stood
there a minute longer he would have seen the tears streaming down Curtis’s cheeks. Gran Gran kept telling him that God was
an amazing and wondrous God. And right now he was bearing witness to it. His budget was about to be cut by 13,000 dollars,
and God had already taken care of the deficit, with surplus to boot.
“Thank you, God,” Curtis whispered and pulled up a handful of napkins from McDonald’s to wipe his face. He laughed. Maurice
had once seen the stash of Mickey D’s napkins trying to masquerade as tissues and said, “You are such a negro, Curtis man.”
He relaxed and before he knew it was turning into the parking lot of New Jerusalem Gospel United Church. Maurice was pacing
the parking lot, and waved him into the space they’d saved for him. Curtis jumped out of the car and followed Maurice into
the church.
“Man, Denzelle wouldn’t start the service without you. So the Praise and Worship Team has given a concert, and they were revving
up for a finale when you drove into the parking lot. What took you so long?”
“Gilead called just as I was getting ready to head over here and said that he needed to see me in Sam Redmond’s office. I’m
looking at the phone wondering what this was about and if it could wait. Naturally, when I asked if I could come at another
time, you know the answer was no. And get this, Maurice, when I get to Sam Redmond’s office, Sam Redmond, Gilead, and Jethro
Winters—”
“Jethro Winters,” Maurice said. “Why was he there? He has been getting chummier and chummier with Sam Redmond and Gilead,
and that does not sit well with me. He’s on the board of trustees; there is no reason for him to be in a so-called budget-cutting
meeting with you and the head of the Athletic Department. Something is real funky.”
Curtis nodded. All of a sudden he felt tired and hoped he could make it through the service. As much as he loved his job,
he wished he could do it without being bombarded with stuff that didn’t have anything to do with basketball. University politics
at an HBCU could get as messy and ominous as the politics at church. And he hated it when someone’s personal agendas seeped
over into an area of the university that was none of their business. But if it offered the means to the end they were working
so hard to attain, then they would seep over to wherever they needed to be to get what they wanted.
Curtis and Maurice walked into the vestibule of the church. Curtis had never been to Denzelle’s church and was impressed.
It wasn’t as large as his church, Fayetteville Street, but it was a lovely and rather unusual pale pink stone structure. Reverend
Denzelle Flowers hurried to greet Curtis and gave him a warm and welcoming handshake.
“Man, my brother called me and let me know you were running late. Come on, before the Praise and Worship Team starts doing
the remixes of their songs.”
Curtis smiled and took note of the suit Denzelle was wearing. He said, “You’re kind of sharp there tonight, Preacher. If you
don’t mind me asking, where did you get that suit?”
Denzelle grinned and stroked his chin. “It is pretty sharp, isn’t it,” he answered, and pulled back the coat of the sea-foam-colored
suit jacket with charcoal pinstripes to reveal a matching vest with shawl collar, sea-foam-colored shirt, and a charcoal tie
with bits of sea foam and coral specks in it. The outfit spelled “preacher,” down to Reverend Flowers’s matching sea-foam
slip-on gaiters.
“But where’d you get it, man?” Maurice asked, wanting to know where to find some suits like that himself. He also wondered
about the cost but had too much home training to ask. But he’d be able to find out, if Denzelle was willing to tell them where
those suits were sold.
“I got it wholesale from Mr. Booth,” Denzelle said, and gave a smooth wink to a sister with a butt that could only be classified
as a
bodunkadunk
. She
there a minute longer he would have seen the tears streaming down Curtis’s cheeks. Gran Gran kept telling him that God was
an amazing and wondrous God. And right now he was bearing witness to it. His budget was about to be cut by 13,000 dollars,
and God had already taken care of the deficit, with surplus to boot.
“Thank you, God,” Curtis whispered and pulled up a handful of napkins from McDonald’s to wipe his face. He laughed. Maurice
had once seen the stash of Mickey D’s napkins trying to masquerade as tissues and said, “You are such a negro, Curtis man.”
He relaxed and before he knew it was turning into the parking lot of New Jerusalem Gospel United Church. Maurice was pacing
the parking lot, and waved him into the space they’d saved for him. Curtis jumped out of the car and followed Maurice into
the church.
“Man, Denzelle wouldn’t start the service without you. So the Praise and Worship Team has given a concert, and they were revving
up for a finale when you drove into the parking lot. What took you so long?”
“Gilead called just as I was getting ready to head over here and said that he needed to see me in Sam Redmond’s office. I’m
looking at the phone wondering what this was about and if it could wait. Naturally, when I asked if I could come at another
time, you know the answer was no. And get this, Maurice, when I get to Sam Redmond’s office, Sam Redmond, Gilead, and Jethro
Winters—”
“Jethro Winters,” Maurice said. “Why was he there? He has been getting chummier and chummier with Sam Redmond and Gilead,
and that does not sit well with me. He’s on the board of trustees; there is no reason for him to be in a so-called budget-cutting
meeting with you and the head of the Athletic Department. Something is real funky.”
Curtis nodded. All of a sudden he felt tired and hoped he could make it through the service. As much as he loved his job,
he wished he could do it without being bombarded with stuff that didn’t have anything to do with basketball. University politics
at an HBCU could get as messy and ominous as the politics at church. And he hated it when someone’s personal agendas seeped
over into an area of the university that was none of their business. But if it offered the means to the end they were working
so hard to attain, then they would seep over to wherever they needed to be to get what they wanted.
Curtis and Maurice walked into the vestibule of the church. Curtis had never been to Denzelle’s church and was impressed.
It wasn’t as large as his church, Fayetteville Street, but it was a lovely and rather unusual pale pink stone structure. Reverend
Denzelle Flowers hurried to greet Curtis and gave him a warm and welcoming handshake.
“Man, my brother called me and let me know you were running late. Come on, before the Praise and Worship Team starts doing
the remixes of their songs.”
Curtis smiled and took note of the suit Denzelle was wearing. He said, “You’re kind of sharp there tonight, Preacher. If you
don’t mind me asking, where did you get that suit?”
Denzelle grinned and stroked his chin. “It is pretty sharp, isn’t it,” he answered, and pulled back the coat of the sea-foam-colored
suit jacket with charcoal pinstripes to reveal a matching vest with shawl collar, sea-foam-colored shirt, and a charcoal tie
with bits of sea foam and coral specks in it. The outfit spelled “preacher,” down to Reverend Flowers’s matching sea-foam
slip-on gaiters.
“But where’d you get it, man?” Maurice asked, wanting to know where to find some suits like that himself. He also wondered
about the cost but had too much home training to ask. But he’d be able to find out, if Denzelle was willing to tell them where
those suits were sold.
“I got it wholesale from Mr. Booth,” Denzelle said, and gave a smooth wink to a sister with a butt that could only be classified
as a
bodunkadunk
. She
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