Unexpectedly, the band started playing a song Obi couldn't remember hearing in at least a decade – Give Me That Old Time Religion. Clapping and snapping their fingers, the congregation sang with gusto. The baskets were full to the brim, by the time the ushers collected them at the back of the church.
As the service ended, another surprising song began. Obi wondered who had chosen the music, because if it had been left to the music director, they'd be singing the same four hymns they always sang. Instead, his father and the choir, made their way up the aisle to Don't Let the Devil Ride, an old gospel favorite of Prescott's. The women in the choir, had tambourines, wood blocks, and cowbells, which they shook or tapped as they danced up the aisle behind Prescott.
"Why don't you ever do anything fun like this?" Clive asked.
"Because my liturgical committee would suffer simultaneous brain hemorrhages," he replied, wondering how his father had snuck it by them. Probably by going to the band directly, bypassing the music director. He loved his father's audacity.
The guitarist in the band, was having way too much fun with the upbeat, blues tune. The choir stood at the back of the church, finishing the song. At the end, the congregation were on their feet, dancing and clapping enthusiastically. When the band finished playing, they cheered for them.
"This is the most fun I've ever had in church," Emily said, bouncing on her toes.
"I'm glad you had a good time. We're not usually this lively," Obi admitted with a slight frown.
"Lighten up, Obadiah," Clive said, throwing an arm around his brother. "Dad could always get away with this kind of thing. He just doesn't take no."
"What he does, is make his own yes," Obi replied.
"Then you need to. Just because those guys on the liturgical committee are all old sticks, doesn't mean that you can't get what you want from them."
Obi couldn't disagree, but couldn't fully agree, either. It was easier for his father, because he wasn't the one who had to listen to the brouhaha which would inevitably follow such an event. He was pretty sure that he was going to get a million and one calls on Monday, concerning today's service. He hoped that at least some of them, were positive.
After the service, Obi went up to talk to the band, congratulating them on a great performance.
"Why don't you do that, Father Obi?" the guitarist asked.
"Not everyone enjoys the same music," he hedged.
"They enjoyed that," the younger man countered.
"They did. And next week, if we tried the same thing, they'd probably fire a warning shot. Once in a while, they'll accept. All the time?" He shook his head.
"Maybe we can do something once a month," the music director said. "Because that was a blast."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was pretty great."
"Father Prescott said it was your idea," the music director said, frowning a little.
Slightly taken aback, Obi rolled with it. "He and I discussed it. I think doing this once a month, would be a lot of fun. I'll even join you from time to time."
"I'll take you up on that. You gonna introduce me to your new lady friend?"
"Sorry, Porter. Sure. This is Wynter, my good friend. This is her middle sister, Frankie – she's Clive's girlfriend, and that's Emily, the youngest."
"You with one of the Randolph brothers, too?" the guitarist, Cisco, asked Emily.
"Nope. Ran out of brothers. Eric's already got a lady friend."
"No kidding? You live around here?"
"No, I'm from Manhattan."
His face fell.
"But I'm seriously considering moving, provided I can find a job."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a personal trainer for the rich and ridiculous."
"Really? That's kind of cool. As a matter of fact, I work for a gym, too."
"You're not serious."
"Totally. Ask Father Obi."
"He really is. His parents own the Southend Gyms. They're all over the city. How many now? Four?"
"Just about to open the fifth, and we're currently hiring." He grabbed a card from his guitar case. "E-mail a resume to that address, and tell them that I told you to. I can't guarantee a job, but I can guarantee an interview. Getting hired is up to you."
"Thank you. This is so great!" Bouncing excitedly, she kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you so much, Cisco."
"You're very welcome, Emily. May I call you sometime?"
"You may. I don't have business cards, but I'll be happy to give you my number."
"I'd be happy to give you mine, as well."
They exchanged phones, typing in their numbers. Fluffing her already big hair, Emily held his phone up, taking a selfie to add to her contact. Cisco did the same. Laughing, they handed their phones back to each other.
"I expect to hear from you soon," Emily said. With a sharp turn on her heel, she sashayed up the aisle.
"Wow, that's a beautiful woman," Cisco whispered. Sheepishly, he glanced from Frankie to Wynter. Not seeing disapproval, he chanced a smile.
"You said beautiful, not hot," Frankie said, giving him a kiss on one cheek.
"You'd better call," Wynter stated, giving him a kiss on the other.
"I totally will. I promise."
"Good man," they chorused. It was their turn to make a sassy exit.
"Wow," Cisco gasped. "How can you—handle—all that?"
"It gets easier over time," Clive replied.
"Really?"
"No. I totally lied. Each of them can bowl a man over. The three together—unstoppable."
©Dellani Oakes 2023
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