Chapter 12
“I want you ladies to know, I thought about the health fair all weekend, and last night I had an incredible idea.” I beamed at Angelina and the rest of the motley crew that had been pulled together for an emergency meeting to help me with the health fair. “Let's not just do the regular old boring stuff like take blood pressures and glucose levels and weigh people. Let's make it a spa day!”
Angelina was thoughtful, but I could tell Carol and the other two women were completely thrown by my suggestion. Their eyes skittered between each other, and the two nervous ninnies looked down at their notepads.
“Hear me out.” I was determined to have my say. “Health fairs are a dime a dozen. You can get a mini health physical at the local CVS or Walgreens if you put fifty cents in a machine. What I'm talking about is a total wellness day.”
“Go on.” Angelina was not cosigning to a big fat no like the other women, but she was still hesitant.
“This is a ritzy area, and a ritzy church. If you really want to do something, make it fun. Massages, facials, reflexology. Serve hors d'oeuvres instead of hotdogs. Have the teens in the church carry them around on little trays. Class it up.” I could tell I needed to keep priming the pump, but it was time to do it by being practical. “Stress is killing African American women. I mean, our incidences of heart disease, kidney disease, and every obesity related disease known to man is affecting us. Even stuff like infertility. Our stress is so bad some of us can't get pregnant, and you know that's never been a problem for us.” I laughed.
Angelina sat back. She looked like I'd kicked her under the table.
So that was it.
I'd been wondering for months. Why no children? She couldn't get pregnant. A rush of adrenaline shot through me. Major marital issue. The kind I needed to know about. I cleared my throat to quell my excitement.
“I'd like us to come up with some catchy name that has to do with relieving stress. When women come in, they can be screened for all the routine stuff you normally get at a health fair. I'll even try to get a mobile mammogram machine here, although three weeksnotice is not a lot of time for such a thing. But before ladies leave, they have the opportunity to have a ten minute massage, foot rub, and a facial. We'll have them attend a short seminar about stress and how to relieve it through meditation, relaxation, and aromatherapy. We'll make the seminar mandatory before the massage stuff, so we'll get high participation. Their last impression of the church will be of how good we were to them, and how special they felt. Not just a memory of getting their pulse taken.”
Carol sneered and snorted. I didn't know how she did both at the same time, but she managed it. She was looking down her nose at me again, the way she always did, like I smelled bad. “I appreciate your incredible creativity, Rae, but cost? We hope to have over two hundred women during the day. That's a lot of massages, facials, and foot rub money.”
The other two ninnies murmured in agreement. Angelina seemed to have recovered from her blow, but she still didn't say anything. I had to get her on my side. She was the brains of this operation, and she was the official chairperson. If I were going to have to do a dumb health fair, I wanted to do it “Samaria” style; which meant it had to cost somebody some money.
“Angelina.” I shifted in my super-padded chair, which, coupled with my internal exuberance, caused me to bounce forward. “We could bring in students from the school of massage therapy. The fair is eight hours. Pay six of them twenty bucks an hour. Students are always looking for a way to make money. And we'd only need three of them for eight hours, the other three could be for four or five hours, during heavy traffic. We're talking less than nine-hundred dollars.”
“We have a very limited budget to work with.” Carol's tone was snappy. I could tell the idea of some poor woman walking off the street and getting treated to a massage or facial the way she did whenever she wanted was obscene.
“Wellness and healthcare aren't free. What does Greater Christian Life Church want to do? Something relevant, or just be able to say, âHey we had a health fair, and everybody left with a balloon.”
The room was silent. Carol visibly backed down. It was pretty obvious they were waiting for Angelina, and no doubt, hoping she'd shoot my idea down, but she didn't. Angelina Preston turned up the corners of her mouth and said, “I love it. Rae, you're a genius.”
I let out the breath I'd been holding.
“What do you need us to do to make sure this happens?”
I did a celebratory dance in my seat and opened my portfolio. I'd spent the entire evening mapping out my plan and each person's to do list. I handed them each a different colored assignment list complete with timelines for completion. As they reviewed them, I couldn't help thinking how cool it was to actually have an interesting consulting job. I mean, I wasn't getting paid for it, but it could go on my lean resumè. Maybe I would become the designer health fair guru of Atlanta and be interviewed by
Fox5 News
or something about my revolutionary way of bringing wellness to African American women. I'd have to get the media to come. This could really be big. Greg would be impressed.
He seemed to like his women smart,
I thought, stealing a glance at Angelina.
She was studying her list. I noticed she twisted that huge rock of a ring around on her finger, and at the same time tilted her head in a curious way that belied the confident woman persona. She looked sweet, almost innocent, and I thought that might be something a manâa man like Gregâwould find attractive; vulnerability. I thought about myself. Did I do anything coy or cute like that? I was always trying to be sexy, but maybe I needed to appeal to the little boy in a man and copy that head tilting mannerism of hers.
Carol's irate voice pulled me from musing. “Rae, we all have pretty long lists here. Do you mind sharing what you will be doing?”
This wench was dancing on my last nerve, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing. “I will attempt to secure a mobile mammogram machine, and the massage crew. I'll also work my behind off getting all the goodies and freebies we'll give way, including some food that doesn't consist of hotdogs and popcorn. That's going to be a full-time assignment in and of itself. Would that be enough for me to be doing?”
Shut down once again, Carol nodded.
“This is very good, Rae.” Angelina put her list in her bag and stood. “I'm really pleased with your creativity, and you've obviously put a lot of thought and work into the planning already. I knew you were the right person to lead this. She smoothed down the front of her silk crepe pantsuit. “Ladies, aren't you excited?”
Carol's crew had versions of smiles on their faces. They spoke in unison that they thought it was a good idea. Carol cleared her throat before saying, “If we can pull it off and the cost doesn't escalate, it looks promising.”
“Good.” I clapped victoriously. “See, when I began, you were looking at me like I said Jesus was white.” I stretched and stood. We all exited the conference room. I was about to ask Angelina if she wanted to have an early lunch when her cell phone rang. She excused herself, walked a few paces, and began to listen to what sounded like bad news. The other women had left the building. Carol and I stood alone, like two school girls fighting for a best friend. We sized each other up. Carol had that demeanor again, the “you're a bad seed” look, and her hands had gone up to her pearls.
“Are those real?” I asked, with a nod toward her neck.
Shock registered on the biddy's face. She stammered over her words. “Of course they're real. What kind of question is that?”
“I was wondering. I used to work a jewelry counter at Macy, and they look like good paste to me.” I could see the steam coming out of her ears. “I mean, if they're fake, it's not a crime. Tyra Banks wears cubic zirconiaâ”
“I assure you I don't have anything fake in my jewelry box. The nerve of ... Tell Angelina I'll talk to her later,” She sputtered and took off down the hall like a bull seeing red.
Mission accomplished.
Angelina ended her call. Her forehead was wrinkled, and worry lines creased her mouth.
“Is it that work stuff with the dead child?” I asked.
She dropped her phone in a pocket on the side of her purse. She was emotionally disheveled. She looked up and down the hall. “Where's everyone else?”
“They left.” I ignored the dis. Guess it wasn't work. “So you have time for coffee or lunch?”
Angelina looked at her watch “Yeah, sure. I could use the distraction.”
Great
, I thought. I could use the intel.
Chapter 13
Angelina was right. She was distracted today. Not that I really knew her, but in the time I'd spent with her, I'd noticed her great attending skills. The eye contact, in particular always, made me feel like the only person in the world. Angelina used just the right mix of titling her head and nodding to make sure a person knew she was engaged; so the woman who sat across from me was one I'd never seen before. This woman was having a hard time being in the room period.
“That's a pretty suit.” I hoped to bring her back from Mars or wherever she was. We'd been having this one sided conversation for the last five minutes. Whatever was on her mind was way over the top.
She looked down at herself like she'd forgotten what she was wearing. “Thanks. Lavender's not really a color I care for, but I have an important dinner with my husband tonight, and it 's his favorite.”
I nodded. “So you're wearing lavender because he likes it, or because you need him weak in the knees?”
She smiled coyly. “You know your men. I need to convince him of something. He absolutely loves me in any shade of purple, and honestly you've got to work what you have to get a man on the same planet as you sometimes.” She reached for her ice tea and took a sip, careful not to let any spill on her suit.
I moved my rear end back and forth on my seat. Purple was news to me. Good intel. I decided to see if she'd share more. “So anything else on the agenda to get him on that planet with you?”
“We're meeting at one of his favorite Creole restaurants. He's from Louisiana, and he grew up on red beans and rice and blackened salmon.” She smiled a weak, pitiful smile that lacked confidence. “I'm hoping that'll help too.”
“Hmmm,” I moaned thoughtfully. “I guess that's why I haven't gotten myself all entangled yet. Seems like too much of a bother to me.”
“All relationships involve sacrifice and compromise,” Angelina countered.
Always the teacher
, I thought; even when she had her own problems.
She continued. “We have to commit to relationships with our parents and other relatives. Friendships. You have to work through things, especially in marriage. Giving someone a foot rub now and then isn't going to kill anyone.”
Foot rub
. I picked up my water glass. I supposed she was right, but who was compromising in my world? Not my mother. I didn't have any friends, and of course, I was doing all the giving in this relationship with Greg. But that was only because I was the other woman. Once I became the woman-woman, it wasn't going to be his world with me scrambling for nuts.
“So what do you want, a bigger house or something?” I squinted at her.
She looked to her right, and then left, like she was checking the perimeter before she shared a secret. “No, nothing like that.” She sat back and waved a hand. I didn't know why she was playing Secret Squirrel. She wasn't telling me jack, or had she changed her mind?
“What did you think of pastor's message on Sunday?”
Water got caught in my throat, and I coughed a little before speaking. “I, umm, didn't go to church on Sunday. I had to work Saturday night.”
Angelina frowned. “I assumed being a consultant was a nine to five type thing.” Her tone belied that she wasn't pleased that I hadn't gone to church.
“I'm a registered nurse. When my consulting money is lean, I pick up shifts at the hospital. I worked an eleven to seven overnight, and I was worn out.” Angelina nodded, and I redirected the conversation. “So how long have you been married?”
The waitress swooped in, put salads in front of us, and filled our drink glasses.
Angelina scooted closer to the table. “Thirteen years.”
“Wow.” My eyebrows went up. “That's a long time. You married young.”
“I was twenty-four.” She picked up her silverware.
I wondered if we had to say another grace or if the blessing over the bread would suffice. Angelina began to eat, so I figured the grace covered the entire meal. I picked up my fork. “Do you like being married?”
Angelina nodded and answered between chews. “Most of the time.”
“Not all the time?”
“Marriage is hard work, and like anything that's work, we occasionally want a break.”
That made sense. I didn't expect her to say it, but it made sense.
Angelina raised her eyes to mine. “Are you dating someone? Thinking about marriage?”
I shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe.”
“Marriage can be good, if you're with the right person. It can be nice to have someone to grow old with. You won't always be young.”
I pulled back from the table. “So is that why you got married, so you wouldn't have to be afraid of getting old alone? That seems like a long range goal at twenty-four.”
Angelina laughed. “I married my husband because I loved him.”
“Loved?” My tone asked a question.
Lines creased Angelina's forehead and she answered, “Love.”
“Well, I don't think of marriage as permanent. I think that's the mistake people make. They try to make something permanent that should be temporary.”
Angelina shook her head. Her disappointment in that statement was as palatable as my salad. “Rae, I know you're a new Christian, but one of the things you'll learn from attending church is that marriage isn't about what you think. God has a design for marriage, and it's a much deeper commitment than a lot of us like to accept.”
So she was going to go chu'ch on me. Unbelievable. She had all these ideas about marriage and commitment. She was clueless. I rolled my eyes.
“How old are you, Rae?”
“Why? Are you assuming it's my youth talking?” I asked, my frown in my voice and on my face.
“No, I'm curious.” She shrugged. “I've been curious.”
“I'm twenty-seven. Not as young as I look.”
Angelina didn't say anything.
“Well, what does it tell you? Why I'm so naïve?”
“No, actually, I was wondering how you got so bitter.”
Bitter.
I flinched. “I'm not bitter. I'm a realist. Men are dogs, and the ones that aren't dogs, you can't count on.” Mekhi's face skittered through my mind.
“All men are not dogs.” Angelina smiled like she was sure of this fact. Like I was silly for suggesting such.
Well, she was right. Not all. The last doctor I'd tried to get my hooks into hadn't taken me up on the offer, and I was half naked when he said no. But Angelina wasn't living with him. She was living with Greg. She'd obviously convinced herself that he was faithful, and I had the check in the mail to prove nothing was further from the truth.
Angelina's phone rang. She excused herself, stood, and walked away from the table.
The waitress arrived and put down two steaming plates of food left just as Angelina returned. Angelina reached across the booth for her handbag. “I have to go. I'm sorry to run out on you, but the governor and the DFYS chief are holding a press conference downtown.”
I threw my hands up. “It's okay. You have to do your job.”
“Please have her wrap my plate up and take it for your dinner.” She removed money from her wallet and placed it on the table.
I shook my head. “You don't have to do that.”
“Of course I do.” She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I'll call you tomorrow.” Then she swept out of the restaurant.
The waitress returned, and I instructed her to make Angelina's meal to go. I pulled out my cell phone and my wallet. I had to see what my available balance was on one of my credit cards. It was time to go shopping. I needed something purple.