Heavens to Betsy

by Beth Pattillo

  “David—”

  “When you’re ready to talk. I swear you can run away even when you’re sitting still.”

  “But—” Okay, now I’m scared. I’ve never heard that tone of finality in his voice before.

  “Bye, Betz.”

  “Bye,” I whisper in return, but he doesn’t hear me. He’s striding out of my office, and I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll watch him walk away. Because that’s what it feels like.

  “Cali? It’s Betsy.”

  “Oh. Hello. What do you want?”

  It takes me twenty minutes of groveling to convince her to come to the church at five o’clock tomorrow. The only card I can’t play is the one where I promise to help her get David back. But I’m at the point of offering her cash when she finally capitulates.

  “Oh, all right. If you promise never to call me again.”

  I think I know how to finesse Edna on this one. If I’m lucky, I won’t have to use Cali at all tomorrow. Her mere presence should get the job done. But she’s my ace in the hole, and I’m not going to go gently into Edna’s good night.

  I spend Tuesday morning shopping for a reconciliation present for LaRonda. We came to a truce while editing her resignation letter, but things really aren’t back to normal. I can’t let her leave without some attempt at closing the distance between us. I have no idea what you buy someone bound for a semideveloping nation, but I finally decide on a potpourri of helpful items from CVS: sunscreen, lip balm, insect repellent chock full of DEET, and some bandanas in neon colors.

  I’d buy David something too, but I don’t think a tube of lip balm is going to set things right between us. Plus, after kissing him Saturday night, I don’t think he needs it. I’d buy Edna some compassion and human decency, but they don’t carry those things at CVS. Unless they have them stashed behind the pharmacy counter.

  By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’m a bundle of nerves. The extra latte I picked up at Starbucks was meant to fortify me for the confrontation with the personnel committee. Unfortunately, it has me on a caffeine buzz that could fuel a jet engine.

  Again, I have the good sense to arrive at the boardroom early. The committee members file in one by one—Ed, The Judge, Sweet Marjorie, and Gus Winston, who carries an accounting ledger. Edna makes her grand entrance last with the aid of a three-legged cane. Why she should need a cane when her shoulder is injured, I have no idea. Unless she plans to use it to beat me about the head and shoulders. She must have had her hair done this morning because she’s back-combed to within an inch of her life. Ed’s looking squeamish, Marjorie looks bewildered, and The Judge has clearly been to Florida because his courtroom pallor has been replaced with a nice tan.

  Ed clears his throat. “Shall we begin?”

  My pulse accelerates. Cali’s not here yet, but I don’t want to say anything because it would tip off Edna.

  “Betsy, would you begin with prayer?”

  Even though he thinks I’m a probable felon, Ed would rather have me pray in public than do it himself. Pollsters say people fear public speaking more than they fear death. I think people fear praying in public more than both of those things combined.

  “Almighty God…” I begin as my mind races. I’m going to have to pray for all I’m worth, because I have to stall until Cali gets here. “From the beginning of the world, you have loved us…”

  I proceed to work my way through the entire biblical narrative, point by point. Creation, the flood, the patriarchs, Moses. The others are beginning to get twitchy, but there’s still no sign of Cali. I really hope God doesn’t mind this slight abuse of privilege in the interest of truth and justice.

  Finally, when I’ve passed the prophets and the rebuilding of the temple and am contemplating throwing in the Maccabees, I hear a noise in the doorway.

  “…and so we thank you for your guidance. Be with us in this meeting. Amen.”

  I look up, and Cali’s standing there, thin, waxed, and tan, and clearly unhappy to be darkening the doors of the church.

  “Come in, Cali. You can sit here.” I pull out the chair next to me.

  Ed clears his throat. “This is a closed meeting, Betsy.”

  “It’s okay, Ed. I invited her for a reason.” I look at Edna to see if any of this is registering with her, but she’s too busy looking triumphant to perceive Cali as any kind of threat. The Darvocet must have punched some potholes in her memory.

  The Judge shrugs. “Betsy’s friend can stay. This won’t take long.”

  “No, it won’t,” I agree. I reach into my pocket and slap the stolen offering on the conference table in front of me. “Because I know who’s been taking the offering.”

  Edna smirks. “We all do, Betsy. Your confession comes a little late. What we want is your resignation.”

  You’d never know that yesterday I was helping her with the simple task of dressing herself. Edna’s momentary lapse into humanity evaporated as quickly as it appeared.

  “I do have something to say, but I’m not going to resign.” I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. I’ve been so busy being furious for the last twenty-four hours that I’d forgotten to be nervous. The enormity of the situation hits me at the worst possible moment. Now.

  “Hey,” Cali says, “isn’t that the woman who—”

  I step, ever so slightly, on her foot. The enormous table disguises the action.

  “Ow!”

  “Is your trick ankle acting up again?” I ask innocently, but I can see she’s gotten the message. She settles back for a good sulk. I lick my lips and start again. “I know who took the money. Obviously, it wasn’t me.”

  “That’s not obvious to anyone,” Edna snaps.

  “I’m aware of that. But nevertheless, I didn’t take it.” I look her straight in the eye. “But I know who did.”

  From the tote bag at my side, I pull out the Web cam I took down this morning. I set it on the table next to the wad of bills.

  “I’ve been monitoring the sacristy from my computer. I saw the culprit take the money Sunday afternoon.”

  Edna snorts, Ed looks intrigued, Gus looks up from his ledger, and The Judge leans ever so slightly forward. Marjorie continues to knit the fluffy pink sweater she’s making for one of her multitude of blonde granddaughters.

  “It was a church member, but I’d rather not say who. They’ve returned the money to me, and I feel sure it won’t happen again.” I look straight at Edna.

  She thumps her cane on the floor. “Do you expect us to believe such an outrageous story?”

  I stand up, place my hands flat on the table, and lean forward. “What I expect is to be trusted as the senior pastor of this congregation. You all selected me to fill Dr. Black’s shoes, and now I want you to honor that choice.” I look Ed in the eye, then The Judge and Gus, and finally Marjorie, who has actually laid down her needles. “You all know I didn’t take the offering. For pastoral reasons I’m not willing to expose the person who did. I believe in second chances, and I’m willing to forgive the culprit and give him or her a new start.” I pause for effect. “I think that’s what Jesus would do.”

  Cali taps her french-manicured nails on the table. “Can I go yet?”

  “Why is she here?” Edna snaps. “This is a private matter.”

  “Cali was in my office when the culprit took the money. She saw who took it, just as I did.”

  “Yeah, it was—”

  “As I said, Cali and I both know who it was, but we’re not going to reveal that information right now.”

  Edna pales beneath her pancake makeup and rouge. “Well, if it wasn’t you, Betsy, it must have been the man who attacked me.”

  Very smooth, Edna.

  “As I said, I would rather not name any names. I believe in forgiveness, and I’d like a chance to practice that.” Again, I look Edna straight in the eye while I’m talking. It’s like being locked in a battle to the death with Darth Vader but without the funny breathing, the big black mask, and the whoos
hing of the cool light sabers.

  There’s silence for a moment as the other committee members try to puzzle out exactly what’s going on between me and Edna. I don’t think it’s occurred to any of them she’s the thief, because why would the biggest contributor to the church turn around and steal it back?

  Ed looks at Edna. “Does this mean you’re withdrawing your accusation against Betsy?”

  “Does this mean I can go?” Cali hisses.

  I look around at their faces to gauge the mood of the group. They’re confused, but even more they’re relieved that we’ve avoided a major scandal.

  The Judge, the smartest person present, clears his throat. “It appears to me an unknown person stole the money and attacked Edna. The property committee needs to look into improved security, but I see no matter for this committee to act on.” He pronounces his judgment as solemnly as if he were behind the bench, bailiff at his side.

  Relief slides through me like the rush from a really good piece of chocolate.

  Ed twists his bow tie. “Then we can adjourn, I guess.”

  “Wait.” I hold up my hand. “There’s one more thing we need to address.” I turn to Cali. “Thank you for coming. We won’t keep you any longer.”

  Cali flips a strand of blond hair out of her eyes. “It took all this to figure out that the only thing you’re capable of stealing is my boyfriend? Jeez.” She pushes back her chair, stands, and makes an exit that rivals Edna’s cane for dramatic effect.

  The Judge takes a pocket watch from his vest and makes a point of studying it. I get the hint. I also sit back down, take a deep breath, and go to war.

  “This whole offering incident has made me aware that we need a more structured agreement about my new role as senior minister.” I pause to let the words sink in. “I would like for this committee to pass a vote of confidence in my ministry. I would also ask for a twenty-five percent pay raise, commensurate with my new responsibilities. And I want a one-year contract.”

  A what? Did I just say that? This is way worse than when I babbled on David’s voice mail. What am I thinking? What about law school?

  Ed’s stroking his chin. The Judge crosses his arms. Gus has shut the ledger. Marjorie’s gone back to her knitting, and Edna’s opening and closing her mouth like my poor fish must have done when it took its dying breaths.

  “And I’d like a decision on this right now,” I add for good measure. The power surging within me makes me feel like a Christmas tree lighted up for the holidays. I should be appalled at my impulsive decision—part of me is appalled, actually—but I suddenly know with all my being that this is the right course of action. Ministry is what God wants for me. Maybe the Big Kahuna has just been waiting for me to quit playing it safe and stand up for myself. Which is exactly what Velva had been trying to make me see for the past six months, but I didn’t have the ears to hear. Like Dorothy, I’ve been trying to find the magic I need to get me home anywhere but in the ruby slippers on my feet.

  The Judge nods at Ed, Edna thumps her cane again but doesn’t say anything, and Marjorie takes a pair of scissors out of her bag and clips a strand of fluffy pink yarn.

  “Well, that’s done,” she says and pats her finished work. She looks up at me and smiles. “I think Betsy’s requests are reasonable. As the largest contributor in this congregation, I’d suggest we do as she asks.”

  I swear the floor shakes. Sweet little Marjorie is the anonymous donor responsible for the financial well-being of the church? While Edna’s been fooling us, allowing us to believe it was her?

  For a long moment, nobody says anything. We’re all wearing identical looks of astonishment.

  And then, “All in favor?” Ed asks.

  “Aye” is the answer, even from Edna who looks as if she’s sucking a dill pickle when she gives her assent.

  “Well, then…” I’m not really sure what to say next. I’m as surprised as any of them by what’s just happened. I’ve just committed myself to Church of the Shepherd for the next year.

  “Meeting adjourned,” Ed says, and everyone stands up.

  “Congratulations, Betsy,” Marjorie says and winks at me.

  I’m still feeling all empowered when I get home that evening, a combination of the lingering effects of the latte and my victory in the committee meeting. A Lean Cuisine and half a can of Pringles later, I’m ready to tackle another confrontation.

  I pull on my Vanderbilt Divinity School T-shirt, paper thin from years of spin cycles in cheap Laundromats, and a tattered pair of jogging shorts. With a deep breath, I stride into the bedroom and fling open the closet door.

  The first things to go are the leather pants and see-through chiffon blouse. Along with the deathly black stilettos. Next, I purge the most unflattering elements of my wardrobe. Shapeless dresses, worn khaki pants, sweater sets whose pills have pills. Item by item I stuff them into paper grocery bags. It takes long enough that I work up a pretty good sweat. Does that count as my exercise for the day? Every so often I’m tempted to rescue something; I should have rounded up the hosts of What Not to Wear in case I got cold feet.

  I stick to my guns, though. When the dust settles and the carnage is complete, there’s not much left in my closet. Three pair of pants that look as if they were purchased after the turn of the millennium, not before. Two white Oxford shirts and my navy interview suit from Ann Taylor Loft. And one summer dress that can pass for fashionable. It’s a good thing the personnel committee just gave me a raise, because I’m going to need every penny. Right now I own approximately three days’ worth of clothing.

  After purging my wardrobe I start pitching the makeup. Experts say you should purchase new mascara every six months. I’m approximately two years behind. Powdered eye shadow that started out life as cream follows the mascara. Expensive foundation—the wrong shade but so pricey I couldn’t afford not to use it. And, finally, all the lipsticks I have bought in search of that elusive perfect shade.

  One by one I carry the bags to the trunk of my car to take to Goodwill. I dump the wastebasket full of old makeup into a garbage can and carry it to the street for pickup in the morning. And when it’s all over, I collapse on the couch and try not to freak out over what I’ve just done.

  One thing the “Holy to Hottie” makeover did show me: I don’t have to settle for dressing like my mother. And I figure there’s got to be a happy middle ground between frumpy and fashionista. The next day, clutching my credit card, I head for Ann Taylor. The real thing; not the cheaper Loft store. I’ve made an appointment with a personal shopper, and I can only hope this one has some experience with sizes in the double digits.

  Sure enough, she does.

  “I think pale blue would be a great choice,” she advises as she hangs several garments in the dressing room. It’s been years since I’ve actually shopped for clothes rather than order them from a catalog. I never much cared about cut and fit, but I see now that I can look fabulous and still be comfortable. This is my kind of makeover. Just normal Betsy, a young professional who has discovered what she really wants.

  I’m admiring the pale blue suit when the personal shopper brings me something I wasn’t expecting. It’s a pink slip-dress, trimmed in lace. Just to humor her, I slip it over my head. It should look like a nightgown, but it doesn’t. I should look ridiculous in it, but I don’t.

  “It’s perfect,” the shopper and I say at the same time, and we both laugh. But I can’t really justify the expense for something so impractical. It kills me, but I pull the dress over my head and return it to its hanger.

  “I’d better not,” I say, and the personal shopper looks as disappointed as I feel.

  “Are you sure?”

  “That’s a dress that needs an occasion. I really don’t have anything coming up…” I trail off because I suddenly realize I do indeed have a special event in my near future. David doesn’t know it yet, but he and I have a date with destiny. I finally know what I want from life, and if I can face the personnel committee an
d make my needs and wants known, I can do the same thing with David. In theory, anyway. With this dress, sufficient preparation, and perhaps a few of Edna’s Darvocets.

  “I’ll take it,” I tell the woman, and she’s ecstatic. I’m a little ecstatic myself until I see the total for my new purchases on the charge slip.

  “Is there a problem?” she asks.

  “Oh no. Not really.” I’m glad they don’t have debtor’s prison anymore, or else I’d be hauled off like some poor woman in a Charles Dickens novel. All I know for sure at this moment is that who I have become now fits into two Ann Taylor shopping bags. Tailored, but not stuffy. Colorful without being over the top. Womanly without being wanton. Well, okay, only a little bit wanton. Just me. Betsy. Trying to be faithful the best way I know how and no longer afraid of what the church might do to me. In fact, now the church might want to be afraid of what I might do to it.

  Touché, Edna.

  I giggle as I stow my new wardrobe in the trunk of my car. And so it is that, armed with two shopping bags and a new outlook on life, I head home to plan how to tell David I’m irrevocably, irretrievably in love with him.

  “You want me to lock you and David in where?” LaRonda asks. The contents of my peace offering—everything from Band-Aids to bandanas—are spread across the café table at Starbucks.

  “It’s for a good reason. So I won’t try and run away.”

  “What were you drinking when you thought of this?”

  “Diet cola.”

  “Couldn’t you do things the normal way and just go talk to him?”

  I sigh. “LaRonda, when have I ever done things the normal way?”

  “I see your point.”

  LaRonda is so happy that I’ve maneuvered myself into a commitment with Church of the Shepherd. You’d think she’d be more supportive of my trying to make a commitment to David.