Gregory held the door, a heavy-looking, thick, oak thing with the original wood color, just varnish, no paint. The wood in the door looked a lot newer than the rest of the building. Lula touched the stones jutting out around the door, building blocks, church stones, as she passed Gregory through the thick walls into the church. Lula wasn’t religious. Didn’t know why she’d agreed to come to a service – it was kind of date, she thought; Gregory’d asked and she’d felt pressured, the weird guy-girl thing, not wanting to let him down – she thought, Jesus, Lula, grow a spine.
“Thank you,” she said, turning her head back to him, smiling at him, although not too wide because Lula was feeling kind of antsy. This whole thing – freaky.
Gregory smiled widely back, following her in. This was Gregory’s home turf. Gregory eased the door to a close, a deep thud, and then he took two steps, and Lula felt herself being edged in, edged further into the church; she couldn’t see much of it right now except it was dark and a hallway, her eyes hadn’t adjusted; she could see the bulk that was Gregory, huge hulking man – felt her heart speed and her fists clench and her eyes go wide and inside Lula told herself, Easy, woman…
“I don’t know where I’m going,” Lula said, moving to the side of the hallway – felt her back touch stones, cold. Felt weird, stone walls inside.
Gregory walked sideways past her, politely, chest sucked in, arms out to his sides, hugging the other wall – giving her space. Lula thought ordinarily that exaggerated chivalry like this would usually make her eyes roll, make her hide a laugh, the not-nice kind, because it seemed so weird, uncomfortable kind of strange-weird – but right now Lula was on edge enough to just feel grateful.
Lula’s eyes were doing better now, and as she followed Gregory’s rolling hulking shoulders down the hall she saw doors, dim orange electric lights made out like candles in little wall sconces, once an open door leading into a kitchen – looked fancy, stainless steel counters, tons of hanging pans, lots of space, like the real deal, restaurant kitchen; brought back memories; Lula wondered why the church needed a kitchen like that. No one was using it now. Ahead of her Gregory grabbed a doorknob and turned, big smile she could see out of the corner of her eye, and it took Lula an extra second to drag her eyes away. Kitchens…
There was people noise now, talking, quiet voices, lots of them.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Gregory said, and Lula smiled back and it surprised her how forced her face felt, tight. Yeah, she though, why’d I do this?
Again Lula walked past Gregory as he held the door, and Lula tried to plaster on a real smile. She looked around – God so many – thought about her face, thought about making it friendly, all these people!
A man in a robe stood up – he stood from one of the groupings of chairs towards the front, towards the dark wood pulpit – he faced Lula, walked forward, with a big warm smile and that part creeped Lula, made her skin crawl, because he doesn’t know me who is he to be so friendly and he held his arms out too, walking forward, maneuvering the helter-skelter chairs with all the people in them, approaching Lula like he was about to grab her. And as he walked, he said, loud reedy voice – “Welcome, our friend Lula!”
Lula glanced back at Gregory, thought again about her face – oh jeez, be friendly, girl –
“Remember,” said Lula’s internal voice, “this is an anthropological experience.”
The man was still coming, arms out, same smile plastered, and then he got about six feet from Lula and his smile faltered a little bit – like the current powering it had flicked off, just for a second, momentary power outage – and then the man lowered his arms and stuck one of them out forward, a handshake. Ha, Lula thought. That’s right.
“Our friend Gregory,” the man said, moving past Lula to Gregory behind her, holding out both his arms like before, walking into Gregory, colliding with a whumph of sturdy manflesh and squeezing, wrapping his arms. Lula could see Gregory’s face over the man’s shoulder, his cheek, pressed into the man’s thick grey hair – Gregory was eyes-closed, happy-looking. Lula eyed the room. Eyes flicking from corner to corner, eyes above the crowd of people in chairs, stopping at windows, high in the walls – looking for doors. There was just the one.
“Come!” the man said. He’d let Gregory go. He stood beside Lula, gesturing, one arm out fingers extended – “Come!” he said. Help! said Lula inside.
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