But four years ago, after Lady Sonya’s latest call, I began to give her invitation real consideration. Jasmine was one, Jayden was three and while they still needed me, between Dru and our daytime nanny, Carmen, I could spare a few hours a month. And the church — Jeremy and I both had staff to help us fulfill our New Kingdom responsibilities.

I’d been excited about going to that first working lunch in the Four Seasons, though when I’d shared that with Dru, my best friend hadn’t felt the same way.

“Are you serious? You’re going to join a club with all those women? There’s a reason why the Lord only wanted two or three to gather in his name. ‘Cause fifteen or sixteen will be nothing but a mess. A complete and utter mess.”

I’d laughed at my best friend’s spin on that scripture in Matthew, though I told her these First Ladies were far from a mess. If I’d thought Jeremy and I had made waves in the district, the First Ladies Council had caused a tsunami with the dozen or so schools they’d opened, plus the hundreds of college scholarships they’d given away over the years.

“These women are making real differences in people’s lives.”

Dru had looked at me with all kinds of doubt, and it turned out she’d been right.

"And child, I tell you,” First Lady Cecily Davis’ voice brought me out of my memories. “That pastor just had no shame.” With her French-tip manicured finger, she pushed her diamond-studded red-framed cat-eye glasses up the bridge of her nose. “He was just blatant in his disrespect. That’s why his wife made her way right up to that heifer’s....”

“Cecily!” First Lady Sonya snapped, from her chair at the head of the table.

Cecily pressed her hand against her chest. “Did I say heifer? I apologize.” She turned her head and made eye contact with all the women around the table. With a sincere nod of her head, she added, “I didn’t mean to say that. I meant to call her....a trick. That’s why his wife showed up to that trick’s apartment.”

Laughter rang out around the table from everyone except for me. I wasn’t trying to be self-righteous, but there was no way I could laugh at anyone else’s pain. And gossip? That was something else I didn’t do. Never had, never would. But this group — a circle of First Ladies, most in their fifties and sixties — had advanced degrees in gossip.

And while the other women had their Masters, Cecily Davis had two Phd’s. She was the provost, for sure, bringing the bad news about some pastor and his wife to these meetings that were meant to be planning sessions for the good work we all said we wanted to do.

But Cecily always derailed us with dirt about every pastor and First Lady in the DMV. That was one reason why that woman and I would never be friends; the other — I had a long memory and what was indelible in my mind was walking into this meeting the first time when First Lady Cecily Davis, wearing the longest false eyelashes, French-tip fake nails and a weave that rolled down her back, greeted me with, “Really, green contacts? Those are so 1984,” before she ever said hello.