“Is this my June Bug?” She knew exactly who he was but she wanted the crowd to think they were closer than he and Bea.
“Praise the Lord, Mothers.” He tried to prod them toward the side exit door. But they wouldn't budge.
Instead, they circled Chandler. “Your Aunt Betty didn't tell us you were here in Las Vegas,” Sasha scolded. “You'd think her and your grandma, Ma Cile, were the only ones who cared about you.”
“That's right,” Bea chimed in. “You know everybody loves June Bug.”
But everybody didn't always love June Bug. Chandler remembered there were many times when both Mothers Blister and Pray Onn would lie in wait by the church exit. The two feisty old women would ambush him. They'd accuse him of doing things both imaginary and often real that would require they lay hands on him. There was one time, in particular. Mother Pray Onn, barely taller than him at his age of twelve, whacked him so hard across his shoulders it caused him to cry out to God. It was the first time he'd done so and meant it.
The sight of Sister Betty's shocked look as she stood just outside the casino exit stopped Chandler's momentary visit to his past. All he could do was shrug his shoulders and give her a half smile showing his amusement and concession. He'd done the same to Zipporah but she'd left. He didn't know why but at that particular moment, he was more concerned about Zipporah's image of him. Had she heard the old women call him June Bug?
“You handle your business, June Bug.” The taunt came from two tables away from where they stood. There was no longer any doubt that most of the casino had heard him called June Bug. He was almost ashamed to admit that while he had Bea and Sasha in his grasp, he wanted to wring their necks.
One look at the pretended innocence on Bea and Sasha's faces confirmed Chandler's secret desire. He definitely wanted to wring their necks, just not in front of more than three hundred witnesses in the casino.
What Chandler didn't realize was that he could've done it and gotten away with it. There wasn't a patron there who didn't want to do the same thing to Bea and Sasha.
15
While Chandler dealt with the craziness inside the casino with the old women, Zipporah had slipped away into the restroom. She was glad to find it empty. There was no need in looking at the hosiery. They were ruined. Every six weeks, she was supposed to receive a uniform allowance in her meager check. She'd only started working three hours ago and already she'd have to find a way to replace a part of her uniform.
Zipporah didn't think twice about rebuking her thoughts of strangling those old women until the sun set and rose again. And, if she had thought twice about it, it didn't last long. No sooner had she looked up than she saw Bea's reflection in the mirror over the sink. The old woman was staring at her, not in a mean way but in an odd one, nonetheless.
“You okay?” Bea stared, still trying to remember where or if she'd seen the young woman before. “It looks like you got a run in your stockings.”
Zipporah looked at Bea. She didn't return the woman's kindly look with one of her own. Instead, she was about to light into a litany of reasons why within the past couple of days she considered the old woman to be stalking her. Everywhere she turned, she and that other ball of gray-haired spitfire were there descending upon her world.
“I'm all right.” Perhaps if she kept her response to a minimum the old woman would just disappear.
But this was Bea Blister. The only thing disappearing in her life was her monies and much of her memory.
Bea had become so preoccupied with the young woman she'd forgotten why she came into the bathroom. She went over to the sink and started washing her hands as if she'd completed her bathroom mission. She was certain it was the same person she'd seen at the hotel, the restaurant, and now the casino.
“I don't mean to intrude, honey.” She did mean to do it but she had manners, and it was such a small lie. “Have you ever been to Pelzer, South Carolina?”
Zipporah didn't want any further discussions but once again, she deluded herself into thinking that a one- or two-word answer would make the old woman disappear. At the very least, make her quit asking questions. “No.”
“Well, do you have any family there?” Bea was persistent. There was something familiar about the young woman. “I've seen you somewhere.”
You're everywhere I turn,
Zipporah thought. She didn't bother to answer. She grabbed her small bag to leave. She needed to go to her locker and change into her one extra pair of fishnets. She threw a disapproving look at the old woman, who just stood there with a quizzical one of her own.
Just when Zipporah thought things couldn't get any worse, they did. She stepped through the door and straight into the path of Chandler and the other old woman.
“I think you should take your break now.” Chandler had spoken before he'd meant to do so. Something about the pretty woman was getting to him. He'd only met her less than twenty-four hours ago and already their paths had crossed more than he'd liked. “I'll let the floor manager know I authorized it.”
“Thank you.” Zipporah was in a one-word response mode. Without thinking, again, she tried to clutch the torn area covering her thighs.
“And don't worry about replacing those with your own money. I'm sure the ones responsible will see that it's covered.” He glanced down at Sasha.
Sasha turned and looked around. She wanted to know who Chandler was referring to. “June Bug, why are you looking at me?”
His face reddened and he clenched his fists. It was as though all his diplomacy was about to exit, leaving the door open for a little
street
to come in. Why didn't they stop calling him by a name he hated even when he was young, and still did?
Zipporah saw Chandler's embarrassment. For a brief moment she felt hers paled in comparison.
June Bug
, she thought as she stifled a smile. What kind of name was that and why in the world would someone place it upon him?
“Thank you, Mr. Lamb. I'm okay. But I think I will take that break,” she said somewhat stiffly. If she stuck to her rule of distancing herself, she'd survive. He was way out of her league and she had enough problems. No way she'd leave herself open to more.
That's the excuse Zipporah told herself. The truth was that she really didn't want to have anything to do with anyone connected to those old women. She knew trouble when it came and those two women, no doubt, invented pandemonium.
Sister Betty was still watching from nearby. She wasn't quite certain if Chandler, Bea, or Sasha had seen her. If they hadn't that was fine with her. She wasn't comfortable being so close to a casino and she'd let Chandler know that when they dined.
Sister Betty continued her watch while resting against the far wall. She concentrated on the young woman standing in a bit of disarray in front of Chandler. There was something eerily familiar about the woman. She knew her godson. Although she couldn't hear what was said, she read his actions clearly.
Chandler likes her,
she thought. And for a brief moment, the thought made her smile.
If Zipporah wanted to spend another moment in Chandler's presence, it was cut short by the reappearance of the other old woman, Bea.
“Oh, you know June Bug?” Bea had barely stepped out of the ladies' room before heaping more embarrassment upon Chandler.
Zipporah almost couldn't help it that time. She gulped, forcing down the urge to laugh. She felt torn between her need to escape the perpetual mayhem the old women tossed about like a game of ping-pong and her pity for Chandler.
Zipporah chose to walk away, leaving them to work out whatever dysfunctional relationship they had. She needed to keep her job.
“That was just plain ol' rude,” Bea hissed. And that's when it hit her. She knew why the young woman looked familiar.
“Sasha,” Bea snapped. “Didn't that young gal look like somebody we know?”
“No.” Sasha's eyes squinted, causing her face to twitch and her glasses to slide down upon her nose. “She don't look like nobody I know.”
Chandler hadn't seen those two old women in quite some time but he'd known them long enough to know that Sasha was lying. He'd seen that same look upon her face when she used to lie during testimony service and at other times.
For a moment, Chandler forgot his own embarrassment as he spied Sister Betty leaning against the far wall.
“I've got to leave. Do you two promise to behave?” Chandler followed his request with a quick wink to take the sting out.
“She promises.” Sasha, again, tossed Bea under the proverbial bus as she feigned innocence.
“Ooh, I can't wait for the meeting to begin,” Bea snapped. Her threat to Sasha was real. Her only problem would be in remembering what she was going to do at the meeting later that evening if indeed it was going to happen. No one had made a decision or shared it with her. But whenever she got the opportunity she'd get Sasha with whatever would cause Sasha pain.
16
Zipporah managed to change the torn hosiery and return to the casino floor just in time to catch the beginnings of the late afternoon gamblers.
Trying to make up for the hour she'd lost as well as the tips, Zipporah strutted up and down the banks of slot machines. The aisles became her catwalk as she modeled her desperation, hidden by forced smiles and pleasantries. She even returned smiles and nods as many of the men offered their own false promises with bold leers. It wasn't just the old men acting ridiculous, the young ones were, too.
Several of the young men got out of hand, seeming to feel as though it was their duty to grant themselves access to her. They shamelessly grabbed at Zipporah with an unsolicited or an “I'm ready for you and my drink” accidental touch.
She wasn't a stripper with pasties or an enormous fan of feathers peeking from behind her, but Zipporah felt as though she were. But in the entertainment business the show
must
go on. So Zipporah tucked away the shame she'd begun to feel in the recesses of her mind, perhaps for another day. She moved to the throbbing rhythm of a headache. Already the job was becoming a love-hate relationship, at best.
Â
Â
Chandler and Sister Betty sat at a table for two off to the side away from the patron traffic. Chandler leaned across the table and moved aside a slender crystal lamp offering only enough light for the diners to read a menu. The lighting was meant to underplay any imperfections or to give privacy to some who might need it.
“I'm sorry,” Chandler whispered. He'd apologized several times between bites as he dined with Sister Betty. “I wasn't thinking. It never occurred to me that you'd be uncomfortable walking through a casino.”
He tried to add a little humor to his apology. He smiled and said, “After all, didn't Jesus walk through a casino when he chased out those money changers?” From the look on her face, he'd failed.
“It was a temple,” Sister Betty hissed. She surprised herself with her curt reply. “Don't try changing the Bible to get out of this mess.”
“When she's better you're not going to tell my grandmother, are you?” Chandler was determined to turn around the situation even if he had to stand on his head and sing.
“You know she'd kick your behind if she weren't in that hospital.” The thought of Ma Cile before her stroke standing over Chandler when he was a young boy with a switch caused her to chuckle. Laughter was the blanket for their pain whenever they talked about Ma Cile. “You remember that time when you and your cousin Lil Bit argued over whether or not God had called me on the telephone?”
“How could I forget?” Chandler laughed. “I couldn't sit or hardly stand for several days. Ma Cile beat the black off me.”
“I know.” Sister Betty chuckled. “That's why you have such a smooth brown complexion now.”
The mood had lightened. His mission was accomplished, almost. Although, the thought of Ma Cile languishing in a hospital was always a lingering cloud he'd learned to live with.
“I need a favor.” Chandler placed down his fork and gently reached for one of Sister Betty's small hands. He looked lovingly, like the good little godson he was, into her eyes and kissed the hand.
“You're about to set me up, aren't you?” She knew it and at that moment, she'd have given him anything. Chandler had always been the son she'd lost at an early age. “What do you need?”
“Will you pleaseâ” He stopped to look around. He didn't want anyone to overhear his request.
“Go on, Chandler.” She was starting to get a little nervous. He seemed very serious.
Turning back to her, Chandler continued. “I need for you, Mothers Blister and Pray Onn . . .”
“What do those two have to do with me?” Sister Betty didn't realize she was trying to yank her hand from his. He held on tight.
“I'm not trying to put your salvation in the same vein as theirs.” He knew what she was thinking. “I just need for all of you to please stop calling me June Bug.”
“Say what?”
“Aunt Betty, I'm a grown man. When y'all call me June Bug in public, it's embarrassing.”
“Is that it?” Sister Betty started laughing so hard she almost lost her dentures and was drawing attention to their table.
“What's so funny?” Chandler asked as he looked around at the other diners now focusing on his table.
“I'm okay. I just thought you were going to ask me to do something with Bea and Sasha.” She stopped chuckling long enough to wipe her mouth with her napkin and then emit a sigh of relief.
“Well, there is just one more, tiny thing. . . .” Chandler leaned in closer to Sister Betty and continued speaking.
When Chandler finished, Sister Betty's eyes grew wide. Without meaning to do so, her tiny fist hit the table. She was surprised at her anger but not able to stop it.
“June Bug, have you lost your mind? I'm not investing in the Devil's music.”
And just like in the television commercial, most of the other diners stopped in midbites as the name
June Bug
echoed around the restaurant.
Chandler's smile slid and his shoulders sunk. Suddenly, he felt like the little boy who always seemed to be in trouble. However, now he was a grown man, and when it came to trouble, not a lot had changed.