Which is irrefutable proof that I do not suffer from bipolar disorder. Why must people be so extreme?
I don't know.
What I do know is that I stumbled across her years ago. One night long before I was married, maybe ten or twelve years ago, I was drifting off to sleep in my cozy northern California apartment, and I was channel-surfing, trying to find some dribble to fall asleep with. Bad habit, I know, and I've since overcome the need to have the bright, glowing images on the screen to help me fall asleep. Anyway, I came across this rather comely lass writing stuff on a whiteboard in Greek. She was clearly very well educated, able to read Greek and Latin, and talk about the classics. She was arguing the finer points of the New Testament, to an enthralled crowd, talking about how certain phrases and edicts had been misinterpreted, in no small part due to King James IV of Scotland and his minions. It was all very academic, and I was very impressed. Nothing hotter than a well-educated, tall brunette gripping a large felt-tip marker.
I started to watch her show every night--Probably for all the wrong reasons--and developed a rather unhealthy fixation on her person. She became the subject of my fantasies, and couldn't even watch her walk out onto the stage without stiffening. Even if I brought some chick home from the bar just down the street, or when my steady girlfriend was spending the night, or if I was in the middle of writing an important document, when it came time for Pastor Melissa Scott and the Hour of Power, the TV screen got all my attention, and anyone and anything else was promptly ousted from the bed.
Eventually I started investigating her on the internet. It seems that she was an Italian-born woman who grew up in Massachusetts and became an "actress." She starred in lots of movies as Barbie Bridges, had posed for Penthouse, had won the title Miss Nude CanAm Exotic at a porn festival, and had been in a few commercials as well. At some point, she met Dr. Gene Scott, television evangelist extraordinaire. The two were introduced in the mid-90s by a mutual friend. Of course, Dr. Scott often paid his pony girls to attend his megachurch, and sit in the front row with skimpy skirts and smile for the cameras. But Melissa was special. One day Dr. Scott asked her if she had any hobbies. Stamp collecting, she said. As it turns out, he collected stamps as well! As she tells it,
"He said, 'I'd love to see your collection, and I'd love to show you mine.' I've never been so embarrassed. He's got these award-winning rarities; he's showed them to the Queen, showed them internationally... But that was our common thing, and from there things just kind of developed..."
The rest is history. Dr. Scott married the fetching young Melissa, and though she was 40 years his junior, they had a wonderful relationship. Of course, when prostate cancer struck him down at the age of 75, only a few short years after their nuptials, the despairing Melissa Scott inherited his empire. (The church parsonage, for example, was recently listed for $17 million dollars.) But she didn't take the money and run. She picked up where he left off. Not missing a beat she picked up that mic and sang praise to the heavens. What's more, she took it upon herself to carry out his mission of evangelizing.
Nowadays she's the subject of a number of books and blogs. So many websites are dedicated to her. There seem to be about three camps: Those who genuinely follow her message of good news and salvation. Those who see her as a whore and a golddigger. And those who love to a see tall, intelligent, comely, well-educated brunette who knows how to grip a stiff, red, leather-bound bible, no matter what she has to say or what language she has to say it in.
