by Pat Simmons
Many did, and Hallison felt renewed after the service. She chatted with a few churchgoers she had come to know over the months, steering away from Brother Thomas. Finally, hugging Cheney, Parke, and Kami goodbye, she headed for her car.
Before she pulled out of the parking lot, Hallison took her cell phone, tapped in a number and made reservations. "Hi, Mom. I'm inviting myself to dinner," she joked. But as the only child of Addison Dinkins, her visits were always welcomed.
Ten minutes later, Hallison exited I-170 at Olive. Her mother's white brick colonial house sat on a cozy cul-de-sac in Olivette, a St. Louis suburb that was minutes away from the city. The neighborhood was easily hidden by a cluster of leafy trees.
Addison opened the decorated carved wooden door after one knock. She reached up to receive her customary hug from her daughter. "Hungry?"
At sixty-one years old, Addison was a petite widow who stood five-two and favored actress, Delia Reese. Hallison's five-eight height was a gift from her deceased father, who had died of a massive heart attack during her junior year in college.
"Why do you think I stopped by? I could smell the collard greens before you even opened the door." She strolled in and laid her purse on the hall table before washing her hands in the powder room. As was her routine, Hallison slipped off her heels and padded in stocking feet into the updated kitchen. As a gift to her mother, after Hallison received a hefty bonus, she had paid for much of the renovations, which included a stainless steel refrigerator, stove, microwave, ceramic-tiled floor, and granite countertops.
Rubbing her hands, Hallison grinned at the large chunk of cornbread, next to a healthy serving of greens and fried chicken, already on a plate. "Yes," she said, seeing the jar of beets and a bottle of vinegar. Hallison kissed her mother's cheek as a reward. They sat at the same time. "Remind me again why I left home and missed out on this good cooking?"
"You wanted to be grown," Addison said, laughing.
Hallison unfolded a napkin and laid it on her lap. "I'm glad you hadn't eaten."
"I was about to before you called. I decided to wait for my distinguished guest."
After linking hands, Hallison closed her eyes. She always enjoyed listening to her mother pray, except when she was dating Malcolm. During that time in her life, Hallison literally begged her mother not to pray for her and Malcolm. Thank God her mother had ignored her foolish request.
"Lord Jesus, we thank you for this day, this time, and this place. God, I'm grateful for everything you've given us and for those things you've withheld from us. I ask that you sanctify our food, bless my daughter, and bless the cook, in the name of Jesus. Amen."
"Yes, bless the cook. Amen," Hallison added as she reached for her fork.
Addison winked. "If you want a good meal, you better believe it."
Hallison moaned as she bit into the fried chicken, then dove into her greens. "So, Momma, what did Pastor King preach on this morning?"
"The Holy City."
Chuckling, Hallison held up her hand. "Revelation 21.
The New Jerusalem. I don't know how many times I heard him preach that when I was younger, but he's about eighty, eighty-five now, isn't he?"
"Eighty-three. It seems that lately, his sermons have been from that text whenever he preaches. Soon his son will take the reins. The young minister preaches most of the time anyway. I can tell he's very studious."
Their conversation ceased as they continued to eat. Minutes later, Addison pushed away her empty plate and folded her arms. "How's work?"
"Busy, but good," Hallison answered with a nonchalant shrug as she stood and returned to the stove for a second, bigger helping of greens with a smaller slice of cornbread.
"How's Hali?"
A simple question, but her mother was scooping for detailed answers. Hallison reclaimed her chair and scrunched up her nose to begin their cat-and-mouse game. "You're looking at me. I'm fine, wouldn't you say?"
Her mother squinted. "I'll ask the questions. You could stand to pick up some more weight. Now, how's your love life?"
"Terrible, but I've got time. How old were you when you married Daddy?"
Addison swatted Hallison's arm. "Smart aleck. I told you, I'm asking the questions." Their lighthearted banter included how many dates Hallison had been on, which were none. The topic then moved to how Cheney and her family were handling the crisis of the shooting. Finally, they discussed Hallison's plans for the upcoming week.
"Thanks for dinner, Momma, but I'd better head home. I've got another week of interviewing candidates before I narrow the selection down." Together, they cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen.
"Too bad that Samuel guy you were telling me about turned out to be a homosexual—or gay, as people say. If he would've been saved, and from the way you described him... whew, he could've made that office dating thing interesting."
"No comment," Hallison said, laughing as she slipped back into her shoes to leave.
Chapter Nine
“Who are you trying to impress?" Alexis asked, fingering through Hallison's hair the following Saturday.
"I just want something different," Hallison said, shrugging.
"Hmm-mm. Different? You've been wearing that same look for years. Live a little and add some curls and body." Alexis popped a piece of gum in her mouth. "However, I notice you're wearing those wedge shoes you got from our shoe rendezvous. Ooh, where did you get that outfit? That reminds me, there's this exclusive club where guests can sample food from around the world—from fish dishes cooked in small African villages to cuisine served on Mediterranean cruise liners. A big treat is the wine tasting."
"You know I don't drink."
"That's too bad, because girl, the hunks who attend are—"
"Not tonight," Hallison interrupted. "Where do you find out about these places anyway?"
The stylist whirled a comb in her hands. "You know, a friend of a friend of an exclusive—"
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry I asked." Hallison laughed until she squeezed a single tear from her eye. "I want a new attitude, a new look without going drastic." Hallison scrutinized her features in the mirror at Alexis's station.
Alexis angled her hands on her hips. "Is that all? Girl, that's easy. I've always told you to try highlights. I can lighten your hair and give you a few layers without taking away too much length off the back." She prepped Hallison while talking nonstop. "Last week you mentioned something about a prayer luncheon this afternoon. That doesn't give us much time for a new attitude."
"That was before I found out about the doll convention that's in town. I would like to see what the exhibitors have and buy something. I used to tag along with a girlfriend years ago."
"Hmm," Alexis mumbled, stretching a streaking cap on Hallison's thick hair. Satisfied with the tight fit, she began the process of pulling strands through pin-sized holes with a crochet-type instrument.
"Hey," Hallison yelled. "Leave me some hair."
"Right. You're in the hands of an artisan. Once I brush on golden blond..."
Hallison whipped her head around and was about to voice her concern when Alexis held up her hand.
"It's not the same intensity as us White girls' bleach-blond, but against your skin tone, you'll be a goddess. So, if you don't have one already, go buy a little pink book to write down men's numbers. If I had your skin tone, I wouldn't have to sit in a tanning bed."
They shared a few laughs before Hallison winced again.
"Hey, stop it before you scare my other customers," Alexis warned. "What's this about you skipping out on church? Isn't that a no-no for Christians?"
"I don't have to be in church every time the door opens. It's living for Jesus when the church doors are locked that counts."
"Preach," Alexis teased as she worked on Hallison's transformation.
Three hours later, Hallison was in awe of the finished product. Her brows were arched by a threading method instead of waxing. Hallison agreed to fake lashes, but not the thick ones or the eye
lash extensions Alexis recommended. Strands of Hallison's curls were a shiny, burnt gold. The reflection staring back at Hallison didn't look real. It was too perfect, yet natural. "Wow. You've been holding out on me, Lexi."
"Don't Lexi me. I've just uncovered what was hidden. Now, get out of my chair," she told Hallison, grinning. "My next appointment is here. In case you're writing out a check, which includes my generous tip, my full legal name is Alexandra Van Doverhoff."
"You're kiddin'." A laugh escaped. "No wonder you go by Alexis." She scribbled two hundred and fifty dollars across the check. Minutes later, Hallison practically pranced out of The Workout, The Workup, and Workin' Hair and Body Boutique to her Camry. "Alexandra Van Doverhoff outdid herself."
Once behind the wheel, and strapped in her seat belt, Hallison called Cheney. "Hey, I know you're on a picnic outing, but I have to tell you, Alexis pulled out my alter ego today at the salon. Cheney, I'm not vain, but I'll be the first to say I'm gorgeously unrecognizable."
"I want to see this makeover for myself. I'd stop by later, but I'm sure I'll be wiped out by the time this outing is over." Cheney said.
Turning the ignition, Hallison checked the rearview mirror and did a double-take at her reflection. "Lord willing, you'll see me tomorrow at church. Right now, I'm leaving the boutique going to check out that doll exhibition."
"Oh, that's right. You did mention that the other day. Have fun. If you see anything reasonable, grab it for Kami, and I'll reimburse you. Love you."
Hallison disconnected and exited onto Interstate 70 toward downtown. A half hour later, she drove into the parking garage across from the convention center. As she pushed the button to retrieve a ticket, a male attendant stared in appreciation. He winked and puckered his lips for a kiss. Hallison giggled. Oh yeah, a little attention does a girl good.
Once inside the massive showroom, she started in row one, then began her mission. Crisscrossing the aisle from table to table, Hallison's eyes grew wider in fascination. She wasn't interested in the seminars, lectures, or auctions. Her pure interest was to browse and maybe purchase a collector's doll or two.
"Hallison? Hali, is that you?"
Recognizing the voice, Hallison whirled around. "Tavia." The women screamed their greeting, then squeezed the other in a bear hug. "Octavia Ford, how are ya, girl?"
Standing back, her friend scanned Hallison from head to toe. "I would ask the same about you, but I can see for myself. Girl, you are wearing married life royally," the five foot two, former college sorority queen commented, with her hands on her hips.
Octavia and Hallison had been friends since high school, and at one time worshipped at the same church. Hallison spent a lot of time at Octavia's house, admiring her unbelievable collection of beautiful, black, porcelain dolls. Octavia started the hobby when she couldn't find any black dolls with features representing people of color.
They parted ways when Octavia unknowingly married, against the pastor's counsel, an abusive man who practically cut Octavia off from the outside world. Those had been her dark days, and Octavia couldn't bring herself to confide in Hallison that their pastor had been right. She should've never married David, who was later killed while trying to buy crack cocaine.
Once Hallison found out, she blamed herself for not doing more to stay in contact. Hallison assumed their longtime friendship was forgotten after Octavia married the supposed man of her dreams.
Hallison wasn't an avid collector like Octavia and only collected when she stumbled across a black porcelain doll in a specialty store that didn't bear the trademarks of a white cookie-cutter mold. When Hallison heard about the doll convention, she thought it would be fun. "I didn't get married," she stated with a brave face, but a sinking heart.
Octavia halted her steps and stared. "What? Okay." She placed her purse on a nearby vendor's table as if she had rented the space. "What did Malcolm do? All I need to know is where he lives."
Looping her arm through Octavia's, Hallison tugged her along to the next table, barely allowing her time to snatch up her purse. "C'mon. Get your stuff. We'll walk and talk."
"The last time we spoke, you were singing Malcolm's praises so I made those Hal and Mal couple dolls as an engagement present and sent them. What happened, and why didn't I know?"
Hallison bowed her head in shame. "You were diagnosed with breast cancer. Every time I picked up the phone, I hung up because I didn't know what to say. I couldn't say I was praying for you because I wasn't even praying for myself, but you were always in my thoughts. Then when I returned to the Lord, I was praying for you. Despite my return to church, I was scared to call because of what you might say about, you know, your cancer."
Octavia nodded and hugged Hallison without reprimand. Hallison sighed in relief. They resumed their stroll until Hallison froze at a vendor with African American dolls. Several caught their eyes, but Hallison reached out and fingered the limited edition. Jacie was an African American, all-porcelain doll with wild curls and a white ballerina dress. Her skin was creamy and eyes sparkling.
"She's beautiful. I should buy it."
Octavia pulled her from the table. "Did you see the price tag? It's one hundred and fifty dollars."
"That's not bad."
Through gritted teeth and her back to the vendor, Octavia corrected her. "Hali, you can make that for one-third of the price."
"I'm not that creative." Hallison tried to walk around her to get back to the vendor, but her short friend kept a firm grip on Hallison's arm. "Look at you. Your makeup is flawless."
"I just came from the salon. My stylist did it."
"Hali, will you listen? If you can apply makeup, you can make a doll. I've shown you how easy it is," she said, nudging Hallison to the next table. "Now don't even think about buying anything until you tell me what happened between you and Malcolm. It's a good thing I came to St. Louis for the show, or I might've never known."
"Tavia, I gave Malcolm up freely to serve God. I still hurt because more than anything else, I wanted to be his wife and have his babies, but God spoke. My ears heard it. My heart felt it, and God left it up to my mouth to say it." She briefly bowed her head. "You had just told me about your breast cancer. I... I…” she stuttered. "I didn't know what to say, and I couldn't burden you with my problems. Plus, you hadn't come back to the Lord, so I didn't feel like you would've believed God had spoken to me."
"God talked to me too, during my chemo." After being jostled by an eager crowd, they stepped aside. "Anyway, it looks like you've recovered. You've been hiding your beauty all these years."
"Don't let my appearance fool you. I paid good money for this look. There isn't a day that goes by without me missing Malcolm, but…" She shrugged. "My soul is more important. I try to stay busy to fill the void."
"Well, God keeps talking to me, and I haven't budged yet. You'd think that with a near death scare, a bad marriage, and a murdered ex, I would've been the first one in the Holy Ghost checkout line. I honestly don't know what's keeping me away. "Well." She shivered. "Are you going to buy anything?"
"Sure. I want to get something for my goddaughter, Kami. There are at least ten more aisles we haven't seen."
Octavia yanked Hallison's hand. "I'm getting hungry, and you're going to eat with me. I guess I'd better go with you so you don't get ripped off. Plus, I want to stop by the mall before I catch my flight home in the morning. Victoria's Secret is having a sale."
"Do you have anything to put in a bra?" Hallison whispered, scrutinizing Octavia's chest.
"The bra won't know the difference." Octavia gave Hallison a Marilyn Monroe imitation of shaking her boobs.
Laughing, Hallison admired Octavia's sense of humor. Even without allegiance to Jesus, Octavia was good-hearted, successful, and self-assured. Hallison couldn't imagine her friend dying so young.
"C'mon. Let me help you spend your money," Octavia said as they returned to the table showcasing the African-American collection. When Octavia finished bargaining with the mak
er, Hallison purchased the Jacie doll for ninety dollars. They left the convention center. Octavia followed Hallison to her car in the parking garage, since she was staying at the adjacent hotel.
At the Galleria, their first priority in the mall was the atrium to the food court where they ordered sub sandwich combo meals. Octavia said grace, then attacked her fries. They conversed for more than an hour.
"So your cancer's in remission?" Hallison asked.
Octavia nodded. "Yes. After two years, I can officially say I'm a cancer survivor, but it wasn't easy. When I reach the five-year mark, doctors will consider me cancer-free."
Reaching across the table, Hallison touched Octavia's hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
She waved her hand in the air. "I'd rather talk about more pleasant things. Hali, I'm sitting across from a stunning woman. Your face would make a perfect model for a porcelain mold. Why aren't you dating? There may not be many, but there are men in the church and some good ones."
"Why aren't you? You're two years older than I am. The doctors did say you can still have children, right?"
Wiping her mouth, Octavia started counting on her fingers. "One, I would get married again in a heartbeat if I could find a man who didn't have a problem with my cancer recovery. Two, I'm only fourteen months older than you are. Three, the doctors say it's a possibility, not one hundred percent, but a chance I could have children, and four, every man who has passed by this table has stopped and taken a second look—at you, so flaunt it."
Malcolm saw her. If the woman wasn’t Hali, then she was definitely an improved version. Malcolm recalled the vision Monday morning as he waited in the conference room. The partners were scheduled to discuss the findings of a recent audit before a report would be released.
