Zipporah didn’t think twice about rebuking her thoughts of strangling those old women until the sun set and rose again. And, if she had thought twice about it, it didn’t last long. No sooner had she looked up than she saw Bea’s reflection in the mirror over the sink. The old woman was staring at her, not in a mean way but in an odd one, nonetheless.
“You okay?” Bea stared, still trying to remember where or if she’d seen the young woman before. “It looks like you got a run in your stockings.”
Zipporah looked at Bea. She didn’t return the woman’s kindly look with one of her own. Instead, she was about to light into a litany of reasons why within the past couple of days she considered the old woman to be stalking her. Everywhere she turned, she and that other ball of gray-haired spitfire were there descending upon her world.
“I’m all right.” Perhaps if she kept her response to a minimum the old woman would just disappear.
But this was Bea Blister. The only thing disappearing in her life was her monies and much of her memory.
Bea had become so preoccupied with the young woman she’d forgotten why she came into the bathroom. She went over to the sink and started washing her hands as if she’d completed her bathroom mission. She was certain it was the same person she’d seen at the hotel, the restaurant, and now the casino.
“I don’t mean to intrude, honey.” She did mean to do it but she had manners, and it was such a small lie. “Have you ever been to Pelzer, South Carolina?”
Zipporah didn’t want any further discussions but once again, she deluded herself into thinking that a one- or two-word answer would make the old woman disappear. At the very least, make her quit asking questions. “No.”
“Well, do you have any family there?” Bea was persistent. There was something familiar about the young woman. “I’ve seen you somewhere.”
You’re everywhere I turn, Zipporah thought. She didn’t bother to answer. She grabbed her small bag to leave. She needed to go to her locker and change into her one extra pair of fishnets. She threw a disapproving look at the old woman, who just stood there with a quizzical one of her own.
Just when Zipporah thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did. She stepped through the door and straight into the path of Chandler and the other old woman.
“I think you should take your break now.” Chandler had spoken before he’d meant to do so. Something about the pretty woman was getting to him. He’d only met her less than twenty-four hours ago and already their paths had crossed more than he’d liked. “I’ll let the floor manager know I authorized it.”
“Thank you.” Zipporah was in a one-word response mode. Without thinking, again, she tried to clutch the torn area covering her thighs.
“And don’t worry about replacing those with your own money. I’m sure the ones responsible will see that it’s covered.” He glanced down at Sasha.
Sasha turned and looked around. She wanted to know who Chandler was referring to. “June Bug, why are you looking at me?”
His face reddened and he clenched his fists. It was as though all his diplomacy was about to exit, leaving the door open for a little street to come in. Why didn’t they stop calling him by a name he hated even when he was young, and still did?
Zipporah saw Chandler’s embarrassment. For a brief moment she felt hers paled in comparison. June Bug, she thought as she stifled a smile. What kind of name was that and why in the world would someone place it upon him?
“Thank you, Mr. Lamb. I’m okay. But I think I will take that break,” she said somewhat stiffly. If she stuck to her rule of distancing herself, she’d survive. He was way out of her league and she had enough problems. No way she’d leave herself open to more.
That’s the excuse Zipporah told herself. The truth was that she really didn’t want to have anything to do with anyone connected to those old women. She knew trouble when it came and those two women, no doubt, invented pandemonium.
Sister Betty was still watching from nearby. She wasn’t quite certain if Chandler, Bea, or Sasha had seen her. If they hadn’t that was fine with her. She wasn’t comfortable being so close to a casino and she’d let Chandler know that when they dined.
Sister Betty continued her watch while resting against the far wall. She concentrated on the young woman standing in a bit of disarray in front of Chandler. There was something eerily familiar about the woman. She knew her godson. Although she couldn’t hear what was said, she read his actions clearly. Chandler likes her, she thought. And for a brief moment, the thought made her smile.
If Zipporah wanted to spend another moment in Chandler’s presence, it was cut short by the reappearance of the other old woman, Bea.
“Oh, you know June Bug?” Bea had barely stepped out of the ladies’ room before heaping more embarrassment upon Chandler.
Zipporah almost couldn’t help it that time. She gulped, forcing down the urge to laugh. She felt torn between her need to escape the perpetual mayhem the old women tossed about like a game of ping-pong and her pity for Chandler.
Zipporah chose to walk away, leaving them to work out whatever dysfunctional relationship they had. She needed to keep her job.
“That was just plain ol’ rude,” Bea hissed. And that’s when it hit her. She knew why the young woman looked familiar.
“Sasha,” Bea snapped. “Didn’t that young gal look like somebody we know?”
“No.” Sasha’s eyes squinted, causing her face to twitch and her glasses to slide down upon her nose. “She don’t look like nobody I know.”
Chandler hadn’t seen those two old women in quite some time but he’d known them long enough to know that Sasha was lying. He’d seen that same look upon her face when she used to lie during testimony service and at other times.
For a moment, Chandler forgot his own embarrassment as he spied Sister Betty leaning against the far wall.
“I’ve got to leave. Do you two promise to behave?” Chandler followed his request with a quick wink to take the sting out.
“She promises.” Sasha, again, tossed Bea under the proverbial bus as she feigned innocence.
“Ooh, I can’t wait for the meeting to begin,” Bea snapped. Her threat to Sasha was real. Her only problem would be in remembering what she was going to do at the meeting later that evening if indeed it was going to happen. No one had made a decision or shared it with her. But whenever she got the opportunity she’d get Sasha with whatever would cause Sasha pain.
16
Zipporah managed to change the torn hosiery and return to the casino floor just in time to catch the beginnings of the late afternoon gamblers.
Trying to make up for the hour she’d lost as well as the tips, Zipporah strutted up and down the banks of slot machines. The aisles became her catwalk as she modeled her desperation, hidden by forced smiles and pleasantries. She even returned smiles and nods as many of the men offered their own false promises with bold leers. It wasn’t just the old men acting ridiculous, the young ones were, too.
Several of the young men got out of hand, seeming to feel as though it was their duty to grant themselves access to her. They shamelessly grabbed at Zipporah with an unsolicited or an “I’m ready for you and my drink” accidental touch.
She wasn’t a stripper with pasties or an enormous fan of feathers peeking from behind her, but Zipporah felt as though she were. But in the entertainment business the show must go on. So Zipporah tucked away the shame she’d begun to feel in the recesses of her mind, perhaps for another day. She moved to the throbbing rhythm of a headache. Already the job was becoming a love-hate relationship, at best.
Chandler and Sister Betty sat at a table for two off to the side away from the patron traffic. Chandler leaned across the table and moved aside a slender crystal lamp offering only enough light for the diners to read a menu. The lighting was meant to underplay any imperfections or to give privacy to some who might need it.
“I’m sorry,” Chandler whispered. He’d apologized several times between
bites as he dined with Sister Betty. “I wasn’t thinking. It never occurred to me that you’d be uncomfortable walking through a casino.”
He tried to add a little humor to his apology. He smiled and said, “After all, didn’t Jesus walk through a casino when he chased out those money changers?” From the look on her face, he’d failed.
“It was a temple,” Sister Betty hissed. She surprised herself with her curt reply. “Don’t try changing the Bible to get out of this mess.”
“When she’s better you’re not going to tell my grandmother, are you?” Chandler was determined to turn around the situation even if he had to stand on his head and sing.
“You know she’d kick your behind if she weren’t in that hospital.” The thought of Ma Cile before her stroke standing over Chandler when he was a young boy with a switch caused her to chuckle. Laughter was the blanket for their pain whenever they talked about Ma Cile. “You remember that time when you and your cousin Lil Bit argued over whether or not God had called me on the telephone?”
“How could I forget?” Chandler laughed. “I couldn’t sit or hardly stand for several days. Ma Cile beat the black off me.”
“I know.” Sister Betty chuckled. “That’s why you have such a smooth brown complexion now.”
The mood had lightened. His mission was accomplished, almost. Although, the thought of Ma Cile languishing in a hospital was always a lingering cloud he’d learned to live with.
“I need a favor.” Chandler placed down his fork and gently reached for one of Sister Betty’s small hands. He looked lovingly, like the good little godson he was, into her eyes and kissed the hand.
“You’re about to set me up, aren’t you?” She knew it and at that moment, she’d have given him anything. Chandler had always been the son she’d lost at an early age. “What do you need?”
“Will you please—” He stopped to look around. He didn’t want anyone to overhear his request.
“Go on, Chandler.” She was starting to get a little nervous. He seemed very serious.
Turning back to her, Chandler continued. “I need for you, Mothers Blister and Pray Onn . . .”
“What do those two have to do with me?” Sister Betty didn’t realize she was trying to yank her hand from his. He held on tight.
“I’m not trying to put your salvation in the same vein as theirs.” He knew what she was thinking. “I just need for all of you to please stop calling me June Bug.”
“Say what?”
“Aunt Betty, I’m a grown man. When y’all call me June Bug in public, it’s embarrassing.”
“Is that it?” Sister Betty started laughing so hard she almost lost her dentures and was drawing attention to their table.
“What’s so funny?” Chandler asked as he looked around at the other diners now focusing on his table.
“I’m okay. I just thought you were going to ask me to do something with Bea and Sasha.” She stopped chuckling long enough to wipe her mouth with her napkin and then emit a sigh of relief.
“Well, there is just one more, tiny thing. . . .” Chandler leaned in closer to Sister Betty and continued speaking.
When Chandler finished, Sister Betty’s eyes grew wide. Without meaning to do so, her tiny fist hit the table. She was surprised at her anger but not able to stop it.
“June Bug, have you lost your mind? I’m not investing in the Devil’s music.”
And just like in the television commercial, most of the other diners stopped in midbites as the name June Bug echoed around the restaurant.
Chandler’s smile slid and his shoulders sunk. Suddenly, he felt like the little boy who always seemed to be in trouble. However, now he was a grown man, and when it came to trouble, not a lot had changed.
17
The next morning, Bea laid aside her anger with Sasha and called her. Together, they’d contacted some of the other church mothers and apologized for their behavior and that it caused a small setback in their conference plans.
They’d already decided that they’d apologize to the conference center manager, too. They would return, early, to the conference center and eat however much crow was needed to put things back on track. In their minds, it wouldn’t be good business for the conference center to cancel the conference after their performance. Bea and Sasha were confident that their apology would be successful, so they told the other mothers that the conference was back on even before they’d left the hotel.
Knowing that nothing ever went as planned, Bea and Sasha also decided that if they didn’t arrive in time to see management and apologize, they’d act as though they thought the conference was still on. And, if the management insisted it wasn’t, they’d act like the crazy old women they were.
Bea arrived alone. No matter what she’d told Sasha, she was still a little miffed and didn’t want to share a cab with her.
Bea sat on a small red velvet sofa that looked like a replica of a sombrero, inside the conference center lobby. She was dressed in her proper Mothers Board attire. Her skirt was white but not the same shade of white as her blouse. For Bea it was typical. If she ever wore anything that matched or complemented her plus-sized figure, it was by accident. There was even a slight run in her stocking that had the shiny evidence of clear nail polish. It was an old trick most of the older women used to repair a snag or a run.
As the other members of the Mothers Board arrived and went through the lobby, Bea nodded appreciatively toward some and completely ignored others. And the same was done to her. Every one of the women had her own agenda.
A few of the mothers actually came to network and see how they could improve their ministries. They were the newest members and stood out immediately. They were mostly in their early sixties and full of hope. “Ain’t God good?” they’d asked, clutching the straps of their Bible tote bags, inscribed with the words WOMEN OF GOD, stitched with bold-colored threads.
Then there were some mothers and a few missionaries who wanted the other women to know that they were avid Bible readers. Their Bibles had bookmarks placed throughout the pages. They’d come prepared with the appropriate Bible verses memorized and just the right amount of indignation to use readily on anyone or any situation they didn’t deem appropriate. The one thing they all had in common was the Mothers Board member war kit.
The war kit always contained a small Bible for practical use and a larger one for show. The kit also had small vials of blessed oil.
Only Bea and Sasha carried their precious demon chaser and blessing enhancer liquid in a spray can. It was something they’d decided to do before they’d left Pelzer. In their minds the spray canister would serve a dual purpose. They could spray away evil spirits, ensure blessings, and spray any ashy ankles they saw, with just a few squirts of the flammable liquid. With their quick tempers the spray canisters were lethal weapons. Bea and Sasha were more than capable of setting a place or person on fire while ignoring their own particular sins.
Bea kept looking around for Sasha, but she wasn’t there, and by now it was too late to find management and apologize. I could apologize without her, Bea thought as she sat on the edge of the sofa, but it’s her fault we’re in this mess. With her mind set on Sasha taking the blame, Bea didn’t budge.
While the other mothers laughed and heaped their sage advice upon each other, Bea continued to ponder. Earlier, she’d finally realized why the strange young woman looked so familiar. She didn’t know why she hadn’t seen it before. She also didn’t know why Sasha would lie about not noticing the same thing. It was so obvious. The young woman looked like she could’ve been Sasha’s niece Ima’s twin sister.
Sasha’s niece, Ima Hellraiser, had that same mocha complexion, the same beautiful almond-shaped hazel eyes, and both young women had shapes that rivaled any Victoria’s Secret model. However, there was a huge difference in their demeanors from the little Bea had seen.
The true carrier of Sasha’s DNA, Ima Hellraiser, was a witch on wheels. True to the Hellraiser genes, Ima wasn’t happy
unless she was causing pain. At one point in her life Ima could’ve taught S and M to the Marquis de Sade. During their recent cruise vacation Bea had witnessed another side to Ima. Ima had met a young man, a minister, aboard the ship and obviously fell head over heels. Of course, true to form, Ima had doused the romance fire before it’d barely ignited. Ima couldn’t keep a man if she and the man were Siamese twins.
“You’re too good to ride in the same car with me?” The voice was snippy, almost venomous, and definitely unapologetic.
Bea looked up slowly. She had not seen Sasha come in. “I thought you’d left already.” The lie rolled off Bea’s tongue effortlessly.
“I see,” Sasha replied. “I thought it might’ve been something else.”
“Like what?” Bea struggled to stand. Her hips seemed to lock from sitting so long. “What else could be wrong?” There, she’d opened the door for Sasha to acknowledge the obvious.
But Sasha, being Sasha, simply strutted her tiny hips and walked away.
Like Sasha and Bea, Sister Betty had arrived, too. One of the other mothers had contacted her and feigned surprise that Bea and Sasha hadn’t told her about the meeting. Not having Sister Betty at the conference was like not having rain in a desert; it’d be dull and dusty. Besides, when the three old women came together it was always entertaining—a bit dangerous, but entertaining.
Sister Betty gave hugs and quick pecks on the cheeks to some of the other Mothers Board members. She wasn’t used to politics and didn’t know whether to linger or just move on inside the room.
“Mother D’Claire had to leave so suddenly,” one of the other women said.
Sister Betty didn’t know much about politics but she knew the signs of gossip. Instead of responding, she smiled at the woman’s feeble attempt to engage in idle chatter.
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