. As awkward as the situation was, I had to giggle, because her panties were on backward and she looked stupid as hell.

“I don’t see a damn thing funny,” she said with a pout.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her about her panties. I just pointed down the hall. “Maybe you should go hide in the bedroom.”

I didn’t have to tell her twice. She hightailed it down the hall in a flash. Although I was amused by the panties, the last thing either of us wanted was for her to get caught in my house, mainly because there wasn’t an excuse in the world we could come up with for why she was there, other than the truth that we were getting our groove on.

When I was sure that Sandra was securely hidden in my bedroom, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, then opened the front door. I was greeted by Reverend Alfred Jenkins, a short, heavyset, light-skinned man in his early forties. He was the newly appointed pastor of our church, and technically, he was my boss. Reverend Jenkins was accompanied by a tall, stately looking, brown-skinned man with salt-and-pepper hair and a well-maintained beard. I still wasn’t sure where, but I was now positive we’d met before.

I halfway blocked the door, because Reverend Jenkins had a way of just entering your house without an invitation. “Hey, Rev, sorry it took so long for me to answer the door, but I was half dressed. I was just about to jump in the shower and head up to Richmond.”

“No, no, Mackie. You don’t have to apologize. I tried to give you a heads-up, but you didn’t answer the phone, so I just came over. I wanted to introduce you to a good friend of mine from New York. He’s got a proposition he wants to run by you. You don’t mind if we come in for a moment, do you?”

I should add that Reverend Jenkins wasn’t one to take a hint, either, because most people would figure if you don’t answer the phone, you’re busy.

“Ah, well, sure, come on in. The place is a mess, but you’re always welcome in my house, Reverend. I hope you understand we’re gonna have to make it quick, though. I really have to get up to Richmond.”

“No problem. This should only take about ten, fifteen minutes tops.”

“Okay.” I gestured for them to come in and have a seat.

Reverend Jenkins’s friend sat down in the armchair, while the pastor and I sat across from him on the sofa.

“Aaron Mackie, I’d like you to meet my good friend Bishop T. K. Wilson of Queens, New York.”

When he said the name, it all clicked. “Bishop Wilson, I think we met a few years ago when Pastor Simmons was alive.” I offered him my hand and he took it. “You got a pretty big church up there in New York, don’t you? First Jamaica Ministries?”

The bishop smiled, nodding as we shook hands. “I’m impressed you remember my church.”

“Well, I’ve seen you on TV a few times, and I’m a choir director. Everyone in my field knows First Jamaica Ministries won the national choir championship three years in a row a few years back. It’s hard enough to win that championship one time, but three years in a row, that’s one heck of an achievement.”

“Well, thank you,” the bishop said.

“Y’all had Savannah singing for you back then, didn’t you?”

“We sure did.” He gave me a proud smile. “That young lady really could sing.”

“She sure could. You guys would have been unstoppable if she had stuck around. I saw her on TMZ last summer. It’s a shame what happened to her career.”

“It truly is, but that’s what drugs will do to you. I don’t know if we’ll ever see the old Savannah again. She blew a great opportunity . . . which is kind of why I’m here to see you.”

I raised my eyebrows. If this was going where I thought it was . . .

“We have a vacancy at First Jamaica Ministries, and I’d like you to fill it. I’d like you to be my choir director.”

I turned toward Reverend Jenkins. “Is he serious?”

He wrapped his large arm around my shoulder. “Yes, Mackie, he’s serious. But I’ve already told Bishop Wilson that you weren’t going anywhere, that you and I made a promise to Pastor Simmons before he died that we were going to take our church to the next level together. However, with the kind of money Bishop Wilson put on the table, I had to let you hear the offer for yourself, make your own decision. But I know you’re going to do the right thing.”

“Offer? What kind of offer are we talking about?” I turned back to the bishop.

“Aaron. Can I call you Aaron?” he asked.

“Call me Mackie. That’s what everyone around here does.”

“Okay, Mackie it is.” The bishop nodded. “Now, I heard your choir today. You guys were fantastic for your size. And, brother, let me tell you, you have one phenomenal voice.” The bishop gave me a huge smile of approval that made me proud.

“Thank you. Coming from someone like yourself, that’s a real honor.”

“How many people do you have in your choir?”

“About twenty today, but it varies. Five of them aren’t worth a dime.”

The bishop nodded his understanding. “What do you think you could do if you had fifty to a hundred members?”

I sat there for a second, imagining the possibilities as a grin spread across my face. “Man, I’d blow the roof off the church.”

He gave me a confident look. “I’m sure you would.”

“Bishop, I appreciate your confidence, but I’ve already got a job. I’m the choir director at Mount Olive.”

Pastor Jenkins tightened his grip . . .