He'd not recognized the number, although it did seem vaguely familiar. “Chandler Lamb,” he said.
“Hi, June Bug, it's Mother Blister.”
“Are you all right?” Chandler immediately asked. One day, she'd stop calling him
June Bug
and that day couldn't come soon enough.
“Well, my pinky toe done swollen up to the size of an apple.” As usual she'd stretched the truth.
There was silence. Bea thought perhaps Chandler hadn't heard her. “Listen, June Bug,” she continued, “is Zipporah still with you?”
“Yes. Do you need her?”
“No,” Bea replied. “I found her wallet and I didn't want her to worry about it.”
Chandler didn't ask nor did he care how the wallet ended up with Mother Blister. He was simply glad it had. “She's looking for it. Please hold on to it and when she returns I'll let her know that you have it.”
“That's so sweet of you, June Bug.” She wanted to tell him about Zipporah living in a shelter but decided against it.
Bea hung up the telephone and examined the foot. The swelling had gone down considerably but she didn't feel a need to share that information with Chandler. She certainly wouldn't get any sympathy if she did.
Bea's spirit picked up when she thought about how happy Zipporah would be when she found out that Bea not only had her lost wallet but hadn't told anyone about the homeless shelter.
Bea's foreign sense of caring grew as the swelling subsided. However, it wasn't that she'd never cared for anyone or about anything; she had. She'd just found salvation and she saw nothing but goodness in everyone.
It only took one scandalous lie from one of the church trustees to wreck Bea's trust. It was after a Thursday evening revival meeting. Several baskets of hard-earned money coerced by the preacher with threats of hellfire made their way into a back room. She'd been a member of the usher board, back then. After delivering the monies into the hands of two trustees, in the back room, she'd left.
A short time later, in between services, she'd returned to gather fans and modesty cloths. The men were so certain of their privacy they hadn't bothered to make sure the door was completely closed. It took her a moment to realize that they were dividing the proceeds among them from one of the baskets. They'd laughed as they stole hard-earned money from the congregation, “God helps them that helps themselves,” she heard one of the trustees boast.
Not knowing what to do, she'd backed out. Unable to enjoy the rest of the revival, she went about her usher duty while trying to decide whether or not to inform the reverend, after the service. But when she saw the same two trustees laughing with the reverend as he was handed a thick envelope, she knew it was pointless.
Although she'd moved her membership twice since then, she'd seen the same treachery in one form or another no matter where she worshipped. As far as she was concerned, everyone had their own relationship with God. Hers had been on a day-to-day basis and some days were closer than others. But she'd never trusted or cared, completely, again.
The reason Sasha seemingly didn't like the girl still puzzled Bea. She was determined to find out. She knew Sasha liked very few people but this was a particular unspoken dislike for Zipporah, something almost akin to a fear. Bea knew Sasha feared no one, normally.
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Zipporah saw Chandler's face light up when she returned. “What happened?” At that moment, she really didn't care because her mind was still on locating her wallet. She'd asked because she felt she should.
“Mother Blister has your wallet. You left it in her room.”
“Really? I don't remember taking it out but I'm glad she found it.”
“We'll stop by her room and pick it up later.”
“I guess the free room just went out the door.” Zipporah tried to smile but she wasn't convincing.
“Of course it's not. When I say I'm going to do something, I generally do it.”
“But you don't really know me well enough to keep a word like that.”
“I don't have to know you to keep my word.” He was slightly offended by her statement but he didn't show it. “I can use the tax write off.”
“I wouldn't want to deprive you of that.”
The jovial mood had returned.
25
The applause at the performance later on that night was almost deafening, but enthusiastically appreciated. After the last curtain call, Alicia, watching the musicians and other background singers surround Zipporah, had to admit, inwardly, that Zipporah had stolen the show. She was about to eat the proverbial bowl of crow and compliment Zipporah before one of the other singers, bubbling over, spoke up first.
“My goodness, your singing wore me out!” The compliment rolled off the tongue from a rather large, cinnamon-colored woman who'd waited for the others to leave before approaching Zipporah. Just the night before, she'd been the one the crowd roared their approval for. At first, there was a bit of professional jealousy toward the newcomer and she'd actually waited for Zipporah to fail. But talent recognized talent and she had to give Zipporah her props.
She'd approached Zipporah swinging her large red Afro wig in one hand, leaving her salt and pepper micro-braids exposed. She was a part of the oldies segment and normally received standing ovations when she imitated double-entendre-laced hits by Big Maybelle and Ruth Brown. “Gurlfriend, I'm so glad you're here.”
“Thank you.” Zipporah's shyness was genuine as she struggled to accept the compliment.
“You nailed Miss Aretha's âChain of Fools.' I almost forgot it was you singing and not the Queen.” She smiled widely, showing a huge gap in her teeth that seemed to fit her personality. “Welcome aboard. They call me Miss Libido, for all the right reasons,” she continued with a mischievous wink. “Now I don't have to carry this entire show by myself.”
Zipporah was equally impressed with the woman's vocal styling but didn't have the nerve to cut her off to tell her.
Alicia, who'd stood off to the side and hadn't appeared to be listening, suddenly butted in. “Don't worry about carrying this entire show, Miss Libido,” Alicia teased, “just make sure you can carry your own weight. . . .” She let the word
weight
linger in the air to make sure the taunt was understood.
The plus-sized woman didn't blink. She walked slowly between Zipporah and Alicia. There was no expression on her face as she passed, letting her ample bosom guide her as she brushed against Alicia and turned to Zipporah. “Let's get together after the next show. We'll chat about what singers know about.”
No sooner had the woman moved away when some of the other performers gathered, again, to congratulate Zipporah and make her feel welcomed.
Earlier during the show, while Zipporah was on stage, Bea beamed. Every time Zipporah finished a song, Bea clapped louder than anyone. Normally having sat so long would've caused pain in her curved spine, but not tonight. She was thrilled that Chandler had managed to get them a table that was close to the stage.
“Too bad your godmother couldn't be so bothered as to show up and give support,” Bea said, as she teetered between being grateful and her usual snippy attitude. “Even with my broken pinky toe I still came downstairs to be with you. That's what a true Christian would do. They'd come to the club.”
Chandler was about to tell Mother Blister that Sister Betty wouldn't venture into a casino club ever again, even if she had to go through it to escape a fire, but at that moment, he was too thrilled with Zipporah.
“That woman can sing!” Chandler said. “The world needs to know about her!” It was as though the old music promotion juices had awoken.
Bringing the subject back to Zipporah temporarily caused Bea to forget about Sister Betty's absence. “She's a real sweetheart, isn't she?” Bea's eyes danced as she waited for Chandler to respond. She knew nothing about the music industry, but she did know about human nature and beauty.
“Yes, she appears to be so.” Chandler knew where Mother Blister was headed and he wasn't about to fall into her matchmaking trap. “I don't mix business with pleasure.”
“Never said you had to,” Bea teased. “And since this is only business, I guess it wouldn't matter to you whether she was a serial killer or a homeless person?”
“Couldn't care less,” Chandler answered, “as long as there wasn't a warrant out for her arrest and she at least had a cardboard box to sleep in, I wouldn't care.”
“Really . . .” Bea moved a little closer to Chandler. “Why is that?”
“Because that singing sista is about to get herself and me paid!” Chandler laughed. “She'll make us enough money to buy the best attorney and condo money can afford.”
“June Bug, you need to quit!” Bea's laughter did what it always did when she put too much into it. So she needed to find a bathroom.
Bea's sudden trek to the bathroom gave Chandler an opportunity to go backstage and find Zipporah. He wasn't surprised to find her surrounded by the other performers. However, finding Alicia suddenly embracing Zipporah was a plus and a minus. He knew the signs of a true vulture and, tonight, Alicia Cowing was at the top of her game.
Chandler stood in the shadows and continued watching Alicia's show of sudden humility. He couldn't help but laugh quietly. The woman had chosen wisely. She knew Zipporah had to be kept happy in order to keep her. Alicia wouldn't dare continue to flirt with him, at least not in front of Zipporah. Everything from that point on would be business.
“Zipporah,” Chandler called out as he rushed to her side, “you were fabulous.”
“Thank you.” Zipporah let her eyes drop as her mind spun trying to grasp all that was suddenly happening.
Chandler deliberately ignored Alicia's gaze as he placed an arm around Zipporah's shoulders. “Believe me,” he conspired, “there are several big names from the Las Vegas entertainment scene that were clapping and about to lose their minds.”
Chandler let his words rest a moment knowing that Alicia knew exactly what he meant even if Zipporah hadn't.
“Oh, Alicia.” Chandler turned and smiled broadly. “I'm so sorry. I was so excited for my artist that I'd forgotten to thank you for this opportunity to showcase her talents.”
“Your artist.” Alicia bit her lip to keep from telling Chandler exactly what she felt about his unexpected imposition into Zipporah's sudden fame. “I wasn't aware that you'd signed her since we spoke, only a few hours ago.”
Zipporah stood by Chandler's side and watched. She knew exactly what he was doing and she approved. He was maximizing the moment and she wasn't about to spoil it.
“Excuse me,” Zipporah interjected, “I'm really tired.” She followed with a yawn as though bored with whatever was going on. “I imagine I can keep the hotel room until checkout tomorrow.”
Now it was Alicia's turn to impress Zipporah. “You will need to be here early for an extra rehearsal. Just keep the suite and the Luxor will pick up the bill.” She smiled as she saw the look of supposed surprise creep across Chandler's face. “Of course, that would include three meals and telephone for the six-week run of the show.”
Chandler nodded slowly. “Of course, Alicia and I will revise the paperwork to reflect a modest pay increase and other amenities.”
Even from where they stood they could still hear Zipporah's name whispered among the crowd. Alicia needed to secure Zipporah before she became too expensive.
Alicia returned the nod. She'd expected nothing less from him.
“I'm really tired.” Zipporah gave a bigger yawn along with an inconspicuous wink at Chandler. “I'll let my manager handle things from here on. You don't need me.” Zipporah said good night and excused herself while Chandler and Alicia's game of ping-pong negotiations continued.
Concern for whether or not she'd still have a room at the shelter lessened. It was replaced by the reality of a possible break finally happening.
The elevator was empty as Zipporah rode up to her suite. She was glad for the solitude, wanting only her thoughts as company. As soon as she entered and turned on the lights, the tiredness she'd felt disappeared in an instant. She saw roses. Long-stemmed pink, white, and red roses . . . The aroma overpowered her senses. There were more on the nightstand, the coffee table, and although she didn't drink, she appreciated the rather large bottle of champagne chilling in a gold bucket of ice.
“Not too shabby for a girl from a homeless shelter.” Zipporah sang the words with a soulfulness that would become her signature sound.
She slipped out of her dress and carefully hung it in the closet. It looked perfect alongside the other outfits that Chandler had delivered to the suite earlier. She hadn't asked him for anything, but he seemed to have a sense of her personal style and they'd only met. There wasn't one outfit that she found fault with. Each outfit looked expensive but she couldn't be certain. He or someone had taken off the price tags. Either way, she wouldn't have been able to buy them. If that night was any indication of her future, she'd repay him one day.
Zipporah's eyes kept surveying her hotel suite as though if she didn't it would all disappear. She covered her mouth to muffle her laughter as she removed her makeup. And, for the first time in a long time, Zipporah fell to her knees beside a bed that didn't have the stench of the impoverished or the tear stains of desperation.
And Zipporah talked to God like He was an old friend she'd lost touch with, and then she cried.