She’d dreamt about Ima, Mother Pray Onn’s cantankerous yet beautiful niece. Ima was a one-woman terrorist.
In Sister Betty’s dream, Ima stood in two places, seemingly, at the same time. Neither of the Ima lookalikes looked directly at one another. And she remembered that Bea had her arm around one of them and Sasha, the other.
The memory ended abruptly with no resolution that made sense to Sister Betty. Perhaps God was showing her things like a television series. She’d have to go back to sleep for the next episode.
She uncovered her face, a mask of wrinkles with thin lips that pursed. She stood and tried to stretch.
One trip to the bathroom and more water on her face finally brought to Sister Betty what she thought was a rational meaning of the dream. That girl, Sister Betty thought, looks too much like Ima. That’s probably why I dreamed about her.
A smile replaced the confused look as she reasoned that it wasn’t Ima she’d dreamt about. She could’ve done a little shout right there in her hotel room if sanity hadn’t decided to snatch her back to reality. Neither Bea nor Sasha was the huggable type, so why would they hug a stranger in the dream?
Sister Betty plopped back into her chair and massaged her temples. She was preparing for what she knew would be a tumultuous journey. She’d tried running from whatever it was that God planned involving Bea and Sasha. Again, she repented and decided to forgo any food. She’d need to fast and pray to deal with Bea and Sasha’s particular spirits.
Sister Betty had barely a chance to embrace the idea of a possible battle with Bea and Sasha when the hotel room phone rang. For a brief moment she thought she was hearing things. She looked at the clock. It was almost one-thirty in the morning. Who in their right mind would be calling me at this hour? She wanted to ignore it but found she couldn’t. After the third ring she answered.
“Yes.” She deliberately tried to inflect her voice with irritation.
There was a pause but she could hear breathing. “Who is this?” Telephone games, particularly at that time of the morning, were definitely unwelcome. Just as she was about to pull the phone away from her ear, the voice on the other end finally spoke.
“Sister Betty,” the voice said calmly, although on second thought, it seemed almost a question. “Sister Betty,” the voice repeated. The voice was familiar and its eerie calmness threw her.
“Yes,” Sister Betty answered. “Who is this?”
Again, the silence before the voice answered, “It’s Sasha Pray Onn.”
“Who did you say this was?” Sister Betty’s small frame felt like folding. In all the years she’d known Sasha Pray Onn, there was never a time when she’d received a telephone call, or even a home visit, from her.
On the other end of the telephone stashed away in the corner of her hotel room, Sasha sat teary eyed as she wrung her hands. The last thing she’d wanted was to call Sister Betty but she was at her wit’s end.
Just before she’d called Sister Betty in the middle of the night, Bea had called Sasha. After listening to Bea go on and on about Zipporah’s performance and how she’d found out that the young woman actually lived in a homeless shelter, Sasha felt the guilt and aches of old age.
“What makes you think I care about some woman that neither of us knows?” Sasha had argued. “Shouldn’t we be about the business of keeping our Mothers Board positions?”
It was as though Bea hadn’t heard one word Sasha said. Instead, Bea gave Sasha line and verse of Zipporah’s performance. Sasha had almost wished Bea would’ve blasted her about her sudden disappearance. The fact that Bea hadn’t started off chastising her meant only one thing: Bea was going to be a problem, a big problem. Bea was becoming too attached to Zipporah and was unknowingly about to resurrect a secret Sasha had thought was deeply buried.
Sasha held the telephone receiver away from her ear as Bea finally began to weigh in on her earlier absence. “You got some nerve just up and disappearing without a word,” Bea fumed, and without taking a breath, she changed the subject. “I’m telling you that Zipporah sang her heart out. I just met her and already I love that gal! It seems like I’ve known her for years.”
But Bea knew how to play the crazy game when it suited her. She wasn’t about to let up on Sasha. When Sasha didn’t nibble on the bait, Bea added, “Don’t you feel like you know her, too?” Bea wove her thoughts like a spider eager to trap her prey.
“I met her the same time you did,” Sasha finally said. “You need to take something for your memory.” Sasha felt Bea was fishing for something but couldn’t be exactly sure what.
When Sasha could take no more of Bea’s probing she hung up, without so much as saying good-bye. With no remorse, Sasha snatched the phone from its cradle and laid it on its side. She didn’t want any further annoyance from Bea. Sasha also decided if Bea chose to hobble over to her room, she wouldn’t let her in. Just the thought of what could happen if Bea continued to pry caused Sasha mental anxiety.
Sasha stood and dragged her aching hips over to the window. Looking over the Las Vegas skyline lit with colors of false hope, she pondered her situation. There was no way out of what she knew she had to face. Her demons had finally caught up with her. She’d rather chew on glass and chase it down with a bottle of bleach, but she had neither.
Sasha inched back to a chair and sat down slowly. At that point she really didn’t have a choice for a cohort. And that’s when she’d called Sister Betty.
In her hotel suite, which was to her dismay on the same floor as Sasha’s, Sister Betty sat perplexed. The gnawing of another headache had started. She grabbed a handful of unwrapped peppermints that lay in a small bowl on the coffee table. Forgetting her dentures were still in a water glass in the bathroom, she chomped away. Pain sprang from her bald gums from the candy’s sharp edges, but she ignored it. Her notion of fasting had disappeared as soon as she’d heard Sasha’s voice. When Sasha had called moments earlier, she’d tried to talk her out of coming. With her voice laced with agitation, she’d hissed into the telephone, “Sasha, it’s after midnight.” But Sasha would not be denied.
Sister Betty looked at the clock again. It was almost two o’clock, the middle of the night. What was so important that Sasha had to come to her room at that hour?
Sister Betty straightened her pageboy wig, which she’d not removed since putting it on earlier in the previous day. She tugged at a stray strand of the wig as she remembered overhearing Sasha complain about her to several other Mothers Board members. Sasha had done it after a hot revival meeting, several months ago. Sister Betty had been praising God until the ushers finally sat her down so the service could conclude. She was still in the spirit but not so much that she couldn’t make out Sasha’s tinny voice rising above the music. “That Sister Betty is always aggravating the Lord with her shouting,” Sasha had cackled. “She probably got Jesus taking Tylenol and wearing a pain patch!”
Sister Betty wasn’t surprised at Sasha’s nasty comments on her worship techniques. Sasha had something negative to say about most of the members. What hurt was that the other members she thought were her friends had laughed and agreed with Sasha.
Just thinking about Sasha made Sister Betty’s blood pressure, diabetes, and cholesterol rise. She snatched off her wig with several bobby pins still dangling and strands of her own white hair caught in them. “Father, give me strength. Lord, please give me a sign that I don’t have to deal with this.” She repeated the prayer and nothing happened. There was no sudden breeze flowing through her room with its windows closed. No stiffness in her knees to alert her to God’s presence. She felt as though heaven had placed her on hold because God was not pleased with her disobedience and questioning of His will.
Sister Betty ignored her better judgment and called Chandler’s cell phone, knowing it was a ridiculous hour to do so. She wasn’t sure how talking about her anxiety would solve anything but she had to do something. After the third ring his voice mail answered. She quickly hung up. What message could she po
ssibly leave? “Hi, Chandler, it’s your godmother. Mother Pray Onn is on her way to my room and I’d appreciate it if you could break her legs before she arrives.”
Sister Betty didn’t have time to think of any other foolish excuses. Several loud raps at her room door took care of that.
Before she could barely open the door, Sasha barged inside, determined. “You need to order some tea or something stronger,” Sasha ordered.
“Why don’t you come on in,” Sister Betty snapped. “We can chat and watch the sun come up.”
“I don’t have time for your sanctimonious attitude,” Sasha replied. She tossed her cane to the side and plopped down on the sofa.
Sister Betty was about to invite Sasha to leave but she couldn’t. It took a moment before Sister Betty realized the color had drained from Sasha’s face. When she saw Sasha rest her head in the palms of her hands, like a rebuked child, she softened.
“Sasha,” Sister Betty said quietly and that time, sincerely, “what’s going on?”
Sasha’s brown eyes were wide and transfixed. Her brow furrowed. She looked as though her soul had fled, taking along Sister Betty’s question and her answer to it. And just as suddenly, her thin lips fluttered, but no sound came forth. Sasha’s heaving shoulders and her trembling hands tried to explain what her words could not.
Sister Betty timidly walked over to where Sasha sat shaking. She moved aside a couple of fashion magazines. “I didn’t see this coming . . .” Sister Betty muttered.
She looked around the room and found her Bible. She took it from atop the desk and sat. Without giving a thought to whether Sasha needed it or not, Sister Betty decided she’d read the Twenty-third Psalm. It was as much for her benefit as Sasha’s.
“ ‘Yea, though I walk through the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. . . .’ ”
Sister Betty read aloud the entire psalm before she looked over at Sasha. Sasha sat with her eyes toward the ceiling and at first she gave no indication as to whether she’d heard anything.
And then everything that could go wrong in Sister Betty’s world did just that. The crying from the impish figure on the couch began almost like a muffled purr and then escalated like a rickety old roller coaster climbing toward the top.
Just as Joshua and the Israelites shouted and caused the impenetrable walls of Jericho to crumble, so did Sasha’s last wall of defense, when she’d heard the Twenty-third Psalm.
In between sobs Sasha kept repeating the words my baby, my baby. Wringing her hands while she rocked back and forth, Sasha looked pathetic. Sister Betty had never in all the years she’d known Sasha seen her in that condition.
And while Sister Betty pondered her next move, Sasha’s mouth gave up the ghosts of the past to the one person she’d have never shared it with. Too much remorse and too many ifs made her do some strange things.
Sasha alternated between confessing and excusing. She went back and forth giving Sister Betty sometimes just a piece of the story and other times, telling her everything about a particular part. And when she finished, she questioned Sister Betty as if Sister Betty held the answers.
“What if I hadn’t harassed Areal into giving up the baby? What if I’d not insisted Areal not see the baby before we placed it for adoption?” Sasha’s voice rose and her body rocked as the self-recrimination poured out of her. “And months later, I get pregnant by Jasper and lose the baby. Why?” Sasha’s eyes lifted toward the ceiling as though expecting Sister Betty to have floated above her with the answers. But Sasha wasn’t finished. She wrung her hands and quickly dropped her head. “Areal kept bragging about Jasper’s bedroom skills and I was jealous. I had to try him once.” Sasha raised her head, again, to the ceiling. “It was one time too many.”
“Sasha!” Sister Betty had already called her name three times, and each time Sasha ignored her. She’d moved closer to where Sasha sat because she couldn’t understand Sasha’s mumbling.
“I don’t have the answers.”
“I didn’t want her to have neither one of those babies.” Sasha still wouldn’t look Sister Betty in the eye. Everything felt like she was trapped in an old B movie. She was sitting in the hotel room of a woman she couldn’t stand and revealing all her dirty secrets. Why? That’s the part she couldn’t figure out. She’d become the punch line to her own joke on life.
Once Sasha started releasing the secrets she’d held tight for so long, she couldn’t stop. She ignored the shocked look on Sister Betty’s face as more of the unadulterated truth poured from her soul. And when she finally finished recounting the sins, some of which she’d almost forgotten, she felt smaller. It was as though most of her tiny frame was made up of lies and contradictions. And then Sasha collapsed, exhausted, against the back of the sofa. Sasha looked every bit like the munchkin she’d been called so often.
Sister Betty got up and returned with a glass of water. “Here, Sasha, drink this.”
Sasha refused the water. “You’ve got to help me stop Bea. If what I did gets out, I’m ruined. My reputation, my position on the Mothers Board.” As though she’d suddenly realized that her selfishness was dominating the conversation, she quickly added, “And that poor child Zipporah shouldn’t have to deal with the family. She seems to be doing just fine. It’s not her fault that she looks just like Ima but it will be her undoing.”
Sasha pouted to appear more convincing. “I know you probably think I’m just making all this up but you know me better than that.”
Deep down Sister Betty knew Sasha was probably telling as much of the truth as she could, or would. It was still too much for her to take in and she wasn’t about to become more involved than she was already. “What do you mean, I’ve got to help you?”
“I’m not leaving here until you do!” Truth had purged Sasha. However, her nastiness, which was crucial to her survival, hadn’t completely deserted her. Sasha’s eyes narrowed as she silently challenged Sister Betty’s authority to rule in her own hotel room. Sasha, without blinking, kicked off her slippers to get comfortable.
And that’s when Sister Betty rose and ordered a pot of strong, hot, chamomile tea, for Sasha. She needed something stronger, so she brewed a carafe of cayenne pepper tea, the extra-strength blend.
Sister Betty tried to absorb this information or as much as she could. A baby; Sasha was responsible for altering the lives of two innocent babies, Ima becoming a she-devil and Zipporah, an angel. Could it be possible?
Looking over quickly at Sasha, who sat staring down at her clasped hands, Sister Betty suddenly began to have doubts. In the past she’d known Sasha to make lives miserable. If what she’d confessed was true, that would make Sasha pure evil. Sister Betty narrowed her eyes and sighed. She concluded that Sasha had finally lost her mind and prayer might not be enough to find it.
27
It was barely after nine o’clock in the morning but Bea was determined to catch up with Zipporah before the rehearsals for that evening’s performance began. She’d already tricked Chandler into giving her Zipporah’s room number by telling him that she wanted to personally return Zipporah’s wallet even though he’d already told Zipporah it’d been found.
When Bea had called Zipporah earlier and suggested that they have breakfast, Zipporah had tried to politely decline. Bea acted as though she didn’t get the hint and wouldn’t back off. Out of a sense of respect and a need to have her wallet, Zipporah accepted Bea’s invitation.
Bea ambled into the hotel restaurant wearing a floral print dress, zebra-striped jacket, and large sunglasses. The sunglasses were a last minute touch in case someone wanted her autograph. She hadn’t been bothered for it in the past few days but she needed to stay ready for the obligations of fame. Bea still didn’t realize that it had never shown up for her.
She spotted Zipporah immediately. Zipporah had that star quality, according to Bea, that seemed to illuminate the space around her.
“Good morning, Zipporah.” Bea sang the greeting as a tribute to Zipporah. She didn’t seem t
o care or notice that her rhythm and notes were flat.
“Good morning, Mother Blister.” Zipporah suppressed a smile. She really couldn’t be angry with the old woman. There weren’t that many people who seemed to care about her, whether she was talented or not, without wanting something in return. But she couldn’t deny being curious about the reason Bea wanted to have breakfast with her.
Bea immediately handed Zipporah her wallet. When Zipporah took it, Bea noticed something she hadn’t seen before. “That’s a lovely tattoo on your wrist.” Bea took Zipporah’s hand without permission. Turning it over, she examined the small image on the inside of Zipporah’s wrist.
“It’s not a tattoo.” Zipporah smiled and explained further, “It’s my birthmark. I guess I’m accustomed to it so I don’t pay it any attention.”
Bea returned the smile. “Is that so?” She examined it again and for a moment thought it looked familiar, too. “What exactly is it?”
“When I was younger it looked to me like a small plant leaf.” Zipporah traced the outline of the birthmark. “Now it looks like a collard green leaf.”
“Really?” Bea laughed. “You ain’t never had collard greens until you taste mine.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Zipporah picked at the bacon and cheese omelet. She really had no intention of eating it but Bea had blurted out the order before she could stop her.
“You can ask me anything you want.” Bea couldn’t stop smiling. She was overjoyed by Zipporah’s apparent acceptance.
“Why are you so friendly toward me? What is it that you want?”
“Say what?” Bea was truly astounded. Her face turned a deeper purple, which made her complexion look like an overripe eggplant.
“I didn’t mean to insult you.” The moment the question had left her mouth and she saw Bea’s hurt look, Zipporah was sorry. “Why don’t we just finish eating our breakfast, is that okay?”
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