Flawfully Wedded Wives (6 page)

—
Lawson Kerry Banks

 

Lawson's heart couldn't help but swell with pride as she watched her son, Namon, string up Christmas lights on the trees in her backyard. When she was a naive sixteen-year-old parent, she couldn't imagine the day that her son would be applying to colleges and prepping for his high school graduation. The traces of his baby face were starting to fade as he morphed into a young man who resembled Mark more with each passing year.

“Looks good,” said Lawson, giving Namon an approving nod.

Namon looped the remaining string of lights around his hand. “I set everything up exactly like we did last time Dad wanted to pop the question.”

Lawson smiled. “I'm glad you still think of Garrett as your dad, especially after everything that's happened.”

“He's the man who raised me. Nothing can ever change that.”

“What about Simon?”

Namon grimaced. “What Dad did to you sucked big-time, but we've talked about it a lot. I forgave him. We all make mistakes. Anyway, Simon seems like a cool li'l dude. I kind of like having a little brother.”

“That's very sweet of you to say.”

Namon broke into a smile. “Did you see Kina on TV tonight? She won.”

“Yeah, we saw it. I'm so proud of her.”

“Yeah, me too. It's about time we got some ballers in the family! Do you think this means her and Kenny will be coming back soon?”

“I don't know, sweetie, but I'm praying that she does.”

“If you talk to her, tell her I said, ‘Congrats.'”

“Will do.” Lawson clasped her hands together. “Okay, Garrett will be home in about an hour, so I better finish up out here.”

“Do you need me to do anything else?”

Lawson looked around the yard. “Nope, everything looks perfect.” She dropped her car keys into Namon's open palm. “Now, go make yourself scarce! I'll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Thanks.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Love you too.”

“Go straight to your father's house,” Lawson called after him as he jogged toward the house. “No speeding and stay off the cell phone!”

Lawson painstakingly re-created every detail from the night of Garrett's proposal, from the position of the candles to the strawberries he fed her, covered in whipped cream. She showered and doused herself with his favorite perfume. Her newly purchased lingerie was covertly hidden underneath her dress. This night would signal a new beginning for them, and Lawson couldn't wait another minute.

As she lit the last candle on the table in their backyard, she heard Garrett calling for her inside the house.

“Hey, Lawson, where you at?”

“I'm out here in the backyard, honey. Why don't you come join me?”

Garrett approached the opened back door. “I would but . . .” He stopped, astonished by the alluring scene before him. “What's all this?”

Lawson strutted over to him and flashed a seductive smile. “Doesn't it look familiar?”

Garrett inched toward her. “Yes, it does. You look incredible, by the way. What's the occasion?”

“No special occasion.” She threw her arms around his neck. “I thought it was time we—” She was interrupted by a loud, shrill cry from inside the house. “Is the TV on?”

“No.” Garrett removed her arms. “That's what I was coming out here to tell you. Simon's here. He is asleep in his carrier. Make that
was
asleep in his carrier.”

“Sounds like he's wide awake now.” Lawson exhaled and tried to mask her disappointment. “Go check on him.”

“He probably dropped his pacifier.” He gave Lawson a quick kiss. “I'll be right back.”

Lawson busied herself by grazing over the food. Garrett returned a few minutes later.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

“He needed to be changed. He'll drift off to sleep in a minute. I put him back there in Reggie's old room.”

“I didn't know you were getting him today,” replied Lawson, slightly miffed.

“I didn't either. Simone's best friend was in an accident today. She asked me to look after him while she tended to her friend. She's going to stop by and pick him up when she leaves the hospital.”

“Okay.” Lawson smiled up at her husband, determined not to waste another second discussing Simone. “Where were we?”

Garrett drew her to him. “I believe we were right here, Mrs. Banks.”

“You remembered.” She leaned in for a kiss.

Garrett stopped her when their lips were just shy of touching. “You know what? I think I need to get the baby monitor. If Simon starts crying, we won't be able to hear him out here.”

“Garrett, he's fine. Let the boy sleep. That's what babies do best.”

“I know. I want to be on the safe side, though.” Garrett didn't wait for her approval before dashing inside to retrieve the baby monitor.

Lawson poured herself a glass of champagne to calm her nerves. She couldn't fault the baby for being a baby. She couldn't even be upset with Simone, because she would drop everything to be there for her friends too. She just wished that it could've happened any other night. Lawson had downed two glasses of champagne by the time Garrett returned.

He set the monitor down on the table. “I'm sorry about that, babe. I had to look for it.”

She gritted her teeth. “It's fine. You're being a concerned dad. Nothing wrong with that.”

“All right, no more interruptions,” he announced and swept her into his arms.

Lawson yielded. “You promise?”

“Lawson, this is all very sweet. I love you for doing this.”

“You're going to love me even more when we get inside.” She lifted her dress enough to reveal the garter belt.

Garrett was aroused. “I can love you right out here if you want me to.”

She giggled. “It's been a minute since we've done that . . . out here, at least.” It felt good to flirt with him again.

The covered trays on the table caught Garrett's attention. “What's over there?”

Lawson walked over to the table and lifted one of the lids to reveal the plump ripened strawberries underneath. “See? Just like last time.”

Garrett plastered a fake scowl on his face. He sat down at the table and pulled Lawson into his lap. “Wasn't it around this time that you were turning down my proposal?”

“Technically, I didn't say no. I said, ‘Not yet.'”

“My ego took it as a no, ma'am.”

“But we got through it, like I know we'll get through this.” She poured him a glass of champagne and retrieved her glass. “What shall we toast to?”

“More nights like this.”

As they clinked their glasses together, Simon's wails screeched through the baby monitor.

“
Seriously?
” Lawson thought aloud.

Garrett took a deep breath. “You know what? I'm going to check on Simon, and then I'm going to shoot Namon about fifty dollars to babysit for a couple of hours. How about that?”

“I sent him to Mark's house for the night so we could be alone.” She exhaled and rose from Garrett's lap. “You might as well get up and check on him.”

When Garrett returned, Lawson had blown out the candles and closed the strawberries and was drinking champagne straight from the bottle.

“Is it over?”

Lawson brought the bottle down from her lips. “You tell me.”

“I, um, got a call from Simone while I was in with Simon. Her friend is going into surgery and doesn't have any family around here, so Simone wants to stay at the hospital. She asked if Simon could spend the night.”

“Fine,” said Lawson and finished off the bottle. “I'm not really up for all this anymore, anyway.”

Garrett licked his lips. “What about . . .”

“I'm not up for
that
anymore, either.” Lawson stood up. “I'm sleepy and a little drunk. I'm going to bed.”

Garrett was as dejected as Lawson was. “Okay. I'll come join you in a minute.”

“Why don't you sleep in the room with your son? That way you'll be close by if he wakes up.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Garrett, I rarely get what I want these days. Good night.”

“Hey, Lawson,” Garrett called as she neared the door. “We'll make this up some other night.”

She turned around and looked at him, feeling more distance between them than ever before. “Yeah . . . some other night,” she repeated and went to bed alone.

 

Dressed to the nines in her Badgley Mischka gown and with her braids neatly swept to the side of her left shoulder, Reginell stood before Mark in the lobby of their hotel. “How do I look?”

Mark gazed at her, drinking in her beauty and essence. “You're gorgeous, Reggie. I don't know when I've seen you look more beautiful—or any woman, for that matter.”

“Are you sure?” She tugged on the gown. “I feel like it's a little tight. I guess I'm curvier than that stick-figure Sullivan.”

“I love your curves.” Mark curled his arms around her waist. “You look amazing.”

Reginell bowed her head, staring down at the gown. “It's the dress, not me.”

“You make the dress, baby. Trust me, Reggie, it's
you!
”

After a ten-minute cab ride, Reginell and Mark arrived at the banquet hall. Mark escorted Reginell inside. Tables and chairs were covered with pressed white linen, and glass drop chandeliers shined to an antique silver finish dripped overhead. It was all somewhat daunting to Reginell, who was more accustomed to a nightclub than a ballroom.

Mark spotted his former coach chatting with the college president. “There's Coach Parker. Come on so I can introduce you.”

Reginell saw them, but she didn't see two men talking. She saw one man who was so revered that the school wanted to acknowledge his accomplishments in the most honorable way possible, and another man who had so much power that he met with dignitaries from all over the country on a regular basis. What kind of intelligent conversation could she possibly have with them? The last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself or humiliate Mark by saying the wrong thing. Reginell didn't know much about the Bible, but she knew Ecclesiastes stated that “there's a time to keep silence, and a time to speak.” This was a time for her to keep silence.

Reginell tapped the side of her head. “Baby, you know what? I forgot to call Lawson and let her know we made it up here okay. You go on and speak to your coach. I'm going to step away for a second to call her.”

“That's okay. I'll wait,” offered Mark.

“No, you go do what you need to do. I'll catch up with you in a second.” Reginell eased away from him to make her imaginary phone call. She returned when she saw Mark waiting for her by the entrance.

“There you are,” said Mark. “I got us a table with a few of my old teammates.”

Mark led Reginell to a table with three other dapper couples. “Everyone, this is the goddess I was telling you about, my fiancée Reginell.”

“She's lovely, Mark,” replied one of the women at the table.

“That she is.” Mark faced Reginell. “Reggie, the charming young lady who just complimented you is my friend Gloria. She's married to that knucklehead sitting next to her, Greg.”

“I bet this knucklehead can still kick your butt all over the football field,” joked Greg.

Mark laughed. “You retired from the NFL a long time ago. Don't let your mouth get you in trouble, old man! Next to them is Tanya and her husband, Scott.” Mark pulled out a chair for Reginell. “And here we have my college roommate Jason and his wife, Darla.”

Reginell sat down. “It's nice to meet all of you.” Reginell looked down at all the silverware arranged in neat rows, like soldiers, next to her Caesar salad. “What happened to a regular old fork and spoon?”

Gloria laughed. “Honey, work your way from the outside in.”

Reginell smiled and nodded. She spread her cloth napkin over her lap, imitating what the other women had done.

Jason looked across the room. “Hey, is that Darwin Jackson over there?”

“Yep, good ole number twelve!” Mark removed his arm from around Reginell's shoulders. “Hey, babe, I'm going to go over there and holler at my boy. Are you going to be okay over here by yourself for a minute?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Reginell's heart sank. The last thing she wanted was to be left at a table with a bunch of snooty-looking women she didn't know and probably had zero in common with, but she didn't want to deprive Mark of a good time.

“Go on, Mark. We'll take good care of her,” said Darla.

Mark kissed Reginell on the forehead and scurried off with his teammates. She prayed that none of the women would try to strike up a conversation with her. All she wanted was to be treated like she was invisible. To her chagrin, the moment the men left, the ladies started talking.

“That gown is exquisite, Reginell,” praised Darla. “Who's the designer?”

“Um . . .” For the life of her, Reginell couldn't remember the designer's name. “I don't know. Magda something, I think. The dress isn't mine. I borrowed it from a friend. This kind of thing isn't really my style.”

“I'm sure it's not,” muttered Gloria. The other ladies cut their eyes at Gloria, causing Reginell to feel even more out of place.

Tanya cleared her throat. “So, Reginell, how are the wedding plans coming? Have you chosen a theme and your colors?”

“Not really. I didn't know so much went into planning a wedding. I probably should've helped my sister out more when she was planning hers.”

“Focus on the bright side,” said Darla. “You're marrying the man you love, you're going to get a ton of fabulous gifts, and after all the wedding madness, you can relax and enjoy your honeymoon.”

“Have you all chosen a honeymoon destination?” Gloria asked, piping up. “I highly recommend the Maldives. There's no place like it.”

“Maldives? I've never even heard of it,” admitted Reginell. “That sounds like something you sprinkle over chicken.”

Tanya and Darla giggled.

“Oh, you've got to get Mark to take you!” continued Gloria. “It's magnificent.”

“Is it down there by Jamaica and all those places?”

Gloria gave Reginell a sour look. “Um, not exactly. It's southwest of India.”

Reginell nodded, not having the first clue as to where Gloria was talking about.

“Wherever you go, be careful,” warned Tanya. “Scott and I went to the Turks and Caicos for our fifth anniversary and came back with a bun in the oven.”

“Maybe we'll just go to the Turks, then,” replied Reginell, still clueless.

“Most people don't do one without the other,” Tanya explained.

“The Turks and Caicos are a part of a group of islands in the Lucayan Archipelago. Do you know where that is?” Gloria asked before taking a sip from her goblet.

Reginell shook her head. “I can't even pronounce it.”

Tanya laughed. “She's so cute. Isn't she funny?”

Darla cut into her salad. “Did I tell you that my firm is downsizing again?”

“Oh, no,” moaned Gloria. “How many are they looking to lay off?”

“At least fifty people. You'd think that an MBA and all those years of school would guarantee some form of job security. It's getting to where a master's carries about as much weight as a GED!”

“It's such a shame!” Gloria shook her head. “Where did you go to school, Reginell?”

“Beach High.”

“No, I mean for undergrad,” Gloria said, clarifying matters.

“Oh . . . well, I went to Savannah Tech for two quarters.” They looked at Reginell, as if waiting for her to finish the rundown of her educational background. To save face, Reginell tossed out, “I've been thinking about applying at Savannah State too.”

“You should definitely do that,” Darla said, encouraging her. “Do you know what you want to major in?”

“Computers or business, but what I really want to do is sing.”

Gloria nodded. “There's a lot of money to be made in the music industry. Do you write or produce as well?”

“No, but I guess I could if I really tried.”

“I used to be an exec over at Zephyr Records, and I can tell you firsthand that there's not a lot of money in album sales these days or in just getting performing credits for a song. Most artists I know write not only for themselves, but for people in other music genres too. It's hard to make it solely by performing, unless you're headlining a major tour.”

“And it's hard to do that if you're first name ain't Be-yoncé or Madonna!” tossed out Tanya.

“So what are you doing in the meantime?” Gloria asked, pressing.

Reginell gulped down her tea, yearning for something stronger. “What do you mean?”

“Are you doing vocal coaching, entering competitions, posting some of your music online?”

“I sing at work sometimes, on amateur night.”

“Where exactly do you work?” inquired Gloria. “Is it a jazz club? Do they feature live music?”

“No, it's pretty much a dive where people come to shoot pool and have a few beers with bad wings. They started doing open mic night to draw people in, but it's usually just me and some old dude who plays the flute who perform.”

A collective round of piteous “Ohhs” went around the table.

“Speaking of flutes,” interjected Darla, “did I tell you that Kara is going to be playing for the Queen?”

Tanya was bowled over. “Of England?”

“Yes, her school's band was invited to attend some big ceremony they're having over there. A few of her classmates aren't going, though, because they don't have passports, and the passports won't be back in time for them to go.”

Gloria shook her head. “Can you believe that people in this day and age don't have passports?”

Reginell could believe it. She was one of those who didn't have one.

Gloria went on. “My Adrick has had his since he was six. He goes to China every summer, and he's gotten as fluent in Mandarin as he is in English. Too bad his parents can't say the same.”

Everyone at the table laughed except Reginell. The joke was lost on her, unless the joke was that most of their children had done more by age six than she had done by age twenty-five. She continued sipping her tea in silence, wishing that the floor would open up and suck her in. She was going to kill Mark for leaving her alone with these debutantes for so long. She tuned back in to the conversation in time to hear Darla ask a question.

“Have you been keeping up with these drone strikes?”

“Who's on strike?” asked Reginell, attempting to contribute something other than pity to the conversation.

“No, I'm talking about the military drone strikes in Yemen.”

“Thank God my brother Jarvis has been promoted to captain,” Darla remarked. “We don't have to worry about him being on the front line as much.”

“Captain at only twenty-six years old,” Gloria observed, enthused. “You must be proud.”

Reginell's self-worth plummeted. She and Darla's brother were virtually the same age, and he was already light years ahead of her in accomplishments.

Reginell sat quietly as the women talked over her head about foreign policy and the kind of financial problems she'd loved to have, like being forced to be put on a waiting list for a five-thousand-dollar purse and missing Fashion Week in Paris this year. She felt as if the women were speaking a foreign language to her, possibly Mandarin, which, apparently, she should have been able to understand by the time she entered first grade.

Reginell was damp from nervous sweat. “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom. Do you know where it is?”

“Out those double doors and to your right,” instructed Tanya.

Reginell couldn't get out of there fast enough. She went out on the terrace and bummed a cigarette from one of the cooks who was outside taking a smoking break. She felt way more at ease chatting with them than she did with the women at her table.

Mark found Reginell leaning over the ornate railing, alone, puffing on the cigarette. “When did you start back smoking?”

“I didn't.” She ground the cigarette into the cement. “I mean, I don't unless I'm stressed out or nervous.”

He draped his jacket around her bare arms. “And what is my bride-to-be stressed out about?”

“Mark, be honest. We both know I don't belong here.” Reginell lowered her head. “I never should've come.”

Mark lifted her chin. “Hey, wait a minute. Did those women say something to upset you?”

“No, they didn't mean to say anything, not intentionally.”

“What happened?”

She sighed. “They were talking about their degrees and places they've been and a bunch of things I've never even heard of. I felt so out of place.”

Mark held her. “Reggie, you have no reason to feel threatened by the women in that room or anywhere else. You're beautiful, smart, and talented, and there's no one in the world I'd rather be here with tonight than you.”

“That's sweet of you to say, but look at those women and look at me. They're all so accomplished and professional.”

“So are their husbands. Half of the guys in there went on to play for the NFL or for some other league overseas. Then there's me, a hometown football coach and math teacher. It would be real easy for me to be intimidated by all their accolades and success, but one thing my daddy always said is that a real man—or woman, in your case—isn't intimidated by anyone except God, and I don't believe anyone in there holds that title. Even with all their money and achievements, I wouldn't trade my life for theirs if I could. All we see is the outside. We don't know what kind of hell they're catching at home.”