Somewhat Saved

by Pat G'Orge-Walker

  “Still no luck with getting someone to help you?” She felt sorry for him as he raced about opening and slamming file cabinets and flipping open folders.

  “Most employees are on vacation. We’re a bit shorthanded at the moment. I’ve forwarded all calls to voice mail, but I can only do that for a moment.” Why hadn’t he paid more attention to what Mandy was trying to tell him last night? She was probably on her vacation somewhere laughing. She knew he’d mess up, and he had.

  “Is this something very important?” Sister Betty rewrapped the sandwiches. Chandler didn’t appear to be as hungry as she thought.

  “It’s the payroll,” he said hurriedly. “There will be a mutiny if I don’t get it done in time.”

  “I don’t know how much a mutiny cost but I can lend you the money for it.” She’d already opened her pocketbook and prepared to write him a check.

  “I’ll need about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for this week’s payroll.”

  “That’s not what you need,” Sister Betty replied as she put away her checkbook and closed the snaps on her pocketbook. “You need to find someone to find what you need to type that report.” As much as she loved her godson, she wasn’t about to write a check for that much money. She didn’t care if some called her tight-fisted, but no one would call her stupid.

  During the time Chandler continued searching through papers the office phone did ring. The calls went straight to voice mail and he never attempted to retrieve the messages. In the meantime, Sister Betty felt her presence more of a distraction than a help. She left after wishing him well. He never looked up, so she didn’t know if he’d heard her or not.

  Zipporah finished fixing her hair and makeup inside the employees’ lounge. As far as she was concerned, her lunch break hadn’t come fast enough. After running relays between the bar and the gamblers, she was almost exhausted.

  As soon as the floor manager had signaled for her to take her break, she’d wasted no time leaving the casino floor. She raced to her locker and threw a dress over her hostess uniform. Ten minutes later, she was at Chandler’s office door. She’d calmed down and swallowed her pride, after hearing her name and the laughter that followed. She needed to see if she could talk him into changing her hours. The casino was open twenty-four hours a day. It was a part of and yet separate from the Jaeger Center in that regard.

  She knew that Ms. Thompson would be returning from her short vacation and if the woman caught Zipporah arriving just one second after midnight, she’d oust Zipporah from the shelter.

  She’d already rehearsed how she’d play it. Zipporah was sure despite the laughter he’d had at her expense, that he was still just a man. Changing her shift shouldn’t be that much of a hassle. How many casino floor servers were needed on any shift, she wasn’t certain. And she really didn’t care. The bottom line: Zipporah needed to keep her job and a place to sleep. And if she’d read him wrong, well, she’d cross that bridge later.

  Zipporah’s soft raps on the office door almost went unheard. With the door slightly ajar, she peeked inside. It took a moment before she realized that Chandler’s head was totally into trying to access Mandy’s computer files.

  “Excuse me,” Zipporah said softly.

  Her voice surprised Chandler, causing him to knock over a bowl of paper clips.

  Zipporah felt embarrassed as Chandler struggled to gather the paper clips off the desk and from the floor.

  “I knocked and no one answered but the door was open.” She was stammering, which made it seem that she was lying. “I’m sorry. You must be busy.”

  “I am.” He didn’t mean to sound harsh but time was moving fast even if he wasn’t.

  “I’ll come back another time.” Her plan to seduce him fled with his two-word response.

  He slammed his fist on the desk and followed it with a hard shove to a drawer.

  “I’m not normally this frazzled, Ms. Moses.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No, I’m not. But what can I do for you? Are you not faring well on the casino floor?”

  His demeanor had loosened slightly. It was enough to embolden Zipporah. She quickly expressed her desire to change her shift. She omitted the real reason why.

  While she spoke, Chandler’s eyes devoured her. He hadn’t meant to stare but he did. Then he quickly turned away. She was pretty but not enough for him to forget the necessity of getting the report done.

  Zipporah grew uneasy as she tried to pretend that she hadn’t noticed his stare. Trying to avoid his eyes, she let her eyes settle upon the computer screen. She saw a column with the word failure repeated.

  “You misspelled a word.” She hadn’t meant to say that but one of her pet peeves was misspelled words. She’d never been able to stomach poor grammar and misspelled words in anything printed. At one time she’d held a temporary job as a proofreader. It was only for four months, and though she was good at it, again, she didn’t get hired permanently.

  Chandler seemed to ignore her, so she kept quiet. She took a moment and looked around his office and then she saw it. Why she hadn’t when she came for her interview, she didn’t know.

  Zipporah strained to read the names under several gold and platinum CDs. There were about ten of them and they were all lined up in a large frame. She recognized immediately a picture of LL Cool J and Regina Belle. She loved Regina Belle. Finally, she made out the picture of Michael Bolton and lo and behold, when she saw pictures of MC Hammer, Whitney Houston, and Yolanda Adams, her interest in Chandler grew. How did he get those? What did he know about the music business?

  Zipporah stood there in awe. Before she came to Las Vegas, she’d also worked as a secretary in a marketing department at one of the large record labels in New York City. That was her day job and it kept her busy sometimes ten hours a day. But some nights and most weekends, she moonlighted. Zipporah sang wherever she found an audience. Smoke-filled clubs and studio work added money to her pocket but brought her no closer to fame. Having a manager finally helped a little. But her dreams of being discovered evaded her. It didn’t matter that she was the “go-to” backup vocalist for many studios. She’d sung backup for the likes of Mariah Carey, Regina Belle, and Mary J. Blige. Her voice, they told her, wasn’t unique and she’d never make it as a solo artist.

  After a year of dodging unsolicited catcalls and so-called accidental touches on her body, she’d quit the record company. Because she quit she couldn’t receive unemployment. Things only became worse.

  “You said I misspelled a word.” He could tell she’d not heard, so he repeated, “I’m asking you which word.”

  His eyes had locked upon her, almost pleading for her assistance.

  “You typed p-a-y r-o-l-e. There’s no such word, that’s why it kept failing.” She moved closer to the computer, slightly pushing him aside as he continued to stare in disbelief.

  “Just delete the letter E and type in another L.”

  It took Zipporah the rest of her lunch break to guide Chandler through Mandy’s files. He was amazed at her dexterity as her fingers seemed to fly over keys he’d tapped one finger at a time.

  Without asking for the shift change, Zipporah received it. Chandler didn’t bother to ask if she’d wanted to work different hours or another position. He was the boss and as such, he gave her Mandy’s job on a temporary basis.

  While they worked on another project, stopping only to have a small lunch, Zipporah and Chandler bonded. Neither of them seemed to be able to stop sharing information about their pasts.

  As soon as Chandler learned she fancied herself an undiscovered singer, he asked her to sing. He didn’t really expect that she would, but she did.

  Zipporah didn’t break a sweat as she serenaded Chandler with her pitch-perfect, soulful rendition of Aretha Franklin’s mega-hit, “Until You Come Back to Me.”

  She’d barely pushed out the last note when she realized he was staring. His eyes were wide and his mouth had dropped. So she did what any true unknown di
va would. Zipporah snagged him with one of her favorite gospel songs, “Try Jesus,” just to show her versatility. She’d fallen in love with the song when she first heard Kim Burrell sing it. The full-bodied woman controlled the emotions of the crowd from her first note and Zipporah did, also.

  Although Zipporah had sung the song for Chandler, she was the one left teary eyed. She fought to control any sign of a quiver in her voice when she sang the lines, “Just try Jesus, He’ll never let you fall. Just try Jesus, He’ll be there through it all.”

  Zipporah stood for what seemed an eternity, waiting for Chandler to respond. And, when he didn’t, again, she thought perhaps she’d misread him.

  He finally recovered his voice. “Wow!”

  “If that’s a good review, then I thank you.” She sat down. His expression remained the same and it confused her. She added, “However, if the wow is because it was that bad . . .”

  He put a finger to his lips, indicating that she should be quiet. “You’re interrupting my thought process.”

  “Sorry. I was just a little . . .” She stopped speaking and fell further back onto the chair. But Zipporah being who she was started to do what she always did when nervous. She started humming.

  “Are you humming Gladys Knight’s ‘You’re the Best Thing . . . ?’ ”

  She smiled and instead of answering, she started singing aloud again. She sang a version she loved. “Jesus, He’s the best thing . . .”

  “Desmond Pringle, right?” Chandler smiled. He’d almost forgotten that song. Living in Las Vegas, he was used to hearing only the original sung by Gladys Knight.

  Chandler’s mind raced. She can actually sing, he thought. He couldn’t stop smiling. Her voice was like balm to his ears. Zipporah had the total package. She was still young enough to have a career. And she sang R&B as well as gospel. The best singers always could.

  Chandler’s interest in the business of music was revived. It was rejuvenated by the young woman he’d almost written off. He still wasn’t sure if it would work. He didn’t know enough about her to turn his own life around to try to make two dreams happen: hers to become a star and his to reenter the industry. But if someone could pull in crowds, she certainly could. All he needed to do was to get the right show created for her.

  Both Zipporah and Chandler lay aside any preconceived notions. It seemed effortless as they shared tidbits about their lives. Neither had opened wounds and told everything, but it wasn’t long before they’d learned they had much in common.

  Sister Betty was on her way back upstairs to Chandler’s office. She was still concerned and wanted to check up on him. She’d tried calling but his voice mail came on, so she was certain he was still working.

  As soon as Sister Betty stepped off the elevator and turned the corner, she recognized Bea’s profile. She walked softly, concentrating on how to approach the figure with her ear pressed up against the door, obviously listening in.

  “What are you doing?” Sister Betty’s voice was accusatory and she knew it. “Bea Blister, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Hush!”

  “Bea, don’t you dare try and hush me.” She’d started to say something further but the sound of laughter came from within the office. She recognized Chandler’s voice but not the other.

  Sister Betty quickly joined Bea in pressing her ear against the office door.

  “I don’t hear anything now,” Bea said while trying to open the door a little wider.

  “That’s because we’re trying to mind somebody’s business that’s not ours,” Sister Betty confessed, but she made no effort to move away from the door.

  The outer door to the reception area swung open so fast it almost caused Bea to fall upon Sister Betty. Sister Betty tried to keep her balance and accidentally stepped on Bea’s already swollen pinky toe.

  Bea screamed.

  Sister Betty hollered.

  And Chandler almost jumped out of his skin with Zipporah doing the same thing.

  Zipporah reacted faster than Chandler. She quickly gathered her bag, prepared to flee. She thought for certain she’d been caught up in a Twilight Zone moment. Maybe Chandler was too good to be true. She ran over and unlatched the side office door to escape while she still had a chance and, hopefully, a job. She’d no sooner put her hand on the doorknob when the sound of crying stopped her. Zipporah looked back. Through the now opened door to the reception area she spied the old women who seemed to be everywhere she was.

  22

  Sasha had left the casino quickly and returned to her hotel room at the Luxor. She dialed Areal’s number, slammed down her hotel room telephone. Three times she tried to call her sister. She left several messages, just in case Areal thought she was a bill collector trying to trick her into answering the phone.

  Sasha could feel her blood pressure rise. She looked at the clock. It was almost five o’clock. In a couple of hours the Mothers Board Conference would start for the evening session. She wrestled with whether or not she’d attend. If she didn’t, she’d most certainly not be able to control the votes. If she did, then she’d definitely lose control over Bea’s inevitable snooping.

  It was times like these when she wished she had someone she could trust, a friend who wouldn’t judge her and who wouldn’t talk about her business.

  Sasha willed the image of the young woman from the casino from her mind. Instead, the image seemed to take on a life of its own. She saw the image pointing at her—accusing her.

  And then Sasha laid aside her cane. With her arms raised she, again, implored God to listen. Words came slowly but the moans did not. It was as though every fiber of her body needed God’s touch. It felt like real praying was becoming a habit for her. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been praying in the past. She prayed often but on her terms. And it wasn’t that she hadn’t prayed for others. That she most certainly had done. It was mostly to ask God to rain down His judgment on someone she perceived had slighted her. But not now.

  Sasha didn’t need a birth certificate or a DNA test to know who the young woman was. “Oh, God,” Sasha cried. “Oh, merciful God . . .”

  Sasha wept and prayed until she was drained. Her clothes were wet and her silver gray, waist-length hair, always kept neatly twisted into a bun, had become undone. Her church family would’ve been shocked to see her elfish figure sprawled out on the hotel room floor.

  Sasha lay on the floor weeping about everything she’d kept tied up or hidden becoming exposed. What she’d done almost thirty years ago was about to become undone.

  It took some effort, but she’d barely gotten off the floor when the phone rang. With energy she didn’t know she still had, Sasha rushed to answer it.

  “Areal! It’s about time!”

  Sasha plopped down upon the couch. In between sobs that flowed easier than her story, she talked to her sister.

  Sister Betty and Chandler huddled together outside the casino’s first-aid station while Bea had her pinky toe attended to.

  “It was real nice for that young lady to go inside with Bea.” Sister Betty’s face showed concern. Whether it was for Bea or the young woman wasn’t apparent.

  “Zipporah’s a very nice person,” Chandler said. “I’m reading your mind, Aunt Betty. So don’t you be getting any ideas with your matchmaking schemes.”

  “Why would I?” Sister Betty winked. She leaned over and gave her godson a kiss. “I trust you to lead your own life.”

  Just as Chandler started to challenge Sister Betty’s false promise Zipporah stepped through the door. She was leading Bea, gently holding her by the elbow.

  “I don’t know how I’m gonna get around,” Bea complained. “It’s your fault, Sister Betty.”

  “What?” Sister Betty looked at Chandler, who promptly looked away. “Bea is about to make me mess up my testimony.”

  Just the thought of Sister Betty acting anything but overly religious caused Bea and Chandler to burst out in laughter. It was just what Bea needed to take her mind off he
r pain.

  “What happened to your spirit of service?” Bea quipped as she winced, trying to solicit sympathy.

  “I left it in Pelzer,” Sister Betty responded with conviction because she meant every word. Inwardly, she felt convicted but she’d discuss that with God later. Her present state of disobedience had not ebbed when it came to doing anything for Bea and Sasha.

  While the church showdown was going on between Mother Blister and Sister Betty, Zipporah watched. She was no longer offended but now fascinated by the tenacity of the old women and the look of acceptance on Chandler’s face.

  “We’ll work something out for you, Mother Blister.” Chandler interrupted what he was sure would turn into the next unholy war. “No one wants to leave you helpless.”

  “Thank you so much, June Bug, sweetie. I don’t know how you came to have such good manners, being raised by Sister Betty and your grandma, Ma Cile.” She’d tried to say the words as nice as she could but the pain made it a waste of time.

  “You wouldn’t say that to Ma Cile’s face,” Sister Betty said quickly.

  The truth was that Bea most certainly wouldn’t have. Chandler’s one-eyed, snuff-dipping, cranky grandmother would’ve grabbed Bea’s other pinky toe. She’d have broken it off and flipped it back at Bea while she sang “The Old Ship of Zion.” Ma Cile didn’t play.

  For the next ten minutes or so they played ping-pong with the idea of who would assist Bea. All the while Zipporah watched as the thought of all of them being crazy returned with vigor.

  She never saw it coming. No one asked if she could or would. The next thing Zipporah knew, she’d been volunteered as the one to escort Mother Blister back to the Luxor Hotel.

  “Oh, thank you,” Bea squealed. Having Zipporah go with her was wonderful. She’d liked her instantly and now they’d have more time to get to know one another. Of course, finding out further why Sasha had denied seeing anything familiar about Zipporah would be a plus.