Try a Little Tenderness

by Isaiah David Paul, Allyson M. Deese

Genres: African American Christian

Synopsis

Husband and wife Isaiah David Paul and Allyson M. Deese team up to bring a street-themed Christian romance to life. Amirah Dalton has accepted her calling to be in outreach ministry at her local church. The only problem is that she’s the only unwed female in leadership, and she feels the pressure to find a husband—fast. After serving time in prison for larceny and mail fraud, Mateo Valdez joins the newly formed Street Disciples Ministry in Asheville, North Carolina in an effort to atone for his sins and spread the word of Christ. Amirah and Mateo both join His-Love.com in an effort to meet someone of the opposite sex willing to give them a chance. Will they listen to God and connect, or will they let Satan allow their perceptions of one another get in the way?

Release date: July 1, 2015

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 288

Sample

Six Weeks Later

Whoever it was that decided that a big-boned, street-smart sista who once lived in Winston-Salem’s Cleveland Avenue Apartments deserved her own talk show must’ve lost their mind!

Amirah smiled when she looked out of the makeshift studio she’d converted from the spacious conference room at her church, Gospel United Christian Center. One hundred and fifty faces stared back at her and her guest, Thursday Jackson, as they discussed her situation.

“I can’t believe Armaad would do this to me.” Thursday sobbed after her ex-boyfriend revealed some startling information.

“I didn’t do nothing.” Armaad got up and walked off the stage.

Amirah kept a straight face while she exhaled a sigh of relief. The Amirah Dalton Show was supposed to be a Christ-centered talk show that dealt with love and relationships. Thursday and Armaad were two seconds from bringing the action Jerry Springer was better suited for.

“Yes you did!” Thursday shouted as she got up to go after him. Her honey-blond wig struggled to stay on her head as she shook it violently. “You slept with that nasty chick Tarsha”—Thursday pointed to the extremely pregnant woman in the front row of the audience. Tarsha shook her head and crossed her arms over her protruding belly. She looked like she was getting ready to pop at any moment—“after you told me that you were done with her trifling tail. Then you got the audacity to tell me you and her used to be married!” Thursday continued as she began to run off the stage.

Amirah jumped up and ran after her guest. “Thursday, let’s sit down and talk about this. You don’t need to chase—”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do!” Thursday snapped as she turned around and put her finger in Amirah’s face. “You’re not the one that laid up here and had three babies with this man. I did.” As her finger moved up and down, she continued, “You’re not the one he proposed to after we made love on his mother’s fifty-year-old dining room table. I did. And you’re not the one he gave chlamydia and syphilis to three times. That was me. Thursday Honesty Denyla Jackson.” Thursday, huffing and puffing, went and sat back down in her chair after she’d made her point.

Amirah shook her head. I’m sorry, she told God silently, hoping that the Lord got her message. When she let her producers talk her into doing a show where her guests could learn to forgive their exes, she envisioned a show with more mature guests—couples who were trying to get Jesus back into the center of their relationships. These people were supposed to be screened before they walked into the church.

Amirah intended to brush the blunder under the rug and hold up like a champ in front of the thousands of people who she knew would be talking about her in Asheville by the next morning. She had to think about what the students she had to face on her day job as a high school teacher at Shiloh Christian Academy would think. To say she was embarrassed wouldn’t begin to describe how she was feeling. Over and over again, Amirah was determined that she was not gonna cry, but even Mary J. Blige couldn’t comfort her tears.

“Baby, I’m sorry.” Armaad kneeled before Thursday, his soft, gentle hands trying to wipe away her tears.

“You know you sorry! But this is good, boo! Real good.” Thursday smiled and tried to laugh. “Thanks for the misery.”

“And we’ll be back after this,” Amirah yelled as that song by Monica echoing Thursday’s last words began to play in the background. Amirah kept note of how good the sound people were. In the back of her mind, she was making mental notes on how she was going to clarify the format of her show to her new staff.

“Yo, Thursday, you need to drop that punk!” she could hear Chris yell in the background. Chris was Amirah’s crazy friend that some people thought looked like a man. Chris sported a low fade, and her hairline was sharp. Her hardened pecan-colored skin betrayed her twenty-nine years of age—yet that didn’t stop dudes from trying to talk to her.

Amirah knew for a fact that Chris wasn’t a lesbian, but anyone else who didn’t know would be hard pressed to tell. On the outside, Chris looked like a regular thug on the block with her oversized T-shirt and pants that weren’t even pulled up to conceal her boxer shorts. It was when she talked and the mercury that moved in the way she walked that let everybody know what the deal was.

“Why don’t you shut up, playa?” Armaad yelled and jumped up as he began running into the crowd. Chris met him halfway.

“Hey, hey hold on!” Amirah yelled in the mic. “You can’t swing on a female. We are about to go on air in a few minutes.”

“Man, this show is so fake!” Tarsha yelled as she got up from her seat. She glared at Armaad. “Armaad, let’s go! I got to be in class in an hour. I don’t have time for this mess!”

“Go on and go!” Amirah encouraged Armaad. “I don’t even want you to honor your contractual obligation and stay on the show.” Amirah was ticked and had no way to hide it. She knew this wasn’t the vision of the show, and she almost called off the whole thing.

The spirit inside of her wanted to do the same thing, but Amirah wasn’t a quitter. She promised herself to see this idea to the end and then use clips of this show to remind future staff why ideas like this didn’t work.

“And if I weren’t pregnant, I’d be contractually obligated to whoop your tall, Medusa-looking fat—” Tarsha hurled the insults with hopes of inflicting mental harm. The harshness of her voice felt like jabs as Amirah studied Tarsha’s stern face as she called her everything but a child of God. “You know what? I changed my mind. I don’t even know why I mess with Armaad anymore, let alone have babies with him. I’ll leave by myself.” His ex-wife/current side chick angrily grabbed her things and left as fast as she could.

God, this is not what I signed up for—Amirah was in mid-prayer when she was told by one of the producers she had fifteen seconds to fix her face and get ready to continue her live taping.

The audience watched as Tarsha got up and waddled off. Armaad came back and lowered his lanky, oak-colored frame next to Thursday. The two of them looked like total opposites. Give Armaad some glasses and a high top and he’d look like a darker version of Ron Johnson from A Different World. Thursday, in turn, moved her chair away from him. The only person who was semi-cool with the situation was the slightly effeminate pretty boy that Armaad had been creeping with. He cheesed and waved from the audience like he knew he was going to be asked to come on stage.

“Ya lo ves, ya lo ves. Ya lo ves amor esta vez te olvide.” The irreplaceable hit anthem by Beyoncé played in the background. It was a surprise that half of the audience still knew the words to the Spanish version. The song was so old.

“All right now, we’re back on The Amirah Dalton Show. If you are just now tuning in, let me say this is not normally how we do things on this show.” Amirah wanted to scold her staff before the live studio audience. She could see the pastor’s wife standing at the back door with her arms crossed. The big green hat she wore with green, black, and gray feathers did a poor job of hiding the look of disdain on her face. Amirah definitely wasn’t looking forward to the end of the show. She could hear the chastisement from the church leadership for how the taping of this episode turned out.

“We are here with Thursday Honesty Denyla Jackson, and she has sent her man, Armaad, to the left. And I see someone thought it was cute to put these boxes with his name on here to the left—wait, am I being punked?” Amirah stopped reading the cue cards and addressed the crew.

The producer shrugged her shoulders. She looked at the boxes that were stacked three high with Armaad’s name splashed across the center. Amirah shook her head and resisted the temptation to yell “Cut!”

“I want to remind you that it is okay to come on The Amirah Dalton Show to air out your differences, but when you come on the show, we are going to do a better job of representing Jesus than what was displayed today. If you have an issue you need to address, call me at 828-555-7118 or visit us online at AmirahDaltonShow.com. Thank you for watching our show, and have a blessed day.”

Amirah could take no more as she brought her hand across her neck and pretended to cut it off. Thursday got out of her chair and stormed off, leaving loose papers flying a few inches off the floor. Amirah could feel the tears roll down her face and onto her suit jacket. She never pictured that she’d be as thoroughly embarrassed as she was, and she was tempted to cancel the rest of the season.

As Amirah walked toward her dressing room, she felt free and was sure that she could overcome the unnecessary and embarrassing drama she would endure for the next two weeks. Two weeks would be all that was needed for the drama to die down in Asheville. Sure, people would be able to rewind and play the clip over and over on YouTube—but she wouldn’t have to face anyone from out of town.

Amirah looked at her phone and noticed that Chris had called and was trying to reach her. Thursday brushed past her. A strong whiff of the Tommy Girl body spray left its mark, invading Amirah’s nostrils.

“Girl, I’m gonna have to call you back.” Amirah talked to the phone and rushed to catch up with Thursday. The woman was cursing at the same fast pace she was walking.

“Thursday, I just want to apologize. This was not what I intended when I invited you to be a part of my sh—” Amirah may not have been done talking, but Thursday thought she was.

“You knew I’d get embarrassed when you brought me on the show with Armaad,” Thursday vented as she reached deep down to her pinkie toe, drew up all of her strength, and as if she were one of the Williams sisters, used her hand like it was a racquet. Thursday exhaled loudly as her hand connected to Amirah’s face and followed her to the floor.

The crew members got excited, and the crowd yelled the way Chris Tucker and Ice Cube did on Friday. Ironically enough, they were taping on a Friday. The camera was all up in Amirah’s face, catching her eyes blink as she faded in and out, feeling the after effects of that blow. The cameraman pointed the camera at Thursday and called after her. Thursday promptly threw up the inappropriate finger and walked out with her sparkling stilettos, satisfied that she did not break her nail in her confrontation with Amirah.

“I can’t believe that chick slapped me!” Amirah vented as she stormed to her dressing room. The first lady wasn’t too far behind her, as were a few members of her production team. Amirah took a seat in front of the mirror and leaned forward to get a good look at her face.

“Please tell me what that was about,” the first lady demanded as she took a seat next to Amirah.

Amirah looked closer in the mirror. Her lip was a little puffy and her face was swollen on the left side, but other than that, she was okay physically. “I don’t know, Mrs. Slate. I can’t explain what happened or why I feel like someone on my staff deliberately tried to set me up, but I do know that this is not how this ministry is supposed to work.”

Amirah continued to inspect the damages done to her face. She was glad that Mrs. Slate wasn’t caught up with her title or position at the church. She didn’t have to “First Lady this,” or “First Lady that.” Mrs. Slate would suffice.

Mrs. Slate wasn’t scared to get her hands dirty as she got up and helped Amirah as the tears continued to fall from her face. “We all make mistakes, and unfortunately, this is one of yours.”

“I bet you want to cancel my show, don’t you?” Amirah asked from the comfort of Mrs. Slate’s shoulders.

Mrs. Slate lifted Amirah off of her thick frame. She never got down to the slender one hundred and thirty-five pounds the doctors and most vain people in society thought was ideal for her five foot four inch frame, but she was happy because she’d birthed and raised four of the children she had with pastor, plus the two they adopted. She was used to nurturing people, and Amirah found that she was no exception.

“Now why would I do that?” Mrs. Slate instinctively wiped the tears from Amirah’s eyes like she were her own daughter. “Everyone makes mistakes, and now you’ll have an opportunity to fix yours. At Gospel United Christian Center, we focus on uplifting and motivating people through the Word of God. We have no reason to cancel your show. Normally, your show is part of the outreach ministry that shows the world exactly what we are.”

“I bet they are Instagraming and creating memes of me being slapped—”

“Let them insta-meme you,” Mrs. Slate cut her off. “Yes, I was upset, but I will be even more frustrated if you don’t lead the damage control and restore order on your show.”

After a few seconds, Amirah realized that Mrs. Slate was right. She picked up her smart phone and sent a group text: Meet me at the studio in one hour. She was going to find out who, where, what, when, and why did the show go the way it had. Amirah intended on restoring order on her show.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Amirah and the crew watched Amirah land on the floor for the umpteenth time on the local news station. Her worst fears had come true—someone had wasted no time getting the footage on YouTube and tagging her Twitter account. Thursday was on Twitter and Facebook talking about how she was glad she finally got her chance to beat up Amirah and couldn’t wait for another opportunity to do it again. Thursday took it so far as to issue a challenge for a rematch.

Amirah had never met Thursday before. She couldn’t possibly understand what she’d done to piss Thursday off. All Amirah knew was that she thought she was trying to use a Christ-centered version to mend Thursday’s relationship with Armaad. Amirah also heard rumors that Armaad and the dude that came with him got into a physical altercation, and both of them had to go to the hospital for minor injuries. Tarsha had tried to commit suicide and lost the baby in her attempt. She was still in the hospital trying to recuperate.

“Lord have mercy on you,” one of the crew members said after they watched the footage.

Mercy was one of the motivators for the founding of The Amirah Dalton Show. Amirah had always faced rejection in one way or another. She was considered a little thick at five feet ten and one hundred and eighty-six pounds. Amirah had always been a reject in one way or another. She was too fat to be in most beauty pageants and too small to be considered a “big girl.” She was too poor to be in social organizations like Jack & Jill or the Links. Never welcomed in the poetry slams because as well as she could write her own material, she could recite others with the best of them.

The worst offense was when some trifling chick she used to call her friend stole her manuscript. This “friend” watched her labor over that book for nine months. Amirah sent the book to her with the understanding that the “friend” would review it and get it back to her. She made two or three minor changes, submitted the book to the publisher as her own, and when the book became a smash hit in the beauty salons and the black-owned bookstores, the “friend” got her name on the Essence bestsellers list.

Amirah tried to take that chick to court, but her “friend” used her advance and part of her royalty check to get a good lawyer, and their money always kept her from getting anywhere to pursue her case. Because of her “friend,” Amirah had severe trust issues, and she stopped writing altogether. Thoughts of completing other manuscripts came to mind, but every time she thought about it, she grew bitter.

The Amirah Dalton Show was a therapeutic release from that dream. She took the concept she put in one of her unpublished manuscripts and built the show around a Christ-centered version of The Oprah Winfrey Show and The Rikki Lake Show. When she first brought the idea to her outreach ministry and the leaders of the church, they were skeptical, until she showed them the footage she did of the pilot show she filmed in her living room.

Amirah amazed the church leadership with the fact that she took the money she got from her ex-boyfriend, who was trying to make a name for himself hustling on the streets, and invested it in cameras, equipment, and wardrobe. When she got the job at Shiloh Christian Academy as a teacher, she saved every extra dime she could get her hands on and put money on his books and in an account that belonged to her ex-boyfriend’s mother to ensure that she paid back the money.

Aside from the church, Amirah’s first advertisers were businesses owned by former and current drug dealers. It wasn’t ideal, but she took the money knowing where it came from. After her first season, Amirah gave internships to high school students around the Asheville-Greenville-Spartanburg area. Through her show, Amirah helped them to gain exposure and be prepared when they studied communications- and broadcasting-related majors in school. Her students, in turn, worked for local affiliates as production assistants or in other areas.

Amirah even looked out for the black college students from around the state by giving them the kind of experience they would never receive at a television station. Of course, she worked those interns, but in the end it all paid off. A few of them were now popular disc jockeys on R&B and hip hop stations nationwide; some of them appeared on television stations in their neighborhoods, and one of them was even on BET.

That’s black star power.

After doing her show for three years, Amirah had helped twenty-two students achieve their dreams of working in broadcasting and film. Two of her students had success as independent filmmakers who produced a variety of web series on YouTube and were making serious money from the advertisements their shows garnered. She and her friend Aja also owned a local children’s entertainment company and would often dress as clowns and perform around town. So, in her eyes and those of her pastor’s, the wicked money she took from the drug dealers was well invested in children to keep them from idolizing those same people.

Amirah’s fan base came from those who knew her as a no-nonsense teacher at Shiloh Christian Academy in Asheville and those who remembered the fearless around the way girl who grew up near the old Atkins High School, which was now Winston-Salem Preparatory Academy @ Atkins. In her old stomping grounds, Amirah was still hood. When she went to visit her old neighborhood, she still talked to the old ladies and men who sat on their porches and saw any and everything that went on. Amirah was legendary for the boldness she possessed in walking up to some of the most dangerous drug dealers and hustlers and asking if they would quit selling on her block. Folks thought she was crazy, but every now and then she’d get a couple of them to move if they saw her walking down the street.

Amirah was the one who called the police when the neighbor’s music was up too loud or if they were partying way too late. Amirah was Neighborhood Watch because she watched everything from the comfort of her living room or bedroom window. In Asheville, she was no different. So, she shocked everyone when she went to North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University and majored in business education instead of criminal justice. Amirah became a teacher instead of the police. . .