Free Somewhat Saved by Pat G'Orge-Walker

others who need shelter, too.”
    Zipporah was determined not to let one tear fall. She failed.
    â€œYou’re young, very pretty, and I’m sure you have talents you haven’t tapped into yet.”
    Miss Thompson let the word talents linger as though it was a term to which she could attach all sorts of meanings.
    â€œI don’t want you to say a word. I need you to listen. I’ve a friend who can use a woman with your talent .”
    Zipporah’s heart raced. She’d heard those words before, spewed from her then supposed boyfriend, Lonnie. With common dreams of producing their own Broadway-styled show, they’d arrived in Las Vegas full of hope. He was thirty. His tall, muscular build and pecan-brown complexion were disarming once he lit his charm fuse. A slippery tongue and large innocent brown eyes, he had; money he did not.
    Within two months, they were broke. Lonnie decided he would earn a few dollars performing one-nighters as a bassist with whoever was hiring along the strip. Despite her protests of doing anything illegal such as shoplifting, he’d beaten her and then smiled before depositing her from their used Odyssey van onto the unforgiving streets of Las Vegas.
    â€œYou’re talented. Do on the street what you do to me at home. Figure it out.”
    â€œZipporah, figure it out.” Miss Thompson stood with her arms folded as though she expected Zipporah to drop and give her several push-ups.
    â€œExcuse me?” Zipporah spoke with indignation. She’d finally figured it out.
    â€œDid you understand what I just offered?” Miss Thompson’s voice was no longer soft. It seemed to rise with annoyance as she again asked, “Have I made myself clear?”
    The answer wrapped in a string of expletives lay trapped inside Zipporah’s dry mouth. Her eyes tried to escape the intense gaze emanating from Miss Thompson’s cherublike face. The balance between hunger, homelessness, and the possibility of escaping both seesawed within her mind.
    While Zipporah’s mind raced, the buzzer on the intercom caught Miss Thompson’s attention. She glanced away quickly to answer the call and to write a quick note. It was long enough for Zipporah to rush out of the room.
    Without a thought of the meager belongings in her room, Zipporah fled the shelter. She sprinted for two blocks without stopping until she arrived at the bus stop. It didn’t matter where the bus was headed, she just needed to escape.
    And that’s when she realized she’d left her bag inside Miss Thompson’s office.
    That was yesterday. She’d managed to talk the night supervisor into retrieving her bag from Miss Thompson’s office. She’d made the excuse of having cramps and just needing to go to her room and lie down. The night supervisor, a kindly woman and the total opposite of Miss Thompson, sympathized and took the bag during a time when the office was empty.
    About the same time her head nodded off to the side again, Zipporah’s name filtered through her involuntary nap. How many times had her name been called?
    â€œMiss Moses, you may go in.” The annoyance in the receptionist’s voice was palpable and the ugly blue shadow seemed darker and uglier. “Perhaps you’d like to go home and rest before you commit to a possible job here.”
    Zipporah’s head snapped as though held by a rubber band. Aggravation accompanied each word the woman had spoken, but not without reason.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” Zipporah answered sheepishly. “I was praying.” The lie had rolled off her tongue too quick. Her face twitched from guilt. But it wasn’t enough to take the lie back.
    From the sour look on the receptionist’s face Zipporah wasn’t too sure if she had even a chance of getting the job. The woman’s face suddenly softened as though she understood the need to pray.
    â€œHave faith,” the receptionist