Flaws and All (12 page)

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Authors: Shana Burton

BOOK: Flaws and All
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Lawson smiled. “It's a date.”
Mark exhaled and looked around the room. “Well, imagine that . . . the time machine got us to and from the nineties in one piece. And by the looks of it”—he glanced down at his watch—“we didn't lose any time while we were gone. There are still twenty minutes left in our lunch break.”
Lawson smiled. “Thanks for the dance lesson . . . and the quantum leap.”
Mark kissed her on the cheek. “Anytime.”
After Lawson took off the dress and paid for it, she and Mark left the store. She had her wedding gown tucked under her arm and her commitment to Garrett still intact.
Mark made a final plea on his behalf. “You know, there's still one thing I can do for you that your fiancé can't,” he hinted.
“And what's that?”
“Find you a good seat near the front of the auditorium. Come on. Let's go.”
Chapter 21
“My husband knows I'm no Girl Scout.”
—
Sullivan Webb
 
Sullivan had just gulped down a Morning Sunrise when her cell phone vibrated, signaling that she had an incoming text message: I have the day off. I wanna see you. She read it and smiled. It was from Vaughn.
Charles entered just as she turned off the phone. “And how's my lovely wife this morning?” He planted a kiss on her jaw. Sullivan's smile drifted into a slight frown. Charles sat down across from her at the table. “Guess who I just got an e-mail from.”
“I don't make guesses before noon,” replied Sullivan.
Charles poured himself a cup of coffee. “It was from John. It looks like I'm going to be a great-uncle again. My niece Michelle is pregnant. John's very excited, but it made me kind of sad.”
She nodded in agreement. “I couldn't imagine having a kid at Michelle's age. She's only twenty-four, and she and Daryl haven't even been married a year. Now they have to be responsible for this whole other person. Nothing kills the honeymoon like a load of dirty diapers.”
“That's not what I meant,” clarified Charles. “I'm happy for them, for the whole family. I'm kind of sad for me. I thought I'd be the one making grandchild announcements. Here I am at fifty, and I haven't even announced my first child.”
Sullivan rolled her eyes. “You have a career. You don't need kids.”
“Sullivan, no job or any amount of money could ever replace bringing a new life into the world, not even work in the ministry.”
“I think children are highly overrated. They're needy, whiny, and expensive.”
“You make them sound like wives,” joked Charles then changed the subject. “It looked like you were on the phone when I walked in. Is everything all right?”
The thought of Vaughn reignited her smile. “Yes, everything is fine.”
“The car hasn't been giving you any more trouble, has it?”
She shook her head.
“See, I told you Mike would take good care of you.”
Sullivan bit into her blueberry scone. “Actually, his associate Vaughn did all of the work. Mike was out of town.”
“Vaughn is the young guy, right, the one with his hair all braided up?” Sullivan nodded. Charles shook his head. “You know I don't judge a book by its cover, but that young man looks like some common street thug if you ask me. I told Mike that having a guy like that around could be bad for business. Even the Bible says to avoid the appearance of evil. If I'd known Mike was away, I would've sent you somewhere else.”
“Vaughn isn't a thug. He's an artist.”
“I hope you don't mean a con artist.”
“No, he paints.”
“What—graffiti?”
Sullivan rolled her eyes. “You're so closed-minded, Charles. Anyway, I've been thinking about picking up a paintbrush again myself.”
He sipped his coffee. “I thought you gave that little hobby up years ago.”
“It's not little, and it was more than just a hobby. I would probably be the toast of New York, hosting my own art shows if I hadn't settled for married life with you.”
“It's because the Lord has blessed us that you don't have to live like some
starving
artist. We have more than enough money to commission any painter you want.”
“You're missing the point.”
“Am I, darling?” He wiped his mouth. “I tell you what, why don't you go out and buy you some paints and an easel, if that's what makes you happy.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Can I convince you to come downtown for a breakfast meeting with me this morning? I'm linking up with some of the campaign workers, and I would love to have you sit in on it. I want your input as much as I want theirs.”
Meeting with Charles and his aides paled in comparison to a romantic rendezvous with Vaughn. “No, you go on ahead. I'm really anxious to get started with my painting.”
“All right, I'll see you around dinner. I love you.”
“Yeah, love you too,” she echoed, but Sullivan's mind was already on other things, namely when and where she would meet Vaughn.
 
 
“Welcome to my lair!” was the greeting Sullivan received when she reached Vaughn's modest studio apartment after she'd called and agreed to meet him there.
She ducked underneath the doorway. “So, is this where all the magic happens?”
“This is it. Come on in.”
The small apartment had an open floor plan. It housed a tiny kitchenette, a crocheted afghan draped over a loveseat, a wooden table that leaned on a broken leg, and a hand-me-down bed that was missing a headboard. Sullivan walked in and was immediately struck by the intense and passionate paintings mounted on myriad canvases between the sparse furnishings. “Is this all your work?”
“Yep, every one.” He picked up a few clothes that were scattered on the floor.
“Vaughn, these are not just good; they're breathtaking . . . brilliant, even.”
He tossed a shirt into the hamper. “I just do me, you know? I put the brush to the canvas and see what happens.”
Sullivan was captivated by a painting depicting an elderly man playing a bassoon. “This is amazing.”
Vaughn slipped his arms through the sleeves of a black hoodie. “So, you ready?”
“Ready for what? I thought we were hanging out here.”
“I wanna show you something first. I want to take you to my favorite place.”
Sullivan smiled at him. “You mean it's not the bedroom?”
He laughed. “Well, my second favorite place.” Vaughn reached out for her hand. “Come on. We can walk. It's just a couple of blocks from here.”
 
 
“Where are you taking me?” she asked him for the third time as they walked down the street hand in hand. She felt light and sexy, a feeling that she hadn't gotten from Charles in years. Vaughn took pleasure in torturing her, not telling where they were going.
“We're here,” he announced at long last. She looked up at the building's marquee. “It's a new and little known art gallery, mostly black artists.” He pulled open the glass doors. “Come on. Let me show you around.”
She slid her arm into his, and they began the tour of the gallery. Vaughn stopped in front of a whimsical painting of a man and a woman in what appeared to be the inner city. “You see this? This is one of William H. Johnson's works. He's an artist who emerged in New York after the Harlem Renaissance.” The piece was entitled
Moon Over Harlem
. “Look at his use of color in this one,” pointed out Vaughn, admiring another work by Johnson. “Notice all of the saturated reds and oranges and bold brush strokes. This technique is called
sfumato
. It works very well for this kind of painting. It's beautiful.”
Sullivan was surprised and impressed by his observations. “I studied his painting called
Midnight Sun
,” she told him. “He created it in Norway. He had to climb around two thousand feet every day for about a month to capture the view from the top of a mountain. The result is just spectacular.”
This time, Vaughn was the one who was impressed. “How do you know that?”
“I'm not just another pretty face, Vaughn. There's a brain in there too.”
He turned her head to look at her profile. “This is a face that was made to be photographed and painted. I would never call it something as common as pretty.”
“Thank you,” she replied, enchanted by everything about him. Her attention turned to another painting. “And look at this one. Doesn't it remind you of some of O'Keefe's work?”
“How do you know so much about art, Sullivan?”
“I took about a thousand art courses in undergrad. You know, art history, art appreciation, et cetera,” she answered off-handedly. Sullivan paused, transfixed by an Elizabeth Catlett painting. “Wow. I've never seen this one before.”
“Wait a minute!” said Vaughn, recovering from his shock. “First things first, you said something about taking art courses. Where? When?”
“I graduated with a degree in art from Howard. I was into everything art in college. It was my dream to be an artist, or at least a curator.”
“So, why didn't you pursue art more?”
“I fell in love. Art didn't seem so important after that.”
“And you really graduated from Howard University?”
“Yes. What, because I don't work, you assumed that meant that I was stupid or something? Vaughn, you'd be surprised to know how many housewives are smart and talented. We're not all gold-diggers.
You're
the one I'm shocked by. I can't believe you've even heard of all these artists.”
“Really, Sullivan, who hasn't?” he said as if it were required knowledge among the mechanic set.
Sullivan stopped at Eldzier Cortor's elaborately painted depiction of a black woman in the nude. “This is beautiful.”
“I'm sure you'd be just as beautiful if I painted you that way.” With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, “You game?”
She smiled. “Sounds like fun, but I do insist on keeping my clothes on.”
“We'll see about that.” Vaughn held the door open for her. “I'm starting to see that there's a lot more to you than that gorgeous face and killer body, isn't there?”
“I'm just a woman, Vaughn.”
He caressed her face. “Sullivan, I'm sure that you're not
just
an anything.”
They walked back to his apartment, making conversation out of leaves turning for fall and everything else they passed. At no point did her husband or their marriage enter Sullivan's mind, until Vaughn introduced the subject.
“I wonder what your husband would say if he knew you were over here,” he posed, unlocking the door.
Sullivan followed him inside. “What makes you think he doesn't?”
He went into the kitchenette and put on a pot of water for tea. “Oh, you actually told him that you were coming to see me today?” He looked back over his shoulder, tossing a seductive grin in her direction.
Sullivan was definitely falling in love with that smile. “Not in those words,” she disclosed. “Not in
any
words, actually. Charles knows I have friends and a short attention span.”
“And he's fine with that?”
“His philosophy is that as long as I come home to him every night, it's all good. He's very understanding.”
“I'm sure he is, but there's a line between being
understanding
and being stupid.”
“You and I aren't doing anything wrong, just looking at art and having tea.”
Vaughn poured the water into two mugs and dropped a tea bag in them. “Can't you do that with him?” He handed her a cup.
“Charles and I just don't click anymore. We don't really have anything in common. Our personalities are so different.”
“You're still there, so it can't be all bad.”
“No, it's not
bad
, it's just . . . drab.” She sipped her tea. “But I made a commitment to him, and it's not easy to just walk away from that.”
“Yet you're here with me.”
“I never said I was perfect.”
“I bet you don't even give him any,” joked Vaughn. “You know how y'all married women do—put a brother on rations with the booty after you get the ring.”
“I was rationing it out way before I met Charles! Our problems don't stop and start with the bedroom, though. I just don't feel fulfilled.”
“I think I understand,” he said, nodding. “And I wasn't judging you.”
“Thank you.” Sullivan finished her tea and stood up. “Well, it's getting late, and I don't want to overstay my welcome.”
He reached for her and wrapped his arms around her hips. “You aren't.”
Vaughn leaned in as if he was going to kiss her, prompting her to jump back. Sullivan ended up grazing her hand against the still hot stove cap.
“Ouch!”
“Are you all right?”
She looked down at her hand. “It hurts, but I'll live.”
“Let me see it.” Vaughn reached out and caressed the injured hand before planting a tender kiss on it. His lips were soft and warm. “It's my mom's remedy for everything that hurts.” He grinned. “That and telling me to lay down and take a nap.”

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