Sex In The Sanctuary. Lutishia Lovely
it was a one-weekend fling, a seventy-two-hour period where in Tai’s words, “He lost his frickin’ mind!” Indeed, Tai saw Tootie only once or twice after the incident. Word had it she moved to Los Angeles to pursue a singing career. King promised her it was a mistake that would never happen again, and for the next few years, they were very happy. That happiness led to twins Timothy and Tabitha, born three years after Princess. This pregnancy was planned; having twins was not. Yet having been fruitful and having multiplied, the Brooks felt their family was complete. King then visited the doctor for a little “snip-snip” to ensure their childbearing days were over.
The twins were almost a year old when Tai found out about Karen Ward. Like Tootie, Karen was not a member of their congregation; in fact, Karen never stepped foot inside the church. That placed her a miniscule step ahead of Tootie in the class department, but still won her no brownie points. She occasionally attended The Good Shepherd Community Church, with a mostly White congregation, on the city’s north side. Tai and King met her when they went to Byron White’s Fourth of July party. Byron was King’s best friend at the time. Karen was Byron’s cousin from the small town of Iola, about one hundred miles from Kansas City. When King met Karen, Tai had almost put his and Tootie’s affair behind her—almost. She still remembered feeling just a twinge of something when during the course of the afternoon she saw King and Karen laughing together and then later saw Karen staring at King before Tai caught her eye and Karen quickly looked away. Thinking she was just being oversensitive, Tai shook off her feelings of discomfort, and if not for the innocent ramblings of a little child, she may never have learned the truth.
She’d agreed to take the Sunday School’s beginner’s class, those between the ages of six and eight, to the park and then for pizza. This in celebration of their successfully completing the “I’m in the Lord’s Army” study course, which included among other things, memorizing the Lord’s Prayer and Twenty-third Psalm. She and the two other chaperones had spent a vigorous, yet for the most part unchallenging, day at the park and were chomping on pepperoni pizza from Chuck E. Cheese when little Danielle, Byron’s daughter, walked over to her.
“Hi there, Miss Angel,” Tai cooed as she opened her arms for a big hug from Danielle.
“Hi, Queen Bee,” the child cooed back, using the title the church family had bestowed on their much loved first lady. “Where’s Pastor King?”
“He’s probably at the church or at home studying. You like our pastor, don’t you?”
Danielle nodded her head yes and inched even closer into Tai’s embrace. “Aunt Karen likes him, too. She likes him a whole bunch.”
Tai became stock-still at that point, and Sharon, one of the other chaperones, almost shushed the child. But Tai held her hand up and encouraged Danielle to keep talking.
“I’m sure she does,” Tai continued, smiling pleasantly at the little cherub-cheeked messenger whom she was sure God had sent. “All of God’s children are supposed to like each other, right?”
“Uh-huh,” the girl conceded. “But I didn’t know we were supposed to kiss and hug the way Pastor King and Aunt Karen do when they see each other.”
“Where did you see them together?” Tai asked, her voice barely above a whisper and her hand absently stroking the little girl’s long, twisted braid.
Danielle, happy to be the center of attention with what was obviously a pretty important story since it held two adults spellbound, continued on in the blind ignorance that only six-year-olds enjoy. “Oh, at Daddy’s house, and one time when I was staying with Aunt Karen, Pastor King came over to her house and helped us bake cookies.”
“Really?” Tai whispered, her eyes shining with tears but not spilling over.
“Yes,” Danielle replied thoughtfully and in a whisper, too. “Then they went in Aunt Karen’s bedroom while I watched Barney. Then I fell asleep.”
Tai hugged the child close while wiping her eyes quickly. Sharon grabbed her hand and spoke silent volumes of “sistah-girl sympathy.” Tai looked at her with the obvious question in her eyes. Sharon, a longtime member of the church and staunch supporter of her first lady, leaned over and whispered, “As God is my witness, I won’t tell a soul.” She never did. About a year later her husband was promoted and their family moved to Texas. Tai still marveled at Sharon’s trustworthiness and ability to keep a confidence. She no longer, however, liked Chuck E. Cheese.
Tai never knew when the affair started or how long it lasted, but again, King promised her it was the last time. That it had been only a physical thing that meant nothing to him. Tai didn’t believe him. Nor did she care. At least that was the lie she told herself. He had taken the very thing that her life with him had been built on, trust. He’d destroyed her self-esteem, already eroded after four children and fifty extra pounds.
This time it was King’s mother, Sister Maxine Brook, who saved the marriage and Tai’s sanity. She and King had again separated following his adultery. This time King moved out, or rather got kicked out, by his very pissed off wife. Hoping other people’s problems would lessen her own, Tai immersed herself in Oprah, The Young and the Restless and white wine. King returned, but the children became her primary focus, and if not for them, she’d have had to look strenuously for a reason to go on living. Mama Max had phoned one day when Tai was feeling particularly low. Two hours later, she knocked on the door with a meatloaf, a pot of spaghetti, a huge apple cobbler and a dose of age-old attitude that only a mother of the church could possess.
“Baby,” Sister Maxine began as she warmed the food on the stove, pushed up her sleeves and started cleaning a kitchen that hadn’t seen soap for days. “I know you’re hurting. I understand. And I also know you can let this do one of two things. Break ya or build ya.”
Tai reached for her glass of wine and countered, “But, Mama, you don’t understand, you’ve never been down this road.”
“Oh, yeah? You think you’re the first one who’s had to deal with one of them bitches!”
Tai almost choked on her chardonnay. In all this time of knowing Sister Maxine, she’d never heard her say so much as “darn.” Yet here was this matronly diva, still the epitome of style with straight-legged black pants, an extra-large jungle print top that reached midthigh and coiffed hairdo swept up and secured into a fashionable French bun, rolling “bitch” off her tongue as if it wasn’t the first time. Tai stared at her wide-eyed.
“Mama Max!”
Mama Max just gave her a look and then swiveled around to stir the spaghetti. “You got any more of that?” she asked without looking back.
“What?” Tai asked, still amazed Mom had “gone there.”
“That what you’re drinking.” She replaced the lid on the spaghetti and reached for the loaf of French bread and butter. “Pour me a glass and I’ll tell you a story. And shut your mouth before a fly gets in.”
Mama Max went on to tell her about the time almost twenty years earlier when “the Rev acted like a plum fool.” It had been while they were out of town, at a convention in the big city of Dallas, Texas. Sistah Max had been born and raised in a small town and moved to an even smaller town when her husband got his first church. Their marriage experienced its share of ups and downs, but she’d been happy. She’d gone back to the hotel right after service and was in a sound sleep when the phone rang. “Sistah Brook,” an unfamiliar voice had whispered into the receiver. “I don’t mean to be nosy or rude, but I just saw your husband come into the lobby, and I don’t think he’s headed to your room.”
“Who’s this?” Mama Max demanded, now wide awake and sitting up.
“You can just say…I’m my sister’s keeper.” Then the line went dead.
Mama Max jumped out of that bed as if lightning hit and started praying in tongues. “Give me the spirit of discernment, Holy Ghost,” she intoned as she paced back and forth and around the room. After about fifteen minutes a number came to her clear as day—915. Without hesitation, Mama Max