No Ordinary Noel

by Pat G'Orge-Walker

  Minutes later, led by stars that lit the foggy and chilly air the two seniors walked slowly down the steps from Sister Betty’s house with her holding on to the trustee’s arm.

  “Be careful, Sister Betty. You know I ain’t as strong as I used to be,” he warned.

  Sister Betty’s small frame quivered just a little as she laughed and replied, “And I ain’t got nothing that will heal as quick as it used to.”

  Then the extremely skinny Trustee Noel laughed under his breath. He was happy for the moment that someone else accepted their limitations. He pointed to a stretch black Hummer limo and the chauffeur already waiting to help them inside. “I got us a fancy car so we can ride in style.”

  Trustee Noel had always secretly liked Sister Betty and her unselfish friendship. He knew it came from her heart and she didn’t want anything from him—except to help him help their church. His appreciation grew rapidly between her doorway and the limo.

  Since entering the limousine, Sister Betty had kept quiet. It wasn’t that she hadn’t found everything to her liking. She just liked to listen and sometimes she could hear a person’s heart and not just their words.

  Finally, she smiled. “I’m happy to see that you’ve spent some of that money on you. The suit looks good on you.” She wouldn’t go so far as to tell him that he was handsome. She didn’t want to diminish her prayers with a lie. He’d taken off his overcoat and laid it between them. And she secretly removed the store tag.

  Trustee Noel couldn’t stop grinning. “Thank you. I wasn’t quite sure what to wear.”

  Of course, he was dressed in another JCPenney suit. He knew her remarks meant she liked it.

  He was wearing a gray pinstriped suit with a lavender dress shirt. He also wore a silver tie along with a Merry Christmas tie clip. Trustee Noel topped off his newly found rich man status with a little debonair attempt at a new hairstyle. He had his little sprig of hair polished with lacquer spray and he smelled as though he’d bathed in Old Spice and pig’s feet. Living over the Soul Food Shanty gave him an odor nothing could mask.

  “Sister Betty,” he said suddenly as he turned his head away from her. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  The change caught her off guard. She didn’t understand how he’d gone from happy to apparently glum in a few seconds. Was it something she’d said or did? “Why certainly, what’s on your mind?”

  “I’m not ungrateful or anything,” Trustee Noel continued. His voice halted as he reached up and nervously began twirling his lacquered sprig, setting off tiny lacquer missiles around the backseat. “I brought my old janitor uniform with me to wear as a throwback to my former days. Working was all I ever did so there wasn’t much to choose from. Should I have worn it instead of what I’m wearing? I wasn’t sure what you’d wear and I didn’t want us to arrive looking foolish.”

  “And you made a decision based on what you thought I’d wear?” Sister Betty tried not to laugh, but he was acting so sweet. She could tell he was nervous and that became endearing so she didn’t ask him to show his uniform. At that very moment, she began to feel like a young girl on a date. It had been so long since she’d had male company, other than a relative or her pastor. It took a moment for her to relax in the company of a man, even an unattractive one, and accept his compliment.

  Over Christmas carols, coming from the limousine’s radio, the two seniors sat back, relaxed and laughed. All the years they’d attended the same church yet they really didn’t know one another that well. As the rain continued to fall and mixed with the silence of the evening and a lit sky allowed just a hint of light inside the limousine, they chatted away. The conversation was about nothing in particular, but not once did either mention Reverend Tom or the twenty-five million dollars.

  After they’d ridden a ways, Trustee Noel stopped twisting his sprig hair and assumed a rather take charge look. He straightened his shoulders and turned down the volume. He slid over a little closer to Sister Betty, crossed his legs, rested his hands upon his knees, and whispered, “Sister Betty, you look very pretty tonight.”

  He couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from the blond Afro wig she wore. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you throw back like this.”

  Neither could hold it in. They laughed at his feeble attempt at flattery and seduction. “Well, as long as I don’t throw back nothing else tonight, whether it’s a drink or dance, I’m good,” Sister Betty finally replied.

  Then, just that quick, the laughter died and Trustee Noel’s mood turned suddenly somber. “I’m not sure what’s expected from me tonight. I don’t want to come off as snobby but I don’t want folks trying to get next to me for the wrong reasons.” He reached over and pulled out a silver box with a bow on it. “I almost forgot your corsage.”

  Trustee Noel clumsily pulled a wrist corsage with a medium-sized carnation in its center. He slipped it on her small wrist and gave the cheesiest grin when he saw how much she liked it.

  “This is just lovely,” Sister Betty said as she examined the flower. “And it’s real, too.”

  As much as she wanted to continue praising him for his thoughtfulness, she couldn’t take her eyes off the larger box that remained on the seat. “What’s in the other box? I hope you don’t mind me asking.”

  “That’s the costume I mentioned. It’s my old janitor uniform.” Trustee Noel winked. “I’m gonna get down, get funky, and get loose. I’ll change after we get there.”

  “Do you really consider that a throwback to what you were?” Sister Betty struggled to find words to explain how ridiculous the notion was that he’d been nothing but a janitor. She couldn’t.

  She really didn’t have to because something more ridiculous caught their attention.

  Sister Betty and Trustee Noel came upon Sasha just as they’d driven past Bea’s house. They heard Sasha’s big mouth through the limo’s closed and supposedly soundproof window. She was fussing, cussing, and spinning like an out of control demon on Bea’s sidewalk.

  It took Sister Betty a moment to believe her eyes and ears. When she finally did, she hollered and warned the driver, “Don’t stop!” But the trustee being forever the resident gentleman and a fool made the driver pull over.

  Once they’d gotten her calmed down, Sasha gave her version of what led to her outside and unpaid performance. “Bea’s fault,” she ranted. “That hippo threatened the van’s driver and made him toss me out onto the street. She only did it ’cause she’s a desperate hussy. Bea just wanted a man and she didn’t care if it was a piss-po’ van driver. That She-Rilla just wanted to ride alone with the man.”

  “Somehow I believe you just might be leaving out a few details,” Sister Betty said once they’d gotten Sasha’s walking cane secured in the back seat of the limousine. She’d spun like a helicopter rotor before then and threatened to decapitate something or someone.

  “I’m sure there’s a more reasonable explanation.” Reasonable in Sister Betty’s mind meant truthful. She didn’t doubt for a moment that Sasha lied, but they needed to get to the prom.

  In the meantime, Trustee Noel sat back and eyed Sasha’s cane. He wanted to grab it and whip his own behind with it. After her performance earlier that day, when would he ever learn?

  Chapter 18

  Before the limousine even pulled up in front of the church, Trustee Noel wanted to pay a hit man to put either him or Sasha out of their misery. He’d already borrowed several painkillers from the limo driver and downed them with glasses of Pepsi cola.

  “I don’t believe soft drinks and aspirin go together,” Sister Betty warned. “They can make you feel a little extra something you ain’t.”

  Putting up with Sasha’s constant griping or getting a slight buzz caused him to ignore Sister Betty’s advice. By the time they arrived for the Seniors Prom, the three of them were out of sorts. Trustee Noel laughed like a hyena, Sasha made crabs seem nicer, and Sister Betty pocketed two painkillers just in case.

  No one who’d ever been inside the C
rossing Over Sanctuary Fellowship Hall before would’ve recognized it on Seniors Prom night. It screamed of chic cheap from the doorway to the back exit.

  Brother Casanova had gathered a few of the other church brothers and decked the hall with boughs of whatever he borrowed from the drama department. Red, blue, yellow, and white lights hung all along the walls, windows, and doors. Some of the lights borrowed from a Christmas play flashed on and off. Between the flashing lights and the huge spinning silver Disco ball hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room, hypnotism would surely play a big role this night. And surprisingly enough Brother Casanova had found a few wreaths of mistletoe. He’d hung them way off in a corner to keep Bea happy.

  The prom started at about eight-thirty and most of the guests had arrived by then. Elder Batty Brick and his questionable math skills had outsold capacity. Always the optimist, he figured with a few not too fatal heart attacks and others being lost going to the bathroom or returning to the Senior Center by ten o’clock, there’d be plenty of room.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong. For weeks, those old folk did their homework. They’d pulled out old photograph albums and yearbooks. Whoever knew how to went online and researched their names to see whether there was a bit of scandal attached. Notoriety would elevate their status and make it seem as though they’d lived the high life or did something worth mentioning on prom night.

  One thing was for certain, when they came through the door, many had one thing in mind. The seniors wanted a little piece of Heaven while they partied in Egypt.

  Of course, some of Bea and Sasha’s moneymaking schemes backfired. The inclement weather made their efforts to cash in on parking scooters and wheelchairs a bust. Those seniors had already pooled their pennies and rented buses. Belton, South Carolina, didn’t have more than about nine hundred eligible seniors over the age of fifty-five and they represented twenty-five percent. Anyone in Belton needing a babysitter that night was out of luck.

  Piedmont, Williamston, Pickens, and Oconee, South Carolina, were represented well, too. Seniors in various stages of mental and physical health or decay had arrived in long and short yellow buses. Of course, that didn’t bode well for the evening.

  The elevators soon went out of service due to the overload, yet nothing kept the attendees from their mission. It took a little longer, but the elderly poured or limped into the fellowship hall. They came dressed to impress, too. The old folks wore everything from Afro puffs to gangster leans and Mack Daddy fur-collared long coats.

  Some not too certain how old they were wore flapper costumes as though they could knock knees together without fracturing something.

  Of course, there were a few seniors so bold as to arrive at the prom in orthopedic platform shoes. No sooner had they handed in their tickets and tried to walk on the slippery floor, than they fell. They went immediately to the local hospital emergency room with sprained ankles and swollen feet. That narrowed the crowd down a bit and left plenty of room for dancing.

  Not to be outdone, Crossing Over Sanctuary’s Mothers and Trustees Board Members stole the show. Many wore their minis and a few wore fedoras and KangaROOS. Whatever hustle they hustled in the past was on display. It soon began to look more like a Playa’s Ball than a Seniors Prom.

  The Deacon Board showed up and showed out. Some of the old playas thought a throwback party meant they could throw back like they were still single. Well, they weren’t. A few well-placed knee kicks to their groins from their wives on the Deaconess Board jolted them back to reality.

  Several of the trustees needed their private packages publicly iced. They also went to the emergency room, leaving more room on the dance floor.

  In the meantime, Sister Betty and Trustee Noel waded through a crowd of gawkers and gossipers. She tried her best to make the trustee walk steady but those painkillers only made his gallop worse. She looked like she was leading a horse to a barn—an unwilling horse, because the trustee kept pulling back and clawing at Sasha who walked a little too close to his hindquarters.

  Sasha took it as a hint that the trustee wanted to fight, but she liked her victims sober. She scurried off to find Bea so she could harass her, but not before the braggarts, liars, and busybodies had their say.

  And the biggest braggart, liar, and busybody set it off.

  Elder Batty Brick had stood the test of time and a few paternity tests, too. He’d told Bea and Sasha that back in the day he’d owned the dance floor. He hadn’t told a total lie. He did pay for the wooden floor when he owned the Tin Pan Alley Cat Club. That was before the feds shut it down for trafficking in whatever was illegal at that time.

  To get things started Elder Batty Brick gave the welcome prayer and then asked, “Will one of you fine ladies like to start off the prom with me?”

  “I most certainly would.” The response came from one of the tables in the back where the mistletoe hung. It was Alice “Grandma Puddin’” Tart. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

  Alice “Grandma Puddin’ ” inched her way toward Elder Batty Brick. She wore purple house slippers, and a purple poodle felt skirt with a wide crinoline to make the skirt spread out. Every few feet she stopped and waved to the onlookers who looked at her as if she’d lost her remaining bit of mind.

  It seemed that old Alice had opened her welcome pack a little early. She’d seen Bea’s handwritten T-shirt that read NO VIAGRA—SEE ALICE INSTEAD.

  Alice “Grandma Puddin’,” so overwhelmed that someone would remember how she once lay it down thanked Bea and gave her a hug. “Bea, baby, back in the day men folk didn’t know ’bout that Viagra but they knew to see Alice.” She couldn’t thank Bea enough for not forgetting her throwback skill. And to show just how much she loved the Lord for saving her, Alice had immediately put on the shirt; but she hadn’t worn a bra.

  Brother Casanova thought the whole thing comical so he rushed and threw on an old BBD CD. Within a few seconds, the track to “That Girl is Poison” rang out over the fellowship hall.

  Well, old Alice, no more than a hundred pounds if she were wet, put a hurting on Elder Batty Brick. It was as if that T-shirt had magical or healing powers. Near ninety years old, she recalled every trick in her book. Old mother Alice “Grandma Puddin’ ” smacked it up, flipped it, flopped it, and when she finished, she rubbed him on down.

  “Oh no, do me baby!” Elder Batty Brick hollered as he waved his arms in the air and acted like he just didn’t care.

  Well old Alice “Grandma Puddin’ ” worked it some more. In no time she Bell, Biv’d and Devoe’d him without getting out of breath, then dragged him away to check out the mistletoe.

  It took Elder Batty Brick several minutes to recover from Alice’s workout. While still lathered with sweat, he continued to emcee the rest of the program.

  Not many paid attention to his lame jokes and throwback history after Alice turned him out.

  When the male stripper Bea hired, an eighty-year-old Vietnamese fella named Hung Lo, hit the stage, the seniors moved in closer. He lived in her building and claimed that in the sixties he’d stripped back in the Mekong Delta. He never told her that he’d done it at the end of a bayonet.

  Anyway, old Hung Lo lowered the wrong set of balls under the belt he wore around his skinny waist. Pandemonium broke out. The old mothers lost it, the old trustees searched for it, and Bea collected money from those who’d tried to feel to see if Hung Lo’s were real or Memorex.

  After a while, the seniors started buzzing and recreating stories about Sister Betty dragging Trustee Noel through the door and disappearing out of sight.

  “I thought she was rich,” snorted one of the seniors. “I guess while the rest of us suffer she done latched onto the richest sucker at the church.” The observation came from an elderly woman who apparently thought that back in the day she was Diana Ross. She came dressed in a flimsy sequined mini dress and bouffant black wig with wing tips. Dark, scary mascara circled her eyes. It might’ve worked except Sister Mae Ling was Chinese. She
didn’t go through U.S. customs until the mid-nineties. By then Diana Ross was no longer the boss.

  Of course, the conversation segued into “He looked like he’d been drinking. He was probably drunk. I always figured somebody had to get drunk to deal with Sister Betty.” That conclusion came from the lips of many.

  When Sister Betty finally got him to stop galloping, it took prayer and a lot of it to bring Trustee Noel to his senses. “Please don’t ever do that again,” Sister Betty warned. The evening barely got started and they were about to have their first spat. But they didn’t. Sister Betty took Trustee Noel to an empty seat where the crowded dance floor hid them from view.

  “I’m sorry,” Trustee Noel whispered. “Sasha has always scared me, but tonight she made me hopping mad.”

  “Hopping mad?” Sister Betty hadn’t heard that phrase in years and coming from Trustee Noel all she could do was laugh. “Don’t worry about it. We got bigger fish to fry.”

  “Did your friend show up yet?” Trustee Noel’s eyes followed Sister Betty’s as she scanned the crowd. Although he had no idea who she looked for, each time her eyes stopped, his did, too.

  A few moments later the concerned expression on Sister Betty’s face relaxed. “Come on,” Sister Betty told the trustee as she stood. “I see my special guest.”

  Chapter 19

  Brother Casanova wanted the seniors out on the dance floor. He knew just how to do it. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a handful of CDs, flipping through them until he found the one throwback jam that would raise folks from a dirt sleep. “This one’s for all the throwbacks who threw back without throwing their backs out. Come on church folk, ‘Le Freak’ with Chic.”