Free Diary of a Mad First Lady by Dishan Washington Page A

purchased for me. The skirt stopped flirtatiously above the knee, and the four- inch heels that I selected to accompany the suit were the perfect item to accentuate my long, mocha-colored legs. I got dressed, dug through a plethora of unpacked boxes to find my jewelry box that contained my diamond necklace and earrings, took one final look in the mirror, and went to the living room to wait for Darvin.
    After a few times of going back and forth to the mirror to assure myself that I still approved of my look, I glanced at the clock sitting on the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen, and noticed that Darvin was late.
    It suddenly dawned on me that he and I had not exchanged phone numbers, so even if something had come up, he wouldn’t have a way to contact me.
    The clock now read 6:45, and that meant he was fifteen minutes late. He struck me as the type to be prompt, but maybe I was mistaken. My thoughts drifted to the many possibilities that would cause him to be late or not show up at all, and I suddenly felt a wave of sadness come over me. Maybe he’d known the entire time that my intentions had more to do with him than going to church, and he had decided not to be bothered with me. I could have kicked myself. I should have never been so aggressive.
    My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. My heart and stomach simultaneously did somersaults and my palms became sweaty. I calmly walked to the front, and with my award-winning smile of the day shining brightly on my face, I opened the door.
    Immediately, my enthusiasm was drained out of me, and without having to look, I’m sure that my color followed close behind it.
    “Can I help you?” I asked, not disguising my disgust.
    The man at the door was dressed in a dusty black suit, a white shirt that held a crooked black tie, and had two gold teeth in the center of his mouth.
    The ’80s-old Jheri curl had strands of his hair stuck to his face, causing his skin to shine from the grease. He had a wide smile, and was looking at a piece of wrinkled paper in his hand. Then, he allowed his eyes to do a once over of me.
    “Are you Ms. Daphne Carlton?”
    “Who wants to know?” I said with my attitude still intact.
    His smile no longer there, he said, “Ma’am, I’ve been sent here to take you to Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Church.” The man grew impatient. “Are you planning to go or not?”
    A slight grin turned the corner of my mouth at the thought of Darvin sending a driver for me. I realized that I’d struck gold—literally—and hadn’t even been in the Peach State for an entire week. I looked up to the invisible heavens and gave God thanks for hooking a sister up!
    “Forgive me. Let me get my purse.” I grabbed my Prada bag from the couch, and turned to meet my driver. “Ready?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Well, let’s go then.” I locked the door to my apartment and could hardly wait to see what type of car Darvin had sent for me.
    As I walked gleefully down the corridor to the elevator, the man must have noticed my sudden excitement.
    “It’s been a while since I’ve picked up anyone that’s been this excited about going to church.” He pressed the down arrow on the elevator control panel. “I can’t wait to tell Pastor. He’ll be glad to know that.”
    “I must admit, God has certainly been good to me, and I’m thrilled to be standing in the direct flow of his blessings.”
    The man just smiled as the elevator door opened and we stepped inside.
    I could hardly contain my excitement on the short elevator ride to the first floor. I was completely consumed by my thoughts of Darvin. He barely knew me, and already he was making some impressive moves. His interest in me must have been just as intense as mine was in him.
    We stepped off of the elevator and walked through the revolving doors that led from the lobby to outside. Had it not been for the van that was blocking my view of the car Darvin had sent for me, I