Fallen Angels (25 page)

She only said, “Of course.”

“Besides, there were other things going on
that rather interfered with my total absorption with Sister
Emmanuel’s message,” I reminded her. I didn’t want to outright
blame Mrs. Pinkney for having made a scene and distracting my
attention from the church’s message, even though she had.

“Yes, of course there were. I meant nothing
by my comment.

“I see,” I said, my tone still chilly. “May I
introduce my friend, Miss LaBelle? Lulu, this is Sister
Everett.”

Sister Everett looked Lulu up and down in
what I didn’t consider a very Christian way, but her smile didn’t
fade. It didn’t look too awfully sincere, either, and I was
beginning to think maybe she couldn’t help herself. Perhaps she was
simply a cold woman with a cold demeanor. For all I knew, she
wanted to be warm and friendly, but had been stifled in her
childhood. I understood such things better than most people. “How
do you do, Sister LaBelle?” she said, and held out her hand for
Lulu to shake.

Taking the proffered hand, Lulu said, “Swell,
thanks.”

Was there the hint of a wrinkle on Sister
Everett’s nose? I couldn’t tell, but I suspected her of not being
quite as zealous about this Angelica Gospel Hall thing as her
husband. Not that I knew a single, solitary thing about the woman
except that she’d brought tea to Sister Emmanuel when requested to
do so after last week’s faint on Sister Pinkney’s part. She and I
shook hands next, and then Sister Everett moseyed along the aisle,
looking for other prey.

Lulu leaned over and whispered, “I don’t
think she likes me much.”

I whispered back, “I don’t think she likes
anyone much.”

“Please don’t take offense at Sister
Everett,” Mrs. Pinkney told us. I don’t know if she overheard us or
only suspected what we’d been talking about. “She does so much for
the church. It’s . . . unfortunate that she doesn’t . . . um,
project the warmth and so forth one might expect from a follower of
Sister Emmanuel. Her husband . . . well, he’s another story. He’s
most enthusiastic about Sister Emmanuel’s message. And he
absolutely adores his wife.” She spoke the latter sentence in
something akin to awe.

Lulu and I exchanged a glance that was
undoubtedly similarly awe-inspired. So the weedy Mr. Everett adored
the Herculean Mrs. Everett, did he? Well, nobody ever said life
made sense.

After that, I thought for a moment and
decided to say something that might be considered detectival. After
all, that’s why I was here, wasn’t it? “I didn’t realize Sister
Everett works so hard for the church. What does she do?”

“Oh, she comes in every single day to tidy up
the pews, set the hymnals to rights, and arrange flowers and so
forth. She’s most conscientious about keeping the Angelica Gospel
Hall looking tip-top.”

“Every day?” I said, amazed.

“Oh, my goodness, yes. Sister Emmanuel
broadcasts sermons daily, you know, and holds a service every
single evening.”

“My word, I didn’t realize that. Is Brother
Everett as involved in the church as his wife?”

“Gracious sakes, yes. To tell the truth, I
think he’s . . . it’s not my place to judge, mind you, but I sense
he’s more attached to the church and its message than his wife is,
even though,” Mrs. Pinkney hastened to add, “he does most of the
driving and that sort of thing. Picks up supplies when they’re
needed. Things like that. He drives Sister Emmanuel to interviews
and appearances, too. He retired not very long ago from his former
job, I believe.”

“Oh? What sort of work did he do?”

“I’m not sure. Something involving clerking
at a store, I believe.” Mrs. Pinkney lowered her voice when she
added, “I don’t think he made a lot of money, but he’s a good man
for all that.”

“I’m sure he is,” I said. “I firmly believe
that the amount of money one has doesn’t have a thing to do with
one’s moral fiber.”

“Absolutely,” said Mrs. Pinkney, smiling upon
me as if I’d said something profound.

I heard Lulu sniff, but didn’t pursue her
notions on the money issue, mainly because I already knew what they
were and didn’t consider them appropriate for this present
conversation.

Then the organist began playing, and we all
sat down, shut up, and listened. The music was quite lovely, and
very loud. Whoever their organist was, he or she had a real
gift.

Lulu gasped audibly when Adelaide Burkhard
Emmanuel took the stage. I mean the chancel. But she sure used it
like a stage. She possessed all the warmth and love Sister Everett
lacked and then some. Her message was the same as it had been the
week before, although she used different words to make it. You
know: God’s love was everywhere, and His people here on earth
needed to spread the message with joy and enthusiasm and stuff like
that. She was quite a motivated and motivational speaker, Sister
Emmanuel. I’d never heard so vibrant a religious speaker before
her, and I haven’t heard one since. Not even Billy Sunday, although
I did manage to catch a broadcast of his once. My mother would die
if she knew.

Lulu and I each made a contribution
when the plate was passed, and when we stood to sing the hymns, I
realized Lulu had quite a lovely soprano voice. I envied her that,
having always had trouble reaching the high notes myself. It
occurred to me that she might do better trying out for radio
positions than for a position on the silver screen. Not that she
wasn’t pretty or anything like that, but after meeting a few screen
stars, I thought Lulu fell a teeny bit short of the . . . what word
am I searching for? The
aura
required for the picture business? The magical essence? I
don’t know, but I don’t think Lulu had it. She could sure sing,
though.

The last hymn of the day was “Bringing in the
Sheaves,” I guess because it was September and harvesttime in some
parts of the country. The hymn had probably also been selected
because Sister Emmanuel was attempting to sow the seeds of her
brand of religion and seemed to be reaping enormous results, to
judge from the size of the congregation and the size of the
Angelica Gospel Hall itself. The enormous place was packed from the
floor to the rafters with, literally, hundreds of worshipers.

After the rites were over, the general
hugging, kissing, blessings, and greetings commenced. Lulu hugged
me and then she hugged Mrs. Pinkney, and I saw there were tears in
her eyes. Oh, dear. I wasn’t sure what those tears portended, but I
wasn’t awfully happy to see them.

“I’m so very happy you came, Sister LaBelle,”
said Mrs. Pinkney.

“I’m blessed that Sister Allcutt invited me,”
said Lulu in a quavery voice.

Oh, boy, I
really
didn’t like the sound of that!

“You certainly are,” said Mrs. Pinkney.
Sister Pinkney. Whatever her name was.

Then Lulu turned on me again and wrapped me
in a hug the likes of which I don’t believe I’d ever experienced
before, my family being rather cold and stand-offish and not having
anyone else given to hugging me around on a regular basis.

“That was
wonderful
, Mercy! I
loved
it! I think Sister Emmanuel is
wonderful!”

“I’m . . . so glad,” I gasped when she
finally let me go.

“I’m going to come here again next week,” she
declared. “I’ve never had so much fun in a church before in my
life!”

Mrs. Pinkney grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t
you just love Sister Emmanuel’s message, Sister LaBelle? She’s so
open and loving and . . . and . . . Oh, I don’t know, but she’s a
gift from God. She’s joyful and happy. None of that
hellfire-and-brimstone stuff here, even though we all know Satan is
lurking right around the corner.”

We did, did we? Hmm. I wasn’t so sure about
that.

“I wonder if I can volunteer to do something
for the church,” Lulu then said, further astounding me.

“Well, we have a ladies’ circle,” said Mrs.
Pinkney. “We meet every Wednesday morning at ten and do good works
of various sorts. You know, like collecting clothes for the needy
and collecting food for the poor and starving and other things like
that.”

“I couldn’t do that,” said a clearly
disappointed Lulu. “I have to work during the day.”

“Oh, dear. Yes, I suppose so many young women
do have to hold jobs these days, don’t they? I don’t suppose
there’s a young man on the horizon?” Mrs. Pinkney’s face took on a
bright and inquiring look, as if she were hoping Lulu had a beau.
And this from a woman who was hoping her own husband would be
arrested for murder. Shoot. Romance never dies, I reckon.

“No,” said Lulu, sounding a little
discouraged. “No young man yet.”

Mrs. Pinkney heaved a largish sigh. “That’s
too bad.”

“Yeah. Well, if you can think of anything
else I can do to help the church, like maybe at night, will you let
me know? I work at the Figueroa Building with Mercy here.”

“Of course. May I have your telephone
exchange?”

“Sure.” So Lulu gave Mrs. Pinkney the
Figueroa Building’s telephone number, and we joined the throng
filing out of the church. Lulu darned near knelt before Sister
Emmanuel and kissed her feet when we finally got to where she stood
at the back of the sanctuary, bestowing blessings and farewells
upon her many hundreds of parishioners. I introduced Lulu to Sister
Emmanuel.

“I just loved your sermon,” Lulu said in an
awed voice.

“Thank you. I’m so glad you came today,
Sister LaBelle,” said Sister Emmanuel. Then she turned at me. “And
Sister Allcutt. I’m so pleased to see you again this week. I pray
you will become a regular member of our congregation.”

She remembered me! No wonder the woman was so
popular. She had charm and a half, that one. “Thank you very much,
Sister Emmanuel.”

“Mercy’s the one who invited me to come
today,” Lulu said quickly, as if reluctant to have Sister
Emmanuel’s attention diverted from her. I didn’t blame her. Sister
Emmanuel was quite a compelling woman.

Seeming to sense Lulu’s need for attention,
Sister Emmanuel grasped her hand in both of her own, and said, “How
lovely to have our message spreading among friends. I pray you’ll
join us again, too, Sister LaBelle.”

“Th-thank you,” whispered Lulu.

I had to lend my support to Lulu as we left
the church, since she was so overwhelmed she wobbled on her pins.
“How about I take us both to lunch somewhere, Lulu? We can talk
about our observations.”

It didn’t seem to me that Lulu was in any
condition to add much to any sensible conversation about the case,
which was the reason we’d attended church this morning, but I
figured it was the least I could do for her, as I sort of blamed
myself for her present condition. Said condition seemed to be one
of vicarious ecstasy or something akin to that. I’d had no idea
Sister Emmanuel would affect her so.

“Sure. That sounds nice.” Lulu’s voice was
almost back to normal.

“Want to go to Chinatown, or would you prefer
somewhere else?”

“Chinatown’s fine, and it’s close to
home.”

“It is for me, too. Good. Let’s have Chinese
for lunch.” I’d never eaten so much Chinese food in my life until I
moved to L.A. I loved it. Still do.

We dined at a restaurant in Chinatown I’d
never been to before, but which Lulu said was tasty, and she was
right.

When we were about halfway through our
delicious meal, and hoping Lulu’s state of exaltation had deflated
some, I asked, “So what did you think about Mrs. Pinkney and Mrs.
Everett?”

“I liked Mrs. Pinkney. She seems kind of
lost, though.”

The description captured my attention. “Lost?
What do you mean, lost?”

“I dunno. Like she wasn’t sure what to do
with herself in the world or something. Like she doesn’t have any
goals or ambitions or anything like that.”

“Interesting.” The most amazing things came
out of Lulu’s mouth sometimes. I was becoming increasingly clear to
me that Lulu wasn’t one bit stupid. She’d been born into a family
of farmers in reduced circumstances, but that didn’t mean she
didn’t have a keen brain or know how to use it. “I see what you
mean. That would explain her . . . I don’t know. Vagueness?”

Lulu shrugged. “Vagueness works, too. I bet
she doesn’t like her husband much.”

Astounded, I gasped out, “How did you figure
that out?”

“I’ve met women like her before. They’re
stuck in lousy marriages and don’t think they have any alternatives
to ’em, yet she hopes other women will find good husbands. You saw
the way she asked if I had any men in my life, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I noticed that.”

“That’s what I mean. She’s in a stinking
marriage, yet she thinks other girls can only find happiness with a
man. If I ever found myself with a lousy guy, I’d divorce him.”

It grieves me to say I was shocked by those
callous words, but I was. “You believe in divorce?” I did my very
best not to sound judgmental.

“I believe in not being married to a lousy
man,” Lulu said, looking up from her plate of chop suey. “Do you
think a woman ought to stay with a fellow who knocks her
around?”

“Well . . . I don’t know that Mr. Pinkney,
uh, knocks Mrs. Pinkney around, Lulu.”

Another shrug. “Well, she’s sure not happy.
That’s probably why she goes to that church. She’s hoping she’ll
find something to take the place of a crummy marriage.”

I stared at her for a moment before saying in
an awed voice, “You’re a woman of amazing insight, Lulu
LaBelle.”

“Yeah? Y’think so?” She seemed quite pleased
by my assessment.

“I do indeed. What did you make of Mr. and
Mrs. Everett?”

Lulu thought for a moment. “He seems like a
nice guy. Loves that church. Bet he hated his job and is glad he’s
finally able to do something he likes doing.”