Chapter 22

            Meanwhile, back in good ole U.S.A., Terry had hatched her plot and rehearsed it thoroughly with Cheryl.  At 9:35 am Cheryl was at Mr. Becker’s office.  Mr. Becker was part owner of one of the local malls and was considered a very wealthy man by standards in his community.  In addition, he served as chairman of Aaron & Cheryl’s governing elders board for the church.

             His large, spacious office had plush chairs, a huge desk, and a scenic view of the city through large picture windows.  Terry had helped Cheryl pick out the exact outfit she was wearing, a beige skirt with a matching beige v-neck sleeveless stretch sweater blouse and a pink sweater that draped over her shoulders, and matching beige three inch heels.  Her hair had been freshly washed and styled and she wore just enough makeup to bring out her beauty but not enough to look gaudy, and with just enough perfume to be smelled about three feet away.

            She strode into the office cheerily reaching out her hand to warmly shake Mr. Becker’s hand.  “Good morning, Mr. Becker,” she sang out with a pleasant smile on her face.  “And how are you today?”

            “I’m fine,” the portly middle aged businessman responded.  “This is a pleasant surprise,” he said as he arose from the plush executive chair from behind his desk.  “I thought you were supposed to be in Africa this week.” he stated with a puzzled look on his face.

             “Yes,” Cheryl sighed as she sat down in a chair facing the desk.  She dropped her head, crossed her legs and folded her arms as she paused and changed to a sullen look of worry and concern.  Her knee length skirt rode up slightly to show a peek of thigh covered with the silky smooth nylon stocking that was two shades darker than her own skin tone.  Mr. Becker almost involuntarily leaned forward to enjoy the view, just as Terry had planned he would.

             Cheryl, who had strategically placed her hand bag on the floor near her feet, then bent over to pull out a tissue as her eyes watered.  As she did this, the v-neck revealed just the right amount of cleavage for the wealthy, prominent church leader’s parousal.  Mr. Becker caught himself staring and quickly looked away -- as he asked “Well, what’s wrong?  What happened?”

             “I . . . I . . .” Cheryl stuttered slightly “We . . . are having a problem” she said whispering as she wiped a tear from her eye.

             “Who?  You and Aaron?”  He questioned, not believing this could be true of the pastor and his wife who had always seemed like the perfect couple.

             Cheryl stood up abruptly and glided several steps away from the desk.  With her back to him, she stood with her heels together.  Her skirt was tight enough to show the form of her hips and yet not so tight as to be considered risqué.  She had slipped off the pink sweater and placed it on the back of her chair. 

             Standing perfectly erect he was given a glimpse of her form before she lowered her head and began to sob into the tissue she was holding.  Being the conservative old fashioned gentleman that he was, Mr. Becker had stood as she did.  His mother had trained him well nearly a half century ago, saying “When a lady is in a room standing, then so are you.”  A certain rage began to build in him.  How dare anyone hurt this vision of loveliness.

             “Now, now dear,” he said out loud.  “Tell me about it.”

             Cheryl now moved to one of the giant picture windows and as she looked out between sobs she told the story of how Aaron was being influenced by Charles Okinyi, a bigamist.  She then paused, turned her head slowly, and then ran to him flinging her arms around his neck and placed her head on his shoulder as she heaved sobs and tears that freely flowed down her face.

             Mr. Becker was surprised by the sudden move but patted her on the back reassuringly, secretly enjoying the feel of her breasts against his chest.  He caught himself thinking ‘what if . . .’ as he sniffed the scent of her perfume.  Then he quickly rejected the thought.

             Although he and his wife had lost all passion years ago, he knew he couldn’t afford to divorce her because he’d lose millions, and it would destroy his reputation in the Christian community.  His wife who enjoyed spending his money had allowed her sexual duties to deteriorate to a once a week perfunctory ritual.  It had become a chore that she obviously wanted to finish and get out of the way as quickly as possible.  Mr. Becker had accepted a long time ago that this was his cross to bear and yet had to keep rebuking lustful thoughts about Cheryl.

             In his reflection, he hadn’t been listening and awakened to hear Cheryl saying “After a divorce what would I do?”

             “Uh . . would you like a job working here?” he offered.

             “Well, I don’t know about that,” she replied.  “I have been sort of like the unofficial assistant pastor.  I help with the women’s auxiliary, I’ve taught the women’s Bible class, I think I could preach a pretty good sermon, don’t you, Mr. Becker?”

             “Uh well, yeah, sure, but what’s this Mr. Becker stuff, honey you just call me John.”

             Well . . John,” she said as she pushed away and walked a couple of steps before asking the next question.  “I know we set up different elders to speak the four Sundays Aaron and I would be away, but do you think I could give a sort of trial sermon on one of those Sundays?” she cooed.  She turned slightly toward him again and as she batted her eyes, she added “Pleeese.”

             “Well, sure . . . I mean I’ll have to check with the board but I don’t see why not,” he began to respond.

             “Oh, thanks Mr. Becker,” she said excitedly, flashing him a smile as she moved toward the door.  Then she turned just before going out.  “Shall I check back in with you on Tuesday about it?” she asked.

             “Uh, yes, come back in on Tuesday and we’ll talk,” he responded even as he thought a phone call would be good enough but he’d much rather see her in person.