Diary of a Mad First Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

shoe, and hoisting all of her 325-pound, six foot three frame up and down. The ushers took their positions behind her as if they were about to go to battle. Getting Mother Hampton under control was no easy task, and it took an army every Sunday to finally calm her down. By the end of her weekly show, her hat always ended up sitting on top of one of the deacon’s heads. It was all that I could do not to burst out into laughter, because if no one else thought that Darvin’s sermons were rousing, he could always count on Mother Hampton for a little extra affirmation.
    Darvin had brought his message to a close and was now, through outstretched arms, extending the offer for anyone who was not saved to come down to the altar. Just as every week, ministers dressed in black suits joined him. They began to walk down the aisles with their arms open wide, as we all stood to our feet and began to pray that someone would give their life to Jesus.
    I closed my eyes and remembered the day that I’d made that decision to receive salvation. This element of the service was the most important, because it was always a possibility that someone in the midst was between life and death.
    I heard a thunderous applause erupt, symbolizing someone had chosen to take the walk down to the altar. But just as abruptly, it came to a halt. I opened my eyes to see Daphne waltzing to the front of the church. And if looks could have killed, she would have died right before she took the last step that had her facing my husband.
    I looked at Darvin because I knew that the sweat on his face had made an appearance for two reasons. One: he was tired from the sermon. Two: he knew that if Daphne couldn’t contain herself with the little bit of sense that she had, his pregnant wife would be making the front page of the Atlanta Journal- Constitution before the sun could greet the morning.
    “Ms. Carlton, is there something that you would like to say to the church this morning?” Darvin asked.
    Darvin reluctantly put the microphone closer to her mouth so that everyone could hear her speak. Everybody at Mount Zion knew how this woman had tried to destroy our lives, and from the looks on their faces, they were wondering why Darvin was even taking a chance on allowing her the opportunity to cause further destruction.
    “Yes, Pastor,” she said. “I want to first thank the Lord for my being here today, and I want to thank you for giving me this opportunity to say a few words.” She looked pointedly at Darvin. “I came up here, Pastor, to ask you and First Lady Johnson for forgiveness. I never would have expected things to get out of hand, but somehow they did. So, on behalf of me and my family, we want to formally ask your forgiveness and the forgiveness of this great church.”
    Darvin’s eyes had reduced to mere slits. He was probably thinking the same thing that I was, which meant she would definitely not get away with this little charade. The nerve of that little heifer! She was good. She thought that she could play the Lord-have-mercy-on-me card, and that everyone would come rushing to her side, praying for her—declaring destiny over her life, casting out all the demons of her past so that she could walk in the newness of life. Well, she was sadly mistaken, because nobody was about to do no praying up in here if I had anything to do with it. And I was fully aware of the nonsense I was thinking, because the church is where you should come to get healing; but she wouldn’t find it today, not at Mount Zion Baptist Church. Not at the church where my husband was the pastor. Not at the church where the first lady would tolerate no hussy like Daphne Carlton continuing with this insane woe-is-me act.
    I’m glad that Darvin found the words to finally speak before I did.
    “Sister Daphne, we—”
    She interrupted, but not before I noticed the look of confusion on her face. “Pastor, I’m sorry to interrupt.” She hesitantly glanced around the church as if to