Cover Girls
© 2003 by T. D. Jakes.
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Unless otherwise noted, Scriptures are taken from the NEW KING JAMES VERSION. Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982, Thomas Nelson, Inc., Publishers.
Scriptures noted NIV are taken from the HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
Scriptures noted KJV are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
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First eBook Edition: July 2003
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Contents
Part Three: Winter-Delores Judson
I would like to dedicate this novel to those ladies who have made the very difficult choice to become better rather than bitter. It is my prayer that
Cover Girls
will do far more than entertain you: It is written in the hope that it will inspire you
Special thanks go to Rolf Zettersten, my publisher; Leslie Peterson, my editor; and all the others at Warner Faith who have worked so hard to make sure this book is the best it can be. Thank you to Sharon Ewell Foster for her invaluable help in the writing process. Thank you to my assistant, Beverly, for keeping things on track. And thank you to my own Leading Lady—my lovely wife, Serita—for her constant strength and guidance.
Just as there are seasons in nature, there are seasons in our lives. Nowhere can the beauty of seasons be seen more clearly than in the gentleness and femininity of woman.
Spring is the first season of life. It is the time of new birth, seedlings, and tender and fragile young plants. It is a time of new buds and beautiful blooms. Spring parallels this beauty in the feminine life. At birth and through childhood our daughters appear like tiny tender leaves. They rely on our care, protection, and nurturing to grow into the lovely flower of youth and young womanhood.
By summer, the plants are strong and hardy. They are usually, in shape and substance, what they will be for the rest of their lives. So it is in the life of a woman. The seeds that have been planted when her youth began show forth fully bloomed in the summer. In adulthood, women emblazon all that has been cultivated in them.
Fall is harvest time and resting time. That which is not productive begins to wither, while that which is good remains strong. In a woman’s life, this is a season where the possibility exists for great peace, a kind of settling into and comfort with who she is and who she has become.
Finally, there is winter. It is probably the most elusive season. Things appear dead and cold in the winter. It seems like a useless time for growing. However, many times, just beneath the surface things are waiting. New life is waiting to spring forth. The same is true of the winter woman. Many people are fooled by the frost they see in her hair. They believe that she is done, finished, that her life is over. But not so! If you peek just beneath the surface, you might be surprised at what you find.
In
Cover Girls,
come with me as we meet four women in different seasons of their lives. First to grace the stage is Michelle. Michelle sweeps onto the Cover Girls stage in the summer of her life. She is beauty and she is sensuality, but if you peer beneath her mask you might find the childhood secret that keeps her from being a leading lady.
Tonya enters the stage next as a woman of autumn. She has been a loving wife and doting mother, a woman on the Lord’s side. If you observe closely, you will begin to see the slightest crack in her armor. Even church girls have struggles beneath the smiles they wear.
Michelle and Tonya are joined by Delores Judson, a woman of winter. Mrs. Judson is a no-nonsense executive, a successful entrepreneur, and a respected citizen who after years of hard work is seemingly at the pinnacle of success. It appears that she has it all, but you and I know that appearances are often deceiving.
Finally, Miz Ida takes center stage. She has survived many years with little to show for it—no high-priced home, no fancy cars. Miz Ida is at an age where most people don’t have any use for her; like a tree in winter, her beauty and vigor seem to have faded. The winter season has covered her hair with frost, dimmed her eyes, and slowed her stride. But don’t be fooled—sometimes what looks like winter is just a frosty spring. It might be a little too soon to count Miz Ida out!
These four women entertain us and invite us to join in their lives. As they welcome us, they also introduce us to the men in their lives. The men play supporting roles, adding color and zest to the lives of our Cover Girls.
Welcome, my daughters, into the lives of the Cover Girls—women who conceal what God wants to heal. Come, find your place on stage and in the changing seasons. Whatever your season, be assured that God is still blessing you and He wants to see you loosed!
Bishop T. D. Jakes
Summer-Michelle
C
inderella was a lie!” Michelle made sure that the emphasis she put on the words didn’t shake her hair out of place. She patted her elaborate coiffure to make sure that it was still high and tight, and to make sure that the sides were still smoothed tight to the sides of her head. With one subtle move of a well-manicured, fire-engine-red baby fingernail, Michelle checked to make sure that the hot-iron-flattened piece of hair—the piece that really made her hairdo a ’do—still draped from the top of her coif to hang just to the side of her right eye. When she was sure she was together, she stared into her supervisor’s eyes. Well, really her team leader’s eyes. “I mean, if you keep cleaning up other people’s messes, if you keep inviting other people to dinner and letting them eat first, you are not going to get a prince.”
Michelle tugged at the bottom of her form-fitting yellow suit jacket. “What you’re going to get, sister girl, is leftovers.”
Tonya, Michelle’s team leader, was smart, but common sense avoided home girl like the plague. She held the key to Michelle getting the promotion that was due her, but at this moment, Michelle didn’t care. She was going to say what was on her mind. She put her hands on her hips.
“No disrespect to Dr. Phil, but I’m telling you what I learned at the school of hard knocks. You have to tell people, ‘No thank you.’ You keep inviting yourself to leftovers and toilet scrubbing, that’s what you’ll get. And it won’t be anybody’s fault but yours.”
She stared at Tonya. Really, she hadn’t said half of what she wanted to say. Michelle really wanted to tell Tonya that she was sick of her. She was tired of the woman walking back and forth in front of her desk to check up on her like she was the work police. She was tired of Tonya acting like she knew it all, especially like she had a personal hotline to Jesus. She was sick of Tonya acting like she lived on her own personal cross with a halo on her head. And if she heard Tonya say, “Praise the Lord!” one more time, Michelle wasn’t sure she would be able to keep herself from jumping the desk and going crazy on her hair-always-pulled-back, cross-wearing, plain-suit-with-no-jewelry-wearing, flat-shoe-wearing, boring, whining, pseudo-boss!
Tonya shook her head. She was always shaking her head. “Well, Michelle, I’m sure that there’s some truth to what you’re saying.”
Michelle watched her but blocked out her words. It was kind of like the teacher on the Charlie Brown cartoons. Just a lot of noise, like wah, wah, wah-wah-wah-wah. She didn’t even know why she bothered talking to Tonya. It just ticked her off anyway. Besides, Tonya was in her forties—probably breathing down fifty’s neck—and it wasn’t like she was going to change or anything. It really didn’t matter anyway . . . just as long as Tonya didn’t say, “Praise the Lord!” Michelle would be able to hold it together as long as Tonya just didn’t say, “Praise the Lord!”
Please, please,
Michelle thought.
Just don’t let me lose it up in here, up in here!
Tonya kept shaking her head and droned on. “It’s so much easier for you, Michelle. You’re young, still in your twenties. No responsibilities. Trouble hasn’t even put a wrinkle on your face.” Tonya laid her hand on her chest. “I mean, I’ve got a son and I know he’s almost grown, but I just can’t kick him out. I can’t just get what I need first then give him what’s left over. He’s my baby, I’m his mother, I have to look out for him first.”
Everything about Tonya irritated Michelle. She was too much like a chocolate-covered June Cleaver, recently escaped from the old
Leave It to Beaver
television show. Even Tonya’s desk got on her nerves. It was so predictable. There was a light-yellow-ceramic framed picture of the woman’s two sons. Next to it was a yellow vase and yellow tissue holder. There was an assortment of pens and pencils in a yellow cup.
It made Michelle shudder.
She shrugged her shoulders. “What is it that he’s doing to you? You can’t count on any man. Not even your son. That’s why I work—so I will never be under any man’s thumb. I’ll say it again: Cinderella is a lie. Prince Charming will just eat your food, then leave you to go sit at someone else’s table.”
Tonya shook her head again. “You just don’t understand. But—”
Michelle held her breath.
Don’t let her say it. Please don’t let her say it—not PTL. I will lose it up in here.
“But that’s not even why I stopped by to talk to you. I just wanted to remind you to watch the personal phone calls. You know personal phone calls really irritate Mrs. Judson. We want to make sure that everything is in order so you can get your promotion. But don’t worry, Michelle.”
Michelle squinted her eyes. Just what she needed, another visit from the telephone police. And if she was going to be the telephone police, Tonya needed a new uniform. How could anyone be so plain, so gray, so lackluster? She relaxed her shoulders—maybe Tonya wasn’t going to say it.
“No, I wouldn’t worry, Michelle. Because, Praise the Lord—”
Michelle wasn’t sure how she got to the other side of her desk. But faster than a speeding bullet and swifter than a thousand midnights, she leaped—no, dove (or could it more aptly be described as scrambled?) forward—her eyes red and her nostrils flared. Whatever the case, there she was clutching Tonya by the throat. “I am sick of this and I am sick of you!” She couldn’t take any more—it felt like a million years of her nerves being worked. It was too many years of working in positions where people thought she was their personal flunky. It was too many years of being passed over for promotion just to now have her chance at a new life blocked by an uptight holy roller—especially one that was probably a hypocrite, just like all the rest. Just like her own mother.
Michelle shouted and drew back her hand to slap Tonya, but with all the agility of a martial arts expert, Tonya slipped away. Then, just like in the cartoons, they ran around the desk, papers flying everywhere. If Michelle wasn’t so angry, she would have laughed hysterically. They had to look like Tom and Jerry scurrying about. Instead of laughter, though, all she could think were acrid thoughts of shutting down Tonya’s endlessly nagging voice. When Michelle got her hands on Tonya, she was going to slap her back to reality!
Tonya turned and hauled bootie. Michelle had never seen a bun bob up and down like that. First they ran around the office area several times, knocking books off of desks. They even sent a computer monitor crashing to the floor, where the screen disintegrated into tiny shining silver shards of glass. Each time Michelle reached for Tonya, the woman somehow managed to elude her grasp. Then the circle broadened and they ran around the outer ring of the office. Michelle would never have expected Tonya was in good enough shape to keep running so long—but fear had been known to transform people.