Cover Girls

Read an Excerpt

Cinderella was a lie!" Michelle made sure that the emphasis she put on the words didn't shake her hair out of place. She patted her elaborate coiffure to make sure that it was still high and tight, and to make sure that the sides were still smoothed tight to the sides of her head. With one subtle move of a well-manicured, fire-engine-red baby fingernail, Michelle checked to make sure that the hot-iron-flattened piece of hair-the piece that really made her hairdo a 'do— still draped from the top of her coif to hang just to the side of her right eye. When she was sure she was together, she stared into her supervisor's eyes. Well, really her team leader's eyes. "I mean, if you keep cleaning up other people's messes, if you keep inviting other people to dinner and letting them eat first, you are not going to get a prince."

Michelle tugged at the bottom of her form-fitting yellow suit jacket. "What you're going to get, sister girl, is leftovers." Tonya, Michelle's team leader, was smart, but common sense avoided home girl like the plague. She held the key to Michelle getting the promotion that was due her, but at this moment, Michelle didn't care. She was going to say what was on her mind. She put her hands on her hips.

"No disrespect to Dr. Phil, but I'm telling you what I learned at the school of hard knocks. You have to tell people, 'No thank you.' You keep inviting yourself to leftovers and toilet scrubbing, that's what you'll get. And it won't be anybody's fault but yours."

She stared at Tonya. Really, she hadn't said half of what she wanted to say. Michelle really wanted to tell Tonya that she was sick of her. She was tired of the woman walking back and forth in front of her desk to check up on her like she was the work police. She was tired of Tonya acting like she knew it all, especially like she had a personal hotline to Jesus. She was sick of Tonya acting like she lived on her own personal cross with a halo on her head. And if she heard Tonya say, "Praise the Lord!" one more time, Michelle wasn't sure she would be able to keep herself from jumping the desk and going crazy on her hair-always-pulled-back, cross-wearing, plain-suit-with-no- jewelry-wearing, flat-shoe-wearing, boring, whining, pseudo-boss!

Tonya shook her head. She was always shaking her head. "Well, Michelle, I'm sure that there's some truth to what you're saying." Michelle watched her but blocked out her words. It was kind of like the teacher on the Charlie Brown cartoons. Just a lot of noise, like wah, wah, wah-wah-wah-wah. She didn't even know why she bothered talking to Tonya. It just ticked her off anyway. Besides, Tonya was in her forties-probably breathing down fifty's neck— and it wasn't like she was going to change or anything. It really didn't matter anyway. . . just as long as Tonya didn't say, "Praise the Lord!" Michelle would be able to hold it together as long as Tonya just didn't say, "Praise the Lord!"

Please, please, Michelle thought. Just don't let me lose it up in here, up in here!

Tonya kept shaking her head and droned on. "It's so much easier for you, Michelle. You're young, still in your twenties. No responsibilities.

Trouble hasn't even put a wrinkle on your face." Tonya laid her hand on her chest. "I mean, I've got a son and I know he's almost grown, but I just can't kick him out. I can't just get what I need first then give him what's left over. He's my baby, I'm his mother, I have to look out for him first."

Everything about Tonya irritated Michelle. She was too much like a chocolate-covered June Cleaver, recently escaped from the old Leave It to Beaver television show. Even Tonya's desk got on her nerves. It was so predictable. There was a light-yellow-ceramic framed picture of the woman's two sons. Next to it was a yellow vase and yellow tissue holder. There was an assortment of pens and pencils in a yellow cup.

It made Michelle shudder. She shrugged her shoulders. "What is it that he's doing to you? You can't count on any man. Not even your son. That's why I work-so I will never be under any man's thumb. I'll say it again: Cinderella is a lie. Prince Charming will just eat your food, then leave you to go sit at someone else's table." Tonya shook her head again. "You just don't understand. But—"

Michelle held her breath. Don't let her say it. Please don't let her say it—not PTL. I will lose it up in here.

"But that's not even why I stopped by to talk to you. I just wanted to remind you to watch the personal phone calls. You know personal phone calls really irritate Mrs. Judson. We want to make sure that everything is in order so you can get your promotion. But don't worry, Michelle."

Michelle squinted her eyes. Just what she needed, another visit from the telephone police. And if she was going to be the telephone police, Tonya needed a new uniform. How could anyone be so plain, so gray, so lackluster? She relaxed her shoulders-maybe Tonya wasn't going to say it.

"No, I wouldn't worry, Michelle. Because, Praise the Lord—" Michelle wasn't sure how she got to the other side of her desk. But faster than a speeding bullet and swifter than a thousand midnights, she leaped-no, dove (or could it more aptly be described as scrambled?) forward-her eyes red and her nostrils flared. Whatever the case, there she was clutching Tonya by the throat. "I am sick of this and I am sick of you!" She couldn't take any more-it felt like a million years of her nerves being worked. It was too many years of working in positions where people thought she was their personal flunky. It was too many years of being passed over for promotion just to now have her chance at a new life blocked by an uptight holy roller-especially one that was probably a hypocrite, just like all the rest. Just like her own mother.

Michelle shouted and drew back her hand to slap Tonya, but with all the agility of a martial arts expert, Tonya slipped away. Then, just like in the cartoons, they ran around the desk, papers flying everywhere. If Michelle wasn't so angry, she would have laughed hysterically. They had to look like Tom and Jerry scurrying about. Instead of laughter, though, all she could think were acrid thoughts of shutting down Tonya's endlessly nagging voice. When Michelle got her hands on Tonya, she was going to slap her back to reality!

Tonya turned and hauled bootie. Michelle had never seen a bun bob up and down like that. First they ran around the office area several times, knocking books off of desks. They even sent a computer monitor crashing to the floor, where the screen disintegrated into tiny shining silver shards of glass. Each time Michelle reached for Tonya, the woman somehow managed to elude her grasp. Then the circle broadened and they ran around the outer ring of the office. Michelle would never have expected Tonya was in good enough shape to keep running so long-but fear had been known to transform people.

By their last lap around the outer circle, all the executives were standing in the doorways of their offices, including the business owner, Mrs. Judson. The CEO stood with arms folded, an eyebrow lifted and frozen into place. She wore the cool scowl that was her trademark-along with an ultra conservative suit that looked like it was a designer original-but she didn't speak or lift a finger as she watched Michelle chase Tonya out of the office and into the lobby. When they passed by the bank of elevators, Michelle noticed Shadrach, a brother-an upright, single brother-and a contract worker in the building, was standing just in front of a set of doors. He waved, as best he could with an arm full of packages, while they ran past, like he was waving at a parade.

Just beyond the elevators, Tonya bolted down the stairs. Michelle kept grabbing, but couldn't get Tonya as she flew down the stairs behind her. The Bible-thumping fuddy-duddy was in great shape!

All the running and pounding down the stairs-Michelle's heels clack, clacking, while Tonya's thud, thudded-was putting some wear on the heels of Michelle's new pumps, but she didn't care. It was going to be worth it to rid the world of Tonya. Soon they were out on the street. Tonya was almost kicking herself in the behind, she was running so fast, but Michelle was keeping up. It just seemed no matter how she turned on the steam, Tonya stayed out of her grasp.

They passed by a policeman on a corner who tipped his hat and laughed. They crossed the street and out of the corner of her eye Michelle noticed Trench, her hot and steaming bad-boy-toy, riding by on a bus. He was looking fine as always-his skin chocolate-y smooth and his wavy hair short and well-groomed. If she had had the time, she would have crooked her finger and called him from the bus, but-she looked ahead of her at Tonya's feet kicking up dirt and trash on the city sidewalk-right now she had her hands full! A few blocks down the street, Tonya saw her husband-well, her soon to be ex-husband-Todd, with roses in his hand, sitting at a table in a restaurant. He looked as though he were about to stand, looked as though he was about to start asking questions, asking her if what she was doing was the right thing to do, but Michelle didn't have time to explain or chitchat with him, because. She was so close! So close to Tonya. Michelle pumped her arms and legs, gaining on the woman.

She had her! Michelle leapt and grabbed— Beep-beep-beep-beep! Michelle bolted up right in the bed. Her hand was drawn back in the air. Dreaming. She'd been dreaming! No job was worth this, not even one with a promotion! Hitting the button that turned off the clock alarm, she turned so that her feet landed on the floor, then held her head. She was still a little foggy. "This is crazy," she mumbled to herself. "Absolutely crazy!" Now she was dreaming about personal phone calls. Work was taking over her home time.

Besides, she was getting her work done. What was the issue? It was just Todd and sweet old Miz. Ida-Miz Ida who was always her backbone, who had practically raised her, who usually kept her from going postal on Tonya and the rest of the pit crew-and Trench, sometimes.

But obviously, what was making Michelle really crazy wasn't Tonya monitoring the calls. Michelle tilted her head to the right and then to the left; she could hear the muscles and tendons in her neck and back popping and cracking. All this was too much! It was Tonya-Miss Praise the Lord herself ! Mrs. Judson and the phone calls were bad enough, but Tonya just wore her out.

If it weren't for that stupid promotion and the power it held over her, dangling wildly over her head like the proverbial carrot. . . If it weren't for the job, there wouldn't be any pressure. Michelle couldn't deny it; she wanted the chance at a promotion. Sure she did. It was her breakthrough.

She pushed back the covers of her sleep-tossed bed and prepared herself to get up and get going.

Was it really worth it all? Sure, the job was an upwardly mobile position, which made it easier to get promoted. She needed the job. What she didn't need was Tonya, her very own self-appointed, do-good- all-the-time missionary.

Belief in God wasn't the issue. Michelle didn't need anyone treating her like she didn't know God. He knew her heart. It just wasn't necessary to be a holy roller twenty-four hours a day seven days a week. It was like having Todd at work and that-too much Jesus stuff-was exactly why the two of them were separated. She was tired of people like him in her life telling her how she should do things, telling her that she always had to be good. Bump Todd, bump Tonya, bump them all!

Michelle got up from the bed and stomped to the bathroom as though there was someone to hear her. As she stepped from her warm bedroom rug onto the cold tile of her bathroom floor, the big checkerboard pattern of black-and-white tiles offered no comfort to her feet. She winced and stepped gingerly forward. Her feet clapped against the floor, sounding almost like Miz Ida's hands had sounded years ago clapping in the church Michelle had been forced to go to with her from time to time-after her momma got religion. That was a joke, too. Her momma was just another hypocrite-after years of doing wrong, suddenly everyone expected her to forgive her mama. They wanted Michelle to play along and act like her momma was suddenly qualified for the big-hat-church-sister club. Well, there was a time when she herself had wanted to go, when she got religion herself. But she could never get passed her momma. It was too much to swallow. Her momma sitting in church made it hard for Michelle to find her own way to God-but that was a story for another morning. Michelle opened the patterned-glass shower door and turned the water on hard and hot. She didn't need someone telling her how to live her life-enough of her young years had been spent with people doing that, with people eating from the table at her expense. A job with a future that would bring in more cash was good, but at what price? She stepped into the steam and under the water. It ran down her soft, supple skin and rushed to the floor, forming warm puddles beneath her feet.

Michelle mused over her life-where she was and where she was going. There was one thing about which there was no doubt. No one was going to control her or hurt her again. That, she was certain of; it was definitely not negotiable. She had been hurt and misused as a child when she couldn't fight for herself. But no one was ever going to control her or hurt her again.

Michelle took a rough loofah from the plastic loop just to the right of the showerhead. She had promised herself she would not get used again, and it was a promise she was going to keep. She pulled the cracked shower door closed. Nothing was worth being used. Not marriage. Not her family. Not even a job. No one was going to use her. No one.