Seasoned with Grace (3 page)

Grace stared at the gold knobs on the doors of Mount Carmel Community Church. She turned her back and took three steps toward the curb. She was supposed to report to church on Tuesday, the day after the sentencing. It was now mild, fog-filled Thursday, and she still wasn't ready to walk through the doors of Mount Carmel.

You have to go in. Go in, or go to jail.
She weighed her options. “I can handle the chains. I can handle the jumpsuit. I don't know if I can handle twenty-four hours of women,” she said aloud.

Slowly, she walked back to the doors, then turned around again and leaned against them. “I can't do this. I'm just going to call Ethan. . . . I can't disappoint him, but . . .” she murmured.

“But now is the acceptable time for salvation,” a woman said to her through a crack in the door.

“What?”

“The Lord led you here for a reason.”

“Yeah,” Grace said smugly, nodding her head. “He led me here to do community service, not to be indoctrinated.”

“Are you . . . ?” The woman gasped deeply. “No. You're not!”

Grace turned around to face the woman completely. She raised her oversized sunglasses, giving her a full glimpse of her face.

“Grace King. Come in, come in,” the woman said, quickly opening the door to the church.

Grace stepped into the vestibule of Mount Carmel Community Church and gave the woman who had greeted her a blank stare.

“I'm Sister Connie Bryce. I'll be your tour guide for the day. I'm sure Brother Ethan filled you in on all the various ministries we have. Which one do you think you'd like to take part in?”

With a turned-up nose, Grace replied, “Lady, how many times do I have to tell you that I'm just here to do my time?”

“Where the spirit is, there is liberty. We'll help you find just the right ministry for you to participate in so that you can grow.”

Grace cocked her head to the side and wondered if Sister Bryce had heard a single word she'd said. Either she was so high on the Holy Ghost, she could completely disregard Grace's noxious attitude or all the material she had on was affecting her hearing. Her ankle-length plaid skirt and her peach-colored, short-sleeved turtleneck reminded Grace of yet another reason why conversion was not on her to-do list.
It's so unfashionable.

Grace was giving Sister Bryce a little extra flavor, hoping she'd send her home, forcing Ethan to find a more suitable place for her.

“Follow me this way to the basement, where we do our food ministry, Fishes and Loaves Ministry. I told Pastor that I thought it would be best for you to try your hand in every ministry until we're able to discern your gift.”

Grace grabbed Sister Bryce's fleshly arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“I don't think Brother Ethan explained to you clearly why I'm here, but it's not to minister, and my gifts are right here.” Grace waved her hand at her face and patted her breast.

“Ow, the blood of Jesus, Satan, the Lord of hosts rebukes you in the name of Jesus.” Sister Bryce shook her hand in a flourish in Grace's face. “Nothing happens by chance. If you are here, you were sent here for a divine purpose. You shake those things all you want. They come standard with every model, and some of us are blessed enough to get a little extra.” Sister Bryce straightened her back, pointing out that she had received a double portion of Grace's gift. “Though the world values those, they don't mean nothing in the Kingdom. Now, understand this—” she waved her index finger in the air—“Everything we do here is a ministry designed to help us exercise our faith and draw people closer to God.”

With that, Sister Bryce turned her back and proceeded to walk toward the altar. Grace remained stationary in the middle of the aisle.
I know she don't think she's about to put no oil on me. I didn't come here for all this.

“Is you coming or not, little girl? We got the Lord's business to attend to, and He doesn't wait for anybody.”

Grace dragged her feet as she followed Sister Bryce to the altar and then down the steps on the left side of the pulpit.

“The steps on the right lead to Pastor's office. He's away at a pastors' summit this week. As soon as he returns, I'll introduce you. Come on now. We got to get ready for the lunch crowd,” Sister Bryce said, pushing the door open to reveal Mount Carmel's expansive basement.

Twelve long banquet-style tables occupied the basement from wall to wall. Each table was covered with a scarlet tablecloth, and vases filled with marbles and fake flowers served as decorations. The walls were covered with framed verses from the Bible, written in calligraphy. One scripture captured Gracie's attention. Ephesians 4:7.
But unto every one of us is given grace according to the measure of the gift of Christ.

God must have measured her present with a short stick, Grace mused, considering her plight.

“You like that one?” Sister Bryce asked, nudging Grace with her elbow. “Let me show you my favorite.” She grabbed Grace by the wrist and dragged her to a picture frame and read the scripture aloud. “‘Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.' Psalm one-oh-three, thirteen. That's awesome love, isn't it?”

“Some fathers don't pity their children. Some fathers are the demise of their very own children,” Grace replied, thinking of her very own father, Thomas King. After not seeing her since she was sixteen, he had sought her out only five years ago, after seeing her on the cover of
Sports Illustrated,
to berate her and tell her how unchristian it was of her to pose near naked on the cover of the magazine. To which she had replied, “I'm not a Christian. I'm Grace King.”

“Well, Grace King, are you ready to do some service for the King of Kings?” Sister Bryce asked with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, ma'am,” Grace said softly. It was way too difficult for her to maintain her abrasive attitude in the face of Sister Bryce's kindness.

Sister Bryce led Grace to the far end of the room and into the kitchen, which housed several ovens and refrigerators. “This is a full-service meal ministry. We serve a three-course meal for lunch and dinner, and it includes appetizers, an entrée, and dessert.”

“All of that?”

“The Lord blessed us last year, when one of our old members returned. She's a famous chef. You probably heard of her. Cynthia Barclay.”

Grace shrugged. She'd never heard of her, and she wasn't interested in making any new celebrity friends.

“Well,” Sister Bryce continued, “she donated the money to fund this ministry, and she ran a Bible-based cooking class to help members feed their mind, body, and spirit.”

“If this ministry is so important, why isn't she here now?” Grace wondered aloud.

“She went back to Virginia to run her restaurant, but she left a ton of recipes, and her class is what launched this ministry. Lunch is usually our busier time. That apron and hairnet over there are yours.” Sister Bryce pointed to the blue and white apron with a floral print and the hairnet that sat on top of one of the silver counters in the kitchen. “You can hang your coat up on the rack in the corner near the door.”

“I'll do anything except wear this hairnet.” Grace held it up between her index finger and her thumb as if it were a dirty sock.

“Why? You too good to wear a hairnet?” a woman asked, creeping up beside Sister Bryce.

“Grace King, meet Sister Thompson,” Sister Bryce said, pointing to the woman standing beside her. “Sister Thompson, this is Ms.—”

“I know who she is,” Sister Thompson sneered, placing her apron over her neck and tightly fastening the strings around her waist. “She's that drunk model that likes to fight.” She snickered, staring straight at Grace.

“What? You too good to do what us common folk do?” croaked a voice from over Grace's shoulder.

Grace peered over her shoulder at a tall woman with broad shoulders who had a gold ball stuck in her nose. Clearly, she had not given up her old lifestyle entirely yet.

“Grace, this is Sister Marva Puck. Sister Marva, this is Grace King.”

“I know who she is.” Sister Marva brushed against Grace's shoulder as she walked past her. The enmity she exuded was stronger than her cheap knockoff perfume.

“Excuse you,” Grace muttered.

“No, you're excused,” Sister Marva replied. She held up one palm in Grace's direction and angled her shoulder slightly to face Sister Bryce. “Sister Bryce, we don't need her help. She's only here, pretending to care, until she gets her image cleaned up.” Sister Marva pivoted on her worn-down heels and looked Grace in the eyes. “I'm no fool. I know what you're up to,” she stated, wagging her finger in Grace's face.

Grace swatted Sister Marva's hand out of her face and stepped closer to her. Through clenched teeth she responded to Sister Marva's accusation. “You must be a fool, stepping to me like that.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Sister Bryce waved her hands in the air and yanked Sister Marva back a few inches. “There'll be none of that in here today.”

Grace felt like Sister Bryce was staring right into her soul as she made that announcement. This church thing wasn't her thing, and there was no way on God's green earth, or on any other planet that He had created, that she was going to take nonsense from anyone.

“You're right, Sister Bryce. There'll be none of that in here today, because I'm definitely not staying here.” Grace flung her hairnet at Sister Marva and strutted out like she was on a runway in Milan.

How am I going to explain this to Ethan?
she wondered as she walked up the steps to the pulpit to exit the church. Ethan wasn't going to be pleased.
I can handle him. I can definitely handle him.

“You can't just walk out, Grace!” Ethan shouted, slamming his palms down on his desk. “Fridays are supposed to be fun days. I'm not supposed to hear bad news on Fridays. That's always the precursor of a working weekend.”

“Ethan, I did what was best. It was either that or I was going to slap what little bit of Holy Ghost that woman had in her. Find me another placement.”

“‘Find me another placement.' ‘Get me a role in the next Tyler Perry movie.' ‘Get me a spring roll,'” Ethan whined in a shrill voice, trying to impersonate Grace. “I am not a maid, concierge, or some lackey you can just bark at. I'm a lawyer. The last lawyer left in the building who will deal with you.” He stepped out from behind his massive desk, walked over to her chair, and sat in front of her, on top of the desk. “You are standing on your last leg, Grace King, and if you plan on making a comeback, this is where you must begin.” He scooped up her hand and held it in his.

The tender touch comforted her in more ways than one. She rested her cheek on the back of his hand.

Ethan fingered the edges of her short hair. “Look at me.”

Grace stared up at him. She licked her lips, prepping herself for the kiss she'd imagined they'd share more than once.

“We are going to get through this, like we always have, but if we're going to make it through this”—he leaned in closer to her perfectly puckered, pouty lips—“you're going to have to listen to me.”

Contorting her gazelle-like neck, Grace positioned herself to receive him. Between her court dates, mandated therapy sessions, and now community service, she didn't have much time for her two favorite things—booze and hot guys. Right now Ethan would do, with his chiseled chest and muscular arms. Grace traced the muscles in his arms with her eyes, cutting through the silk blend of his Thomas Pink orange button-down shirt. In an instant Grace stretched her long arm out and wrapped her fingers around Ethan's arm.

“Mr. Summerville, Candace is on line two,” his secretary blared over the intercom, interrupting the nearly perfect kiss, which Grace needed.

Ethan shook himself out of Grace's grasp, hopped off the desk, hitting his hip bone on the edge, and scurried to his desk chair. He snatched the phone from its cradle.

“Hello, Candace,” was all Grace could make out. She listened intently as Ethan's voice dropped to a hushed tone, so that he sounded like he was speaking over a Boyz II Men track. Grace leaned back in her chair, flung one of her long legs over the other, and repeatedly kicked the desk, jerking her knee. After a few kicks Ethan finally acknowledged her impatience. With one palm over the receiver, Ethan mouthed to Grace that she needed to give him one minute.

“That sounds really great. Can we discuss this over dinner?” he asked, wrapping up his conversation with Candace. “I have a client in the office right now. Serafina around six? See you then.” Ethan slipped the phone back into the cradle that sat on his desk. He looked in Grace's direction, but the faint glare in his eyes indicated that his thoughts were somewhere else.

“What do you have to discuss with Candace at Serafina? Does she even like Italian food?”

“That's none of your business, Grace.”

“Is she trying to get you to help her cousin ManMan get out of jail?” Grace quipped.

“I don't ask questions about the men you date or about their intentions, so don't you dare do it to me, Grace King. What you are going to do right now is go to the church, apologize to Sister Bryce, and serve some food. We need some photos of you doing community service out there so you can start cleaning up your image.”

Grace looked down at the diamond bezel around the face of her watch. “As appealing as that sounds, I have a lunch date.”

“With who?” Ethan removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“That's none of your business, Mr. Summerville.” Grace pulled the gold chain strap of her purse around her body, lifted her olive-green scarf slightly over her head, and pushed her glasses tightly against her face, trying to hide the hurt Ethan's remark had caused. “When you send a camera crew down there, let me know, and Grace King will be there, feeding the poor and cradling suckling babes in my arms.”

“You're going back there this evening to help serve dinner.” Ethan let his glasses fall onto the desk. “I'm not hiring a camera crew. There are probably some plants in there already, using their camera phones to get a picture of you. Someone posted a photo of you on CelebrityDaily.com.” Turning to his computer, he punched in the address of the celebrity sighting and gossip blog. “Searching for Grace. Supermodel Grace King in front of Mount Carmel Community Church in Harlem, pleading with the doorkeeper to let her in,” he said, reading from the computer screen. Ethan turned the monitor around so that it faced her. “You may not think anyone is watching, but everyone is, and a majority of them are hoping you get it together. I'm praying that you do.”

“Do they really want to see me get it together, or do you want to mock me?” Grace stood. “You know something, Ethan? One thing I've found to be true in this life is what my mother told me when I was a little girl. She said, ‘Trouble don't last always, and when it seems like it does, I've discovered that there's nothing a mimosa can't wash away.'” With that, Grace waved good-bye, as if she was parting with a friend, and walked out of the office.

 

 

“Excuse me,” Grace called to the young waitress from across the room. “May I please have another?” She raised her empty champagne glass in the air, shaking it from side to side.

“Are you allowed to drink?” Junell Pierce asked.

“Junie, I'm grown,” Grace replied in response to her best friend's question. She set the champagne glass on the table and rested her hands beneath her chin. “I can do what I want.”

“That's not what I heard,” Junell said, flipping her long straw-colored locks over her shoulder.

“What did you hear about moi?”

“I heard that you're not supposed to be drinking, and you're doing community service at some church up in Harlem for, like, a year.”

Grace slapped her thigh. “Dang, girl, how do you know all my business? I think you're taking your role on that detective show a little too seriously.” Grace chuckled.

“If anybody should know, you should know that people in the industry talk, and right now everyone is talking about you, Grace King.” Junell pointed a long manicured finger at Grace.

“Fill me in.” Grace scooted to the edge of her seat. “What are they saying?”

“A lot of people are saying you're washed up and you're a liability.” Junell pointed at Grace. “But you and I,” she said, placing her hand on her chest, “both know that is not true. What does Ethan have to say about this situation?”

“Let's not talk about Ethan right now, please.”

Junell took a forkful of her salad, then dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Did Ethan drop you as a client? I know a great lawyer. He's not going to manage you or act as your agent. He will only represent your interests in legal matters, but he's good. Do you want his card?” She fished for his card in her boxy, magenta calfskin Céline bag. “How could he do this to you now, in the midst of all this?”

Grace stretched her hand across the table and grabbed Junell's arm before she could extract the card. “It's fine. Ethan did not drop me, but he's been acting funny toward me lately.”

“Funny? How?” Junell threw back the last bit of alcohol left in her glass and signaled for the waiter.

“He's been kind of distant.” Grace shook her hand from side to side. “I think it's because of this girl he's dating,” she said, curling her lips in disgust at the thought of Candace and her cardigans.

“Dating?” Junell gasped, choking on the word. “Ethan's dating? It's not you, and it's a female?”

“Yes.”

“I had him pegged for either a closeted homosexual or madly in love with you.”

“We were both wrong,” Grace said as flatly as possible, trying not to reveal her bruised ego and crushed heart.

A waiter interrupted their chitchat to bring them full glasses of mimosa. “Ladies,” he said, bowing before them after placing the long-stem glasses on the table. He locked eyes with Grace and smiled at her, licking his lips. She reciprocated with a flirtatious smile of her own. His blue-eyed gaze seemed impenetrable, making it hard for her to determine the extent to which she could use him or the extent to which he planned on using her.

“You are absolutely divine,” the waiter whispered to Grace.

Junell responded to his compliment, preventing Grace from spouting one of her famous seductress phrases. “While the compliment is appreciated, she's saving herself for marriage, young man. Thank you.” Junell waved her hand at the waiter like she was swatting at a mosquito.

“Junie!”

“Don't ‘Junie' me. You cannot sit up here and expect Ethan to save himself for you, and you're over here, giving away free samples of the merchandise. I'm praying for you, child.”

Sucking her teeth, Grace replied, “Not you too. You know, Ethan started praying during the meeting when were supposed to be reviewing the terms of my probation. That's how he met ole girl.”

“Ole girl?” Junell raised one eyebrow. “You don't have to say it like that.”

“I'm sorry, but I didn't grow up in the Hamptons, speaking proper English.” Grace twisted her lips and leaned back in her chair. Junell's middle-class upbringing often served as a source of contention between the two women, and now was as good a time as any for Grace to deflect the conversation away from the idea of her conversion and the frightening idea of Ethan dating..

“You're overreacting. They haven't even been dating that long.” Junell laughed and flipped her hair again. “You just got sentenced on Monday. Today is only Friday. And please send the papers to my lawyer so you can sue me for growing up in a house with two parents so that I can testify to how ghetto Wydanche really is. All that glitters ain't gold. I'm sorry you had to learn that on the streets, but we all learn it somehow. Now what you need to do is get yourself together before Ethan gets serious with ‘ole girl,'” she said, using air quotations.

“I don't care what he does.”

“Liar. If you didn't care, we wouldn't be discussing this.” Junell folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, like she'd just closed another case on her detective show.

“I'm not discussing it. You are. I'm drinking.” Grace threw back her mimosa.

“Seriously, Grace, you need to do what you have to do to get right. Maybe you should go to church with Ethan.”

“Why is everyone trying to do a Holy Ghost intervention on me?”

“This life you're living isn't working, and I know you think no one in the world loves Grace King, but I do, and I don't want to see you in the streets, in rehab somewhere, or on some god-awful reality show.” Junell and Grace both shuddered. “It's getting late, Grace.”

Glancing at the face of her cell phone, Grace said, “Junie, it's only one o'clock.”

Junell reached across the table and put her hand over Grace's. “No. I mean you're getting too old to be living your life so recklessly, especially in this industry.”

“Chile, please.” Grace sat up straight and crossed her legs. “I'm only twenty-six.”

“How many times have you been twenty-six?” Junell and Grace both broke out in laughter in response to that question.

The other patrons stared at them. They weren't the typical businessmen at lunch, the clientele that Billy's catered to, which made the restaurant the perfect place for a model and an actress to step out of character and be themselves without any fear of being caught on camera or accosted by some crazy fans.

Grace clutched her chest to catch her breath and tried to count how many times she'd turned twenty-six since her actual twenty-sixth birthday. Four times.
Have I become one of those washed-up stars who are still clinging to their youth, without a hope or a prayer of ever regaining that fame?
She stared at her friend. They'd both entered the industry at the same time. On the same day.

“
Come here, little girl. Mama June is going to fix you up real nice.” Mama June did just that. She used her makeup wipes to cleanse my face and then applied a little primer, foundation, blush, and a peachy-colored lipstick that shone against my dark skin. “Pass me the mirror, Junie.” Mama June took the mirror from her daughter and held it up in front of my face.