Seasoned with Grace (4 page)

The agency signed two girls that day—Junell Pierce and Grace King. They went on shoots together, shopped together, roomed together when they went to Milan and Paris for Fashion Week, but somehow Junell had managed to advance unscathed and had smoothly transitioned into acting. Junell already had two motion pictures under her belt and had just secured the lead role on a new detective series,
Bloodshed
. The more Grace thought about it, the more it infuriated her that Junell had made it and she hadn't. There was no way Grace was going to mention that she'd been dropped from Tim Story's latest project. Junell could find that out the same way she had found out about her sentence.

“What's wrong, Grace?” Junell asked.

“Nothing.” Grace bit down on the corner of her lip. “I was just thinking about things. Junie, how did you make it out in one piece?”

“If it had not been for the Lord, who was on my side, I don't know where I would be today.”

Grace rolled her eyes and signaled the waiter for a refill. If she was going to have to sit through a sermon, she wanted to at least have a drink in her hand.

“I'm serious, G. Without God's mercy and protection, I honestly don't know where it is exactly that I would be. He kept me in many situations that would have killed somebody else. Remember Darnell? Every girl needs a bad boy. What a lie from the pit of hell. That Negro almost killed me and nearly destroyed my career, but God. . . but God . . .” Junell began to stomp her foot as she proclaimed God's good works in her life.

“Calm down, Shirley Caesar Jr., before you get us thrown out.” Grace chuckled.

“It's not funny, G. Jesus really did a work in my life. You were there. If nobody else knows, you know how messed up I was. You should attend a service or two while you're working at that church, or come with me to church. You know, Mama June's been asking for you.”

Grace thought about what Junell had just said.
If nobody else knows, you know how messed up I was.
It was true. Grace had seen Junell at her worst. She'd held Junell's hair back as she threw up in the toilet, she'd seen her sniff a few lines and even pop some ecstasy, and yet here Junell was, preaching to her. Grace's perfectly arched eyebrows formed a furrowed line in the center of her head. Either God was a real jokester or He didn't care about Grace at all. The more she pondered the situation, the more infuriated she became. Junell was no different from Grace, yet it seemed as though she'd received more grace than Grace.

“Check please,” Grace called out, announcing her imminent departure.

“Are you done already? We didn't even have dessert yet,” Junell protested.

Wrapping her scarf around her neck, Grace replied, “I'm going to go and get my life together, as you suggested, Junell.” Grace reached into her Chanel purse, withdrew two hundred-dollar bills, and pushed them across the table to Junell. “This ought to cover my damages.”

Junell pushed the bills back to Grace and said, “Only the blood can do that.”

Grace crept up to the side entrance of Mount Carmel, where the people who were being served entered. As a precautionary measure, she had donned an olive-green cape, with the hood pulled over her head, and a set of oversize Marc Jacobs sunglasses to conceal her identity. If she had to be relegated to church duty, she could at least do it fabulously.

She didn't want to return to the church; Sister Marva's attitude and her own attitude were the ingredients for a dirty bomb, and the impact of the blast was guaranteed to be worse than an explosion in Times Square. Grace pounded on the door vigorously for at least ten minutes before Sister Bryce cracked the door open.

“We don't begin serving dinner until seven o'clock. You've only got another thirty minutes to wait. You can have a seat in the park across the way or join the people in the sanctuary for prayer.” Sister Bryce listed her options without looking up.

“Sister Bryce, it's me, Grace.” She lifted her sunglasses up and down like she was playing peekaboo with a baby.

Sister Bryce opened the door and playfully slapped Grace's forearm with the dishrag she held in her hand. “Why didn't you say something immediately? You gotta make yourself known and your presence felt, child. I know you know that.”

“You certainly made your presence felt when you came to the door. ‘We don't begin serving dinner until seven o'clock.' I bet you had your hand on your hip when you said that.”

“I most certainly did,” Sister Bryce said, laughing. “You ready to serve dinner? I mean, are you truly ready?”

Grace was banking on either someone from the talent agency's public relations department calling and issuing an apology for her or Ethan phoning in advance to clean things up. The grave look on Sister Bryce's chubby milk-chocolate face meant that no such call had taken place and that it was up to Grace to apologize for her own mistake.
There's a first time for everything.

Clearing her throat, Grace stood up straight and stared directly into Sister Bryce's dark brown, doe-shaped eyes. If she was going to apologize, she had to come correct with Sister Bryce. “Sister Bryce, I'm sorry about what happened yesterday.” Grace's conversation with Junell and her immeasurable debt loomed before her. She didn't want the blood of Jesus to pay for her or speak for her. As much as it was killing her to be in a church on a Friday night and to apologize, Grace had to be humble. “I can't say that it won't happen again. That other sister was really working my nerves, and I did not want to get into anything.”

“You can't let everybody push your buttons. You can't let your emotions always get the best of you.” Sister Bryce slid Grace's sunglasses off her face. Normally, Grace wouldn't allow anyone to touch her, unless it was a man, but there was something motherly and humbling about Sister Bryce. Maybe it was the stern yet tender note in her voice or the sincerity in her eyes. It had been a long time since Grace felt like someone sincerely cared for her.

“In the position you're in, everyone wants to get something out of you, and then there's Jesus, waiting for you to let Him put something good in you. No matter what nonsense you see or hear the saints do, don't let nobody run you out of the church.
Nobody.
”

Grace wished somebody had told her that when her mother told her that she was a shame to Christianity. Fifteen years had passed since Grace had gotten pregnant, aborted her baby, and abandoned the church, yet the wound still felt like a knee that had just been scraped.
Raw.

Feeling her belly tighten, a sensation that was almost always followed by an hour-long session of weeping, Grace took control of the conversation.

“Yes, ma'am. I'll keep that in mind the next time I see Sister Marva.”

“That's all the Lord needs, a willing spirit to work with, and I will keep Sister Marva far away from you.”

“You better keep her very far away from me.” Grace recognized Sister Marva's type. Sister Marva thought she ruled the roost, and she was willing to do anything to get someone who had disrupted the pecking order she'd established out of the way. Now, Grace King was definitely not one for following rules, orders, or for being treated like anyone's subordinate.

Grace followed Sister Bryce through the dining room and into the kitchen. Her floral-print apron and black hairnet were still waiting for her.

“Where are the plates and silverware?” Grace asked, staring at the rows of food in heated silver containers.

“Since the people are coming out of prayer and it's a school night, we don't do the fancy table settings. When they come in, Sister Marva distributes the plates and silverware, rather the plasticware.” Sister Bryce pointed to a rolling cart with paper plates and sporks sealed in small ziplock bags with a napkin, salt, and pepper. “You just give them what they ask for. Tonight we're serving braised chicken, baked macaroni and cheese, black-eyed peas with brown rice, steamed broccoli and carrots, corn bread, and banana pudding for dessert.”

If Grace didn't have to work so hard at thirty to stay within the 120-pound zone so that she could still have some viable modeling options until her acting career kicked off, she would have hooked up a plate for herself.

“Please start removing the lids,” said Sister Bryce. “I don't know where Sister Marva is, so I'm going to wheel the paper plates and plasticware out and start opening the doors. You think you can handle it back here?”

Grace shook her head while tying the strings of her apron. She secured her hairnet, then did just as she had been instructed. Once the doors were opened, the room filled up almost immediately. Mothers plopped some of their young ones at the tables and directed them not to move. The elderly parked their canes and walkers at their tables, then lined up at the counter.

Grace's heart ached at the sight of the small children who stood before her, shaking their plates, with their eyes fixed on every movement of her hand. She recalled how difficult it was for her to find a meal when she went off on her own. She gave every child who stepped in front of her three scoops of whatever they asked for.

“Grace, you're too heavy-handed with that spoon. Just give the children one scoop, before we run out of food,” Sister Bryce said, reprimanding Grace as she reentered the kitchen. “Sister Marva's here now, so let's get this line moving.”

Grace tried her best not to give out more than the mandated single serving and to ignore Sister Marva's jabs for the rest of the evening. The line dissolved after an hour and a half. Then Sister Marva focused her attention on dumping out the gravy-lined pans. Each trip she made across the acid-washed tiles, Sister Marva huffed and rolled her eyes at Grace. Grace assumed that Sister Marva's huffing and puffing was supposed to serve as some sort of command for Grace to assist her. Instead, Grace followed Sister Bryce's lead and took a seat on a banged-up metal stool. She leaned back and rested her elbows on the steel countertop behind her and tried to convince herself that she could handle this new life.

“You all right?” Sister Bryce asked before she began taking a bite out of a hearty chicken thigh.

“You never ask me if I'm all right,” Sister Marva complained to Sister Bryce's back while she stared at Grace. Her eyes were hard as stones.

Sister Bryce made a slight turn and responded to Sister Marva's accusation of favoritism. “I asked you if you were all right after you completed your first night of serving, just like I'm asking her.” Sister Bryce maneuvered herself back around to face Grace. “So, what do you think?”

Grace thought there was no way that she was going to make it another 364 days doing this. Tonight was almost as bad as the three months she'd spent working at McDonald's. On her final day there she'd dumped all the ingredients on the counters and the floor of the kitchen. The onions, the pickles, the tomatoes, and the shredded lettuce. She did not belong in any situation that required her to be hospitable to other human beings. It might have taken some time, but she'd grown accustomed to the life she'd created for herself, and most days she liked it. However, there was no way in the world she was going to admit to that in front of hawk eyes.

“Sister Marva, go and check on the people. Make sure everyone has what they need, and don't forget to distribute the Bibles, tracts, and the church's schedule. Grace and I will take care of the kitchen.”

When Sister Marva walked out the side door, Grace dropped all pretenses, pulled off her nude patent-leather pumps, and began scrubbing the pans Sister Marva had begun piling up in the sink.

“This is a nice little program y'all have here, but I don't know if I can do this.”

“Well, serving people in those heels would prove to be difficult for any one of us. Tomorrow you better put on some sensible shoes, like these.” Sister Bryce stuck her leg straight out and hiked up her skirt a bit to model her tri-toned gray ballet flats.

“The only thing I know how to serve is style,” Grace said, holding her head up high. “I don't own any flats, and I most definitely do not plan on purchasing a pair just to satisfy our judicial system. It's just hard being here, watching hungry families and the elderly pile in here for one meal that can carry them only through the night. What are they going to do tomorrow?”

“Let God worry about feeding His people.” Sister Bryce rose from her metal throne and added her plate to the pile of dishes Grace was scrubbing. “What you need to worry about is how to keep those dainty little hands of yours smooth. Put on some gloves next time. The Lord fed them tonight, and He'll feed them tomorrow, just like He did the children of Israel in the wilderness. You ought to be pleased to be an instrument of the Lord.”

Grace turned her eyes back to the suds before her. She hadn't asked to be a part of the Lord's trio of servers. She'd rather be sipping champagne at the Monkey Bar or have her head buried in a sweet libation from the Sugar Factory. At the bare minimum, she'd go for a cup of the wine that they sip during Communion, but she didn't think Sister Bryce was about to heed that request. After a few moments of scrubbing in silence, Grace recalled that Sister Bryce had mentioned some other ministries she could try. Maybe one of them ended early enough for Grace to both do her time and get home and at least indulge in a glass of wine.

“Sister Bryce, on my first day here you mentioned that there were other programs that I could participate in.”

Sister Bryce was now sweeping. She didn't look up from the small pile of stray food she'd collected. She just hummed, “Uh-huh . . .”

“I was thinking maybe I could try my hand at one of those tomorrow.”

Sister Bryce paused and leaned on the top of the broom handle before answering Grace. “Most of our other ministries are very interactive, hands on, and would require you to take on some type of authority and responsibility. From our Woman at Well weekly meetings to the adult reading classes, all our other ministries require you to lead.”

The word
leadership
put a smile on Grace's face. The idea of being in charge gave her something to look forward to upon returning to Mount Carmel. That and not having to wear a hairnet.

Sister Bryce approached Grace and placed one hand on Grace's shoulder. “Before you can lead, you have to serve.”