by Pat Simmons
CHAPTER 3
Rossi was one of the most sought-after youth ministers at Living for Jesus Church where two sets of the Tolliver family fellowshipped. He knew how to pray, and at times, God allowed him to discern demonic criminal activity around him.
As a widower, Levi was also the most sought-after bachelor. But it appeared he might be emotionally healed and ready to move on. Rossi smiled as he closed his Bible.
He lived in an upscale building that was the brainchild of Tollivers Real Estate and Development. Rossi and Levi’s company had overseen the renovation of the former fifty-five-year-old warehouse. The six-story building featured multi-level lofts, condos, and a penthouse. Even some of their family members were residents.
The cousins were often referred to as the comeback construction kids. The Tollivers had an eye to discern when to renovate or when restoration was the only way. They were known for transforming long-forgotten black neighborhoods into majestic masterpieces. If an area was blighted, their crew gave it a facelift. If they couldn’t resuscitate a building, their demolition crew took it down.
As teenagers, Rossi, who was two years older than Levi, was the ringleader of seven cousins. As men, his bond with Levi never waned, and their bloodline had little to do with it. When Rossi repented of his sins, he set a standard for salvation that most of the young Tolliver men followed.
Rossi and Levi were alike in many ways. They worked in the same profession. Where Rossi enjoyed buying up large tracts of land in depressed areas, Levi had the vision to develop them. Both were diehard college football fans; Rossi cheered for the Baltimore Ravens, Levi was behind the Philadelphia Eagles all the way, and the Tollivers believed in strong family ties. Levi and Rossi would take soul food over barbecue any day and had the same taste in clothes—stylish but conservative.
Most times they shared the same taste in women—physically appealing, not necessarily outright stunning, and a healthy dose of temperance in their response to situations. They had to know how to hold it together when things didn’t work in their favor. In the past, the pair had a close enough relationship to sometimes guess what the other was thinking. They didn’t agree on everything, and that was the source of heated debates. Still, they loved each other and had each other’s back.
Where Levi was barely six feet, Rossi made up for it at six five. Levi wore glasses, Rossi had perfect vision. Levi was too light skinned for Rossi’s taste, considering Rossi was a degree away from being called midnight black. Levi could thank his Jewish mother for that one. Rossi appreciated his sole African heritage.
It was argued that the Tolliver clan included cousins in every state. Rossi never challenged the assertion. With a Pentecostal upbringing, the Tollivers spawned babies as if they were in a race to see what the end would be. It was the norm for their households to have five-plus children. However, Levi and Rossi’s parents didn’t make the cut. Levi’s father, Victor, had three sons. Rossi’s father, Ross, had four sons; neither brother had daughters.
Before Diane came along, Rossi often joked, “If she has a sister, hook me up.” Well, Diane did have a sister. Jesetta wasn’t a bad person or bad looking. She was a born dictator and expected everyone else to line up behind her without question. Following the death of her sister, her mood swings were almost unbearable.
Over the past four years, Rossi never left Levi’s side—always a phone call away. Levi had a massive hole in his heart and life. Rossi had silently prayed for his cousin to get out of his personal purgatory where the past seemed to have a steady grip. It would never close, but the right woman, the right circumstances, and the right blessings from God could keep it from growing. Was the time now?
“Jesus, I’m not privy to what’s going on in Levi’s heart, but let me be a vessel for him,” Rossi prayed. Shutting his eyes, he rolled his neck. Most folks didn’t understand the responsibilities of a youth minister and the burdens they carried, especially when some hardships were close to home. He ministered to teenagers struggling with drugs, young girls who were sexually active either by their choice or force. He had to pray for those who had given up hope and were ready to accept the consequences of suicide. God gave him a yoke for souls.
Finally, it appeared grief had run its course, but Levi’s haunting words stayed with Rossi even after four years.
At one time, in addition to Levi carrying his wallet, he carried Visine and a face towel. “Kleenex isn’t sturdy enough to hold my tears,” he had said.
That’s when Rossi started praying like he never had before. Just because Levi finally had a new lady in his life, didn’t mean it was time for Rossi to stop praying.
CHAPTER 4
“Where does it say in our parole manual that ex-felons can’t date?” Cynthia Williams, a.k.a Buttercup, asked then twisted her lips in a challenge. She was referring to the pocket-size booklet that was designed to instill terror in parolees or probationers.
Karyn observed her roommate who wore two lip colors at the same time: pink on the upper lip, red on her full bottom one. When the mood hit, Buttercup experimented with bold shades of brown, orange or purple and burgundy lipsticks. Somehow, Buttercup could pull it off among her other quirky fashion statements.
For the past twelve months, they shared a common area for watching TV, a bathroom, plus a kitchenette. For privacy, their living space had separate bedrooms. Buttercup had been at New Beginnings when Karyn had moved in. It was one of a dozen women’s traditional centers approved by the Illinois Department of Corrections.
“Umm-hmm.” Buttercup clicked off the TV and in a mocked frenzy reached for her backpack. Methodically, she began to search through its compartments.
Karyn was convinced the woman was a self-proclaimed member of somebody’s Indian tribe. Buttercup meticulously maintained her thirty-inch-plus hair weave in stringy cornrows, then crowned her forehead with wide headbands—a different color for each day of the week. Buttercup used her extended nail tips, lavish with art décor, to shuffle through the Illinois re-entry booklet.
Where Karyn’s skin tone had a butterscotch hue, Buttercup’s skin was like a rainbow. She was fair enough to turn red when she was heated, a yellow tint when she was sick, and blue from bruises when she bumped into something as she did regularly.
“Page three,” Karyn said absentmindedly to annoy her friend as payback for nagging her about the date. She hadn’t tried on the dress because she was too distracted admiring every detail.
When she had arrived home from work a few days earlier, Karyn had practically shredded the colored tissue paper to get to the gold-foil gift-wrapped box. Once opened, the contents were like a jack-in-the-box where the garment sprung from its confines.
With gentleness as if it were a newborn baby, Karyn had cradled the black velvet dress as she lifted it up and laid it on her pink-and-brown–paisley print bedspread. She fingered the dress’s accent: a white chiffon border that extended pass the hem at least an inch. The sleeves were also made of chiffon—black—with black satin ribbons that tied at the wrists. Now, the exquisite gift was still tempting her to “come on, try me on.”
Buttercup’s tsking caught Karyn’s attention.
“I haven’t found it, and you know I can’t afford another violation.” Buttercup gnawed on her lip, mumbling. “That chick who was shoplifting at the grocery store was trying to set me up. It’s a good thing God had my back on that one, because if I was going back to prison, I would’ve insisted she be my cellmate.” She snapped her fingers and shook her head. “Wait a minute. That’s the old me talking crazy, isn’t it?”
Praise God the parole officer believed Buttercup was innocent of any involvement. Karyn couldn’t fathom how ironic that a six-feet, two-inch woman with a quick temper earned such as sweet, non-intimidating nickname.
If people knew their situations, which Karyn preferred they didn’t, they would pin manslaughter—involuntary—on Buttercup and forgery on her. Karyn smothered a bitter chuckle. Looks were deceiving. Who could pinpoint a sinner and a saint? Thank
God for Christ being the Master Forgiver of sins.
She had been twenty-two years old when she made an irreversible life-alternating mistake. When the trial was over a year later, she was sentenced to serve four years and fifteen days in prison. She vowed never again to break any more laws. Karyn knew a vow to God couldn’t be taken lightly. The Lord meant business, and so did she.
Karyn believed in the truth-setting-people-free scripture, but John 8:32 had a special clause. A person had to first discover the truth. The past was just that—the past. Jesus’s blood had washed her slate as clean as Dove soap.
Slapping the booklet closed, Buttercup squinted at Karyn. She took great pleasure in taking a deep breath before speaking in a soft tone. “Hmm. Maybe I can’t find it because…” She shouted, “It’s not in there!”
“Isn’t it?” Karyn shrugged, not one bit repentant that she put her friend through that needless search.
“Game over. We have enough rules to follow. Why would you want to put another yoke around our necks when it comes to going out?”
“I feel like we’re operating on the ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy. If it wasn’t for the government’s Work Opportunity tax credit or WOTC, I don’t know if employers would be willing to hire us ex-offenders and we wouldn’t have a chance. Don’t mention housing discrimination, or add dating to the mix. I don’t want a man who feels he has to watch his back, his wallet, and his woman. What was I thinking? It’s too soon for me.” Karyn couldn’t keep the dejected mood from descending on her.
“Wrong. Jesus gives us second chances. You better remember that because no one else will.” Buttercup’s game face meant she had no patience for an argument.
She and Karyn were Crowns for Christ Church’s prison ministry protégées. Without the church’s mission, neither woman might ever have turned to Christ.
During a prison visit, an evangelist prophesized the Lord was calling five women to redemption. Karyn and Buttercup were among the others who believed the message and had come forward with repentance in their hearts, not only seeking God’s forgiveness, but receiving something so powerful—the Holy Ghost with outside evidence. The experience gave them hope behind bars. Then they became the beneficiaries of Crowns for Christ’s monthly donations of inspirational books. Plus prison necessity items of undergarments, toiletries, and money orders for other incidentals.
Karyn gnawed on her lips. She had too much on her plate without worrying about a romantic entanglement. “I’m not going,” she decided.
“Oh yes, you are.” Buttercup squinted.
“No, I’m not. I should’ve never encouraged him by accepting his gift. He said if I tried it on, it was a yes. Since the tag is still on it. I’m giving it back.”
“Well, I guess it’s settled.” Buttercup towered over her, walked out of Karyn’s bedroom without an argument, then minutes later returned.
Recognizing her roommate’s on-a-mission expression, Karyn swiped the garment off the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
In a swifter action, Buttercup snatched it out Karyn’s arms and yanked the tag off. “Oops. Sorry, but scissors are prohibited. Hope I didn’t rip a seam.” She grinned.
“Give that back!” Karyn was hot with disbelief as she, in a vain attempt, tried to wrestle the dress back.
“Sure.” Unzipping the dress, Buttercup produced a marker and scribbled something on the inside before tossing it back on the bed.
“Are you crazy? What did you do that for?” Karyn raced to her bathroom. “You’re nuts,” she yelled over her shoulder. She came back with a wet hand towel. “I hope I can wipe off those marks, or you better keep one eye open while you sleep, crazy.”
Clearly, Buttercup’s blood sugar was low or something. She had never done anything without thinking it through as long as Karyn knew her.
“I doubt it will come out. Permanent usually means permanent,” she said smugly. “And hey, I’m a jailbird. You know I know how to sleep with one eye cracked.” Folding her arms, Buttercup struck a pose that reminded her of the stereotypical Indian stance.
Rolling her eyes, Karyn deciphered the messy inscription: Gift from God. “What is wrong with you? Now, I can’t return it. I don’t even know if it’s my size.”
“You better believe it’s your size. If not, you’re missing dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow. Don’t make me withhold water to squeeze you into that beauty.”
Tears of frustration temporarily blinded Karyn as she flopped on the bed. “This won’t work.” She covered her face with her small hands.
“Listen, Wallace, you’re a new creature. Jesus died on the cross to redeem us.” Buttercup pointed out. “Old things are passed away. All things are new. Nobody can pin anything on us.” She thumped her chest, then joined her friend on the bed. “This Levi guy sees something in you God has shown him…”
Karyn temporarily zoned out. Hadn’t Levi said something similar?
“People go on dates all the time, except for me of course. Halo and I are just biding our time. Once we complete our parole, then look out. But for you, a date could mean dinner, dancing, or a movie, not a marriage proposal or a contract to bear his children.”
Karyn gave her a murderous glance, then replayed 2 Corinthians 5:17, which Buttercup had quoted from: “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature. Old things are passed away; behold all things are new.”
“It’s just one dinner that came with a dress. It’s no different than a prize that comes in a cereal box.” She frowned. “You still can get prizes in a cereal box, right? Anyway, you get the point. I love God.” She sighed with a worshipping expression as she clasped her hands. “He doesn’t withhold blessings.”
“That’s just it, Butter. I don’t know if Levi or a free dinner is my blessing.”
“Think of it this way; if he keeps inviting you out and you keep accepting, you’ll have a complete wardrobe. Just think of Michael Jackson’s “Bad” hit—you know the black leather jacket, the tough look, and the strut. You’re bad, you know it…” Buttercup harmonized note for note. In contrast, Buttercup’s dance steps were off beat.
Leaving her bedroom, Karyn paced their common room. “There are several problems.” Karyn started counting off using her fingers. “I’m on parole for another year. I have a curfew. My job barely pays more than minimum wage. I don’t have a stash of clothes. I’m paying for my class—”
“Karyn! We are not the victims here, remember?” Buttercup followed. “But you’re starting to sound like one. Unless you want my size eighteen-and-a-half to snuggle up inside that dress—and I will break some seams—then I suggest you check your doubt at the back door and welcome faith in at the front, and I don’t mean Faith Hill either.
“Now, I’m hungry. Spaghetti at dinner is never filling. All this brainstorming worked up my appetite.” Buttercup dragged her feet into their kitchenette. She began slamming cabinet doors. Karyn knew she was in search of peanut butter, honey, and bread. Once the stash was found, Buttercup grinned over her shoulder. “Of course you don’t have to worry about your hair or nails. I’ll do those for you for free.”
This was becoming a big to-do about nothing. “Of course,” Karyn groaned.
Known for mixing concoctions with plant extracts and basic food staples to make enriching hair and skin conditions, Buttercup was considered the beauty guru. And she had earned many of the residents’ and a few staffers’ respect as an eccentric fashion consultant since she graduated from cosmetology school while serving time in prison.
Picking up the dress, Karyn walked back into her bedroom and grabbed a hanger from her closet. After slipping it inside the delicate sleeves, Karyn hung it up. When she returned to the common room, Buttercup was relaxing with a sandwich in one hand and the TV remote in the other.
Karyn leaned against the door opening and folded her arms. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that he gave me a present that was too early for Christmas, too late for my birthday, but right on my one-
year anniversary of my release?”
“John 8:36 is my last word on the matter until the next time: He who the Son has set free is free indeed.”
CHAPTER 5
Karyn marveled at Levi’s ability to guess her size, plus give her some breathing room to enjoy dinner. Once she had stepped into the dress, it was as if an imaginary wand circled her from the bottom of her feet to the crown of her head, transforming her into a princess as if she were the main character in a Disney movie. Buttercup oohed and ahhed as Karyn strutted across the room’s impromptu runway.
Somehow, Levi must have known she would confirm the date. Karyn had to admit she was curious about their magnetism. Buttercup threatened to put her in a choke hold if she didn’t admit she was willing to at least dispel or confirm an attraction.
Buttercup sniffed and toyed with her headband. She dabbed her eyes before accidentally popping her forehead with the headband. “Ouch.” Her roommate rubbed her forehead. “You remind me of the night of my prom. The cutest guy in my senior class asked me out. Percy Atkinson was fine—short but fine. I’ll never forget that night…”
Clearing her throat, Karyn tapped her foot. “Is this about you or me?” she teased.
“Sorry.”
Praying for their new beginnings, Karyn reflected on Lamentations 3:22, 23 God’s compassions are new every morning. Then they retreated to their bedrooms.
Friday morning at work, Karyn counted down the hours before she saw Levi. She was as excited as a school girl knowing the cutest boy in her class had a crush on her. She was thankful God was merciful to allow her to experience a fairy-tale moment.
In the six months since Karyn had worked at Bookshelves Unlimited, she prided herself on never missing work, calling in sick, or late, thanks to an on-time bus schedule.
Why did her first date happened to fall on a busy day? Karyn was nervous about asking to get off early. Her case manager had approved her request to go out on a date—forgoing the required one week advance notice—but she would have to explain why her paycheck was short. One of New Beginnings Center’s rules was that a counselor had to verify residents’ pay stubs in order to withhold thirty percent to establish and build a savings account for each woman. How the mighty had fallen. Coming from an influential political family, she never wanted for anything until she broke the law.
