Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [111]
She touched up the makeup one more time after finishing Saphronia's eyebrows and then began the arduous task of parting her hair and braiding it into sections so that it would fit under the wig. When she was done with Saphronia's hair, she put some hair oil on the wig and started brushing it with a wig brush.
"Girl, get up and turn on that radio. Couldn't figure out what was wrong in here—it's too quiet."
Saphronia, who was enjoying the quiet, turned on the radio sitting on a small table in the corner of the kitchen. A soulful man's voice ran out loud and clear, making Precious move her shoulders like a shiver had just run up and down her spine.
"Ooooh Lawd, chile. What that man can do to me when he sing a song. You familiar with Otis Redding's songs, Saphronia?"
Before she could answer yes or no, Precious continued, saying, "You know something? He sho' do kind of sound like that big, fine preacher from down in Memphis, don't he? You know who I'm talking about?"
"Theophilus Simmons?" Saphronia asked, thinking that Precious was right about his voice. He did sound a bit like the voice on the radio—only she thought that his voice was deeper than the man's voice, more akin to Brook Benton's. "Yeah, yeah, that's him, Rev. Simmons."
Now Precious put the wig on the crown of Saphronia's head and fit it into place. "Ooohh, girl," she said. "Come on back to Tee's room to see how you look."
Saphronia followed her to Tee's room and went and stood in front of the large mirror on the dresser. She was transformed. To her surprise, she absolutely adored the way that short, sassy blond wig looked on her.
"I cannot believe how good I look," Saphronia said and gave Precious a hug.
It was such a warm and appreciative hug that Precious felt a stiff ache in her jaw from trying to fight back her tears. A wave of sadness washed over her heart as she recognized that this was the end, that she would never return to Marcel as his lover, his secretary, a member of his church, or a willing participant in all of the dirty business he was into. How could she have been so dumb as to think this man could help her love herself as a result of him loving her?
Saphronia reached out her hand and gently wiped away the tears that were now flowing down Precious's face. She was deeply touched. No other woman had ever cried with her over shared hurts and sorrows. Even her own mother, who had abandoned her to start a new life in California, hadn't cried when they were reunited at Saphronia's engagement party after a twenty-year estrangement.
"Precious, please don't cry like that over all of this. Look at it this way. If you had not fallen so hard for Marcel, I wouldn't be standing here looking good and feeling brave enough to do something about my life. And if I hadn't gotten engaged to Marcel, you would still be waiting for him to marry you. You deserve better than that. How many women do you think would have had the nerve to come to me and cook up something like this?"
Precious smiled and wiped her face with both hands.
"I guess you right about that, girl. This is probably one of those 'the Lord works in mysterious ways' kind of things."
Saphronia said, "Probably so," and then turned toward the mirror to look at the wig again. "I'm going to do something with my hair when all of this conference business is finally over with. I've thought about cutting and highlighting my hair for a while, but Marcel always told me that I would look like I worked in a brothel." She shook her head as she said, more to herself than to Precious, "But I guess he should know a lot about what that looks like, huh?"
Precious just listened as Saphronia continued, "And you know what makes me so angry, is that this two-timing rogue didn't even stop and take the time to think that maybe I would have looked better."
Precious took one