Somewhat Saved (13 page)

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Authors: Pat G'Orge-Walker

BOOK: Somewhat Saved
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20
Chandler finally remembered that Zipporah was waiting in the reception area and left to get her. He returned to his office giving Sister Betty an answer to a question she'd not asked. “I guess it wasn't anything too important. She's gone.”
“How long has she worked for you?”
“She started about two days ago.”
“And . . .” Sister Betty was almost back to her old self. “You didn't think she was a beautiful woman when you met her?”
“I meet beautiful women all the time,” Chandler teased. “Look at me. You've heard the old saying, ‘You attract what you are.' ” They laughed at Chandler's attempt at humor.
“Do you want me to walk you down and through the casino to the exit? I don't want any aspersions cast upon your good name.”
“It's too late,” Sister Betty replied. “My ears are still ringing from what was probably said earlier.”
“You know, folks talked about Jesus.” Chandler tried again to be humorous.
“Yes, folks did. But until you've had your character assassinated by the Mothers Board, you'll never know how I feel.”
“I've had my behind assassinated by you and Ma Cile on several occasions. I think I know.”
“Now that's funny!”
And, it was.
 
 
While Bea was in the casino bathroom Sasha managed to secrete herself away at one of the slot machines in a far corner. A short time later she saw Zipporah walk onto the casino floor. She was dressed in her casino outfit, which Sasha thought was completely inappropriate.
Sasha watched as Zipporah dashed about serving all sorts of drinks and whatever else the patrons wanted. Sasha's eyes narrowed as she saw the shameless way Zipporah seemed to flirt, no doubt with hopes of getting tips.
Sasha was lost in thought. She'd not placed one single nickel in the slot machine, which had not gone unnoticed by several others who waited for her to vacate. However, they also recognized her as the little old lady with the assault cane so they'd wait until she decided to move.
While Sasha continued daydreaming, the memories returned. Some were crystal clear and some were not. However, the day her life was turned upside down and she'd left the church of her youth seemed like yesterday.
Early in the morning on that dark day, she'd sat on the bed watching her sister Areal. Areal's hands kept moving across her belly as though they were trying to make something disappear. Areal had every reason to want that. She had a swollen belly with an unwanted baby. Her hands kept going back and forth for a time as she examined her belly in the bedroom mirror.
And then Sasha recalled that Deacon Jasper Epps was inside the room and he stared as well.
Deacon Jasper Epps, all six foot four inches, was a Smokey Robinson lookalike. He was a creamy-complexioned, light-eyed man with naturally straight, thick black hair born to Cree parents out of Moorehead City, North Carolina. And he could sing! Just as Smokey caused women to lose their minds and give way to fantasies that would've set confessionals on fire, Jasper Epps did, too. He'd been a heart throb ever since his youth. He was then married and just a little older than both Areal and Sasha and had known them from high school.
At the time Areal became pregnant, Sasha was in her late twenties. She'd been widowed at a young age and learned to treasure the freedom being single offered. She'd kept her married name although she'd also toyed around with the idea of returning to her maiden name of Hellraiser.
Areal Hellraiser was older by a couple of years and just as beautiful as Sasha, if not more so. She was the wild one in the family and had never married. She'd been dating Deacon Jasper for some time and they'd managed to keep it a secret. It wasn't because Areal was ashamed to date a married man. She had no qualms with it. However, Deacon Jasper's extremely wealthy wife was sure to be upset if she found out.
As most men did, Deacon Jasper had promised Areal that he was going to leave his wife, but he didn't.
It was the fourth Sunday at Financial Temple, their home church, when secrets fell out of the closet like the lock was broke.
The church was expecting a Prophet Benjamin Burning to visit. Prophet Burning went about the countryside visiting small congregations and giving them what “thus saith the Lord.” Of course, according to Prophet Burning, how much information God revealed to him to dispense depended upon which money line you stood in. If you stood in the fifty-dollar line, which was almost like standing in the thousand-dollar line today, he'd tell you everything you wanted to hear. He'd solicit just enough information from the giver before he'd prophesy to make the scam work as though he'd had a one-on-one with the Almighty.
“Do you need healing and a huge financial blessing?” Prophet Burning would ask.
Everyone in the line would shout, “Yes,” sometimes all at one time.
So Prophet Burning would go down the hundred-dollar line with his assistant collecting the money before he'd speak. He'd tell the giver, or the “sucker” as some called them, a word from God. And it was a corporate word that everyone received. And, although perhaps one or two out of many would get over a cold or receive some monies they'd already earned, the members would still anxiously await his return. They'd get back on the line and he'd fleece them again.
On this particular fourth Sunday, Sasha and Areal went to church. They'd not been in quite some time and no one from the church had ever bothered to visit and find out why.
Deacon Jasper had already left to pick up his wife. Earlier, he'd told his wife that he was going to attend a deacon's breakfast at another church, and he'd return to bring her to their late morning church service. Of course, what he'd told his wife was only half true. He'd had breakfast at Areal's house but he did pray a blessing over the food.
That morning, Areal's ever-enlarging belly was covered by an oversized coat. The rainy and somewhat chilly days of April provided an excuse to wear one. Sasha and Areal walked through the doors of the church and took their seats in the middle. They never sat all the way in the rear of the church, choosing to leave those seats to those who hadn't made up their minds to join and serve. They preferred to sit in the middle between the true hypocrites occupying the front pews and the ones on the fence.
Prophet Burning had called for the money lines. He'd done his routine of asking questions and doling out blessings accordingly.
All the while he did so he'd also kept his eyes on Sasha and Areal. They thought he was flirting since that's what most men did in their presence.
Instead of the prophet tending to his business, he decided to walk the aisle of the church revealing the business of those who'd not paid hush money in his offering.
“God said,” he'd start off, “you need to get a job. God said, if you get in one of these lines, preferably the hundred-dollar one, He's gonna bless you with a job down at the cotton mill.”
“But I don't have no money,” the poor person would reply.
“Give what you can,” the prophet would demand in a loud voice. “I have a layaway plan so you have no excuse.”
By the time Prophet Burning reached where Sasha and Areal sat, the bucket was brimming over with paper money with not a coin to be heard.
Prophet Burning looked from Areal to Sasha and back again. He didn't bother asking for a dime. His head swung like he was about to enter a boxing ring and fight the devil.
“You having a baby and you ain't married.” His steps faltered just a little as he reached for the back of a nearby pew for support. “You's a Jezebel.” He hollered accusations, which, according to those who normally paid, meant he told the truth.
Sasha's eyes had rolled and she thought,
Of all the times for this fraud to get religion, why now?
Areal, never one to mince words, stood up, and cussed him out.
Somewhere in the back of Sasha's mind she thought she heard metallic-sounding music and chimes. It brought her out of her daydream.
“Excuse me. Are you going to use that machine?” The woman peering over Sasha's shoulders pointed to the slot machine. She looked to be about the same age and was dripping in costume jewelry.
At first, Sasha didn't say a word. She turned around and stared at the woman so hard it appeared as though Sasha's face had turned to stone. Without so much as an “I'm sorry,” Sasha snatched one of the Bible tracts from her Bible that she'd placed between the slot machines.
“Here,” Sasha said harshly, “take one of these and read it. You're going straight to hell for gambling.”
The woman looked at the Bible tract and then back to Sasha. “Aren't you gambling?”
“No, I'm not. I don't gamble. I know what I'm doing. I don't lose, so therefore it can't be a gamble.” Sasha grabbed five nickels and shoved them into the machine. Sure enough the clanging sound made by the evidence of five cherries in a row rang out.
Sasha turned around and looked at the woman again. Her second look was meaner than the first. The woman silently took the Bible tract and started reading it as she walked away. What else could she do?
Sasha looked around and, to her horror, she saw Bea talking to the young woman again. Her eyes narrowed to the point of making her head hurt and her gray bun felt like it was twisting tighter. Every warning fiber of her being rubbed her nerves and she knew that Bea's butting in was never a good thing. Sasha needed to find out more about the young woman and she needed to do so before Bea did.
21
“I'll have a cup of hot tea.” It was the third cup Bea had ordered from Zipporah. She'd refused to give her beverage order to any of the other casino hostesses. Every time she ordered from Zipporah she'd asked her another question.
So far Bea had found out if the young woman was telling the truth, her name, and that she only recently started working there.
Zipporah,
Bea thought.
Now why does a name like that ring a bell?
She didn't have time to dwell upon it. She needed to find out if there was a connection between Zipporah and Ima Hellraiser. Maybe they were distant cousins who'd never met. But then again, why had Sasha lied about seeing any resemblance. The two young women looked so much alike that Bea was tempted to tell Zipporah to watch out. She was likely to get arrested for something Ima had done.
For the next hour or so Bea quizzed Zipporah every time she saw her. In between those times, she'd made trips to the bathroom. She'd announced that her slot machine better not be touched. And it wasn't. For even those old folks with a touch of dementia or who'd fully succumbed to it, the sight of the old woman with the red fuzzy wig and curved back was enough to keep them at bay.
And while Bea did her direct inquisition, Sasha watched. Her mood soured by the minute. Finally, she got up and left. She'd also left her cup filled to its brim with nickels. That's just how upset she'd become. The Sasha who strolled slowly out of the casino with head bowed was not the same feisty woman from Pelzer, South Carolina.
 
 
Upstairs in Chandler's office things were getting out of control. It had gone from bad to worse. He couldn't find all the papers for the report he needed. He was sure Mandy had everything organized, so it had to be his fault.
Sister Betty had left and returned with sandwiches. She didn't know anything about office work so she was of no use.
“Still no luck with getting someone to help you?” She felt sorry for him as he raced about opening and slamming file cabinets and flipping open folders.
“Most employees are on vacation. We're a bit shorthanded at the moment. I've forwarded all calls to voice mail, but I can only do that for a moment.” Why hadn't he paid more attention to what Mandy was trying to tell him last night? She was probably on her vacation somewhere laughing. She knew he'd mess up, and he had.
“Is this something very important?” Sister Betty rewrapped the sandwiches. Chandler didn't appear to be as hungry as she thought.
“It's the payroll,” he said hurriedly. “There will be a mutiny if I don't get it done in time.”
“I don't know how much a mutiny cost but I can lend you the money for it.” She'd already opened her pocketbook and prepared to write him a check.
“I'll need about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for this week's payroll.”
“That's not what you need,” Sister Betty replied as she put away her checkbook and closed the snaps on her pocketbook. “You need to find someone to find what you need to type that report.” As much as she loved her godson, she wasn't about to write a check for that much money. She didn't care if some called her tight-fisted, but no one would call her stupid.
During the time Chandler continued searching through papers the office phone did ring. The calls went straight to voice mail and he never attempted to retrieve the messages. In the meantime, Sister Betty felt her presence more of a distraction than a help. She left after wishing him well. He never looked up, so she didn't know if he'd heard her or not.
 
 
Zipporah finished fixing her hair and makeup inside the employees' lounge. As far as she was concerned, her lunch break hadn't come fast enough. After running relays between the bar and the gamblers, she was almost exhausted.
As soon as the floor manager had signaled for her to take her break, she'd wasted no time leaving the casino floor. She raced to her locker and threw a dress over her hostess uniform. Ten minutes later, she was at Chandler's office door. She'd calmed down and swallowed her pride, after hearing her name and the laughter that followed. She needed to see if she could talk him into changing her hours. The casino was open twenty-four hours a day. It was a part of and yet separate from the Jaeger Center in that regard.
She knew that Ms. Thompson would be returning from her short vacation and if the woman caught Zipporah arriving just one second after midnight, she'd oust Zipporah from the shelter.
She'd already rehearsed how she'd play it. Zipporah was sure despite the laughter he'd had at her expense, that he was still just a man. Changing her shift shouldn't be that much of a hassle. How many casino floor servers were needed on any shift, she wasn't certain. And she really didn't care. The bottom line: Zipporah needed to keep her job and a place to sleep. And if she'd read him wrong, well, she'd cross that bridge later.
Zipporah's soft raps on the office door almost went unheard. With the door slightly ajar, she peeked inside. It took a moment before she realized that Chandler's head was totally into trying to access Mandy's computer files.
“Excuse me,” Zipporah said softly.
Her voice surprised Chandler, causing him to knock over a bowl of paper clips.
Zipporah felt embarrassed as Chandler struggled to gather the paper clips off the desk and from the floor.
“I knocked and no one answered but the door was open.” She was stammering, which made it seem that she was lying. “I'm sorry. You must be busy.”
“I am.” He didn't mean to sound harsh but time was moving fast even if he wasn't.
“I'll come back another time.” Her plan to seduce him fled with his two-word response.
He slammed his fist on the desk and followed it with a hard shove to a drawer.
“I'm not normally this frazzled, Ms. Moses.”
“You're not?”
“No, I'm not. But what can I do for you? Are you not faring well on the casino floor?”
His demeanor had loosened slightly. It was enough to embolden Zipporah. She quickly expressed her desire to change her shift. She omitted the real reason why.
While she spoke, Chandler's eyes devoured her. He hadn't meant to stare but he did. Then he quickly turned away. She was pretty but not enough for him to forget the necessity of getting the report done.
Zipporah grew uneasy as she tried to pretend that she hadn't noticed his stare. Trying to avoid his eyes, she let her eyes settle upon the computer screen. She saw a column with the word
failure
repeated.
“You misspelled a word.” She hadn't meant to say that but one of her pet peeves was misspelled words. She'd never been able to stomach poor grammar and misspelled words in anything printed. At one time she'd held a temporary job as a proofreader. It was only for four months, and though she was good at it, again, she didn't get hired permanently.
Chandler seemed to ignore her, so she kept quiet. She took a moment and looked around his office and then she saw it. Why she hadn't when she came for her interview, she didn't know.
Zipporah strained to read the names under several gold and platinum CDs. There were about ten of them and they were all lined up in a large frame. She recognized immediately a picture of LL Cool J and Regina Belle. She loved Regina Belle. Finally, she made out the picture of Michael Bolton and lo and behold, when she saw pictures of MC Hammer, Whitney Houston, and Yolanda Adams, her interest in Chandler grew. How did he get those? What did he know about the music business?
Zipporah stood there in awe. Before she came to Las Vegas, she'd also worked as a secretary in a marketing department at one of the large record labels in New York City. That was her day job and it kept her busy sometimes ten hours a day. But some nights and most weekends, she moonlighted. Zipporah sang wherever she found an audience. Smoke-filled clubs and studio work added money to her pocket but brought her no closer to fame. Having a manager finally helped a little. But her dreams of being discovered evaded her. It didn't matter that she was the “go-to” backup vocalist for many studios. She'd sung backup for the likes of Mariah Carey, Regina Belle, and Mary J. Blige. Her voice, they told her, wasn't unique and she'd never make it as a solo artist.
After a year of dodging unsolicited catcalls and so-called accidental touches on her body, she'd quit the record company. Because she quit she couldn't receive unemployment. Things only became worse.
“You said I misspelled a word.” He could tell she'd not heard, so he repeated, “I'm asking you which word.”
His eyes had locked upon her, almost pleading for her assistance.
“You typed p-a-y r-o-l-e. There's no such word, that's why it kept failing.” She moved closer to the computer, slightly pushing him aside as he continued to stare in disbelief.
“Just delete the letter E and type in another L.”
It took Zipporah the rest of her lunch break to guide Chandler through Mandy's files. He was amazed at her dexterity as her fingers seemed to fly over keys he'd tapped one finger at a time.
Without asking for the shift change, Zipporah received it. Chandler didn't bother to ask if she'd wanted to work different hours or another position. He was the boss and as such, he gave her Mandy's job on a temporary basis.
While they worked on another project, stopping only to have a small lunch, Zipporah and Chandler bonded. Neither of them seemed to be able to stop sharing information about their pasts.
As soon as Chandler learned she fancied herself an undiscovered singer, he asked her to sing. He didn't really expect that she would, but she did.
Zipporah didn't break a sweat as she serenaded Chandler with her pitch-perfect, soulful rendition of Aretha Franklin's mega-hit, “Until You Come Back to Me.”
She'd barely pushed out the last note when she realized he was staring. His eyes were wide and his mouth had dropped. So she did what any true unknown diva would. Zipporah snagged him with one of her favorite gospel songs, “Try Jesus,” just to show her versatility. She'd fallen in love with the song when she first heard Kim Burrell sing it. The full-bodied woman controlled the emotions of the crowd from her first note and Zipporah did, also.
Although Zipporah had sung the song for Chandler, she was the one left teary eyed. She fought to control any sign of a quiver in her voice when she sang the lines, “Just try Jesus, He'll never let you fall. Just try Jesus, He'll be there through it all.”
Zipporah stood for what seemed an eternity, waiting for Chandler to respond. And, when he didn't, again, she thought perhaps she'd misread him.
He finally recovered his voice. “Wow!”
“If that's a good review, then I thank you.” She sat down. His expression remained the same and it confused her. She added, “However, if the
wow
is because it was that bad . . .”
He put a finger to his lips, indicating that she should be quiet. “You're interrupting my thought process.”
“Sorry. I was just a little . . .” She stopped speaking and fell further back onto the chair. But Zipporah being who she was started to do what she always did when nervous. She started humming.
“Are you humming Gladys Knight's ‘You're the Best Thing . . . ?' ”
She smiled and instead of answering, she started singing aloud again. She sang a version she loved. “Jesus, He's the best thing . . .”
“Desmond Pringle, right?” Chandler smiled. He'd almost forgotten that song. Living in Las Vegas, he was used to hearing only the original sung by Gladys Knight.
Chandler's mind raced.
She can actually sing,
he thought. He couldn't stop smiling. Her voice was like balm to his ears. Zipporah had the total package. She was still young enough to have a career. And she sang R&B as well as gospel. The best singers always could.
Chandler's interest in the business of music was revived. It was rejuvenated by the young woman he'd almost written off. He still wasn't sure if it would work. He didn't know enough about her to turn his own life around to try to make two dreams happen: hers to become a star and his to reenter the industry. But if someone could pull in crowds, she certainly could. All he needed to do was to get the right show created for her.
Both Zipporah and Chandler lay aside any preconceived notions. It seemed effortless as they shared tidbits about their lives. Neither had opened wounds and told everything, but it wasn't long before they'd learned they had much in common.
 
 
Sister Betty was on her way back upstairs to Chandler's office. She was still concerned and wanted to check up on him. She'd tried calling but his voice mail came on, so she was certain he was still working.
As soon as Sister Betty stepped off the elevator and turned the corner, she recognized Bea's profile. She walked softly, concentrating on how to approach the figure with her ear pressed up against the door, obviously listening in.

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