43
Sasha was lucky in finding a cab when she'd raced from the hospital. Arriving a short time later, she rushed from the Luxor elevator as quick as her tiny feet could carry her. The orthopedic Hush Puppies she'd worn since earlier that morning were beginning to pinch. That only caused her more misery. When Sasha was miserable that meant she shared it.
Sasha pounded on Sister Betty's door. “Come on and open the door.”
Sister Betty had just about gotten her knees down to a half jerk per minute when Sasha appeared at the door, uninvited. By the time Sister Betty made it to her door and opened it, Sasha had taken off a shoe and was about to use it to pound on the door. She hopscotched her way into the room.
“Bea tried to kill Jasper,” Sasha blurted.
“How do you know that?” Sister Betty's eyes narrowed as she waited for Sasha's response.
Sasha decided to dispense with the prepared lie and tell Sister Betty the almost-truth. It wasn't that she and Bea didn't want Zipporah to learn the truth or have a family, they just didn't think Jasper was what she needed.
“But he spent a ton of money to find his child,” Sister Betty reminded Sasha. “He didn't have to do that. People do change. Didn't you change?”
“You're using me as an example?” Sasha couldn't believe her ears. Sister Betty was actually embracing her as an equal despite the evidence that she'd fallen, a few times, since they'd prayed.
“You may or may not be the best example,” Sister Betty admitted. “But you tried. We all have to repent daily.”
Sasha sat down and took off her other shoe, although Sister Betty had hoped it was to put it on and leave.
“So what happened to Bea?” The answer came immediately, almost like a hurricane without a warning.
“Come on, Sister Betty, open the door. I need to talk to you.”
Sister Betty opened the door and Bea stormed in.
Sasha, with no place to hide or run, just sat innocently as though she had no idea what the problem could be.
Bea was too winded to stomp Sasha at that moment.
“I thought you were right behind me,” Sasha lied sweetly. “Are you okay, Bea?”
“I'll be right behind you, all right!” Bea wanted to move but found she was too tired. “I'll put my foot in yourâ”
“Bea,” Sister Betty interrupted what she was certain was going to be language foul enough to fill the room with demons. “You wanna bring security here again?”
“If they come I hope they bring something to eat,” Bea quipped, “I haven't eaten in hours.” Bea slumped over from a low blood sugar episode.
Sister Betty ran to the minibar and retrieved several candy bars. She was about to force-feed them into Bea's mouth but stopped. Unfortunately, they were Baby Ruth candy bars with a chewy and nutty filling. Bea didn't have her teeth in, so if she swallowed them whole, she'd have choked. It took Sister Betty's conscience to mule-kick her from not giving in to the urge to push those candy bars in Bea's mouth.
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Chandler looked around Zipporah's room. One box of tissues wouldn't do, so he took another from the bathroom vanity and brought it to Zipporah. She'd gone through two boxes of tissues and Chandler hadn't told everything.
He was totally surprised she had tears left. He'd sat outside her door for about thirty minutes listening to her sob. She was almost dehydrated by the time she'd stopped and fallen asleep.
But Zipporah hadn't slept for long or at least it didn't seem as though she had. Chandler had barely closed his eyes when it seemed she was up. As light as she was on her feet, Chandler instinctively knew she had crept past. There was a brief whiff of her perfume that lingered as she turned toward the kitchenette. He hadn't said anything, at first. He preferred to see what she'd do. What frame of mind was she in? Was she all cried out?
But Zipporah knew Chandler had awakened slightly if not fully. Minutes before, she'd even heard a light snoring through the bedroom door left slightly open, and then suddenly heard nothing. When she'd passed him she glanced at him, noticing that his clothes were wrinkled. There were perspiration stains on his shirt, which was unbuttoned. A patch of dark black curly hair peeped through the shirt in a way that would force the eyes to travel its path down to the naval area. He needed a shave because his stubble had darkened, almost looking like a full beard. Some other time she'd found all that attractive, but not now.
He'd stirred again, mumbling something unintelligible, but a conversation wasn't high on her list of priorities. She'd already cried, soaking her sheets and pillow, and she'd vented, with every tear. No matter how hard she'd tried to make it go away, she couldn't get the image of Jasper Epps out of her mind. She reached for a cup and filled it with water from the refrigerator.
Old people,
she thought,
it seems they're going to be the death of me, or drive me crazy.
Zipporah walked over to the window and looked down at the pyramid-shaped structure in the front of the Luxor. It seemed crazy for her to think of a television theme song at that time. In her head she kept hearing Janet DuBois singing the theme to
Good Times,
“Movin' on Up.” She was up in the big league and yet, it felt like life had taken its bat and was beating her like an unwanted stepchild.
She could hear Chandler shifting in his seat. He was probably trying to wake. Zipporah still didn't turn around. She kept looking out over the Las Vegas skyline. It would be a while before nightfall, and she wanted to enjoy the view while she could from the top.
The water Zipporah drank suddenly had a different taste. It tasted almost bitter with a trace of salt. Without meaning to she'd started crying again. Her tears had slowly made their way down her face and dripped into the glass. How long she'd stood at the window drinking her own tears, she didn't know.
In fact, there wasn't much she knew for sure. However, one or more of the people who'd just entered into her life, bringing more chaos than she could've imagined, had answers. She just needed to figure out whom. Self-preservation took over and Zipporah took the sleeve of her robe and wiped away the tears. She needed to get a grip.
About that time she heard Chandler stir again, his footsteps on the carpet, so she knew he was fully awake. Before turning from the window to face him, she forced a smile. She'd decided that she'd play along and see how much he knew. After that, she'd play it by ear. She was tired of crying alone.
44
Zipporah took her time. Instead of bombarding Chandler with questions, she thanked him for staying and assured him that she was much better. She'd noticed that her phone had been taken off the hook, no doubt by Chandler. But she said nothing and went about ordering room service. Perhaps on a full stomach, Chandler would let down his guard.
Chandler was puzzled by the sudden change in Zipporah. Even though he'd kept his eyes closed as she moved about the living room, he'd heard everything. He knew she'd gotten water from the refrigerator and he knew she'd sobbed, again, by the window. He'd even peeped one time to see her shaking as she wept. So why was she now acting like she had total control?
Chandler got up and went to the bathroom to throw water on his face. One look in the mirror told him that he was totally out of control. He couldn't remember the last time he'd looked so unkempt. He breathed into his hands and decided he definitely needed to brush his teeth, chew on a breath mint or do something to take the edge off his breath. Thankfully, he always carried a few in his pants pocket.
Chandler thought about just going to his own room to change but then he remembered what happened the last time he'd left Zipporah alone. She'd left and he didn't want to chance it again.
“Are you okay in there?” Zipporah forced a matter-of-fact tone to her voice. “The food is here.”
“I'll be right out.” All of Chandler's alarms were screaming. Something wasn't right. Was she having a mental breakdown? No one could cry as hard as she just had and be so cheerful now. He quickly peered out the bathroom door and saw her start to uncover the dishes.
“Hurry up, Chandler,” Zipporah called out. “I'm starving.”
“I'm right here.” Chandler stood behind her. He smiled as he pulled out her chair and waited for her to sit before he did.
The food did look and smell good, but everything they were doing seemed robotic. They watched every forkful and made polite conversation, avoiding any reference to what they really wanted to discuss.
During the silent moments when manners dictated that he not speak with his mouth filled with food, Chandler rehearsed his lines. Earlier, while Zipporah was in her room, he'd tried to determine how much information to share with her. He didn't want to dump every detail at once, thinking he still had to protect her.
Zipporah watched Chandler. He was thinking hard as he chewed, and his brow had furrowed. But she said nothing.
What did she need to know and when did she need to know it?
Chandler thought, suddenly realizing she was watching him. “This is delicious,” he said, but he'd forgotten to smile.
“I'm glad you're enjoying it.”
Should he wait until after their food digested? When, what, where? At this point, in his mind, he felt as though life had tossed him into the ring without a manager or boxing gloves. But he knew that wasn't true. He hadn't been to church as much as he should have, but he did understand that God was his manager and would direct every punch.
Zipporah and Chandler finished the meal. Without meaning to do it, they sat on the sofa together. It put a crimp in both of their plans because each had wanted to sit separately. It would've given them space to think during combat.
No matter how distant Zipporah wanted to remain, Chandler's nearness disarmed her, just a little. “It's a good thing I don't have to perform this evening.” She tried to make polite conversation.
“It is a very good thing,” Chandler replied, while thinking that there was no way she'd be able to perform after what he was about to lay upon her. He wasn't too sure if she'd be able to make it through her scheduled performance for the next night, either.
“You look amazing,” Chandler said as he slid closer to Zipporah. He didn't try to touch her, but if her body language showed he could, then he would.
She didn't move or speak.
Chandler looked around and sighed. There was nothing to do but do it. “Zipporah, I've something to tell you.”
“Yes.” Her eyes revealed nothing but her heart raced. “What is it?”
There were no words to open the conversation, so he pulled the envelope from his pocket. Whatever reaction she gave, he'd figure out a way to be thereâif she still wanted him to.
Zipporah saw the words “Reinhardt and Levy Investigations” and fell back against the sofa. She clutched the arm of the sofa for support. Had Chandler known she was homeless all the time? Why would he have her investigated? Did he find out how she'd arrived in Las Vegas and with whom? Why had he let her taste success, only to snatch it away? What had she done to him?
Chandler couldn't judge much by Zipporah's reaction. Did she already know Jasper was her father? That didn't make sense. How could she? Had she played him all this time?
The tension was thick like syrup as they gathered their thoughts.
“Why did you do this?” Zipporah's voice was rising and she didn't care.
“I didn't do anything!” Chandler had stood without realizing it. “All I've been doing is trying to help you!”
“By investigating me . . . how's that supposed to help me?”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” He looked around for the door to leave as though he'd forgotten where it was.
Zipporah took the letter and was about to throw it at him when she saw the pictures lying under it. She threw down the letter onto the coffee table and snatched the pictures. She had to look twice but she was certain that they were pictures of her. She hadn't seen them before, but they were definitely taken by someone who knew her as a child. She shuddered as though she could feel the cold from the pictures' snowy background.
Her bewildered look caused him to stop. Chandler sat down again. If he'd been puzzled before, he was completely confused now.
“I don't understand.” Zipporah's eyes stayed glued to the pictures as she scanned each. Her eyes went back and forth in disbelief. “Why would you have me investigated and what does my childhood have to do with anything?”
“I didn't!” Chandler snapped. “Your father did!”
It was out there and he couldn't take it back. Chandler hadn't meant to break it to her like that, but in the heat of his anger and confusion, he'd done it. Chandler saw the confused look on Zipporah's face as her complexion turned almost chalky. He pounded his fists out of a need to hit something. When was God going to step in and order his moves?
Chandler didn't drink but he rose, and instead of going to Zipporah, who sat stunned, he opened the minibar. He took out a bottle of wine and opened it. Instead of a wineglass, he reached for a tall glass from the cabinet and filled it to its brim. He drank the entire glass in almost one gulp. When he turned around he saw Zipporah's questioning gaze. He refilled the glass and sat it down before her.
Zipporah pushed the glass away.
Chandler took it. Like the first one, he gulped this one down, too.
“I'm sorry,” Chandler finally whispered. He moved over next to where she sat like a ceramic figurine, so fragile and beautiful. He took the photographs gently from her hands. In their place he laid the letter.