No Ordinary Noel

by Pat G'Orge-Walker

  Freddie leaned in closer. Confusion was hitting him harder than a stick on a piñata. “What does that hafta do with the millions I won?”

  “I’m trying to tell you,” Sister Betty snapped. “I’m sorry. Let me get to the point. I always keep a pad of paper in my Bible to jot things down on, but it wasn’t there. Bea was sitting next to me so I asked if she had a piece of paper I could write on. She fished around in her pocket and handed me a piece of paper. I never paid attention to the writing already on it.”

  “But why give this to me if it wasn’t because of the dream I’d told you about that week?” Freddie began twirling his sprig. He wondered if Sister Betty wanted a piece of his action and that’s why she was weirding out on him. But she had money and never seemed that type of Christian. He was more confused than ever.

  “Trustee Noel,” Sister Betty began. Her wig was almost laying completely to the side of her head, exposing tiny gray cornrows. She didn’t care and didn’t try to straighten the wig. “Who collects the assessment and dues monies for the auxiliaries?”

  The light bulb turned on in the trustee’s mind and he shot forward in his seat. His hands landed on top of Sister Betty’s hands. “I do,” he whispered. “Me and sometimes Brother Leon Casanova.”

  “Well Trustee, that particular Sunday it was you. I gave the paper with my assessment and Bea’s gambling budget to you. You were supposed to write it down in your book so you could match it with the check whenever I gave it to you.”

  “Y’all okay over here?” Porky arrived without making a sound despite his three hundred pounds that normally shook the room. “Y’all look like ya got ya heads together about something. What’s goin’ on? Y’all know I like to hear the news, too.”

  “Well, why don’t you come to church more often?” Sister Betty said as she pushed the slip of paper under her pocketbook on the table. “That way, you can hear it first hand and it won’t be called gossip.”

  Anybody but Porky would’ve been insulted or gotten the hint. But Porky didn’t get hints and, even less often, tips. “C’mon Sister Betty, you know I do my worshipping on Sundays on Saint Recliner.”

  Chef Porky turned around almost toppling tables as he laughed his way back to the cash register.

  Sister Betty pulled the paper from beneath her pocketbook. She scanned it closer and looked up just in time to see Freddie almost pulling out the last few strands of his sprig.

  She began reading from it. “2 Scratch Offs, 2 Lucky 7s, and 2 Set 4 Lifes.” She removed her glasses and asked, “Did you buy all the ones written on this paper?”

  “I did, except I added one of my own.”

  “You did? What was it?”

  “I purchased a one-dollar Mega Lottery ticket and had the machine select the numbers.”

  “Well, I guess the right thing to do is give Bea her part of those scratch offs. How much did you win from them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You mean to tell me the only ticket that was a winner was the Mega one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, let’s hope that Bea don’t remember what was on that paper, although I don’t see how she would know I gave that paper to you.”

  Then Freddie threw water on her theory and told Sister Betty how on the day he’d purchased the tickets he’d run into Bea and Sasha. “I’d already bought the tickets when they walked in so I didn’t even check the lottery ticket or the scratch offs. I didn’t want them all up in my business so I stuffed the tickets in my pocket and scurried out of there. Once I found out I’d won, I went to Anderson to collect and told the publicity people not to say anything. I don’t want my face splashed all over the place.”

  “So now you’re sitting on top of sixty-five million dollars and nobody besides the Lottery folks know but me and you?”

  “Well, the Piece of Savings Bank knows about it. That’s where I put my money.”

  “But that’s the bank that’s putting the squeeze on the church.”

  “I know,” Freddie said. “I need your help to put the squeeze back on them. I’ve never had this much money before. I can help save the Promised Land if you promise to help me.”

  “Oh Lord, I’m getting a headache from all this. I’m not in the best of health, you know, and I’m not ready to die yet . . .”

  Freddie dismissed Sister Betty’s angst. He’d not finished giving her some more. “But this is not why I wanted to see you.”

  Sister Betty leaned back in her chair, so caught up in the history of that tiny sheet of paper she’d forgotten he hadn’t revealed everything to her. “Well, the pastor is coming back to pick me up, so you’d better say so while we’re alone.”

  But Freddie never got a chance to tell Sister Betty all he’d had to say. Reverend Tom had entered and headed their way.

  “You just keep your mouth shut until we can chat again. Meanwhile, stay clear of Bea and Sasha unless you have to deal with them.”

  Sister Betty had rushed through her instructions so fast all the trustee heard was “shut your mouth.”

  Trustee Noel did just as she’d told him. He didn’t speak, even when the pastor reached their table and said hello.

  Chapter 9

  “I know Trustee Noel can be a bit eccentric, but he was just downright rude.” The reverend and Sister Betty were in the car. He’d been complaining about the trustee ever since he’d informed her that the fast-food places in that area were subpar. He’d refused to buy anything, and was still hungry. He couldn’t eat, but he could fuss. And so he did. “How could that man just sit there and twirl his top hair instead of saying hello?”

  “He’s had a rough day.” That was all Sister Betty could think to say. “I guess it’s been tough for a lot of us today.”

  “Well, it’s about to get tougher,” Reverend Tom declared. He drove as though he’d caught a second wind. Without explanation, he drove past the exit for their street and headed toward Crossing Over Sanctuary. His lead foot pushed the speed limit.

  Despite her need to keep her mouth shut and remain upright, Sister Betty could feel the impatient shift in her pastor’s demeanor. It did not sit well with her at all. “I see we’re headed to the church. By the way, do you want me to drive?” she asked cautiously.

  “Sister Betty”—the reverend’s voice dropped an octave lower, sounding like a growl—“you don’t know how to drive.”

  “I know that,” she snapped, “but at this moment, I’d certainly feel a lot safer if I were driving than having you behind the wheel of the car.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Reverend Tom eased his foot off the accelerator. “Brother Casanova called me on my cell while I was trying to find something to eat.”

  “And that made you want to drive this car like a rocket ship through the rain?”

  “No.” He peered over at her, then winked. “I just need to meet him at the church and it will only take a moment.”

  “So what is it you’re not telling me?” Sister Betty allowed a bit more indignation to lace her words than necessary.

  “No more than what you’re not telling me. I have that third eye, too. And you’re up to something.”

  She sank back into her seat just in time to see the huge billboard on the side of the highway. WE HAVE A ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIVE MILLION DOLLAR WINNER!

  She needed God in a hurry. “Step on it! Why are you driving so slowly?”

  Severe thunderstorm threat or not, Sasha and Bea called a meeting for that afternoon. They needed to tidy up the details of the Seniors Prom. Thanksgiving was less than three weeks away and no one had reported progress or hindrances. Of course, neither woman cared that assignments weren’t even a week old.

  Sasha had to make a tough choice, putting a temporary halt to returning to the bank. It was necessary that she put aside her anger about her pastor mishandling her tithe for the good of the Seniors Prom.

  Bea, on the other hand, wanted to ask around a bit. She’d let Sasha trick her into cutting a fool earlier a
t the bank. It wasn’t going to happen twice. At least not in one day, it wouldn’t. She’d started to reassess things lately, because her moneymaking schemes weren’t paying as they once had. For much of Bea’s senior years, life seldom varied. She levied spiritual assassinations on her enemies through whispered prayers. Her survival on a meager social security check was rivaled only by her passion for bingo. Moreover, it didn’t mean she wasn’t concerned when folks chuckled about the money she spent buying cat food for the cat she didn’t own. She had a taste for tuna . . . and sometimes the money ran out too soon.

  Once the old mothers arrived at the church, they immediately went downstairs to the fellowship hall. Just as the women expected, Elder Batty Brick and Brother Leon Casanova sat waiting for them.

  The seniors gave halfhearted greetings. They said a quick prayer and prepared for business. Elder Batty Brick checked his watch for the third time and asked, “Where is Trustee Noel? Why isn’t he here?”

  “He didn’t need to be,” Sasha quipped. “He don’t need a plan to hang up no coats, so let’s move on.”

  Once Sasha explained it that way, they all agreed and continued the meeting.

  “I might as well get this off my chest.” Sasha took off her glasses and quickly dropped, then raised her head. The move made that gray bun on her head look like a ball bobbing in a fishpond.

  “When the pastor said the church done gone broke,” Sasha said, “it almost broke my salvation, too. How is that man gonna promise to take us to the Promised Land, and then break that promise?”

  Brother Casanova and Elder Batty Brick pulled their chairs closer together. Since they sat on the Finance Committee, they already knew they were in her sights. Fortunately, they’d already made a pact that unless they were tortured with pitchforks they wouldn’t reveal the Christmas deadline.

  “Ah ha . . .” Elder Batty replied slowly. He then crossed his arms as though he’d not attended that past Sunday’s service and heard the announcement.

  Sasha narrowed her eyes and with her cane, she reached over and tapped him on his bad corn by accident. When he jumped in his chair and jerked his foot back, she made it seem like she’d done it on purpose. “If you don’t want me to pop that corn I’m gonna need more than that from you. I want an accounting of my one hundred forty dollars and twenty-six cents!”

  Leave it to Brother Casanova not to have his hearing aid turned all the way up. When he misspoke, he truly misspoke. “Mother Pray Onn, the last thing we need is for one of our dearest tithe payers to feel put upon. We’re already looking into the situation and you’ll be happy with the results.”

  Bea, who’d actually tuned Sasha out, wouldn’t believe anything Brother Casanova said. As she’d often said, game recognized bull crap. “He’s lying. Everybody knows Sasha ain’t never happy. Sasha won’t even let nobody write Happy on a birthday cake.”

  “I beg to differ,” Brother Casanova snapped. “I’m a changed man. I don’t hafta lie.”

  Bea’s arched back already had her almost on top of the man. It wasn’t hard to intimidate him when she ordered, “Gimme a quarter!”

  “Well, er . . . I’m afraid I don’t have change.” Brother Casanova cringed and watched Elder Batty slide his chair away. Brother Casanova had stepped into Bea’s trap so fast, he’d gotten egg all over his face and his cheap hearing aid.

  Bea had shot down Sasha’s petty gripe and Brother Casanova’s change-even-he-didn’t-believe-in. She needed the meeting back on track and addressed her concerns.

  “We need to get the important matters out of the way,” Bea said as she shifted her big butt around on the small chair. No matter which way she moved, that butt spilled over both sides of the chair.

  “Brother Casanova”—Bea pulled a pad and a pen from her pocketbook—“I’ll keep the records. Ya supposed to get the decorations. Did ya get anything?”

  Brother Casanova, still annoyed with Bea, adjusted his hearing aid to its lowest setting. Even if she hadn’t called him out, he’d still adjust the hearing aid. Bea’s rough voice always gave him an earache.

  “Well, seeing how it’s been only a few days, I haven’t gotten a lot of materials. However, I did ask Reverend Tom’s permission to use whatever was available from the drama department. I’ll know better once he gives me the keys and I look the things over.”

  “Ya just make sure ya get enough mistletoe,” Bea huffed. “Ain’t no sense in having no prom if we ain’t got no mistletoe.”

  Up to that moment, Sasha hadn’t offered any new ideas. She hadn’t quite figured out how she would repay Bea for interrupting her tirade earlier, but she would. In the meantime, she didn’t like Bea taking over the meeting and wasted no time hurling an insult. “Why are you worried about mistletoe, Bea?” Sasha snapped. “Ain’t nobody paying top dollar to kiss She-Rilla!”

  Bea leaned forward and growled, “Don’tcha worry about it ’cause when it’s over, ya can just kiss my—”

  “Mother Blister,” Elder Brick interrupted with his hands outstretched. “Please!”

  “Please this,” Bea said as she rose. She wiggled her backside and passed the gas she’d held in all day. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom. There ain’t quite as much crap in there as there is out here.”

  Bea’s big hips hadn’t quite cleared the doorway leading to the hallway bathroom before the other three started gagging.

  That noxious odor made Sasha weep and she kept stabbing at the air with her cane as if it would protect her from the smell demons. Poor Brother Casanova’s nose twitched like a rabbit. He almost ripped his ear off trying to adjust his hearing aid to keep the smell from entering.

  But old Elder Batty Brick caught it the worst. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an old tissue that dropped like a rock into his lap. He tried to grip it but it was so full of holes it looked like a hive without the bees. He crammed it up his nose so hard his finger was stuck.

  It took another five minutes or so before the three inhaled enough clean oxygen to keep their brain cells alive.

  When they’d revived and Bea still hadn’t returned from the bathroom, Sasha’s anger had escalated to the point where she didn’t care how she said it as long as she said it. “In all my years of playing church, I ain’t never witnessed such a mess. Why would that heffa stand here in this hallowed place before the omnipotential God and fart?”

  “I’m with you on that one,” Brother Casanova shot back. “I don’t even wanna see a sample of the T-shirts she’s working on. I’m through and my head hurts.”

  He whined so much Sasha was inclined to give the man a hug. But Sasha didn’t do hugs unless she meant it as a stab in the back. “Let’s just move on.”

  With that said, they agreed not to wait on Bea. Elder Batty Brick spoke. “Now, I’ve collected about $3750.00.” He did a quick count using all his fingers and his two knees, and still got it wrong. “At twenty-five dollars apiece, I’ve sold two hundred tickets.”

  Somehow, the figure didn’t seem right to Sasha and Brother Casanova. The way they quickly glanced at each other signaled they wondered if he’d slipped back into his bad habit of embezzling. But since neither finished high school and had failed arithmetic, they said nothing.

  By the time Bea returned, they’d accepted Elder Brick’s money report without one challenge. Brother Casanova’s combined DJ playlist with a mixed tape of the Platters and Tupac caused no concerns. And Sasha, although she hadn’t yet secured a caterer, had managed to blackmail enough seniors into participating in the date auction. And they still didn’t want to see Bea’s T-shirt sample.

  Bea returned in a better mood. A lot of what had her angry in the first place she’d left in the bathroom. “What’d I miss?”

  “A doggone manners class, that’s what you missed!” Sasha hissed as the two men helped her to her feet.

  Sasha left Bea standing in the middle of the floor with her mouth wide open. Of course, Sasha couldn’t leave Bea like that. She stopped and pulled her arm out of Broth
er Casanova’s, turned back toward Bea and hissed, “You old Sasquatch.”

  Now Sasha felt free to leave.

  Chapter 10

  By the time Reverend Tom and Sister Betty finally arrived at the church, Brother Casanova had left. Neither the reverend nor Sister Betty knew about the meeting Bea and Sasha had held, so Bea gave them an update on the Seniors Prom.

  Believing every word Bea said had the reverend almost shouting. “So there’s going to be a packed hall and your committee has everything in order. I just love it!”

  Sister Betty watched Bea telling her version of the truth. Sister Betty’s knee had jumped with just about every word that flew out of Bea’s mouth. That meant Bea was either delusional or lying. The odds were fifty-fifty either way.

  “So you see,” Bea concluded, “when we sell off the T-shirts and auction off the dates, that’s gonna bring a lot more money to the church.” Her face lit up. She didn’t need to lean on Sasha for support. She could stretch the truth on her own.

  Sister Betty decided she’d stay silent. Perhaps the reverend would forget about tossing her into the mix since he believed Bea and Sasha had it under control. Of course, she wouldn’t have to go forward with any crazy plans to get Bea and Sasha out of her way. Every BS problem seemed as if it would resolve itself.

  Reverend Tom offered to drop Bea off at her home. Although she lived in the opposite direction, he wasn’t finished with his interrogation by a long shot. The ride would give him more time and with her stuffed in the backseat alongside a praying Sister Betty, Bea was apt to be more truthful.

  By the time the reverend pulled up in front of Bea’s building, she’d given up the skinny on the gambling habits of Sasha, three of the Mothers Board members, and about twenty other church members that gathered weekly at bingo. The only thing Bea didn’t give up, according to her, was sex.

  “But we still manage to pay our tithes no matter how little or how much we win,” Bea gushed.