“Bitch, what time is church?” pg. 6-10

Page 6

==== Today is Evangelism Sunday at the church. Ms. Helen has enlisted her daughter Jenn, or as she’s known on stage, ‘Jenn B,’ to lend her considerable talents to the event. It’s no secret that Jenn possesses an electric charisma, one that effortlessly draws crowds. In a world where attendance often correlates with financial gain, her appeal is a vital asset. This is particularly true now, as many institutions, including this church, are still reeling from the economic impacts of the COVID-19 lockdown. They’re clearly on a mission to replenish their depleted coffers. Adding to this urgency is the recent news of Pastor Bill’s daughter gaining admission to Columbia University. This prestigious accomplishment comes with a hefty price tag of at least $65,000 in tuition fees.

For Peter, Sid, and myself, accompanying Jenn to her concerts has become somewhat of a regular occurrence. While her church performances are mainly acts of filial duty to her mother, it is Kada, her official booking agent, who orchestrates her more prominent engagements. However, our presence here today isn’t strictly voluntary. We’ve been drawn into this situation by the sheer force of Jenn’s influence, mirroring the persuasive tactics of her mother. Jenn, in her own right, has adeptly played her cards, employing her charm and talent to serve her mother’s interests. The result? Peter and I find ourselves trapped in a classic catch-22, a testament to Jenn’s savvy maneuvering and the undeniable power she wields.

 Page 7

==== Today happens to be Sid’s birthday. In our circle, the unwritten rule is clear: the birthday person gets complete control over the day’s itinerary from sunrise until the stroke of midnight. True to this tradition, Sid found himself with an unexpected invitation from Jenn to attend this church event, which is more of a thinly veiled recruitment drive for new members than an actual concert. For Sid, church gatherings have little to do with spirituality; they’re prime opportunities for networking and a perfect stage to flaunt his lavish, post-closet wardrobe.

Knowing Sid’s penchant for such occasions, Jenn dangled a rather enticing carrot in front of him. In exchange for his presence today, she promised a lavish meal at ‘The Loop,’ a chic eatery in downtown Raleigh and one of Sid’s top dining spots. But the allure didn’t end there. Jenn upped the ante by offering an evening of endless margaritas. As if that wasn’t enough, she casually mentioned that Kevin Hart would be performing at a private party in town tonight. Thanks to Kada, Jenn’s well-connected agent, we snagged an exclusive invite.

With such an extravagant lineup, Sid’s response was instantaneous and enthusiastic. “Bitch, what time is church?” he exclaimed, his excitement palpable. His prized Hermès loafers were metaphorically in before we even knew it, invoking his birthday privileges with gusto. And just like that, we found ourselves entangled in this elaborate scheme. Jenn, ever the strategist, knows all too well that money and lavish promises can move mountains. In her world, it seems, the apple – or should I say, the acorn – doesn’t fall far from the tree.

 Page 8

==== Jenn and I have a history that stretches back to our high school days. Our friendship was forged in the aftermath of a memorable class presidential election. It was there, following her concession speech and my victory address, that our paths truly intertwined. Jenn had taken quite the defeat; it was an electoral rout she’ll never forget. With the racial makeup of our school being predominantly white at a 75/25 split, my victory was something of a coup. I managed to blur the traditional lines, bringing in an unexpected twist on Vote Day – none other than Snoop Dogg, universally beloved and a surefire crowd-puller. And who could resist the combination of Snoop, hotdogs, and Pepsi, our drink sponsor? That’s called leveraging creativity in politics.

But the real twist in our story came when Jenn became my Vice President. Working closely with her gave me invaluable insights into understanding different perspectives, particularly within the white community. After we both graduated, our paths converged again at (HBCU), Howard University, each of us driven there for markedly different reasons. I yearned to step away from being a token in a predominantly white space. In contrast, Jenn seemed to seek the opposite, wanting to immerse herself in a new cultural milieu and share her musical talents.

Jenn, with her Bachelor of Music, eventually found her way to a recording contract with a new record label; this is a testament to her exceptional talent. As for me, I continued my journey at Howard, first completing my BA in Psychology and then pursuing an MBA. Our paths, distinct yet intertwined, reflect the complexity and richness of our long-standing friendship.

 Page 9

==== After graduating Howard, Jenn somehow convinced me to join her on an Alaskan Cruise, where she was part of the entertainment. It was one of the coldest adventures I had ever taken; I remember shivering and cursing under my breath, wishing for Carolina sunshine. On the first night aboard, fate, or maybe just the cruise’s seating plan, had Peter, Sid, Jenn, and me sharing a dinner table. Peter and Sid were celebrating Peter’s recent graduation from Harvard Law, and the cruise was Sid’s extravagant gift. Jenn and Sid, both with a penchant for the dramatic, hit it off instantly. It’s fascinating how time flies. Pulling out my iPhone, I decided to text Sid amidst the ongoing church drama.

me: [what some people won’t do for a free meal, unlimited margaritas🍹, and Kevin Hart 🤓].

sid: [It’s my b-day. I’m ordering everything on the menu, 🍹🍹🍹🍹, and seeing Kevin Hart, lol]

me: [you cr—]

“Excuse me! Excuse me, Ms.”

The sudden interruption startled me. Hesitantly, I lifted my gaze, hoping the speaker wasn’t addressing me. But unfortunately, he was.

Page 10

==== “Who, me?” I answered reluctantly, glancing around, hopefully wishing he was addressing Sid, who these days identifies as she/her/hers.

“Yes, you, Ms., in the red dress.”

My heart sank a little. Sid wasn’t wearing red; it was definitely me he was calling out.

“Would you stand, please?”

“No way,” I muttered under my breath. Peter nudged me, and reluctantly, I stood up, my foot catching on the strap of my Ferragamo purse – the very purse I had carelessly left on the floor.

Suddenly, I was in the spotlight, face-to-face with a preacher insisting that God was speaking to him and had a message for me. Over the years, I had grown weary of these religious ambushes. I had prepared a few escape strategies for situations like this: (1) hide in the restroom, (2) fake deafness, or (3) let my sharp tongue do the talking. Well, with the exits blocked and a sign language interpreter present, option three was my go-to.

Let's Dialogue!

You must be approved for membership before you can comment or interact with The RJANIS Society. Request Membership

Continue the story...