LITMIR.BIZ

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swing. A slight flurry of snow began to fall as King navigated the suburban streets of Overland Park, Kansas. On one such street, the buildings of Mount Zion Progressive Baptist Church, its offices, youth center, and fellowship hall now took up the entire block. He eyed the surroundings dispassionately, critically evaluating size, layout. And even though they’d just finished a major one, he was considering possibilities for a greater expansion. The membership was growing in record numbers, and plans were on the drawing board for a preschool and private K–8 learning academy, within five years.

      King consciously stopped that train of thought as he eased into the reserved spot directly in front of the door that led to his office. There would be plenty of time to consider those projects later. Presently, his focus was on the meeting with his new media staff, and the television broadcast that was being taped the next day. There had been much deliberation before King had decided to go on the air. He’d gotten requests for years, and had done a brief stint on the local cable channel several years back. But the Total Truth Association had linked up with MLM, a cutting-edge broadcast network based in Atlanta, which aggressively pursued a handful of ministers with progressive, contemporary messages to fill their Sunday morning time slots. It had taken several months to find and hire a media director, get the equipment in place, construct a production/media room for the actual taping of the services, and train volunteers to man the various cameras and production equipment. Today’s meeting would be about confirming that everything was in order to shoot tomorrow’s eleven A.M. services. The crew would later do a quick run-through while he moved on to a meeting with the deacons.

      His assistant, Joseph, met him as soon as he stepped into his office. “Afternoon, boss.”

      “Good afternoon, Joseph. You order this weather, brothah?”

      “Hey, I’m from down south; I’m probably never going to get used to these Kansas winters.”

      King placed his coat on the rack, took the scarf from around his neck, and placed it over the coat hook. He looked at the stack of phone messages centered neatly on his desk, next to the one-page report of scheduled activities and appointments that his multitasking, multicapable assistant provided daily. He sat down and began going through the messages. “Besides the media project, how’s it looking today?”

      “I kept it light today, boss. Knew the television taping was the main focus. Darius made it in from LA. He and his band will be coming by later to do a sound check.” Darius Crenshaw and his gospel band, otherwise known as D & C, for Darius & Company, were in demand at churches all over the country. King had had to pull some strings with Darius to book them as special guests for this, his first taping for a national audience.

      “Oh, and Deacon Nash called,” Joseph 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,

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