I grabbed onto her forearm and struggled for words.
“Rayne, you need me to get one of the ushers? You want a fan or something?”
“No, I’m okay,” I finally managed to reply. “I’m just so moved.”
I let go of Chance’s arm, leaving my finger imprints on her honey-almond skin. I took a few moments to regain some composure, struggling to get my breathing pattern back into a steady rhythm. Then I panicked. What if I’d cum hard enough to wet the bottom of my dress?
My dress survived that day; probably because it was heavy suede. My dignity didn’t survive. I set out on a campaign to get that man. I found out his name was Basil. Basil Richardson. That was easy enough to find out. I asked one of the older women sitting beside me the following Sunday. She seemed so comfortable in the pew that I figured she’d been sitting in the same spot for the past five thousand Sundays.
I complimented the choir and band, putting special emphasis on the musical talent of the drummer. That was when she spilled all of his business. His name. The fact that he’d grown up in the church, received his eagle badge from participating in the Boy Scouts, sang a ton of solos in the junior choir, went away to North Carolina State for college, and returned home to D.C. to take over the family landscaping business from his ailing father, one of the people on the sick and shut-in list on the back of the church bulletin.
“Does his wife also attend Great Mount Bethel?” I asked on the sly.
“No, Basil’s not married. A lot of the women in the church would love to settle him down, but no luck so far.”
“That’s good.”
She eyed me strangely.
“No, I meant that’s bad. As far as the women not being able to get him to settle down.”
She smirked at me and opened her Bible to the scripture selection.
Against her wishes, I convinced Chance to start attending singles night every Tuesday at the church. Basil never showed up, but a bunch of desperate other men did. Men I wouldn’t date in a million years.
So, we tried Bible Study on Wednesday. No Basil.
I debated about joining the adult choir, which practiced on Thursday. For sure, he’d be there. He had to be. However, being that I sounded like a sick hyena on crack when I belted out a tune, I’d decided that wasn’t the best course of action. I was planning to seduce him; not make him go invest in earplugs. Sooner or later, an opportunity would present itself. It didn’t turn out quite as I’d planned.
When they made the announcement about the Annual Senior Citizens’ Appreciation Dinner, I knew Basil would be there. The entire congregation would fall all over themselves to show gratitude to their elders; myself included. Anyone who could deal with life’s bullshit for more than sixty-five years was A-OK in my book.
Chance and I volunteered for the YAMs, the Young Adult Missionaries, who were sponsoring the dinner. I signed up to bring deviled eggs and a sweet-potato pie; store-bought of course because I couldn’t bake canned biscuits without burning them. Chance was supposed to be making enchiladas. I’d warned her that the people at the church wouldn’t even know what they were, being that Chance was one of the three Puerto Ricans attending the church. She’d insisted on making them anyway. I’d decided it was better for her to show up with enchiladas than for her not to show up at all.
The night before the dinner, which was to take place on a Saturday, I heard the weatherman on the ten o’clock news predicting an ice storm. Bull, I thought. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when I’d come in from the grocery store.
The next morning, the city was blanketed with snow and ice. I called Chance to see if she was ready.
“Chance, you got those enchiladas all wrapped up? I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Rayne, the roads are covered with ice!” Chance yelled into my ear.
“I can see that. It’s no big deal. I drive extremely well in bad weather.”
“Snow, maybe, but no one drives extremely well on a sheet of ice. I’m staying home.”
“Oh no, you’re not,” I said sarcastically. “You better get your ass dressed and meet me in front of your building in thirty minutes.”
Chance set the phone down. I could hear her cursing in Spanish. Ricky asked her what was wrong. Like me, he didn’t know what the hell she was saying when she starting speaking Spanish a hundred words per minute.
“Rayne?” Ricky inquired, picking up the phone. “What’s going on?”
“Chance is supposed to be going to church with me today for the Senior Citizens’ Dinner and now she’s trying to back out.”
“Rayne, damn right she’s backing out! I’m sure they’ll reschedule the dinner anyway. No one in their right mind is going out in this weather.”
Maybe he had a point. What if the dinner was canceled and we were the only fools that showed up?
?