by Pat Simmons
A smile spread across her face, giving me a peek of her dimple. “Then I guess it’s up to you to make sure that happens.”
Shaking my head, I folded my arms and smirked. She was unbelievable, unpredictable, and unquestionably the most fascinating woman God had formed. This is when seeking the Lord was the only option. Mackenzie wanted Chicago. Valerie wanted me, and I wanted Mackenzie.
I didn’t blink as I accepted the challenge. “Consider it done.”
CHAPTER 11
Mmm, wrapped in a blissful cocoon, I cupped Mackenzie’s mesmerizing face between my hands, convincing her that Chicago was not in my plans. “Don’t make me have to move up there, because there’s no way I’m not going to finish what you started the day I entered that church.”
She teased me, chuckling. With mock innocence, she asked. “What did I start?”
“You, Miss Norton, started my heart beating faster. You created a desire in me so strong that I planned to ask you out as many times as it would take for you to say yes. And,” I held up a finger and jabbed my thumb into my chest, “you’re this man’s temptation. I believe in giving warnings when I’m serious. I’ll pursue you until you say yes, you’ll marry me.”
Mackenzie closed her eyes as she digested my words. She inched closer to my lips, leaving just enough space for me to read hers. “Then I guess we better keep our eyes open and pray. Matthew 26 says, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. I don’t want to tempt you, Noel.”
“It’s too late. You do, Mackenzie, and that’s what drives me crazy. You don’t try to do it.”
“Sometimes, I’m barely holding it together.”
I was a breath away from smothering the rest of her words when I was snatched away from her presence. I knew it wasn’t God’s wrath, but my bed that rocked and angrily tossed me overboard onto the floor. Drowsily, I woke and rubbed my head. It had been a dream. A dream. “Man,” I huffed. “Too bad.”
My king-size bed was the real temptress in my bedroom. Many a nights, I had collapsed squarely in middle of the mattress, expecting hours of peaceful slumber.
Somehow by morning, I had been lured to the edge in the right position ready to be thrown over the edge. Every morning at a designated time, the alarm on my sonic boom clock clicked. Annoying flashing lights and the powerful bed shaker took me for a rodeo ride until I was completely awake.
I staggered to the bathroom. When I came out, I donned a sweat suit, grabbed my keys and wallet. I left my house for a quick five-mile jog and returned to pump some iron at home. Lately, I’ve been trying to quote scriptures. This particular day, I had a desire to exercise my mind with oddest Bible trivia.
Racking my brain, I tried recalling every man who was troubled by a woman: Adam and Eve—she was weak, he was weaker; Moses and Sarah—she didn’t believe God and persuaded Moses to assist God in implementing His plan; David and Bathsheba—drama from the beginning; Isaac and Rebekah—deceit in the end; Samson and Delilah—bad combination; Jacob and Rachel; Ahasuerus and Esther—she wasn’t his first choice;
Moses and Zipporah; Joseph and Mary; Hosea and Gomer—I didn’t want to go there; Ahab and Jezebel—both were bad news and to be eaten by dogs. I shuddered at the thought of dogs licking my blood. “C’mon, God, I need to know if Mackenzie is the one, my destiny.” I raced harder, frustration building.
Then I heard God’s voice. “Have you considered Boaz and Ruth, and Aquila and Priscilla? They worked side by side for the good of My Word.”
I accepted the hint. Energized, I completed my jog. Minutes later, I turned the corner to my block, determined to revisit those passages. When I barged through my door, I was famished. I consumed my routine breakfast: a soup-size bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, three pieces of bacon, and a twenty-two-ounce glass of orange juice. To minimize my caffeine intake, I limited myself to a small cup of coffee.
I showered, shaved, and by eight o’clock I was unlocking the double doors to PRESERVE-St. Louis office. Within the hour, I reclined in the leather chair at the head of the table in the conference room, ready to oversee our Monday meeting.
Draping my black suit jacket over my chair, I smoothed down my multicolored tie. Briefly, I checked my attire, making sure what I saw in the mirror at home had made it to the office without a wrinkle. Satisfied my navy slacks were still military straight, I annoyed one of my blue suspenders.
As my staff filed into the room, I nodded good morning to my hearing employees and signed to the deaf ones. I winked at my close friend and recent new employee Lana Dawson.
She didn’t need much coaxing to lure her away from a shipping company. A hefty salary increase and a generous health insurance package have that influence on people.
Plus, Lana had concerns about work conditions. Deaf employees had accused the company of excluding them for promotions and possibly exposing them to anthrax.
Now, Lana was beautiful on the inside and gorgeous on the outside. Strong Italian features enhanced her loveliness. She was so pretty, she was crowned Miss Deaf America, and served as a spokeswoman for the National Association of the Deaf.
Deaf from birth, she was a card-carrying member of the Deaf culture. Her looks drew all types of men until she spoke. That’s when they were tested. Once Lana began talking, I guess she was too loud or didn’t sound right. The potential suitors retreated, thinking she was mentally disabled. The losers had no idea of Lana’s intelligence or their roles as being major discriminators.
Despite our diverse ethnic backgrounds, we shared a kindred spirit. Our friendship was solid, and our loyalty to each other never questioned. More than once we contemplated a serious relationship. The last attempt was earlier in the year. Our evening had started off nice until I drove her home.
“I loved that movie,” Lana signed after leaving AMC Theatres in Creve Coeur, a middle ground for city dwellers and recent urban flight residents. The theatre was hosting Deaf Movies Night, showing The Pursuit of Happyness in open caption where every word, sigh, and emotion is flashed on the bottom of the screen.
“Me, too.” Linking her arm through mine, we strolled to my Impala back then. We were blocks away from her downtown apartment when an officer pulled up behind my car, flashing his lights.
Turning on my signal, I obeyed and pulled over. My brothers complained about “driving while black,” which I equated to “driving while deaf.” African-Americans or Caucasians, we had to be more alert than the hearing drivers.
Peering through my rear view window, I saw a stocky officer struggle to extract himself from his patrol car. Once he was freed, he took deliberate steps to my car, adjusting his belt. I couldn’t decipher his body language, which worried me. As he walked closer, I activated the power button down on my window. I placed my hands on top of my steering wheel. When he bent and scanned inside my car, I focused on his lips.
Bad move. He considered my stare suspicious. His lips twisted and turned faster than a race car on a track. “Get out of the vehicle,” he demanded without asking for my driver’s license, which would have indicated I was hearing impaired.
“I’m deaf, officer.” I remained calm as I towered over them. My height could be intimidating to a man under six feet and he was inches below that measuring line. Still, I scanned his name badge.
“Let me see your driver’s license,” Officer Boxer demanded.
Slowly, I slid my wallet from my back pocket. He scrutinized my license, verifying the J88 code that signified that I was indeed hearing impaired.
He tilted his head to the left and mouthed if the young lady in my car was also deaf. I nodded. Stooping, he eyed Lana then back at me, keeping a hand on his holster. I didn’t breath—I think.
Coming to a decision, he stepped closer to my face and enunciated each word. “You may be deaf, but you were four miles over the speed limit. Slow down,” his lips bit out, giving me a warning only. Thanking him, I steadied my anger and got back behind the wheel, fastening my seat belt. After I pulled away, I made sure I drove fou
r miles under the speed limit.
Lana watched me until I glanced her way. Her slight smile said it was okay, but her watery eyes betrayed her. The scenario was unsettling. “I was afraid for you, Noel.”
I never would admit it, but I was scared, too. A man with a gun was dangerous, with or without a badge. That’s why trailing Mackenzie was a dangerous task for me.
The Officer Boxer episode changed Lana and my relationship. She felt the need to protect me. I appreciated concern, but that’s where our compatibility ended. I was one-hundred percent man, I already had a mother.
I needed a woman who had confidence in my ability to make the right decisions and endure the consequences. I didn’t need or want anyone’s pity. That’s why Mackenzie appealed to me. She seemed to always meet me on any level.
My hesitation about pursuing a romantic involvement with Lana wasn’t race-based. I wasn’t near the spiritual commitment level I needed, and Lana wasn’t interested in trying to build a bridge to God. Churches without a Deaf Ministry were meaningless to Lana, and I concurred.
That was months ago. Blinking the past away and in Lana’s presence, I made a mental note to invite her to church where the Deaf Ministry had made a difference. An addendum to that note was for me to talk to Pastor Coleman about joining the membership. It was important for me to be on the church roll, not as a permanent visitor every Sunday.
With my conscientious staff seated in the board room, I forced my mind to stop drifting and to return to a business mode. Taking a deep breath, I opened the first page of our agenda. PRESERVE-St. Louis, had an annual budget of $1.5 million dollars, and we had to give account of how we used every penny.
I created my own rainbow coalition staff—black, white, Asian, Hispanic, deaf, hearing, one wheel-chair bound, and no non-profit organization could be effective without dedicated volunteers.
“Okay,” I said. Looking up from my file, I knew those who could hear would tap the deaf co-workers.
“Lana, before we take a look at any new issues, give us an update on Triple A.” In addition to my staff, I employed the services of an interpreter through an agency for my employees who weren’t as efficient in lip reading as Lana or me.
I didn’t need the service since I usually signed and talked during our meetings, but I used the interpreter as backup, and I didn’t mind paying for the service, no matter the length of our meetings. I never balked at the hourly rate.
This was one expense most companies monitored to the penny since the law required them to provide interpreters for their deaf workers. Oftentimes, they requested the minimum hours and not a minute longer. Of course, my philosophy was different. Interpreters were a large portion of my budget for meetings. I didn’t want my staff acting as interpreters when information was being disseminated.
Lana gave the latest, “I told Mrs. Allen, Mrs. Anderson, and Mrs. Albert that they’d have to give up the forty baby chicks and ten baby pigs they just bought, plus the chicken house in the front yard.”
“What?” I shook my head as faces around the table showed amusement. The eighty-plus-year-old neighbors defied county officials and developers who wanted to insult them—their words, not mine—by offering them a couple hundred dollars for the homes their late husbands had purchased for them. They are three tough ladies who didn’t scare easily and insisted on labeling their remaining three houses on the block a neighborhood.
For the benefit of their hearing coworkers, Lana continued to speak, although she preferred signing. “They were under the uneducated impression that if their property was considered farmland, it wouldn’t be subjected to seizure under the condemnation or eminent domain law.”
I jotted down my notes before turning the page. “Okay, it’s time we secure some type of transportation to get them to the next public forum on eminent domain. We need to suggest they get legal representation. This is way out of their league.”
“It had better be fast because I saw some contractors breaking ground on the far corner this morning. That new proposed shopping center is coming up whether the Triple A’s like it or not,” advised Carl, my executive assistant.
Then he added, “Berkeley Police have already confiscated Mrs. Allen’s loaded shotgun last month. Of course, it wasn’t registered. No telling where she got that.”
Everyone laughed, including Sharon, my paid interpreter, who continued to sign. Suddenly, the interpreter’s hands faded and Mackenzie’s hands beckoned to me. She was becoming a distraction even when she wasn’t physically around. She dared to challenge me to persuade her to stay in St. Louis. That’s what I intended to do.
Fingers danced before my eyes. They were not Mackenzie’s or Sharon’s. Jerking my head, I frowned. A staffer grinned. “Stay with us, boss, or we’re likely to go to lunch at the company’s expense.”
I slapped my hands on the table. “Right.” I chuckled. Year-end reports are due in two weeks, people.” I waved two fingers in front of them. “No excuses. It’s going to take all of us to achieve next year’s fundraising goals. That’s it.” I stood, adjourning the meeting and headed down the hall. I had almost reached my office when Lana elbowed me.
“Noel, are you okay? You seemed to zone out at times.”
“I’m fine, better than fine.” I snickered. “I’m back in church, one that has a great Deaf Ministry. I was thinking about inviting you since you have no reason now to say no.” Folding my arms, I waited.
Displaying a seductive smile, she slanted her head, thinking. Finally, her eyes sparkled as if a light bulb turned on. She signed yes, moving her fist up and down.
Ecstatic, I wanted to squeeze her in a hug, but she often complained that I didn’t know my own strength, so I refrained. “I met a woman who I would consider special. Well, it’s hard to describe her. Mackenzie epitomizes so much.”
“No.” Her angelic look faded.
I frowned. “No? What do you mean no?”
Lana’s hands moved rapidly. “Noel, what do you know about her? You haven’t hidden your deafness from her, have you?” Her expression was one of concerned.
“I don’t see how that’s possible.” Reaching out, I patted her shoulder. “Relax, Lana. Mackenzie is an interpreter at the church.”
Her lips formed an “o” as she signed. “You sure it’s not a student fascinated with his teacher? This sounds like a one-sided setup. She can hear, right, so don’t you think you’ve got plenty of competition?” The light dimmed in her eyes as a coworker pulled Lana away, needing her immediate attention about payroll.
“Go ahead. I’ll talk later.”
I continued to my office, piqued about Lana’s odd behavior. Dropping my folder on the desk, I sat and pulled out the bottom drawer. Grabbing the phone book, I flipped through the pages until I found the church’s number.
When I found it, I lifted my remote and aimed it at my wall plasma TV with high-def and high-speed internet. I was channel surfing when Tom appeared at my door. As soon I beckoned him in my office, a grin swept across his face.
“Cool.” He dragged a chair and angled it with an unobstructed view of the TV. When I bypassed ESPN, airing the previous days’ highlights, I thought he was going to faint. “Man, why did you change the channel? Terrell Owens…”
I held up my hands to calm him down. “Tom, I’m about to make a video conference call.”
His shoulders slumped. “Oh, that was the play, boss. You should’ve seen it.” Tom became animated.
I laughed at his antics. “I did.” I returned to ESPN and for a few minutes, we watched the playbacks. Tom folded his arms and relaxed in the chair. That’s when I switched to channel 34 and Tom whirled around in a panic.
“Out.” I pointed without asking him what he wanted. I laughed. I had already watched the highlights twice this morning.
Turning on my TTY, or my text telephone device—often mistaken for an older model calculator by its keyboard and display window—it auto dialed my video relay service provider. When a representative answered
and typed in GA for go ahead, I typed back a phone number and name.
A young white woman appeared on the screen, signing to me the phone was ringing. Video conferencing was a free service to the deaf persons, allowing them to call anywhere in the world.
Unfortunately, con artists, especially across the world, saw our advantages as theirs. They could use the replay service free of charge and hide their foreign accents under the guise of using the replay operator as the middle man who is sworn to secrecy of any conversation they interpret for the deaf. Criminals used stolen credit cards to steal thousands of dollars in merchandise.
“I have Mr. Coleman on the line. Go ahead, Mr. Richardson,” the woman signed.
“Pastor Coleman, this is Noel Richardson, and I would like to set up a meeting before Bible class tomorrow,” I typed into the keyboard and waited for my interpreter to read it on his TTY then relay my message through his headset.
“I have six-thirty, young man,” my video conference interpreter signed, translating the minister’s message. “Should I have an interpreter present?”
I wanted to say, “Yeah, Mackenzie Norton,” but this was something that had nothing to do with her. A man had to take care of his own business. “Oh, no sir. I can read lips.”
CHAPTER 12
Mackenzie was a tease. She knew it, and I knew it, but we seemed to enjoy every minute of it. For the past three days, we were in a contest on who could send the most text messages.
My BlackBerry vibrated so much on my waist belt. I thought I was a cowboy, grabbing my gun from its holster. I smiled more. It became a game to us, and I played to win. Mackenzie didn’t know that, but I was confident she would learn the rules real soon.
Mackenzie: “Have u come up with a scheme 2 convince me 2 stay away from Chicago? LOL”
“Mmm, maybe, but I ain’t talkin’,” I typed back. When I became frustrated with these snacks of conversations and wanted a whole meal with Mackenzie, I’d let her know. “I c that ur pretty little fingers r smarting off again. Maybe when I c u, I’ll make u close ur eyes, and kiss each finger.”
