Cover Girls

by T. D. Jakes

  Michelle got up from the bed and stomped to the bathroom as though there was someone to hear her. As she stepped from her warm bedroom rug onto the cold tile of her bathroom floor, the big checkerboard pattern of black-and-white tiles offered no comfort to her feet. She winced and stepped gingerly forward. Her feet clapped against the floor, sounding almost like Miz Ida’s hands had sounded years ago clapping in the church Michelle had been forced to go to with her from time to time—after her momma got religion. That was a joke, too. Her momma was just another hypocrite—after years of doing wrong, suddenly everyone expected her to forgive her mama. They wanted Michelle to play along and act like her momma was suddenly qualified for the big-hat-church-sister club. Well, there was a time when she herself had wanted to go, when she got religion herself. But she could never get passed her momma. It was too much to swallow. Her momma sitting in church made it hard for Michelle to find her own way to God—but that was a story for another morning.

  Michelle opened the patterned-glass shower door and turned the water on hard and hot. She didn’t need someone telling her how to live her life—enough of her young years had been spent with people doing that, with people eating from the table at her expense. A job with a future that would bring in more cash was good, but at what price? She stepped into the steam and under the water. It ran down her soft, supple skin and rushed to the floor, forming warm puddles beneath her feet.

  Michelle mused over her life—where she was and where she was going. There was one thing about which there was no doubt. No one was going to control her or hurt her again. That, she was certain of; it was definitely not negotiable. She had been hurt and misused as a child when she couldn’t fight for herself. But no one was ever going to control her or hurt her again.

  Michelle took a rough loofah from the plastic loop just to the right of the showerhead. She had promised herself she would not get used again, and it was a promise she was going to keep.

  She pulled the cracked shower door closed. Nothing was worth being used. Not marriage. Not her family. Not even a job. No one was going to use her. No one.

  That was Michelle’s last thought before the hot water completely enveloped her and translocated her into an imaginary spa, and for the briefest of moments she was insulated from the toil of thought and worry by the comfort of the steamy water’s tender caress. She sighed and drifted into a moment of tranquility beneath the cascade of water that washed her worries off and sent them swirling down into the drain.

  Chapter Two

  Twenty-four stories up from the concrete sidewalks and streets below, there were windows all around the floor on which Michelle worked. Of course, none of the real workers could see them. That is, unless one of the office doors—the offices that faced the outside and formed a cage around the large, wide open inner office—were left ajar. The workers were like inmates in a prison. Unless some light, some hint of the outside, escaped into the pit when a door was left accidentally opened or closed, there was no evidence of an outside world.

  The outer offices with windows belonged to the bigwigs, the big shots, to those that had arrived. The outer offices belonged to those who had earned the right to daylight and to a view of the city because they had climbed the ladder and jumped the hoops to get there.

  The people in the pit—in the inner office jammed with rows of desks, computer monitors, copy machines, and chairs—were all wannabes. They all wanted to be something, to be somebody. The temps wanted to be permanent. The secretaries wanted to be administrative assistants. The administrative assistants wanted to be executive assistants or even make the career jump to become investigators, analysts, team leaders, or project leaders. All the wannabes wanted to be managers and executives who worked long hours. Executives who dressed like strangers and pretended to be someone they were not so they could hide who they really were behind the doors of the offices that ringed the inner office—the offices that kept the wannabes in the pit.

  Michelle scanned the room. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to play the game. She didn’t want to be a wannabe. She was sure she wanted the money, but she didn’t want to be someone’s assistant, or support staff forever. She just wasn’t sure if the price was too high.

  What she was sure of was elevators. She looked at the bank of them—the doors painted a salmon color—that were just beyond the invisible line that separated her office from the hall. Thank heaven for elevators, because she was definitely not a stairs girl. There was no way she was hiking stairs, especially not twenty-four flights of them. If the elevators ever went, no doubt Miss Michelle would be gone too.

  Just then, one of the elevators opened. Shadrach emerged and waved as though he knew she would be looking for him. His arms were full of express mail envelopes but he waved them at her in some kind of crazy mailroom sign language, some kind of weird secret postal Morse code. She had no clue what he was saying, but she nodded and smiled anyway.

  Shadrach was cool. Not fine, but nice enough looking. Not pushy, but he had a good head on his shoulders. If she were really smart, she would just relax with some older man like Shad . . .

  Michelle pushed the thought aside. The last thing she needed to think about was another man. She had Todd calling to nag her every day and Trench running in and out of her life and her apartment like she and it belonged to him. Her plate was full, and she wasn’t sure that everything on her plate was a good choice.

  Shad kept waving and mouthing something. He knew she couldn’t hear him! Her phone rang. She pointed to it, waved him away, and mouthed, “I’ll talk to you later.” Shad nodded and then moved on as she lifted the receiver.

  It was Todd. What was new?

  While he nagged at her over the phone—“Are you going to church, Michelle? I love you, Michelle. When can I see you, Michelle?”—she nodded and scribbled on a pad as if she were taking notes. Of course, no one in the office who watched her believed she was taking notes. No one believed she was on a business call, but the charade was enough to create a reasonable doubt. The scribbling was enough to create a sustainable defense, should she need one. Like, say, should the telephone police make an unexpected visit.

  Todd was droning on and on. Michelle turned on her radio. Hip-hop queen Mary J. Blige was singing her hit “No More Drama.” Mary was right on time. That’s exactly what Michelle wanted: no more drama. She cleared her throat. “Todd?”

  He kept right on talking. “Michelle, I’m not trying to pressure you.”

  That was pretty silly. In fact, it was a lie. How could Todd not be trying to pressure her when he was calling every day, sometimes two and three times a day? “Michelle, I miss you,” he said. He said it every day, and it made her sick.

  Well, not really sick, but she wasn’t going to be responsible for how he felt. He was on his own if he wanted to call, if he wanted to hang on and wait or send flowers or anything else. She wasn’t promising him anything.

  Sure, it felt good to know someone thought the sun rose and set in her. And it felt good to know if she called, he always came running. Yeah, it felt good. But that didn’t have to mean anything. Anybody would be a fool not to accept the attention he gave, and one thing she was not was a fool.

  “I love you, Michelle. And I’m willing to wait until you’re ready, until you feel the time is right.”

  But accepting his attention didn’t mean she loved him. For sure, it didn’t mean she was in love with him. When it came to love, he was on his own. “Look, Todd, that’s on you.” Michelle could hear her voice raising and feel her chest beginning to tighten. “If you want to call and say all this stuff, it’s on you. The way things are right now, we may never get back together. You know that, right?”

  She scanned the office as she spoke and saw Tonya looking in her direction. Tonya looked at her, then appeared to be looking around the office as though to see if other people were watching.

  What was her malfunction? Forget Tonya. Michelle sat forward. She had to get this straight with Todd. She could feel her
heart rate beginning to increase; the strain and tension felt like a band around her head and chest. “Look, I know you’re saying you aren’t putting pressure on me, but that’s exactly what you’re doing.” She mocked his voice. “‘Michelle, I’ll wait for you.’ How is that supposed to make me feel, Todd?” She made her voice sound more assertive. “You know my situation, right?” There was no answer. Why did he always have to make her bring it up? Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone?

  But he’d started it, so she was going to finish it. If Todd was going to talk to her, he was going to do it on her terms. “I said, you do know my situation, right?” He was not going to box her in.

  His voice was just above a whisper. “You’re seeing someone.”

  If he was going to call every day and send gifts she didn’t ask for, he was not going to be able to rub it in her face later. She was telling him the real deal. Let him feel stressed. Let his neck and shoulders tighten. She was getting the drama out of her life.

  “That’s a nice way of putting it, Todd.” Sarcasm dripped from the side of her mouth. “I’m doing more than seeing him. Him has a name, remember? And you do remember that you and I are legally separated.”

  “You don’t have to be nasty, Michelle.” Todd’s voice sounded steady and serious—very serious. “I know what you’ve said, Michelle, but I still love you.” His voice rose, forceful and masculine. “I know what you’re saying and I know what you’ve said. But you’re my woman. You’re my wife.”

  It was that sound in his voice that always made Michelle reconsider walking away. She stopped scribbling on the pad. Who was she kidding anyway? What did she care about what the wannabes thought? She had to take care of this with Todd once and for all—to get this monkey off of her back! Her coworkers shouldn’t be minding her business anyway. If it offended them to hear a real woman handling her business, too bad for them! Michelle swiveled in her chair so her back was to the telephone police and to most of the others in the pit.

  Todd kept talking. “You don’t expect me to just walk away, do you? You don’t expect me to not fight for the one true love of my life, do you?”

  Michelle imagined Todd’s face as he spoke. When he was passionate like this, the muscles near his temple rippled. It still surprised her that a man so gentle could be so full of fire and strength.

  “You can pretend all you want to, Michelle, but I know who you really are and what’s in your heart. Don’t mistake my patience and my faith for foolishness.”

  It was a strength she still did not understand. It was a kind of love she still did not understand, that she still did not trust.

  His voice lowered. “Remember, baby, I’m not the one who hurt you years ago. I’m not that man. You’re a gift from God to me, Michelle. And if I have to fight my way in and out of hell to get you back, that’s what I’m prepared to do.” He cleared his throat. “If I have to endure your hurting my feelings, playing mind games, and testing my love to see if it’s real—then okay, that’s what I’m prepared to do. I’m in this for life.”

  Michelle’s face was hot. She unbuttoned her jacket. When she swiveled back around in her seat, it seemed that at least half the people in the pit—including Tonya—were staring at her and hanging on her every word. She took a deep breath. “Look, Todd, I can’t talk about this, now. We’ll have to talk about this later.” She nodded as though he could see her. “Call me later.”

  For an hour, without interruption, Michelle worked her way through the stack of papers and requests in her inbox. She worked Todd out of her mind. Besides, she wasn’t a slacker. She got her work done. It just didn’t take her all day like it did some people.

  What was the big deal anyway? The work didn’t require her to use her mind. She didn’t have to be creative. It was just the same old routine over and over again. While she was doing the work, plenty of ideas came to her about how to do it easier, better, and faster. But no one asked her, and Michelle had found that people’s noses got out of joint and they seemed to feel threatened when she made suggestions. So, okay, she would serve their plates the way they wanted it. No reason for her to sweat up her suit or break a nail. They didn’t pay her to think. They didn’t want her commitment or her enthusiasm. So she gave them what they wanted—in abundance.

  When the in box was empty, Michelle went back to what made the day pass, what kept her from falling out of her seat with boredom. She lifted the telephone receiver and used the other manicured hand to press seven buttons.

  Chapter Three

  A sweet, elderly voice answered the phone. At least it sounded sweet to Michelle. She didn’t hear the raspiness or the quivering. She didn’t hear the heaviness. She didn’t hear any of the things she had heard others describe, just the voice of the woman who had been her angel. “This is the day that the Lord has made! And this is Miz Ida. What can I do for you, baby?”

  Michelle was always happy to hear Miz Ida’s voice, even when she said stuff that was hard to swallow. If there was a woman full of God in the world, Michelle knew that Miz Ida was that woman. She could always count on Miz Ida. Miz Ida was her deliverer.

  “How did you know it was me, Miz Ida?” Michelle could hear the innocent, little-girl excitement in her voice. It didn’t sound like she talked to Miz Ida regularly. But she did.

  “Oh, it’s my baby, Michelle! How are you sugar?” No matter how many times she called, Miz Ida always sounded just as pleased to hear from her.

  “How did you know it was me, Miz Ida?”

  “I didn’t, baby.” Miz Ida chuckled.

  “But you said ‘baby.’ Did you get caller I.D. or something?”

  “Old as I am, everybody’s a baby to me. And no, chile, you know I don’t have no caller I.D., or whatever it is.” Miz Ida laughed, again. “For goodness sakes, Michelle, I’m still using the same old telephone I’ve had for years. I don’t have no pennies to waste, so it’s good enough for me.”

  Michelle could just imagine the bright pink rotary-dial telephone—affectionately known as “the Princess”—that Miz Ida kept on the lamp table in her living room. It was a phone the older woman had found at some thrift shop a couple of years back. True enough, Miz Ida was one of those people that the answering service recordings referred to when they said, “If you have a rotary dial, please remain on the line . . .” Miz Ida always stayed on the line.

  Her ice-age phone sat on the table right next to the ceramic praying hands and right in front her big, ancient family Bible—not the tattered and frayed one she used every day—but, the decorative one she kept on display.

  Miz Ida was what church folks call a prayer warrior. Between praying and visiting Jose, her border baby, Miz Ida’s hands were full. “How’s your little friend, Miz Ida?”

  “Oh, he’s coming along. Jose is coming along. He’s a sweet baby and I’m going to love him as long as he’s around to be loved. But I tell you who’s not coming along. That young man that’s always hanging around outside the door of this building. People keep telling me to leave him alone. Michelle, somebody’s got to do something about our children that have been thrown away. People keep telling me I’m too old—I better leave that young man alone, that he’s probably on crack. But I tell you one day I’m gone get hold to the boy, or my name ain’t Ida. You mark my word.”

  “Miz Ida, you better leave that hop head alone.”

  “Somebody’s got to do something, baby. That’s one of my sons lying at the front door. I may not have birthed him, but he’s still my son. Everybody can’t keep walking by people that need help. All the women can’t keep walking by. I might as well be the one.”

  “Miz Ida, you can’t save the whole world.”

  “But I can sure try to help that what’s in front of me.”

  Michelle thought back to the times before Miz Ida even had a phone, to the times when she came to use Michelle’s mother’s phone, to the time when they had first met. She was much younger, her hair still in little girl’s braids.

  Mi
z Ida lived in an apartment in the same building in which Michelle grew up. Miz Ida still lived in that very same apartment. Michelle had heard stories about Miz Ida— stories that she had overheard when her mother Cassie talked to her best friend, Twana. Miz Ida had just been gossip, until the old woman appeared at Michelle’s mother’s apartment door.

  Without thinking, Michelle had opened the door wide, even wider when she saw the peculiar-looking old lady.

  “Hey.”

  Recalling her mother’s warnings, Michelle closed the door to a crack. “Oh, I forgot. My mama always told me to ask who is it. I can’t talk to strangers.”

  The old woman nodded. “You know, your mother’s right to some degree. But you know the Bible says, ‘Be careful how you entertain strangers, for you may be entertaining an angel unaware.’”

  “Huh?”

  The funny-looking woman kept smiling and she kept talking. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

  The old woman was strange. Michelle closed the door even more. “Momma said I can’t talk to strangers. I’m sorry.”

  “Child, everybody know me. I’m Miz Ida.”

  Michelle spoke before she thought. “Miz Ida? Oh, I heard Momma talking about you. She says you’re crazy.”

  Miz Ida’s smile was rich and deep. It was not broad, but it made Michelle feel something. “You think I’m crazy?” She stared into Michelle’s eyes.

  “No. But you dress kind of funny with all them different patterns.” She waved her hands at Miz Ida’s clothes.

  Miz Ida chuckled and looked down at the clothes she was wearing. “If you want to know real answers, just ask a child.” She laughed again. “You think your mother would mind if I use the phone?”

  Michelle shrugged and opened the door to let Miz Ida enter. Something about the woman’s presence made her feel safe. “I guess not since you live next door. It’s right over there.” She pointed toward the phone.