"Hello?"
"THAT BITCH DONE TOOK MY CASH CARD!!"
Porsha called a day earlier than I expected reporting the violent struggle that ensued when my cousin Deanna snatched the card out of her hand in a final bid for some owed rent money. I was two steps ahead of both women wanting to ensure their mutual silence by creating mutual conflict between them both.
"Hey, you still got your phone?"
"Yeah-BUT THAT FAT BITCH GOT MY CARD!!" Porsha was fit to be tied.
"Relax, you can log in on the phone and turn that shit off; just order a new one and have it delivered somewhere else." I happily played devil's advocate controlling both sides of the argument for leverage that would get Porsha for another shoot if I couldn't find anybody.
"Thank, bruh." She hung up as mom's hand slapped the back of my head. She didn't like me taking calls in Sunday school.
"Gimme that damn phone."
She snatched my android, placing it in her old lady purse which would undoubtedly be swung into my head like a medieval flail at the conclusion of service. I suffered through a really bad rendition of "Lean on Me" played on the church organ, but it was okay because I was on the clock, so to speak.
Her name was Tressie Fisher, a staunch member of Glory Harvest Baptist Church who served as a youth Sunday school teacher, choir member as was currently assaulting my ears playing an awesomely bad version of the aforementioned song. She was what you'd call an entrenched member of the church, almost born there and indoctrinated by her mother Gerona Fisher, head of the church council who also ran the choir when she was toiling away as an office worker in the rectory. My mother was herself an on again, off again member of the church unknowingly providing me with another potential "actress" for my adult themed startup.
Back to Tressie though; I'd say her face was reminiscent of Ayesha Curry sans the weave. Her hair was all natural, close tight and curly with a golden tinge to it that bordered on being blonde in color. I normally wouldn't have been able to comment on her figure because the elder Mrs. Fisher (Widowed) made sure to keep her covered up in these large frumpy looking flowered dresses that even Madea wouldn't have worn. But serendipity reared its beautiful head signaling that my recent endeavors were one of fate other than chance, the evening right after I'd closed the deal with Porsha Simms.
Still intent on playing around with one of my digital cameras, I'd stopped at the church sometime after eight that Saturday evening. I wanted to get some shots from a low angle for a zero budget horror film I was thinking about shooting with friends. It was a medium sized building built as a minor version of a catholic type structure even equipped with a bell tower operated by switch of course. Right in the middle of capturing a forced perspective shot, I was shocked by the sudden blaring of a car horn at my back enough that I tumbled over. I glanced up finding some seriously dangerous freckled faced guy staring at me laughing with a mouth full of yellowed teeth.
It looked like I might be the victim of a random shooting as the horn continued blaring, when someone very familiar came scurrying from the side of the church. This female was wearing a dress that looked like something out of the seventies with swirly colors of mint, fuchsia and black making up the print. She was stacked to the gills with an unforgettable set of powerful looking tits. She actually stepped over me into the car giving me an unintentional upskirt. There were no panties under her frock which left me frozen with shock at the sight of a bare cooch despite just having been with someone.
There was another dangerous type behind the wheel reminding of the old rapper, Slick Rick as she slid in beside him. The freckled guy tossed an empty beer can at me, splashing its remnants on my shirt as I got a look at the girl's face. We both saw one another for a few seconds before the Monte Carlo sped off into the night. I could still hear that freckled guy laughing as I arrived at my porch. As far as I was concerned, that evil looking nigga needed a stake driven through his black heart. There was a surprise waiting for me as I began editing the last scene I'd done with Porsha Simms. Some purely accidental footage captured of Tressie in evening wear, her mother definitely wouldn't approve of one bit. A few days in, I decided to "find religion" accompanying my mother to church.
"Can I get my phone back, mom?"
"No you may not; and I don't even know why you always gotta bring that damn camera bag with you every time we go out somewhere!"
"I'm a filmmaker; you never know when you'll find something good to shoot. "I explained in a half lie knowing I intended to finagle my way into a girl's pants.
"It'd take more than some dumb video camera to make you a filmmaker, boy!"
"Thanks for the confidence." I replied salty at her dismissal of my creative being, however, skewed. Instead of walking it back to assuage my bruised ego, she shoved my phone into my chest before noticing someone behind me.
"OH HIGH TRESSIE!!"
I wretched internally as my mother verbally fawned. She was always talking up Tressie as someone I should look up to for staying on the right side of the lord and making the most of my time. In fact she had a long list of my supposed peers that where supposedly "role models" for me. Part of me found it comforting that she didn't have a clue about the real Tressie Fisher.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but your son said he would help me empty the clothing bin for the good will donations."
"I did?"
This was a development of sorts, because I'd said nothing even remotely like that other than hello when we arrived at church this morning. I'd excused myself for the little boys room finding her putting out the guest book when I returned, but she walked into the main hall the minute I showed up.
"Now son, we always KEEP our PROMISES; mind your manners and I'll see you at home so we can go over a psalms from today's lesson."
Mom pinched my cheek covertly displaying her displeasure with me. She wasn't gonna be reading no bible when she got home. I was likely gonna find her passed out in her bed with a glass of wine at her bedside table. She left me alone with Tressie instantly making things awkward.
"Would you follow me out into the rear playground area?"
"Sure, but I don't remember saying I'd help you with anything, Tressie." I'd attended a few of her bible classes in the past but found them a snooze fest before drifting out back to the adult side of things in the church.
"Follow me out onto the rear playground area." She softly touched my bicep, applying a little pressure. It felt somewhat threatening as I was suddenly given the memory of that laughing freckled faced guy who reminded me of the fucking joker.
"Alright, after you Tressie."
I noticed some overly cautious behavior as she navigated the crowded church lobby covertly steering clear of its rectory members and more specifically, her mother. Her parent was similar in appearance with a larger, thicker body hidden under some frumpy looking dress that likely predated the fifties in esthetic. She had this tiny Yakama on the back of her head that all of the female elders wore. It was similar to the hats worn by some Jewish people. Combined with the similarly colored cat eye shades on her oval face, this gave Mrs. Fisher an insectoid, alien appearance.
"Watch out for the children, this is their time."
It felt like I was on a tour of the place as she led me out into the yard where a raucous crowd of toddlers were playing on the donated swings, slides and monkey bars. Tressie stopped to watch the children for a few moments. I couldn't decipher the expression on her face.
"They look happy, the children, I mean." I tried to make small talk.
"Of course they are; this is their time to play and be-innocent." One little girl ran up to her presenting a dandelion. Tressie faced the toddler away planting the flower behind her ear before sending her off to join her friends.
"Tressie, what's up?"
"You ever really take a look at this place; it's so urban gothic, right?"
"I guess so."
"I've been going to this church since I was five; my dad's funeral was here, too. This place has always been a part of our family in one way or another."
"So, are you tired of the place?" Tressie turned to me with a contrite smile on her face, that left more questions swirling around in my head.
"Hey, you remember Sister Jacobs, right?"
"Yeah, I always wondered what ever happened to her." I recalled the woman in question, remembering that she was just about the meanest person I'd ever seen.
But oddly enough she seemed to lighten up right before she stopped coming to church. She used to play the piano before Tressie inherited the job upon her disappearance. There were rumors of misconduct and some of my friends said Sister Jacobs started wearing these tight dresses showing off this huge ass of hers for a few weeks until she stopped showing up.
"Remember Pastor Grey?"
"I heard that guy was a con artist or something; it was on the tv."
"But you remember him, right?"
"Yeah, he seemed cool." Tressie's eyes narrowed as she led me over to the bin unlocking it with her own personal key. I put the box inside out on the curb, but she wasn't done with me.
I was getting weird Stepford Wives vibes off her as I followed her into a little stairwell leading into the church basement where the youth bible classes took place. It looked like a kindergarten classroom with Sesame Street posters, Dora the Explorer and various kids drawings adorning the light blue walls. The floor was covered with this foam to protect falling children made up in a jigsaw pattern. A modest television was in one corner of the low ceiling room with an old grand piano in the other near a mismatched wooden door leading up into the church. I could hear people milling about as I looked over my shoulder finding Tressie locking and bolting the door.
"Why're you locking the door?" She just smiled motioning towards the piano.
"Have a seat, please."
I unslung my camera bag placing it on the floor beside the bench before pulling it out to have a seat facing the piano as she slid in next to me. Tressie lifted the little shelf covering the piano keys and began playing a perfect rendition of "Everyday People" vastly different from the one I'd heard upstairs. She went through a few melodies in short order before playing a bit of Chopin. Tressie stopped suddenly turning to me with a cold expression on her face.
"I wanted to come at you; before you came at me. I know you saw me a couple of days ago and I don't want any trouble right now; so don't even try to blackmail me, nigga." That last bit of the sentence hung in the air as I gathered myself.
"Uhm, Tressie?" She started playing again, a little "Brand New Kind of Me" by Alicia Keys this time. I didn't have any idea what I was going to say to her after being correctly put on blast. She looked me in the eye playing expertly as she continued.
"Hey, you probably were gonna blackmail me for some pussy, right?"
"Not in so many words." I admitted with nowhere to go.
