Bea thought for a second as her normal color slowly returned. She was really impressed that Zipporah was no pushover. She just didn’t expect the question to be turned around on her. “I’m not upset.” She reached over and took her pocketbook from a vacant seat. While Zipporah looked on, Bea took an envelope out of her bag.
“Now, I’m really confused,” Zipporah said as she dropped the wallet into her pocketbook. She didn’t want to insult Bea by checking its contents, so she picked her fork up to nibble at the food.
Then Bea pushed the envelope across the table toward Zipporah. “Just open it,” Bea said.
Zipporah put down the fork and opened the envelope. Curiosity was nibbling at her, yet she took an extra moment to wipe away a crumb with her napkin, almost trying to avoid what was coming.
Bea sat back as straight as she could. She locked her eyes upon Zipporah’s face, daring not to look away and miss any reaction.
As Zipporah opened the envelope she tried to imagine what was in it. She opened it slowly, as though she were announcing the winner at the Grammys. And then she saw it. In the picture, standing next to what looked like the ramp of a cruise ship, was the other elderly woman, Mother Pray Onn. Standing next to Mother Pray Onn was Zipporah as a younger woman.
The questioning look crawling across Zipporah’s face was not lost on Bea. She didn’t say anything, preferring to watch the scene play out.
“I was never in this picture.” Zipporah pushed away from the table but she didn’t stand.
Bea didn’t flinch. She watched Zipporah intently and said, “No, you weren’t, you’re right.”
“Then who is this?” Zipporah was becoming suspicious, feeling tension in her stomach.
“It’s not you.” Bea leaned in closer and beckoned her to do the same. Nearby eyes inside the restaurant were staring.
“Take another look.” Bea pointed at the picture.
Zipporah pulled her chair closer to the table and looked at the photograph again. This time, she studied it slower, letting her suspicions take a backseat. To her surprise there were some subtle differences that came into view. The younger woman wore her hair in a ponytail and her clothes were far more expensive than any Zipporah had ever worn. But those were the only differences she saw. The woman’s height, weight, complexion, including the way she smirked for the camera, at first glance looked exactly like Zipporah.
Zipporah’s face went blank.
Bea’s face lit up. She knew it. If Zipporah saw the resemblance, then Sasha had to have seen it, too.
“That young woman in the picture with Mother Pray Onn is her niece, Ima.”
“We could be twins, but I don’t have any brothers or sisters.” Zipporah was happy to know that the other woman had a name. It was starting to make sense. Apparently, Mother Blister was drawn to her by the strong resemblance to her friend’s niece.
Zipporah returned the photo to the envelope, pushed it back toward Bea, and then relaxed.
Bea picked up the envelope but now it was she that couldn’t relax. She suddenly realized where she’d seen a similar birthmark.
Without another word uttered, Bea suddenly stood.
“What’s wrong now?” Zipporah didn’t like this seesaw game of emotions.
If Bea heard Zipporah, she didn’t act like it. She threw down some money and dashed away, leaving Zipporah more confused than ever.
Zipporah fell back into her seat and tried to make sense of what had just happened. No matter how hard she thought about it, she couldn’t. She decided she’d finish the bowl of fruit, and allow the prying eyes of the other patrons a chance to return to their own business. When she finished eating and was certain she’d avoid further embarrassment, she rose.
Zipporah took another glance around to make sure she’d not left her wallet or anything other than a couple of dollars for a tip. She was at that moment happy that no one knew who she was—or so she thought.
Someone in the restaurant did know exactly who Zipporah was, and he watched from a nearby table. He watched her as she rose from her table. And so far, he appreciated what he’d seen. She had the determination of a thoroughbred; she was a winner, he surmised.
He would’ve known her anywhere. It was in the way she sat and randomly pushed her food around her plate. The way her hair fell forward covering the side of her face with just the tip of her nose peeking out. When it appeared that the conversation was going wrong at her table, he’d watched her suddenly push her chair backward, ready to spring into action if she needed to do so.
A waitress appeared suddenly with his bowl of oatmeal and dry whole wheat toast. He didn’t touch it. Instead he smiled, only slightly, as though doing so would hurt his sunken cheeks. He looked almost cadaverous as his eyes, sunken yet wide, fought to stay open. His bald head appeared almost misshapen, making it nearly impossible to imagine him the robust, handsome man of his youth. Rubbing the side of a lemony colored face, its skin well-worn by years of scandalous living done in the name of the Lord, he suddenly stopped smiling. It had taken a glimpse of her to fully appreciate all the time he’d wasted. The glimpse also helped him to fully appreciate that despite his paternal contribution, or lack of it, she’d seemingly inherited those positive traits that had drawn him to the older version of her—her mother.
Yes, he’d give the remaining months he had left to live to let her know that she was his child. His own ambitions, as well as threats from her mother, had kept him from claiming her or her sister, Ima. He would not leave this earth without setting things right.
His eyes narrowed and he almost snarled when he thought about Ima; that young woman was an exact replica of her mother. She had no remorse. From a distance he’d seen Ima display the dangerous DNA that made up the entire Hellraiser family. He wouldn’t have named her Ima. He would’ve loved to have given her his mother’s name, Hepssi. It was Cree. It meant “the natural one.” But his wife would’ve found out. She would have put it all together and that would’ve been suicidal for him and his child or children.
Several years ago, other than her uncanny resemblance to Ima, he had no absolute proof that he was Zipporah’s father. But he did now. He was certain she was his child with every fiber of his being, and it was without ever hearing her voice singing or speaking.
Suddenly, he could feel the onset of dizziness that often accompanied his illness. Using a technique he learned from his daughter, Gizel, a Dumas or holistic healer, he envisioned pure air entering into his lungs. He suppressed the urge to cough and began to rub the inside of his left wrist until he thought he’d rubbed away his leaf-shaped birthmark.
This time it took longer than normal for him to regain his rhythm, but he welcomed the calmness when it returned. He gave the waitress a sign that he wanted his check. While he waited, he placed a call from his cell phone. “It’s me. . . . Yes, I’m positive.... I’ll call you when I return.”
He closed the cell phone quickly and looked up, expecting only to see the waitress. But he found more than he wanted and none of what he needed.
“Have you lost your mind?” Sasha had entered the restaurant thoroughly exhausted from her middle-of-the-night confessional. When she saw him at the table, she was reenergized by her hatred for him. Despite the painful arthritis in her hips, she raced over to where he sat.
“Jasper!” Her eyes narrowed, almost causing her tiny glasses to fall from her nose. “Why in the world would you come to Las Vegas now?”
“I came to see my child.”
Sasha inched her aching hips onto the vacant chair opposite Jasper. “You should’ve stayed with my sister. I told you that I’d let you know if my suspicions were proven.”
Jasper clasped his hands together and leaned forward. His stomach was again in knots and he was extremely tired. He’d flown most of the night after harassing Areal to get information about Sasha’s exact whereabouts.
“I’ve less than six months to live, Sasha. I needed to see her.” He was becoming agitated and he lost the battl
e to control his cough. Loudly the hacking sound came forth, bringing with it the evidence of his lung cancer. He caught the yellowish-colored sputum in his napkin, glanced away, trying to dodge the look of disapproval from Sasha and some of the other patrons.
“Sasha,” Jasper finally said as his chest began to heave with exertion, “both you and Areal have had your ways for almost thirty years. I’m getting mine, now. I’ve only known Ima from a distance and look what a mess she became. I’ll not do it to this one, and I’m not going to continue to feel guilty about the one you lost.”
“You can’t possibly believe that because you have all this money—inherited from the dead wife you cheated on, I might add—you’re gonna step into this girl’s life and be accepted.” Sasha was grasping for anything that would stop Jasper. He was trying to ruin both their lives.
Sasha began to panic but she didn’t want to give Jasper the pleasure of witnessing it. She was grateful that Areal finally forgave her for goading her into giving up a baby she’d never lay eyes upon. But there was no way Areal would ever forgive Sasha for becoming pregnant by a man who’d also fathered her children. It wouldn’t matter that that baby didn’t live.
All the emotional walls Sasha had erected were quickly crumbling. She’d sworn she’d go to her grave with her secrets. “If Jesus don’t tell my business on Judgment Day, then you’ll never hear it from me.” That’s what she always said, and of course, if she’d bothered to read her Bible, she would’ve known better. What she’d done in the dark was about to come out in the light.
“. . . I definitely want to hear her sing.” Jasper had kept talking as though Sasha was still listening, but she wasn’t.
“You don’t look well at all. You need to get back to New York and see your psychiatrist.”
Jasper coughed again. “He’s an oncologist. I see an oncologist.”
“Psychiatrist or oncologist, it’s the same thing.”
“Only you would think so.” Jasper’s fatigue was almost audible.
“If I die in that girl’s arms, I don’t care. She’s gonna know I’m her daddy. And I’m not leaving until she does.”
“Having money has truly caused your stupidity to run rampant.” Sasha was running out of insults and none of his resolve seemed to have lessened. “I guess you’ll want to get a room here, too.” She was giving in and laying all her hopes on whatever assistance Sister Betty could offer.
“That’s already taken care of.” He produced a hotel keycard from his shirt pocket and tossed it on the table. “I see you don’t keep up with much anymore. You used to know just about everywhere I had a dime planted, so Areal could be comfortable.”
Jasper shot forward, the pain evident as he did. Some days, he couldn’t tell where he hurt because his entire body ached. “I keep a room in just about all fifty of the United States in case my child—” He couldn’t finish because the cough started again.
Sasha turned her head to keep her stomach from churning as he deposited more of the yellowish gook into another napkin. “You’ve already taken a room here in Las Vegas?” Sasha feigned surprise, although nothing would surprise her from that point on.
He caught another wind and answered, “Of course, I have investments right here in Las Vegas. I’ve had money invested in this hotel since the first pile of dirt was removed to build it in 1991.” He often had to speak quickly and say as much as he could at one time, before another coughing fit came on.
“I’m seeing my child, Sasha.” He was adamant.
And as many lies as Jasper had told in the past, at that moment, Sasha knew he spoke the truth. She almost felt sympathy for him because he was about to find out much more than he’d ever wanted.
Sasha fell back against the chair and sighed. She felt something she hadn’t felt in many years and she couldn’t get used to accepting it. She felt defeated. Jasper had a ton of money to back his efforts and a free suite inside a luxury hotel. All she had was Sister Betty and hopefully Sister Betty’s unwavering faith and favor with God. As for her relationship with the Almighty, its foundation was shaky and for that, she was truly repentant.
Jasper’s cell phone rang loud and sudden. It had caused both Jasper and Sasha to flinch. Neither of them had a doubt that it was her sister, Areal.
28
Upstairs in Bea’s hotel room her bladder went into overdrive because she was nervous. After meeting with Zipporah for what was supposed to be a light breakfast, it kicked like an epileptic mule on crack. Every time she tried to place a telephone call, she had to hang up and rush to the bathroom. It was on her fourth trip that she realized there was a telephone in the bathroom.
In between handling her business, Bea placed a call to really handle her business. After the third ring, she heard a message requesting her to leave a message.
I hate these newfangled inventions, she thought. As soon as the beep sounded for her to speak, she changed her tone.
“Sasha,” Bea said as sweetly as possible. In between shifting her weight on the toilet and keeping involuntary groans and growls to a minimum, she continued. “I’m on my way downstairs to the casino. Do you want to go together? Either way, call me back.”
Bea hung up and left the comfort of the bathroom. She sat down on the sofa and retrieved the envelope from her dress pocket. She vacillated between a longtime habit of trying to make Sasha’s life a living hell, her need particularly at her age to stay close to Jesus, and her desire to get closer to Zipporah. Never having children meant she was on unfamiliar ground, but she felt up to the task.
Bea also needed to keep Zipporah’s home situation a secret. Of course, Bea’s idea of keeping a secret meant she’d only tell two or three people.
While Bea sat sipping tea upstairs in her hotel room and wrangling with deciding her next move, Zipporah sat in one of the large round chairs in the rehearsal hall of the Luxor. Holding the sheet music tightly in her hands and scanning the lyrics didn’t necessarily mean she was focused. Her mind was still on Bea and the photograph. Even with the slight differences between her and the young woman, Ima, Zipporah had had to look real close to make sure the woman wasn’t her.
She reasoned that she shouldn’t have been too surprised. Everyone looked like someone that someone else knew. She remembered that it was only several days ago, when Mothers Blister and Pray Onn arrived in Las Vegas, some thought they were the actresses Mother Love and Irma P. Hall. She couldn’t see the resemblance but that didn’t matter. The crowd clamoring for an autograph had thought so. It was all in the eye of the beholder.
“I don’t hear any singing.” Chandler dropped down in the seat next to Zipporah. He was dressed in a light tan shirt and chocolate brown slacks. The slight five o’clock shadow from ear to ear gave him an extra ruggedness that was sexy—very sexy.
“Good morning.” Zipporah was glad to see him and thankful for the interruption.
“Hmmm,” Chandler said as he moved his chair closer to Zipporah, “you look well-rested and very attractive this morning. Are you wearing something new?”
“Oh, you mean this old lavender thing.” Zipporah lay the sheet music aside and immediately rose. She alternated turning her ankles and twirling. Suddenly she began to strut an amateurish version of a catwalk, as she modeled the new two-piece lavender cotton pleated skirt and sleeveless blouse. “It’s a gift from my new manager.”
Chandler took one of her small hands in his and produced a smile that usually caused others to cave in to his whims. “He’s got great taste.”
“You think so?” Zipporah’s face blushed as she struggled to keep from laughing like a schoolgirl. Even as she removed her hand from his, she knew at that moment, she’d given him her heart if he’d asked. When had she surrendered her heart? She didn’t know and it didn’t matter. Looking down at her skirt, she noticed its purple color appeared brighter as if confirming, at that moment, all she was feeling.
While they sat and waited for some of the other performers to arrive, Zipporah was able to rel
ax and bask in the compliments Chandler heaped upon her. She was thankful he was pleased and even more so when he announced that he had another surprise for her. It hadn’t been more than twenty-four hours before that she’d wondered if she would have to sleep on the streets. Now, she was enjoying room service and an extremely handsome manager. Her only concern at that moment was when she would wake up from the dream.
“Do you mind if I join you two?” Sister Betty interrupted. Her voice was lively despite the full-sized bags under her eyes. The revelation from Sasha had completely drained her. No matter how hard she’d prayed after their gabfest, she couldn’t quite get comfortable. But now she needed to put that problem aside and be supportive of her godson and seemingly, Zipporah, too.
Chandler stood and gave Sister Betty a hug and a kiss. He offered her his seat, telling her that he didn’t mind standing.
Zipporah watched the interchange between godson and godmother. She also couldn’t help but notice that although Sister Betty spoke primarily to Chandler, she’d kept her eyes upon her. It was as though she was examining her, and it began to unnerve Zipporah. It was at that moment that Zipporah began to think that most old people were a little crazy.
While Sister Betty, Zipporah, and Chandler passed the time chatting, Zipporah spied Alicia. She’d arrived early to the rehearsal.
Alicia was dressed in a tan T-shirt that hid little and blue jeans that accented the rest. After greeting Chandler with an overzealous hug, and Zipporah and Sister Betty with a nod, she moved on to speak with a few of the musicians. For reasons of her own, Alicia seemed to alternate between keeping things with Chandler all business, and the need to be the alpha female, when Zipporah was around.
“What did you do to Alicia? She acted like she didn’t know whether to kiss you like an old friend or shake your hand.” Zipporah teased. The last thing she needed was her new manager and her new boss to start off wrong, but she didn’t want them too close either.
“I didn’t do anything,” Chandler replied.... And that’s the problem, he thought, she was in the mood for chocolate and I wasn’t feeling vanilla.
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