She's No Angel, page 1
She’s No Angel
E.N. Joy and Nikita Lynnette Nichols
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Part I - “She’s No Angel” Angel
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part II - “Angel on the Front Pew” Lady Arykah
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part III - “California Angels” Angel & Lady Arykah
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
About BLESSEDselling Author E. N. Joy (Everybody Needs Joy)
OTHER BOOKS BY E. N. JOY:
About Nikita Lynnette Nichols
Other Books by Nikita Lynnette Nichols:
Urban Books, LLC
97 N18th Street
Wyandanch, NY 11798
She’s No Angel
Copyright © 2016 E.N. Joy and Nikita Lynnette Nichols
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-6228-6754-7
First Trade Paperback Printing December 2016
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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Part I
“She’s No Angel” Angel
Q A
Chapter 1
“Child, you ain’t a madam up in a whorehouse. You are the first lady of Savior Manger Baptist Church. So if you think you’re gonna come up in here with your hooker stilettos, skirt above the knees, and blouses with short sleeves so that your bare arms are hanging out, you’ve got another think coming!” Mother Calloway was furious as she stood in the office of the new first lady of only two months, giving this young’un a scolding, like a mother would a child. Mother Calloway had sworn that if her hair hadn’t already been gray for some years now, in just the past few months of dealing with her church’s first lady, almost every strand would have been white by now. Still, Mother Calloway woke up every morning, checking for hair on her pillow. This young heifer was bound and determined to make her silky silver mane a thing of the past. The stress the first lady was bringing to the church mother with her hoochie antics was going to make Mother Calloway’s hair eventually fall out for sure.
Although biologically Mother Calloway wasn’t anybody’s mother, having never married or had children of her own, spiritually, she was the mother of every member of that church. Mother Calloway had been a member of Savior Manger since her grandmother led her by the hand through those church doors seventy years ago, when Mother Calloway was just three years old. The building itself hadn’t even been as old as Mother Calloway at the time. Ever since then, she’d been committed and dedicated to the goings-on of the church and its members.
Mother Calloway had been there longer than any of the five pastors they’d voted in over the years. She had served as secretary for the last two pastors and now served in that role for their current pastor, Pastor Harrison—the recently married Pastor Harrison. Recently married to the one and only Angel Redford-Harrison, making her the youngest first lady in the church’s history, not to mention one of the most attractive as well. Standing five feet even, wearing a size four, with a figure yet to have been disturbed by childbirth, thirty-year-old Angel could pass for the captain of the local high school cheerleading team.
Her dark brown skin was just as smooth as warm chocolate pouring from a fondue fountain. She kept a nice natural fade, causing her to go to the barbershop instead of the beauty parlor in order to keep her hair looking sharp. Voted best dressed in high school, Angel was a born fashionista who had been sewing since her father, who had raised her by himself, taught her how to. To this day, Angel handcrafted the majority of her own clothing, of which clearly Mother Calloway didn’t approve.
Mother Calloway had watched Angel sashay up into Savior Manger like she was going to New York Fashion Week instead of the house of the Lord. The mother had made little comments—which were helpful, of course, done in the spirit of love—here and there to Pastor Harrison, the head of the house himself, about how she felt regarding his wife’s attire. But he always seemed to take it as a compliment, instead of as the constructive criticism that Mother Calloway had intended.
“Those pants First Lady wore to Bible study last night sure was fitting around her hips good and tight,” Mother Calloway had once told her pastor as she was bringing him his morning coffee.
He’d simply gazed off, with a smile on his face, like he was in la-la land, imagining his wife all over again in those butter-cream high-waist sailor-cut dress pants. “Yes, they were. Praise the Lord,” he’d replied, a grin spreading across his lips.
Another time Mother Calloway had said to him, “I saw that skirt First Lady wore today. That must be one she made herself, because the ones in the department stores don’t be having slits cut that high.”
“As a matter of fact, I think she did make it herself. Thank you,” Pastor Harrison had replied without even looking up from the sermon he had been working on at his desk.
Mother Calloway had let out a harrumph and had stomped off. She didn’t know if her pastor was being ornery or just plain blinded by the young Jezebel who was six years his junior, so much so that he failed even to recognize that Angel’s wardrobe was over the top. Mother Calloway figured she’d give him some time to make mention of the issue to his wife and then see if Angel’s choice in clothing would change any.
It changed, all right. In Mother Calloway’s eyes, it got ten times worse. Obviously, her pastor wasn’t thinking with the right head and wasn’t going to say anything to his wife. So Mother Calloway felt she had to, especially when, this morning, Angel wore a satin red pencil skirt that showed her knees and that had the nerve to have had a little split up the back, as if enough of her legs hadn’t been showing. Sure the weather in Bexley, Ohio, was warming up due to it being mid-May, but she didn’t have to wear that white shirt with them li’l ole wee bitty sleeves. Heck, she might as well be wearing a spaghetti-strap tank top. And since when did women wear to church the same shoes strippers wore to the club? Mother Calloway didn’t know about other churches and what the mothers allowed their first ladies to wear, but there was zero tolerance for stripper heels at Savior Manger.
During service Mother Calloway had been so distracted by Angel’s appearance that she could barely focus on the Word that was being preached. Being the true and dedicated saint that she was, if she was being distracted from God’s message, then she could only imagine how many of the other members were—namely, the menfolk. Nope, she couldn’t let this go on one more Sunday. She’d made it up in her mind that as soon as service was over, she’d follow First Lady Angel to her office and tell her about herself. She’d do it her own self, instead of trying to throw subliminal messages and hints at the pastor, hoping he would address the matter. By the time that man said anything to his wife, First Lady would be showing up dressed for the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.
“I know you are unchurched,” Mother Calloway said, continuing her conversation with her first lady, “but if you hear from God at all, then surely He’s told you Himself you dress like you’re going over to the corner on Main Street to do more than just pass out scripture tracts to the nonbelievers.” Mother Calloway shook her head.
Angel had never been one who was easily offended. She took everything in life with a grain of salt, brushing her shoulders off whenever anyone sprinkled a little on them. Other people’s actions almost never dictated her own. Even being the unchurched heathen she was—according to Mother Calloway—Angel knew how to turn the other cheek. She’d learned that from her father, who was a very passive, kind, and gentle man. Ever since she was a baby and her mother abandoned them both, her father had raised her to do what he said to do without ever having to yell, cuss, and fuss at her. He had ruled with an iron fist that he’d never had to hit her with. He exuded so much respect that he attracted the same.
Right about now, Mother Calloway should have been very thankful for that. Surely she’d seen enough reality shows to know that not many women were going to stand around and allow themselves to be referred to as a whore and a prostitute without at least throwing a glass of wine on the offender. Or, in this case, a glass of holy water.
“Look, Sister Calloway . . . ,” Angel began in her small, respectful tone.
Mother Calloway snapped her head back. “That’s Mother Calloway to you,” she said, taking offense.
“Pardon me, Mother Calloway,” Angel said, correcting herself, keeping a genuinely pleasant smile on her face the entire time. “No, I haven’t been in the church all my life, but it just so happens that when I first walked through these church doors, it felt like home. When I’m at home, I’d like to think I can dress however I feel comfortable doing.”
“I bet you did feel at home when you walked through these church doors,” Mother Calloway replied, “and then you had no problem making yourself right at home in our pastor’s bed.”
Angel kept her spiritual composure, but Mother Calloway was pressing her buttons. “Your pastor, not your husband,” she said. “My pastor and my husband. So what goes on in his bed is only my concern, and I’d appreciate you not even alluding to it.”
It wasn’t easy, but Mother Calloway had to admit Angel was right. She didn’t mind sticking her nose in a lot of places, but in a married couple’s bed, it did not belong. Of course, she’d never voice her wrongness to Angel in a million years, but her silence said it all . . . as brief as the silence was.
“Listen here, I have been in church all my life,” Mother Calloway snapped back.
“Yes, I know that. You seem to remind me every time you and I have a discussion.”
“I was practically born out there on the church pew.” Mother Calloway pointed sharply, seemingly toward the sanctuary.
Angel nodded her head. “And you constantly remind me of that as well, Mother Calloway.”
“So it’s safe to say that I’m saved for real and am much better tuned in to God than you’ll ever be.”
Angel cocked her head to the side and slightly raised her eyebrows at Mother Calloway. Are you really? she thought to herself.
“So it would behoove you to take my advice and put on some decent clothes for Christ’s sake. Not only are you representing your husband, a wholesome man of God, but you are also representing God and His Kingdom.” Mother Calloway was getting all worked up. She put her hand on her chest and took a breather.
“Are you okay, Mother Calloway?” Angel asked with concern. She extended her hands to try to comfort the older woman.
Mother Calloway jumped back from Angel’s touch. “I’m just fine. The Lord is faithful to His own. God will take care of His own. You best believe that!” She rolled her eyes, drained and disgusted that her conversation with Angel seemed to be going nowhere. “Here.” She dug down into the Bible bag she was toting and pulled out a catalog and extended it to Angel.
“What’s this?” Angel asked, puzzled.
“Here. Just take it.” Mother Calloway shoved it into Angel’s hand. “It’s a catalog called Ashro. It’s filled with outfits suitable for first ladies. You can even go to their Web site to see what they have there as well.”
Angel flipped through the catalog. It was full of nice, colorful, and beautiful suits and dresses, most with hats to match. There were coordinated footwear and handbags as well.
“They have some nice, classy outfits in there. Things a real, respectable first lady should be wearing. Now, if you’d order from there instead of the Victoria’s Secret catalog, you won’t have a problem with me. Good day!” Mother Calloway turned to exit Angel’s office.
“But, Mother Calloway, I don’t have a problem with you now.”
Mother Calloway turned and shot Angel a stern look. “Oh, Miss Thing, but you do.” And with that, she walked out the door, slamming it behind her.
Chapter 2
It was eighteen months ago when Angel first entered Savior Manger Baptist Church. It wasn’t because it was Friends and Family Day and someone had invited her. She’d actually been there on a business call. Running a seamstress business from her home, Angel had been there to do some last-minute alterations for a bride who was her client and for her bridal party. It was the day of the wedding ceremony, which was taking place at Savior Manger.
Pastor Isaiah Harrison was officiating the ceremony. Angel hadn’t planned on staying to witness the exchange of wedding vows. After making sure all was well with the gowns before all the ladies walked down the aisle, Angel had packed up her things and had left the church dressing room. As she’d headed toward the exit doors, with her sewing cases in tow, the voice of Pastor Harrison, whom Angel had never met, halted her footsteps before she could make it to the doors. He was speaking about how he who found a wife found a good thing. He was reminding everyone in the sanctuary that the bride, Angel’s client, was an unashamed forty-year-old virgin. She had spent her years waiting to be found by her husband, since, after all, the scripture didn’t say, “She who finds a husband.” He reiterated to the women in the sanctuary that they needed to wait on God and not try to help Him out with booty shorts and breast implants. Angel let out a laugh, right along with everyone inside the sanctuary.
At the time, Angel started feeling some kind of way, which she didn’t know to describe as conviction. She was guilty of trolling the malls for men. She wasn’t a gold digger who was looking for these men to buy her anything at the mall. She wanted to be in a genuine give-and-take relationship. Was it so wrong that she desperately wanted to find her Mr. Right, buy a house on the hill with a white picket fence, have two kids—no pets because of her allergies—and live happily ever after?
She’d been a daddy’s girl for years. She didn’t know anything else in life other than to be taken care of by a man. A good man at that, because her daddy had set the bar high for any other man to be able to jump over. But after listening to this pastor preach, Angel couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been going about it all wrong. Had she been looking for a husband, instead of waiting to be found by one? In just ten minutes she was convinced that going to the clubs, the gym, and Home Depot, looking for a man, had been a waste of her time, which was why it had never panned out and she was still single and was not dating. She was never going to find her husband at the rate she was going. She had to be found by him instead, at least that was what Pastor Harrison was saying that God Himself had said.
This whole “God’s Word thing” was all new to Angel, who had been inside of a church only if her job required her to be. Her father was a good man and had raised her the best he knew how, but church, prayer, and God just weren’t something he’d focused on in raising her. He’d done all the right things by making sure Angel knew who she was: a strong, smart, independent woman. He had not, though, made sure she knew who God was. But like the comedian Chris Rock had said in one of his stand-ups, Angel’s father had done his job of keeping her off the stripper pole. Of course, Mother Calloway would beg to differ.
People always made comments that life came without instructions. Well, if what this preacher man was preaching was, in fact, true, there was a book with instructions, and it was called the Bible. And God actually talked to people in the Bible, told them what to do and how to live.
Angel had stood in the church vestibule, taking in all that voice in the microphone had to say. It seeped out of the church sanctuary and into her ears. Before she knew it, the bride and groom had been pronounced man and wife and were barging through the doors and out into the vestibule, followed by the bridal party. Angel, still mesmerized by the words the pastor had spoken, stood there watching as the guests exited the sanctuary, shook hands, and gave their congratulations to the happy couple.
“You did a fine job, Pastor,” Angel heard someone say to the tall, medium-brown-complexioned man who was wearing a minister’s collar and carrying a Bible. Angel knew that had to be him. That had to be the man who had joined the couple in holy matrimony while giving everyone else within earshot a message about finding themselves in that same position. That had to be the man who’d just unknowingly fed Angel the Word of God, her first spiritual meal ever.
Angel felt compelled to thank him, and perhaps even ask for a second helping. She wanted to know more and fast. Her life’s playbook had always had her married by the age of twenty-five, with two kids by thirty. That hadn’t even almost happened. It was better late than never, though, as far as Angel was concerned. So she patiently waited over to the side until the good pastor had excused himself and stepped out of the receiving line.
