Savanah's Swan Song (Part 9)

Savanah spent the last miles of the journey stuffing her face.  She had no interest in engaging with her disdainful and ever-smirking chauffeur.  Besides, she wanted to finish before she arrived home.  The last thing she needed was paparazzi snapping her picture emerging from the Cadilac in outgrown spandex holding a Burger King bag.

The pop star finished her final fry just as the vehicle pulled curbside adjacent to the giant revolving glass doors that were her luxury penthouse’s hallmark.  Rather than waiting for Ravi to open her door, she quickly crumpled the empty fast-food bag, threw it in the adjacent seat, and hustled from the vehicle with her head down.  She hurriedly pushed through the oversized panes of revolving glass into the building’s entry rotunda—

And smack-dab into Templeton, the tall, courtly, gray-bearded black gentleman who'd served as the building’s doorman for decades.

“Excuse me, miss.”  The big man blinked a few times as if trying to process the situation.  “How can I help you?”

“Templeton, it’s me.”

The doorman’s face stayed blank for a second, then erupted in the impossibly broad and radiant smile he was famous for.  “Oh, Ms. Georgia, I’m so sorry.  You’ve been away for a long time.” 

“A whole month,” Savanah said sarcastically.

“Hmmm.”  Templeton stroked his gray beard and eyed Savanah head to toe.  “I know what it is!” he suddenly boomed, snapping his fingers.  “No neckerchief!”

Savanah’s hand reflexively touched her neck.  When her career began, there was a trend of girls wearing crucifixes.  Now they were donning the tacky neckerchief of a Godless robot. 

“I left them in Europe,” Savanah said, pushing past Templeton toward the elevators.  “Please have my bags sent up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

***

“Chad!  I’m home.”

Typical, Savanah thought, as she closed her penthouse door.  He knows I’m coming, and he isn’t even here.

Although she was annoyed by her boyfriend’s absence, a part of her—the size of the parts she’d picked up while visiting her mother—was relieved.  She really didn’t want Chad seeing her right now.  Not dressed in dirty undersized spandex and smelling of grease, sweat, and farm animals.

Savanah strolled into the kitchen and reflexively opened the refrigerator door-- 

What am I doing?  Savanah slammed it shut, remembering the mammoth meal she’d just consumed. 

After pivoting in the kitchen for a moment like a rudderless ship, Savanah headed to the bathroom.  A shower would wash away the stink and clear her head.  Besides, she needed a clean start after the past month. 

Catching her reflection in the mirror; however, she knew she needed to do something else first.  It was time for a “come to Jesus’ meeting,” her Momma’s colorful colloquialism for when something unpleasant had to be dealt with. 

Fishing beneath the counter, Savanah removed a dusty bathroom scale and placed it on the floor.  As she waited for the digital display to zero out, she whispered a silent prayer and released a heavy sigh (which she hoped might be worth a pound or two).

Then she stepped on—

Son of a--