continued. “He’s feeling under the weather. So if you’d like to reschedule the deacons’ meeting, there’s time for me to do that.”
“No, let’s keep it, but no more than an hour. Von here yet?”
“On his way. He called earlier, too.”
Lavon Chapman was the new media director for Mount Zion. He’d been working for another ministry in Minneapolis when King’s church recruited him.
Joseph answered a knock at the door and welcomed Lavon inside. He entered like a snowstorm, powerful and heavy.
“Man, it’s cold outside. Hope this snow don’t fall all day.” Lavon walked over to the desk and extended his hand. “What up, Preach?” He sat down opposite King.
It had been that way from the first time they met, a respectful yet informal quality to their relationship. Most of the staff addressed King as Pastor King or Minister Brook, but somewhere in between the two-hour interview process and the last erected tripod, “Pastor King” had become “Preach,” and from Von, it was okay.
“You tell me,” King responded casually, noting Lavon’s muscles flex through the sweatshirt he wore over jeans. Being around Lavon made King want to join a gym, lift some weights. He resisted the urge to do a curl and check the state of his own biceps.
“It’s all good. Met with Bryan last night. He’s going to be a good right-hand man,” Lavon said, referring to his assistant director.
“So, who all’s in this meeting?” King asked.
“The entire media staff,” Von responded. “That’s Bryan, the program manager, technical directors, sound engineers, camera crews, grips, shaders, tape operators, and a few floaters for whatever miscellaneous needs arise.”
“Good, good,” King said, rubbing his newly grown goatee. He loved efficiency, made it his mission to surround himself with capable staff.
Joseph’s phone rang. “Hello? Oh yes, I’ve got that for you, hold up.” He walked out of the office and to his desk.
The door had barely closed when Von leaned forward. “Guess what, Preach? Turns out I know an old friend of yours.”
King leaned back. Never having spent time in Minnesota, he had no idea who that could be. “Who?” he asked.
“Janeé Petersen.”
“Janeé Petersen.” King thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No, the name’s not familiar. Where am I supposed to know her from?”
“She said you wouldn’t know her by that name. But that y’all go way back. Said she used to live here, and to tell you Tootie said hi.”
Just then he remembered Janeé was Tootie’s middle name. King sat forward, on high alert. “Tootie? Tootie Smith? You have got to be kidding me! She lives in Minnesota?”
“No, she lives in Germany, but I ran into her a few blocks from here.”
King was even more confused. Minnesota, Germany, and now Tootie’s here, in Kansas? “Is that so?” he said, slowly. Then he remembered the news about Miss Smith. “I know her mother’s been sick. She must really not be doing well for Tootie to come back here.”
“She’s not,” Lavon answered. “She’s got to have open-heart surgery.”
King wrote a quick note to have Joseph schedule a hospital visit. Then he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone, “How do you know, uh, Janeé?”
“I met her a couple years back, at a hotel in Minneapolis. You know she had that hit, back in the early nineties. I guess she’s still doing her thang in Europe. Anyway, some of my buddies and I checked her out and stayed to meet her afterward. I know Germany pretty well from my army days, so we struck up a friendship. I contacted her when I was in Hamburg last year. We went out for dinner. I was just as shocked as you seem right now when I saw her down the street. Small world.”
Small world indeed. Too small. “Wonder what she’s doing over this way?” King pondered. Neither her mother’s house nor the hospital was in the area. Was she on her way to the church?
“I don’t know. I was so surprised to see her I didn’t ask. We talked for a few minutes, exchanged phone numbers, and when I told her I had to get to the church, she asked if I knew you. I told her yes. She asked all these questions about you, and said to tell you hi.”
Questions? What kind of questions? What would his first lay, his steady from back in the day, want to know about him? Regardless, his heart warmed with memories. “How’s she doing?” King responded with a query of his own. “She must be married. Her last name used to be Smith and now it’s…?” He waited for Lavon to fill in the blank.
“Petersen. Yeah, she’s doing grand. Husband is an investment banker or something.”
“Hmm,” King said.
“Yeah, they got a couple of kids, the whole nine.”
King raised his brows. The Tootie he used to know and “mother” was a tight fit in the same sentence. But people change. Tootie, Tootie, with the big boo—King shook his head. That was one memory lane he need not go down. He turned businesslike. “Well, I’ll be sure and pray for Miss Smith. And for Tootie, I mean, Janeé,” he corrected. “I know what it’s like to be worried about your mother’s health.” And then an abrupt change of subject: “Did you say your church used five or six cameras?”
Lavon didn’t miss the quick change in King’s demeanor, or in the subject matter. “We used five there. Here, we’ll use six, an additional hand-held for special shots.” And then, because he couldn’t resist, “I’m not trying to be out of line, Preach, but is she an old flame or something? She was looking all nostalgic when talking about you. I mean, I’m just asking. She said y’all hadn’t seen each other in years.”
She was right. It had been a long time. Every now and then he’d wondered if she still lived overseas and how she was doing. Tootie had been a wildcat back in the day; that “cat” had gotten him in trouble more than once. That girl did everything, was a real daredevil. He and his friends used to compare notes afterward.
Lavon watched King try and remain impassive. But he was convinced some past passion lay just beneath the facade.
King was just about to respond to Von’s question when Joseph stuck his head in the doorway. “Everyone’s gathered in the conference room. Should I tell them we’re ready to begin?”
King was up and out of his seat in a flash, reaching for the suit coat he’d removed earlier. He was glad for the interruption, so the conversation about Tootie could come to an end. Relieved to not have to ponder the feelings that the mention of her name evoked. With determination, he channeled his thoughts to the tasks at hand—running Mount Zion Progressive, a million-dollar corporation, for the Lord.
6
Mercy…Peace…Love…
Millicent stopped working and stretched. She grabbed the arm of her chair with both hands and twisted her back, grabbed the other chair arm and repeated the motion. She still felt tight. Looking at her watch, she understood why.
