Somewhat Saved

by Pat G'Orge-Walker

  “I resent the implication that Bea and I would do anything to sully the reputation of Crossing Over Sanctuary Temple,” she’d told the reverend. “I imagine no one mentioned the fact that your beloved Sister Betty was also there.”

  She’d hoped he’d taken it just the way she’d meant it. He did and she didn’t like his response.

  “Just like Jesus told Peter when he asked about John—what’s it to you? Everything you do is a reflection on me and this congregation. Mother Sasha, I’m surprised that you would bring dishonor on us.”

  Sasha had listened, half-heartedly, to the reverend as he continued his telephone sermon. He’d droned on and on about morality, and hers in particular. All the while she’d bounced her cane softly on the floor as if she were pounding him. It wasn’t until he’d mentioned the possibility of her and Bea returning early, if the conference center decided to cancel the event, that she’d paid full attention. With that last threat she’d promised to make Bea behave. She still hadn’t taken responsibility for her actions.

  They’d barely been there two days and already Sasha and Bea were on the verge of giving their home church and Las Vegas a bad name.

  When Sasha and Bea met up later Sasha gave her edited version of the warning call from Reverend Tom. In the end, each promised that they needed to do whatever was necessary to keep from bringing more trouble to the already troubled National Mothers Board Conference.

  And for some reason known only to them, they decided to go to the conference center and apologize to see if it would heal things. They also made a decision that they would stop in the conference center casino—after all, healing had its cost. According to them there would be souls that needed saving and even Jesus went to the sinners. That was their excuse and they were stuck with it.

  Zipporah tried to rest but the excitement of finally having a job was too much. She’d also discovered quite by accident that Miss Thompson would be away for several days. For that Zipporah was grateful.

  She styled her hair, applied her makeup carefully, and rechecked her bag to make sure everything she needed was packed. Her new uniform, the stockings, and her orientation book lay neatly folded inside.

  Earlier, Zipporah had decided to forego the usual shelter breakfast of cardboard-tasting no-frills cereal. The meal seldom varied with the exception of an occasional two-day-old bread and cheese sandwich and coffee thick enough to sop with a biscuit like molasses. The combination often left her feeling bloated and quite often confined to her room and/or a bathroom.

  Giving God another quick prayer of thanks, she checked the time. Her schedule required her to be at work about a half hour early but she decided to make it a little earlier to be on the safe side.

  She’d soon discover that there was nothing safe.

  14

  It was barely four o’clock in the afternoon. False hopes of big fortunes permeated the air inside the conference center’s noisy casino. Daydreams of hitting the big one hovered over every player. Every so often an excited squeal was heard over the clang-clang sound of a winning slot machine. Folks dressed in everything from couture to shorts were two to three deep around the roulette, craps, and poker tables.

  Every method from kissing the dice to playing a supposed favorite number, no matter how many times it didn’t come through, was used. The banks of slot machines were the noisiest. Blue- and silver-haired seniors commandeered the nickel slots. Most of them weren’t above pinching and fighting if they thought their hard-earned pensions were threatened. The imaginary threats generally followed someone accusing someone else of taking a lucky seat or a machine.

  That particular afternoon many couples were seated at the bank of slot machines playing side by side. So far, there was harmony even among those who scrambled off from their planted positions to get more coins to use. Customarily one of the couple would play his or her own slot machine while trying to keep an eye on the partner’s, until he or she returned.

  However, it was Bea and Sasha who arrived as a threesome; they’d brought Armageddon along, too, as they sat down to sermonize and witness while playing the slots.

  Two lemons and a cherry had barely made it to one of the winning lines when all hell broke loose inside the casino. It started when Bea sat down and then immediately had to get up to use the bathroom. She’d already dropped in her five nickels and asked Sasha to watch her machine until she returned.

  Unfortunately for Bea, Sasha didn’t feel in the mood to watch the machine. She purposely kept her back turned as Bea walked away, not noticing another woman sit down at Bea’s unattended machine. The elderly woman who’d commandeered the machine had a pasty complexion and dyed blue hair. She was long and lean and wore a pair of white-rimmed, octagon-shaped frames that she immediately yanked off. She narrowed her eyes until they almost sank into her pudgy, freckled face. Like an owl with a tic, her head swung back and forth. She’d realized that there were several unplayed coins in the machine. So she did what anyone would in that situation . . . she pulled the lever.

  That woman might as well have pushed the button on the red phone in the Oval Office. The results were just as deadly.

  A musical rendition of “We’re in the Money” rang out from the slot machine. The ticking sound of a winning money voucher printing from the slot machine caught the attention of several nearby players. The old woman stared at the machine with her jaw dropped as the alert light on its top flashed. Finally she cried out, “I’ve won! I’ve won!”

  Dashing over from the left side, one of the casino attendants, with a fully loaded keychain dangling from her hand, parted the sea of onlookers. She was a young woman whose smile seemed as practiced and as sincere as a used car salesperson’s. She’d barely gotten within a few feet of the winning slot when her grin shifted to horror.

  And Sasha barely had enough time or room to shift her weight on her stool when she, too, started to squeal.

  Bea sprinted by with her white skirt billowing about her hips and ankles like a storm cloud. Her back hunched over, looking like the Jets running back Curtis Martin, Bea rushed the slot machine. She snatched her unattended cardboard coin cup and was about to go to work. She was about to do some serious damage.

  The woman’s laughter stopped. Her heart almost stopped, too, at the sight of the big, black woman, with the killer eyes and attitude to match barreling down upon her. Bea towered over that woman like a female Shaka Zulu and the coin cup was her lethal spear.

  “Drop my money or die!” Bea hissed as she suddenly straightened her crooked spine without feeling the pain. “I ain’t asking twice.”

  The woman didn’t hang around long enough for Bea to ask twice. She not only left Bea’s bucket with the quarters but left her own as a tribute.

  In the meantime, the casino worker inched her way closer to Bea and without so much as a “congratulations,” she switched off the alert sign, opened the slot machine, and wrote down some numbers on a pad. “I’ll be back with your winnings.”

  “The heck you will,” Bea snapped. “Doggone thieves around here won’t let you have nothing. I’m coming with you. You’re gonna give me my money and it’d better be correct.”

  All the time the drama was unfolding, Sasha looked on. She was trying to see exactly what the machine paid without being obvious. But she couldn’t. She was too short and nearsighted to do so without giving away her intention. Instead she used her cane and poked Bea.

  “Bea, sweetie, how much did you win?”

  And that’s when Bea realized that she didn’t know. She tossed her head to the side, back and forth. “How much do I get from this machine?” she asked the casino floor worker.

  The young woman looked down at the pad in her shaking hands and said, “You’ve won fifty dollars in this nickel machine.”

  “Fifty dollars,” Sasha barked. “You raised all this Cain over fifty dollars?” Sasha started cackling. “That’s a doggone shame.”

  And that’s when Bea saw another stranger lean over from his stool
next to Sasha’s now unoccupied seat. The stranger hurriedly placed some coins in Sasha’s machine so he could play two of them at one time.

  “You are absolutely right, Sasha.” Bea grinned and immediately apologized to the still-frightened casino floor worker before turning back to Sasha and adding sarcastically, “I know you wouldn’t act the same way if someone tried to steal your machine and money.”

  “That’s right. I wouldn’t act crazy. I’m too saved to act so country and undignified.” Sasha gave a mock grin and acted humble to add further validity to her claim of salvation while gambling.

  Once again, the clang-clang sound of a winning machine rang out. Sasha’s head spun around quicker than the rest of her body, almost giving her whiplash. The man was about to start scooping the receipts from the well of the machine when he felt the wrath of Sasha descend upon him like a plague.

  Sasha squealed, “Give me strength, Lord.”

  The poor man hopped around howling, “Help me, Jesus.”

  Sasha snatched her coin bucket and whipped that man so bad that when she finished the poor man looked at the machine and thought he saw fruit salad. His eyes were so swollen all the cherries, oranges, bananas, and dollar signs looked blended together.

  And that’s when the same head of security from their earlier fracas appeared.

  And while Bea and Sasha were in the casino doing what Bea and Sasha always did, Sister Betty was on her way down.

  An automated voice announced, “Casino floor,” inside the elevator.

  As Sister Betty started to exit the elevator she turned and saw the look of disapproval etched on the faces of the other mothers from the Mothers Board who’d ridden with her. Their collective looks of disapproval embedded within the folds and lines of crowfeet, feminine whiskers, and latent menopausal tendencies were sobering. She was so embarrassed she told them that floor had the closest bathroom.

  The brocade fabric wall outside the casino bathroom was the only support Sister Betty felt, as she crept along. She’d promised Chandler that she’d meet him for an early dinner and now felt sorry she had. He’d never mentioned that she’d have to go through the casino in order to get to the restaurant.

  Why in the world would she jeopardize her good standing within the church by going inside a casino? As many times as she’d thrust Bible tracts into the hands of wayward people as she stood guard outside bars, strip joints, and other places of ill repute, she’d never entered any of those places. But now she had to go through the casino to get to the restaurant on the other side, and the church folks, the real church folks, had seen her. Her feet seemed mired as though she were walking through mud. In her mind, her spiritual body would be like a magnet. Sin would cling to her very essence.

  “Do you need help?” Zipporah had only arrived at the casino floor twenty minutes before when she saw the elderly woman. The old woman looked lost. Zipporah knew that lost look when she saw it. She’d worn that look practically every day, for most of her adult life, in the place of makeup.

  Sister Betty looked pained as she looked up to see where the voice came from. Her body, without her permission, took an authoritative stance. What kind of outfit was that she wore? Sister Betty wondered. The young woman was wearing a tiny piece of pleated black fabric that was supposed to cover her hips but did not. And, why did she wear fishnet stockings? Sister Betty knew what they were because there was a time in her life when she had worn them, too. She also thought the young woman wore too much makeup. Everything about her caused Sister Betty discomfort.

  And there was something else. The young woman looked familiar, yet Sister Betty was certain they’d never met.

  Zipporah’s attention was drawn away by a not-too-subtle hand wave from one of the gamblers at a nearby craps table. Whatever the old woman’s problem, it couldn’t come before her job.

  Zipporah sauntered toward the man. Her walk held a promise that she had no intention of keeping. Of course, the gambler knew it but the view was worth the tip he’d give her.

  Zipporah took his order and gave him a complimentary smile. When she brought back his drink she used the stirrer in a seductive manner to further mix the drink before handing it to him. He’d let his fingers linger just a second longer than she’d have liked but it was quickly followed by a five-dollar tip. She placed it slowly in the little waist pack she wore in such a manner as to let him know that she’d be happy to bring him another.

  No sooner had Zipporah turned to answer the beckoning hand of another gambler than she was almost knocked to the ground. She’d been accidentally tripped by an elderly man who was fighting with an elderly woman. Zipporah fought to retain her balance. Gripping the side of a stool, she immediately recognized the old woman. She was one of the pair of seniors posing as Hollywood actresses in front of the Luxor the day before.

  I knew those old crows were trouble, she thought. Her mind raced. Was the world completely occupied by troublemaking old folks? Her first day on the job and already she had unwarranted attention. And that’s when she saw the rip in one of her fishnet stockings. The tore went from her knee to her upper thigh. Cuss words spew from her mouth before she could stop them. She hadn’t spoken loud but she certainly made an impression on the man standing behind her.

  “Never lose your professional cool. It never works.”

  Chandler saw embarrassment replace the anger on Zipporah’s face as she jerked around. No doubt she’d been prepared to cuss him out. “Don’t worry. Your first-day goofs, if not too serious, are always forgiven.”

  “Thanks.” That was about as much as she could say without following it with expletives. She accepted his hand as he extended it to help.

  Zipporah tried to pull together the netting on her hosiery. It was useless. “I can’t believe those old women can be so much trouble.”

  “I can.” He smiled as he crossed his arms, admiring the area on her thigh where the hosiery was torn. Not wanting to embarrass her any further with his wanton stares, he turned around. It was just in time for him to come face-to-face with security as they were leading the old woman toward the casino’s exit.

  Sasha struggled against the grip of the younger man. “You’d better let me go. I’ll pray for God’s vengeance.”

  “Has that ever worked for you before?” the guard replied. He was foolish enough to think he had the answers and the upper hand.

  From a few feet away Sasha heard a familiar voice. She suddenly stopped struggling. With her free hand, she adjusted her glasses to see clearly.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she shouted. “Bea, come here.”

  “I’m coming, Sasha.” Bea was hustling faster than she would have if she’d had the urge to use the bathroom. “Oh, my goodness, I can’t believe it. It’s June Bug.”

  Bea descended upon Chandler, pawing and kissing him. Zipporah stood mute. She couldn’t move or believe what she saw. Those two old women knew Chandler Lamb.

  With the agility of a much younger woman, Sasha yanked her other hand from the grip of the stunned security guard. She did it so easily it took a second for the guard to recover. He wondered who had been holding whom.

  “June Bug, baby, is this you?! Oh, my Lord.” Bea was beaming as she hugged him to her breast. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

  “Mother Blister, you’re squeezing me.” He wasn’t sure if her calling him June Bug was what embarrassed him, or the massive hug. Either way, whatever embarrassment he felt was about to be kicked up a notch.

  Sasha managed to step on the poor security guard’s foot as she strutted and parted the sea of geriatric onlookers with her cane.

  “Is this my June Bug?” She knew exactly who he was but she wanted the crowd to think they were closer than he and Bea.

  “Praise the Lord, Mothers.” He tried to prod them toward the side exit door. But they wouldn’t budge.

  Instead, they circled Chandler. “Your Aunt Betty didn’t tell us you were here in Las Vegas,” Sasha scolded. “You’d think her and your grandma, Ma Cile
, were the only ones who cared about you.”

  “That’s right,” Bea chimed in. “You know everybody loves June Bug.”

  But everybody didn’t always love June Bug. Chandler remembered there were many times when both Mothers Blister and Pray Onn would lie in wait by the church exit. The two feisty old women would ambush him. They’d accuse him of doing things both imaginary and often real that would require they lay hands on him. There was one time, in particular. Mother Pray Onn, barely taller than him at his age of twelve, whacked him so hard across his shoulders it caused him to cry out to God. It was the first time he’d done so and meant it.

  The sight of Sister Betty’s shocked look as she stood just outside the casino exit stopped Chandler’s momentary visit to his past. All he could do was shrug his shoulders and give her a half smile showing his amusement and concession. He’d done the same to Zipporah but she’d left. He didn’t know why but at that particular moment, he was more concerned about Zipporah’s image of him. Had she heard the old women call him June Bug?

  “You handle your business, June Bug.” The taunt came from two tables away from where they stood. There was no longer any doubt that most of the casino had heard him called June Bug. He was almost ashamed to admit that while he had Bea and Sasha in his grasp, he wanted to wring their necks.

  One look at the pretended innocence on Bea and Sasha’s faces confirmed Chandler’s secret desire. He definitely wanted to wring their necks, just not in front of more than three hundred witnesses in the casino.

  What Chandler didn’t realize was that he could’ve done it and gotten away with it. There wasn’t a patron there who didn’t want to do the same thing to Bea and Sasha.

  15

  While Chandler dealt with the craziness inside the casino with the old women, Zipporah had slipped away into the restroom. She was glad to find it empty. There was no need in looking at the hosiery. They were ruined. Every six weeks, she was supposed to receive a uniform allowance in her meager check. She’d only started working three hours ago and already she’d have to find a way to replace a part of her uniform.