Excerpt from Unloveable: A Stripper Goes to Church

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We pull up to this stadium called a church.  I swear there are more parking spaces here than the basketball arena downtown.  It is so big they have police officers and parking attendants directing traffic.  There are even letters on the scattered light poles so you can remember where you parked.  I look at Nahlia, “Are you sure we are going to a church?”

“Mom, stop being silly.”  The attendant directs us down row five of section ‘L.’  As we drive around, I notice all kinds of cars: Range Rovers, Maseratis, Hondas and hoopties.  Most of the expensive cars are parked in reserved spaces.  “Mom, you’ve driven most of these cars.”  There is so much I could say that nothing comes out.  I just join her in laughter.  We park in the last spot at the end of the row.

As I slam the rusty door shut, Nahlia says, “See, mom, we are dressed just fine for church.”  She is right.  The woman pushing the stroller is about Nahlia’s height and looks like she might be just a few years older.  Her miniskirt has so much thigh showing that I could have worn it on stage any night.  I just moan to myself, as I take Nahlia’s hand and grip it tightly.

As we walk past nearly a hundred cars, I can’t help but think that I just changed in a Burger King restroom for this.  If I really could have it my way, I would be in a warm Jacuzzi with Epsom salt.  Instead, I have to wash my face in the sink of a fast food joint with a ‘C’ rating from the Health Department.  Lo and behold, I bump into an old client.  This is why I don’t go out on Sunday mornings.  I guess he was getting his old man biscuit and coffee before church.  Just before he could see me walk out the front door, I pulled my sunhat down over my face and slid my widest and darkest sunglasses on my face.

As we reach the reserved spaces, I notice the same Escalade parked there as the one at Burger King.  I freeze.  “I can’t do this.”

“Mom, what’s wrong now?”

“I just can’t do this,” I say, shouting as I walk back down the aisle to my rusty, red Chevy.

“Well, where else are we going to go then?”  The people passing by were as nosey as expected.  Some actually slowed down to try to look at my face.

“What are you looking at sunshine?” I say to the woman dressed in yellow that has slowed down so much I think she is about to take my temperature.

“Stop, mom!  You’re embarrassing me,” Nahlia says, running over to me and pulling me between two cars.  The woman just speeds up while looking back.  I’m pretty sure she was making sure I wasn’t coming after her.

“I’m afraid I might know some people here.”  That isn’t normally a problem when you are referring to church, but in my case it is.  Nahlia is only nine, but she is sharper than most kids her age.

“If they know you then I guess they will be just as embarrassed, so come on.”  She doesn’t even wait for my response before she turns and heads towards the large glass doors of the church.  I take a minute and make sure my wig is on straight and my hat and glasses are covering the rest of my face.  Realizing that Nahlia has yet to look back, I do my best to walk briskly in my Manolo pumps.  What can I say; it is a fashion show after all.

Walking through the doors of the church is odd.  These three people are standing there giving out hugs as they welcome everyone inside.  I just nod and maneuver around the hugging woman.  I haven’t seen cleavage that deep since Kandy Kane got those implants and forgot to buy new clothes before coming to the club.   This woman’s breasts are obviously real.  They don’t quite have the lift they probably used to when she wasn’t in her late forties.

Nahlia is standing just behind the greeters.  I can tell she is frustrated I wouldn’t hug the woman back.  “I’m still sore,” is all I say and keep walking.  After we make our way past the first line of defense, two ladies are poking out their chests to show their black badges with white letters with one word inscribed: Usher.

I can’t really say I know what an Usher is.  I just know she gives us a program of the service and begins to lead us to two open seats.  Unfortunately, the seats I have in mind are upstairs in the balcony, but it is too late.  Nahlia is practically on the Usher’s heel trying to get seated.  As we pass the middle mark of the church, which is a feat by itself, I start to get more nervous.  “Ma’am.  Ma’am.  Excuse me.  I’m sure you know how to do your job, but this just isn’t going to work.”

The Usher turns and looks at me cross-eyed, as if I just insulted her whole world.  “What’s wrong with up here?”

“Well, it’s too close,” I say without flinching—not that anyone could see it through my hat and glasses.  “This is the fourth row.”

“Dear, you are late.  Service is halfway over.  These are two of the last seats in the building.”  I probably should have just sat down, but the choir was up singing “How Great Thou Art” and it wasn’t like people could really hear us with all the noise of the singers and instruments.

“I’m about to sweat already from these stadium concert lights you have, and you’re telling me in this big ‘ole place you can’t find two chairs in the back.”

“Yes, there are two chairs in the back, if you don’t mind sitting on someone’s lap,” she says with a smirk that I want to remove with the back of my hand.

“Look here you little—”

“Mom,” Nahlia says, tugging on my wrist to gain my attention, “I want to sit here.  Please?”  I can’t even blink hard before the usher is storming past the halfway mark again.  I turn back to look at Nahlia and find I am the only one standing here.  Nahlia has already said “Excuse me” over a dozen times to get to the seats. It feels like coming into a movie that has already started and trying to take seats in the middle.  I bump into several knees before resting my sore hips next to her.  She leans over to me, whispering, “Don’t ruin this moment for me,” and sits back up as if her word is final.

I don’t have much tongue left to bite.  I’m trying to be on my best behavior considering everything that has just happened.

“YEAH!”

I nearly lose my wig as the whole stadium, including Nahlia, shouts together.  The woman beside me springs to her feet and starts hopping like a rabbit on crack.  The music flares.  She shakes out of her brown coat and begins to sweat, making me think she really is on crack.  Her head drops and I see ghetto tracks that no innocent bystander should have to encounter.  She swings her arm and narrowly misses my face.

Nahlia just grabs my elbow and says, “Hold it together.”  I don’t have to try much longer, the woman is out of breath thirty seconds after she starts.  She falls back into her chair, sitting on her coat.  As the music dies down, I finally realize the true length of the stage.  One of the ministers on the pulpit was running across it and could barely make it to both sides before sitting down looking wet and winded.  I guess I would be tired too if I just ran across a stage that is almost as long as a football field. 

I begin to smell peppermint, like every woman just snagged a piece from their pocketbooks and unwrapped it.  The lights over the stage dim slightly.  I am starting to feel a bit confused on whether or not this is a concert or church.  Everyone is jumping on their feet and clapping their hands when a fairly young guy comes out wearing a designer suit.  It’s the T.V. preacher.  He has broad shoulders and athletic frame.  With his short cut and goatee, he reminds me of Stain. 

He takes the microphone and says, “Good morning church.  Today, I’m going to waste no time jumping into the message.  I’m going to begin by reading an excerpt from the book I introduced last week.  In it the author scribes:

I was great and mighty.  I was all things wonderful.  I was perfect in every way.  Then I lived.  That life stalled my successes and scrambled my strength.  Life surprised me with tears that followed smiles and screams that chased laughter like a rabid dog.  My might was questioned, my greatness in doubt.  I sit and wonder who can love me now.

I snatch my program that dropped to the floor when the track lady startled me.  I scan for his name.  Oh, God.  I unglue my eyes from the program and glance back at the guy.  I realize there is someone else he looks like too—Nahlia’s father.