Going to the Chapel (7 page)

“Is this like an anthropology interest—this going back to the rally again?” I say to Doug. If I can understand why he’s going, I might be better with it all. “Do you want me to take pictures? Do they have any strange rituals they do?”

I am not saying that some people wouldn’t go to a rally like this just because they wanted to go. But those
are mostly people who go to church all the time. Doug doesn’t have anything to do with a church.

“Well,” he says, “they pass around a big basket and people put money in it. That’s kind of primitive. I suppose. I was surprised there were no debit cards or anything. Just checks and cash. I even saw a hundred-dollar bill.”

“You do know you can’t reach in and take money out when the basket comes by,” I say. “That’s why they always have big guys passing the basket around. They keep watch over it.”

“I know the rules. I know you can’t take money out of the basket.”

“Good, because the passing-for-money thing is something all churches do.”

We’re both quiet a minute before Doug talks again. “I just seem to keep thinking about what the guy said. I can’t get it all out of my head. Finally, I decided the only thing to do is to go back and make sure I heard him right.”

“So, it’s sort of a fact-finding thing?”

Doug nods. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I’ll take notes for you then.” This could work. I’d willingly take notes at a dozen rallies to have a date for Elaine’s wedding. Besides, Doug has already met the family so Aunt Ruth won’t surprise him again. Plus, there’s something to be said for continuity when it comes to fake boyfriends. It makes them more believable in the part.

“Notes are good. That way I can just listen,” Doug says.

“Well, then I’ll see you after work at the coffee shop.”

The bus is pulling to a stop again and this one is mine. After Doug says goodbye, I stand up to get off.

I wait until I am out of the bus to put my cell phone back in its holder and I see that I got a message while I was talking to Doug. I press the button and hear Aunt Inga’s voice reminding me that she will be praying all morning that Mr. Z will answer our prayers.

I don’t like to think of Aunt Inga praying all morning about anything. It is too stressful. So I call her back. Aunt Inga doesn’t answer so I leave a message on her machine telling her I haven’t spoke to Mr. Z yet but that I’m going to a Billy Graham kind of a rally tonight. I also mention that if we can’t use the chapel at where I work, there are a lot of places to get married. People even have weddings at the beach, I say. Or parks. There are a lot of public parks. I want to prepare her for the disappointment I know is coming.

I’m wearing my usual black suit to the Big M—the suit Mr. Z had made for me—so it’s no surprise that no one pays any attention to me when I walk away from the bus step. To attract attention in Hollywood you have to be wearing a nail through your head or snakeskin pants with the snake’s fangs dangling from your back pocket. You see some of the weirdest people on the streets around here. I’ve got to admit though that I like the place.

You would understand why I like it around here if you had spent your whole life in a place like Blythe where nothing strange ever happens. Well, except for the time that my cousin Jerry drank so much grape juice that his eyeballs started turning blue, but that’s
another story. The aunts said it couldn’t happen, but we cousins saw it and we remain convinced to this day. I’m always careful not to drink too much grape juice.

You know, I wonder why none of the other cousins have moved into the Los Angeles area. I think Jerry would be a natural for Hollywood. I guess he’s not so adventurous anymore. He has a job as a car mechanic and he seems happy enough to stay in Blythe with all of his brothers and turn wheelies in the grocery store parking lots after dark on the weekends.

I stop to look at the Big M when I am halfway up the walk to the front door. I always stop about here and just look at the building. I like the roughness of the stone exterior. After a cold night, there’s a look of dampness to the stone that makes me think of drawbridges and castles and the English moors. I suppose it was all those historical romances I read in high school. I used to love those dark, brooding heroes that walked around in the fog and frowned at anyone who came too close.

Today I take a minute to admire the stone and breathe in the slight scent of the roses that are just inside the courtyard. The chapel is built in a French Gothic style. Miss Billings told me that the place was made out of native California stone in 1915 and was a regular church for many years before Mr. Z bought it in the 1980s and turned it into a mortuary.

I get asked about the building a lot when I’m working there so I’ve learned a few dates. It has taken me a while to figure out why I like the place so much. I finally decided it is because the whole building looks as though it’s reaching for the sky. There is a thin
steeple that shoots out from the top, but it’s more than that. The whole building has got to be over a hundred feet tall and the arches all come to points that lead up to that steeple. Inside—you can’t see it from here—there is a long, narrow stained glass window showing Jesus holding a lamb in one arm and a shepherd’s crook in the other.

If you sit on the pews in the chapel, your eyes are automatically drawn to that stained glass figure. I didn’t notice when I first saw it that the lamb is sleeping, but now my eyes always come to rest on the peaceful face of the lamb. It’s not a very exciting stained glass window, but I’m sure it gives much comfort to the bereaved. It comforts me.

Somehow, though, I can’t see Elaine standing under that lamb and saying her “I do’s” to her dentist. If Aunt Ruth has a problem with glass cups being too common, she would be real unhappy with a farm animal staring down at Elaine’s nuptials.

I feel a sudden urge to protect that lamb from Aunt Ruth’s disdain. If Elaine were to get married in this chapel, would Aunt Ruth demand more important artwork? Maybe she’d drape the stained glass window with some orange silk material. It can be done. Mr. Z has a drape that he uses to go over the stained glass picture if the bereaved request it. Of course, that drape is in black, but Aunt Ruth could add some ribbons or something to make it more bridal.

The Big M makes the lamb the focal part of some funerals, especially if there are children in the family of the bereaved. Miss Billings has a box of stuffed toy lambs that she will give to children to hug during the
services, too. Once I asked her about the lambs and she reminded me that the Big M is in Hollywood and people expect a few extra touches. She’s right, you know. From what I’ve seen, people do feel their funerals can be more unusual here.

Now that I am inside, I wait for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer light.

The front doors of the chapel are made out of a dark heavy wood, but the inner doors leading to the sanctuary are covered with Italian leather that has mellowed over the years. The leather has been nailed to the thick doors with old brass upholstery tacks. There are brass sconces along the wall of the foyer that are fitted with low-watt electrical bulbs so that they almost look like candles in the dark. The whole foyer makes me think of medieval monks.

I shake my head. Monks and lambs are definitely not Elaine’s style.

Then I remember the roses. What bride wouldn’t like roses?

The roses in the courtyard are a little scraggly since they’re dormant this time of year. Miss Billings says they need to be cut back for winter, but she doesn’t do them all at once. It’s warm enough in Southern California so that Miss Billings finds a way to have a few roses present no matter what time of year it is.

Mr. Z has left this area just as it was when he bought it—except for some repairs. The business part of the mortuary is all behind a newer door that leads off the left of the foyer.

Before I go through the new door, I push open the doors to the chapel and stand a minute. The arches
inside the main part of the chapel all reach up to a series of crown-shaped stones. The curved ceiling inside the sweep of the arches is painted a dark, muted blue. It could almost be the sky.

For a second, I think to myself that it really is a pity that Elaine’s wedding couldn’t be held here. I shake myself so I don’t go soft. I should know better. Quite apart from the lamb, the chapel is too unique for Elaine. She’d rather have the guests talking about her dress than the church and, with this church, that wouldn’t be likely to happen.

The budding wedding planner in me thinks it’s a shame, though. Elaine’s dress would certainly do the church justice. Aunt Ruth ordered some designer dress from a shop in Palm Springs and it is being shipped in from Paris. That’s Paris, France. It has probably already arrived. I haven’t seen the drawings of it, but Aunt Inga says it will be spectacular.

Miss Billings is on the phone when I go into the main part of the mortuary so I walk over to the room where I check the board Mr. Z keeps up. Sure enough, he has scheduled me in the right column with the employees working today and not with the deceased who are having their viewing today. Actually, there is no one in the viewing column today. I think I’m a little superstitious about his columns, but I feel relieved every day when I find out I’m listed in the correct one.

If someone had told me a month ago that I would be worrying about what day I’d be scheduled for my final viewing, I would have laughed at them. I didn’t even know what a final viewing was. Now, look at me.

I take a moment to see what is in the bins to be filed
so I will know how many new folders to get from the supply room. I’m still in charge of filing forms even though I am a customer service rep, as well. I actually like both of these jobs so I’m not in any hurry to be promoted out of the filing part of my job.

I check my hair in the mirror that’s on the wall by the microwave. I’m even getting used to the black suit. I generally wear some silver jewelry with it, but I’ve come to like the plainness of working in a black suit. I’ve changed my mind from the pink suit and I’m already pretty sure I’ll wear a dark suit like the one I work in at the Big M when it’s time for my final viewing. Death is one time when a person wants to be dignified and there is something reassuring about a solid black suit. I think it comforts those who are left behind.

Besides, too many people use clothes to define themselves. When I worked at the bank in Blythe, I would spend the first fifteen minutes of every day checking out what everyone else was wearing just as they were looking at what I was wearing. At this job, no one notices. We’re all wearing the same kind of thing. There’s a strange way in which that lets us truly be ourselves. We know each other by our personalities, not our wardrobes.

I wish I had known more about clothes when I was growing up in Elaine’s hand-me-downs. I let those clothes define me and they were really just pieces of fabric on my back. I have wondered in the past day or two if Elaine had as hard a time with the hand-me-downs as I did. Maybe she felt as though her identity was being ripped off her back and handed to me with each blouse her mother gave Aunt Inga.

I’ve never really thought about things from Elaine’s point of view much before. Maybe we both should have worn the equivalent of black suits and been done with it. I smile just thinking of Elaine in a plain black suit, but the smile doesn’t have the sting it would have a week ago. It’s funny how much a person can learn about living when they hang around dead people. If I keep working here, the day may even come when Elaine doesn’t bug me so much. Maybe she even had some reason for seeing me as her half cousin instead of her cousin.

Miss Billings is off the phone when I come back into the reception area. There is a huge potted orchid on the coffee table in front of the sofa where visitors sit. Sometimes there are flowers leftover from funerals and they are placed in the reception area so the whole building often smells of flowers.

“Hey, good morning,” I say. I’ve come to like Miss Billings. I’m not quite ready to take her up on her offer to show me how to apply makeup to the deceased, but I do really like her. I might even ask her to give me some makeup tips for me to use while I’m alive.

Miss Billings looks at me as if she’s got a secret she can’t wait to tell me.

“We’ve got one in Room B,” she finally says to me in a hushed voice when I’ve walked over to her desk.

I look over my shoulder and down the hall to the various rooms we have. “A viewing?”

As I said earlier, I didn’t see any morning viewings on the scheduling board. That is the first thing I check because we’re all supposed to know how to direct any visitors to the correct viewing room. Maybe there’s
some separate list Mr. Z keeps, though, that I haven’t learned about yet.

Miss Billings shakes her head. “No, it’s a movie star—that new young doctor on the emergency room show. What’s its name? It comes on late on Thursday nights. Anyway, he’s in Room B.”

“Isn’t Room B where Mrs. Malote is going to be?” When I went through the files a few minutes ago I noticed the file on Mrs. Malote particularly because she was only thirty-seven. That’s too young to die and I read a little about her in the notes. “She’s not ready for her final viewing.”

“The man’s not here for the viewing. He came to bring the clothes for Mrs. Malote to wear when she has her formal viewing,” Miss Billings says as she picks up a shiny dress box that is sitting on the top of her desk. The gold letters on the box spell out the name of a very upscale department store. “He said her husband sent him with this. I let him into the room to see where Mrs. Malote will have her viewing. He just wanted to sit for a while. The casket is there waiting, but of course she’s not in it yet.”

“I suppose her husband is too upset to come.”

Miss Billings shakes her head. “The man—I remember his name now, it’s Aaron Peters—said the husband is in Canada filming something. He’s some big movie producer and he’s overbudget.”

I can tell Miss Billings is torn. She loves the movie business and the box from the department store, but she doesn’t approve of something here. We’re trained at the Big M to never show our disapproval of any client’s family, because grief does come out in strange
ways sometimes and we are trained to offer comfort rather than criticism. But Miss Billings has a way of pursing her lips that lets me know when she doesn’t approve of something. Last week it was the new purple staples the supply store sent instead of the silver ones she ordered.