Seasoned with Grace (10 page)

“You know, you really put Mr. Summerville in a bind with your antics last week,” Alice said between each pop of her gum as she stood behind her desk.

Grace just looked at her out of the corner of her eye, with one of her freshly arched brows raised.
Here I am, recovering from alcohol poisoning, and she wants to reprimand me.

“Alice, my mama been dead for a few years now.” Grace waved her hand to the side, dismissing Alice's comment.

“She must be glad she's in a grave and not stuck following behind yo' ig'nant self,” Alice said, shaking her head like she pitied Grace.

Grace sat back in her chair, closed her eyes, and let her head roll back. An argument was brewing, and Grace was still on the mend from her little episode last week. She took a deep breath in through her nostrils, like Dr. Sternberg had taught her, and expelled the negative thoughts that had congregated in her head out through her mouth. Her hope was that the silence would motivate Alice to back down. When Grace looked up, Alice was still standing there, popping her gum, with her hand on her hip, like Grace owed her an explanation.

“Alice, don't you have work to do?”

“I sure do. I have to take out the trash, but I don't have any industrial-size bags to fit you into.”

Grace rose to her feet. She was done conversing with Alice. All that “holding your palms together” business that she'd rehearsed with Dr. Sternberg went up the chimney. The only response she had left was a backhand slap. The kind that had to be administered up close and personal, the kind that would cause Alice to whip out her little vanity mirror that she kept tucked in the back of her top drawer and check to see if she was bleeding. Just as Grace pulled back her right hand, Ethan grabbed it with his left.

“When are you going back to anger management?” he asked, still holding Grace by the wrist.

“You know, I've been meaning to discuss that with you, Ethan. How could you let that doctor just pop up at my condo like that?”

“Let's have this conversation in my office.” He pointed at the door. “Go on inside.” He released Grace's wrist, then swiveled around to face Alice.

Grace shuffled past Alice, delighted to know that Ethan was about to reprimand her for heckling her.

“Alice.” Ethan cupped her hands as she clicked away with the mouse. “I know you mean well, but you can't antagonize the girl. Why don't you take a break? Go and read a scripture, meditate, or do something calming.”

“I heard that Boris Kodjoe was going to be in the office today. I'm going to patrol the office for him.”

“He is married. You know that, right?” he asked, letting go of her hands.

“Yeah, but he hasn't seen me yet.” She chuckled while pushing back her swivel chair. “In case I do bump into him, I'm giving you fair warning. Don't expect me back anytime soon.”

Ethan winked at her before opening the door to his office.

Grace was seething on the other side. She had left the door cracked and had stood as close to it as she could in order to listen in on their exchange. The fact that Alice's smart comments had somehow entitled her to a fifteen-minute break infuriated her. As soon as Ethan entered his office, Grace lit into him.

“That's it? Take a break? Go meditate? That's the punishment she gets for insulting your star client?”

“Star client, eh . . .” Ethan scoffed, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. “I've got a few choice words for you, but I'm walking on the King's Highway.” He walked to his desk in silence, with his head down, like a disappointed parent about to punish his teenage daughter. “So, you think you're my star client? Grace, you are my
only
client,” he added.

“All the more reason for you to protect me from people like that.” She contorted her lips into a frown and crossed her legs. The toe of one of her neon orange pumps grazed the front of Ethan's desk, creating a noise similar to a cat scratching at the door. She sat there, shaking her leg, which was usually indicative of an angry stew brewing inside of her.

“Are you serious?” Ethan asked, taking on a tone he had never used on Grace before. “You're my only client because I have to follow behind you, cleaning up everything in the path of Storm Grace. From behind this desk, you look pitiful with that bottom lip of yours sticking out.” He pointed at her mouth with an arm of his glasses. “But if my memory serves me correctly, Grace King, you can be destructive as well. You don't need protection from Alice or anyone else. You're doing just fine damning yourself.”

She interjected, “Don't get all Sunday morning on me, Brother Summerville.”

“I don't have to get Sunday morning on you. All I have to do is go to last week, when I had to break your door down and when I found you semiconscious in a pool of your own vomit, which is why I asked Dr. Sternberg to do a house visit. While you were toasting the good life, I had to explain to Javier Roberts why you were not available for a screen test and why he can't begin filming this week. Your private party is holding up production of a film, which means that I have to run around begging the studio and the producers not to sue you blind.”

“Sue moi?” she asked as reservedly as she possibly could. “Ethan, I did not sign on to do the film. Why would anyone want to do that?”

“Oh, but you did sign on,” Ethan said, stepping from behind his desk. “I signed you on. Thus you're the lead.”

“I didn't ask you to do that.”

“Grace, when do you ever ask me to do anything? You make the demands, and I hop to it.” He stuffed his fists into the pockets of his orange merino wool–blend pants. “Let me jog your memory.” He strolled back and forth in the space between her and his desk. “You stormed in here on a balmy summer afternoon four months ago and demanded that I accept the first film, television, or commercial job that came through this office. I landed you the audition with Tim Story, and you wrecked it with that Soriah Sommers incident. It was either the Javier Roberts film or nothing.”

The memory of that afternoon Ethan was referring to collapsed on her chest. She could recall how heavy her chest had felt under the pressure of desperation. The maintenance fee on the condo had been due, her quarterly statement from the firm had just come in the mail, she still had to pay off one of the people hurt in her club brawl at the start of the summer, and she'd just been hit with the criminal charges for her little tiff with Soriah. It was so clear that the old adage her mother had sputtered at her every time something went wrong was true
. When the devil comes at you, he comes at you like a flood.
The bills had been mounting, and modeling jobs had been dwindling. She'd been in an awkward space in her career. By industry standards, she was too old to be young, and too young to be old. So she had tried to be realistic about her career: she needed to work.

Grace had had visions of receiving Oscars and Emmys for her work in film and television when she began planning her transition into acting a year ago, but by the time her reality caught up with her, all that had mattered was a check rolling in, since her party lifestyle and her lawsuits had begun eating away at her savings. She wouldn't have cared if they'd asked her to do
Snakes on a Plane 3.

She folded her arms in resignation. It was true that she had been desperate then. “So now what?” she asked.

“Are you waiting for me to tell you that I have a plan to get us out of this?”

“No,” she replied quickly. She didn't know what she was expecting him to do. She knew he had no idea what had transpired between her and Javier. She didn't expect sympathy, nor did she expect to be met with bitterness and hostility. “Maybe we should discuss this when you're feeling a little better,” she suggested.

Ethan exploded into a round of uncontrollable laughter. “When I'm feeling better?” He slapped the shiny varnished top of his desk and continued to laugh. “I'll be feeling better when you're on the set of
Pressure
and I hear Javier Roberts say, ‘Action.'”

Grace sucked in as much air as she could to inflate her chest before speaking to what appeared to be Mr. Hyde. “I am not going to star in this film.”

“You are.”

“I. Am. Not. And you can't force me to,” she said defiantly.

“Well, your creditors can, this agency being one of them. You're near bankruptcy.”

“Creditors,” she whispered. Grace sank in the chair.

“Yes, creditors. It's time to pay the piper, Grace King. Let's just take this gig and roll with the punches. One check is all we need to start making some good faith payments. Of course, after you deliver an excellent performance, the endorsements, guest appearances on television shows, and more movie offers will start rolling in.” Ethan moved his index finger in a circular motion a few times.

Grace tried to imagine filming that rape scene over and over again. Next to that, bankruptcy didn't seem like such a bad deal. Burying her head in the palms of her hands, Grace breathed in and out, trying to calm herself.

Once again she found herself having to choose between doing the unscrupulous thing that appeared to be right and going completely to the left.

Ethan continued speaking, rattling off his master plan and spewing words of encouragement, while Grace buried her head between her legs like an ostrich with its head in the sand. All his words became unintelligible. Not because Grace didn't believe him—he had plucked her out of a jam more than once—but because she found herself right back in the place she'd fought so hard not to be in again.

“Maybe we should pray on it,” Ethan said, cutting into her thinking time.

“Pray?” Grace looked around the room. “You want
me
to pray? To who? To what God? A God that would allow this to happen to me again?” Her face began to wrinkle, and her voice cracked between each word. “I can't pray to that God. I can't, Ethan. Just can't.” And then the dam broke. Whatever it was inside of Grace that had restrained the tears, it popped, and the tears were no longer obstructed. For the first time in as long as Grace could remember, she was able to cry.

Ethan held his breath, searching for the next move to make. Consolation was not on the menu today. All he planned on serving her was a tally of all her bad debt and what she had to do to get out of it—the movie.

Her crying startled him and made the spot in his heart for Grace tender again.

While Ethan wrestled with himself, Grace continued to pour all of herself out. “I can't. I can't,” she wailed.

Shoving all his logistical thinking aside, Ethan reached out to her. First, he placed his arm around her, and then he crouched down to her level to cut the distance between them. With his other hand, he cocked her chin upward until their eyes met.

“Grace, you can get through this.”

She sucked up the remainder of her tears. “No, I can't.”

“You can, and we will get through this.”

“How?”

“Together,” he said before being swept away in the moment.

Her vulnerability exposed his emotions, and his emotions exposed the desire he'd been masking for so long. Ethan was sure she could see it in his eyes, and he could see she needed comfort. Gradually, they leaned into each other, hoping to ease the frustration they were feeling.

 

 

Candace made a sharp left turn when she got off the elevator. She evaluated herself in the mirror before walking to Ethan's office. Her red lipstick made her skin beam, and her teeth seemed whiter. She smoothed out the wrinkles in the color-block white-and-black Vince Camuto dress she'd picked up at Burlington Coat Factory. She was out of her element when it came to high fashion.

Her ankles wobbled as she strode down the hall in red suede platform pumps. All this felt so unnatural, but during a talk with her mom, they had both agreed it was time to ramp up the wow factor in her relationship with Ethan if he was willing to dismiss her at the flicker of Grace King's eyelashes.

Coaching herself as she walked down the hall to Ethan's office, she reviewed the tips she'd heard the judges give contestants on
America's Next Top Model
—suck in your stomach, straighten your shoulders, and remember to smile with your eyes.

Candace had a hard time smiling with her eyes while gritting her teeth. Sharp pains shot up her calves with every step she took. She could already hear Alice making smart remarks about her sudden change in appearance, but to her relief, Alice wasn't seated at her desk.

Candace took a breath and waited a beat before making her way into Ethan's office. Even though the door was open a crack, she extended her fist to rap on it. When she did so, the door slid open, and Candace's jaw dropped. The burning sting of shock paralyzed her. In her head she was screaming,
Stop! Get your hands off him!
However, in actuality, not a single word came out of her mouth. All Candace could do was watch Ethan cradle Grace in his arms and comfort her with his supple lips.
Her
lips.

She eased the door open some more and stepped into the office. Her black clutch fell to the floor. The clatter that the clutch made when it struck the floor disrupted Ethan and Grace's makeout session. The glare that Candace directed at Grace caused her to freeze.

Ethan struggled to get his explanation out. “C-C-Candace, it's . . . it's . . . not what it looks like,” he stammered.

Flashing the palm of her hand at Ethan, Candace walked directly up to Grace and slapped both of her cheeks.

Grace cupped her stinging cheeks in disbelief. She couldn't recall the last time anyone had pimp slapped her, because no one had.
Ever.

Candace's hands shook like those of someone with Parkinson's.
What are you doing, Candace? What if she presses charges?
she thought. None of that mattered. Candace chalked up her newfound brashness to her red lipstick. Kicking butt was permissible if you wore red lipstick. She chuckled at the thought.

“Candace,” Grace cried.

“Don't you dare. Don't you dare.” Candace shook her finger at Grace. “You ungrateful wretch. Don't you dare call my name.”

“Candace, I'm sorry,” Grace said.

“You're not sorry. You're ungrateful. You're blind. You're too blind to see that your life has been seasoned with grace, too blind to see that God has blessed you and caused you to flourish in life, too blind to be satisfied with all that you have, and so you have to steal the little bone that I've been thrown,” she said, pointing at Ethan. “And now I know why God suffered Naaman to be killed, because this type of betrayal is unbearable.”

The fire of Candace's wrath caused Grace to break down in tears. Candace sighed, frustrated at the sight. Usually, those tears quashed any problem Grace had; however, those were not going to be enough to quench Candace's wrath. Those tears only aggravated Candace more. She was stretching forth her hand once more to slap Grace when Ethan decided to intervene.

“All right, Candace. That's enough,” he said sternly while pulling her hand back.

“What's enough? Are you sure she's reaped everything she deserves when she walks around slapping people in the face all the time?” Candace spat.

“But, Candace, you are not the judge,” Grace said.

“You're right. I'm the victim.” Candace folded her hands across her chest. “Which one of us will you defend, Counselor?”

Ethan's eyes darted back and forth between Grace and Candace, as if the question Candace had just posed was a difficult one.

Instead of waiting to find out where Ethan's allegiance lay, Candace turned around and walked out the door just as quietly as she'd entered.

“Ethan, I'm sorry,” Grace said softly. She tried to downplay the delight in her heart that he'd chosen her—at least that was how she'd interpreted his silence.

Ethan raised his tortoiseshell glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Grace, let's not do this now. Let's work on getting things back on track. When do you plan on returning to Mount Carmel?”

Grace rolled her eyes. Community service was the last of her worries. Her future plans did not include returning to the church. “Do I have to go back?” she asked, pouting.

The trauma of revisiting her rape through Javier's script, compounded by Candace's slap, was enough pain for the whole month. Grace couldn't stomach spending any more time with those hypocrites at church, who, like Candace, spouted off verses of love and still criticized her life, as if they knew what was going on, as if they could endure all that she had. How could Candace even think Grace's life had been “seasoned with grace”?

There was a time when the church was a great place to her but after being ridiculed, rejected, first by her own parents and then the whole congregation because of a mistake, the church was no longer a refuge; it was more like a place of torture.

“You can purse your lips all you want.” Ethan stepped behind his desk, creating distance between the two of them. “But you're going back to the church, you're going to do the darn movie, and you're going back to anger management. As a matter of fact, we're going to set that up for you right now.” He picked up the phone and began dialing. With his hand over the receiver, he dismissed her. “You know where the church is, right?”

Grace nodded.

“Then get going.”

 

 

Alone in his office, Ethan tried to figure out how he would get back into Candace's good graces. He called her twenty-six times and left her at least ten messages. The first ten times the phone went straight to voice mail, and the other sixteen calls were acts of desperation. He didn't want to walk out of his office after what had taken place that afternoon without getting a chance to share his side of the story. He wasn't the smooth and cunning type when it came to the ladies. Unfortunately for Ethan, he knew how to turn on the charm only in the courtroom. There he could be spontaneous, assertive, and comedic—whatever it took to win the jury was what he delivered. Yet when it came to the opposite sex, he was as inept as a toddler learning to feed himself.

After narrowing his apology strategy down to two methods—the Spike Lee,
She's Gotta Have It
“Please, baby” plea or the “Forgive me, as Christ forgave you” Christian guilt trip—he practiced each one in the mirror, weighing their effectiveness, the entire afternoon.

“How many times are you going to do that this afternoon?” Alice shouted over the intercom, daring to set him straight. “These walls aren't as thick as you think. I can hear you. You do know that, right?”

“Alice, don't you have work to do?”

“I suppose I could ask you the same question,” Alice retorted. “But I'm not. What I will do, though, is make a recommendation. I don't know what you did while I was gone to wind up all alone and begging, but this is not the time to rehearse an opening statement or devise some tactical plan to divert attention and shift the blame. Now is the time to bare it all.”

Ethan scooted his chair up closer to the desk, listening intently to Alice's advice.

“Tell her how you feel, admit that you did wrong, tell her why you did wrong, and apologize. If she doesn't accept your apology, you know what you do?”

“What?”

“Move on,” she yelled. “I know you're looking for the one. I know you want Ms. Bible Belt to be the one, but if she's not able to deal with the truth, accept your flaws, and iron out the wrinkles in your relationship, she's not the one, and I recommend that you cut your losses now.”

“Cut my losses,” Ethan muttered, mostly to himself. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“It won't be easy. This will either make or break your relationship, boss.”

“Thank you, Alice, for that ‘facts of life' moment. Now get back to work. Please get Javier Roberts on the phone for me.”