Seasoned With Grace

by Nigeria Lockley

Genres: African American Christian; African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

Sentenced to probation, thirty-year-old supermodel Grace King must put her plans of transitioning into acting on hold. Desperate to keep a close eye on Grace and his job, Grace’s ambitious lawyer, Ethan Summerville has her complete community service in the last place Grace wants to be—his church. Instead of God, Grace finds a “chocolate drop” of a man, Brother Horace Green. Unfortunately, Horace isn’t looking for a supermodel. He wants his woman saved and sanctified, but Grace has never met a man who has been able to resist her. Will Horace compromise his faith for a taste of fortune, fame, and Grace? While Grace focuses on the pursuit of passion, Ethan finds one director willing to take a risk and cast Grace in his debut film, but this role fits Grace all too well. Will this film revive Grace’s relationship with God and her career, or bring her closer to destruction?

Release date: August 1, 2015

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 210

Sample

The sound of Young Thug’s cartoonish intonation and the infectious chorus of his and Rich Homie Quan’s hit song “Lifestyle” snapped Grace King out of her alcohol-induced slumber. She squinted to read the screen of her iPhone. “Ethan Summerville,” she read slowly before tapping the green telephone icon to accept the call from her attorney slash agent slash everything. Throughout the years, Grace had come to rely on Ethan. To Grace, it seemed like no one understood her except for him.

“Hello,” she grumbled into the phone.

“Grace Terisha King, I know the reason that you are late to this meeting is that you’re still in bed.”

“No, I’m up, Ethan.”

“You know what my mother used to tell me when she caught me in a lie? Lying lips are an abomination unto the Lord.”

Grace mustered up enough strength to sit up in the bed so that she wasn’t completely lying, just telling a little half-truth. Those half-truths had taken her far. The half-truth she’d told the bouncer—that her friend was drunk and needed her help getting out of the club—had enabled her to finagle her way into the VIP section of the 40/40 Club, where she was discovered by Bleeker Kios, the head of Fresh Faces Modeling Agency. Her friend had been drunk and had needed her help, but she’d passed out with her head on the bar. From there, Grace had parlayed that half-truth into a prosperous modeling career.

“You can’t continue to do this,” Ethan said when she was silent.

“Do what?” she asked, slapping her thigh. Sometimes Ethan’s paternal and overbearing nature frustrated her, and it also made her think of all the things she’d left behind, like family, namely, her father, whom she had once considered herself close to.

“You cannot continue to walk out of nightclubs, inebriated, and expect to book legitimate jobs. It’s all about branding, and no one wants you associated with their brand. These proceedings were supposed to begin at eight, and it is now nine o’clock. The judge has been calling here every hour on the hour since six a.m., trying to determine why it was exactly that she didn’t lock you up, and why it is that she shouldn’t lock you up now.”

“So . . . what?” Grace shrugged her shoulders. “Am I not supposed to enjoy myself ever?”

“Not when you’re trying to break into the world of acting. Tell me which producer wants the drunken girl on page six on their billboard.”

“Page six?”

“I knew you were not out of bed. You’re on page six of the Post, page two of the Daily News. And I’m sure they have a shot of you in every free paper that exists in New York City as well. If you keep this up, your star is going to nova soon.”

Grace ran her fingers through the long blond bang she’d had sewn into her short pixie cut as she digested what Ethan was telling her about her career. Since she’d left home at sixteen, the only thing she had had was her career.

“Grace, just hurry up and get down here to sign this plea deal before Judge Laramie comes down here to arrest you herself.”

“All right, Ethan,” she whimpered into the phone before hanging up.

It took everything inside of Grace to fling her legs over the side of her bed. She rushed out of her bedroom, skirting over her platform pumps, Michael Kors jeans, her white shirt, and the fuchsia blazer she’d worn last night. Her feet slapped the parquet flooring on the steps of her condo as she headed to the door to fetch the newspapers.

Grace hated disappointing Ethan, and she really didn’t want to see her bad side in print, but she needed to see the photo that might get her sent to jail. She cracked the door slightly to make sure there were no paparazzi in the hall trying to get the exclusive candid shot of her that magazines like Them and Soundoff loved printing—models with no makeup.

After verifying that the coast was clear, she pushed the door open wider and collected her loot—the Times, the Daily News, and the Post.

Grace tucked the Daily News under her arm and placed the other papers on the small brown marble-legged table near the door. She walked into her living room and pressed the button on the remote sensor for her window treatments. Slowly, the white panels rolled back and revealed Central Park. From her condo, Grace could see the ice skating rink, the pond, and a group of children escorted by three adults. The adults pointed at the pond, and the children scribbled on their yellow notepads.

Why didn’t I become a schoolteacher or a librarian or someone who was responsible and able to contribute to society in a meaningful way? Grace thought.

It crossed her mind that maybe she should have completed high school and opted for a normal life. On the other hand, Grace had to admit she loved the perks and the pay that accompanied being a top model, but after delving a little too far into the dark side of things, she found herself constantly fighting for air.

Taking a seat Indian style on her red Italian leather sofa, Grace peeled back the first page of the paper and read the caption that accompanied her photo: A fall from Grace: Supermodel Grace King, best known for strutting her stuff, reaches an all new low as she stumbles out of Greenhouse after what onlookers said was “a night of binge drinking.”

Onlookers? What onlookers?

After reading the caption twice, Grace allowed her eyes to stray to the photo. She swallowed the image of her long limbs awkwardly contorted. Her legs curved inward, with her kneecaps touching each other and the sidewalk; her right arm was bent slightly to break her fall; and her left arm was tied up in the hands of her friend Chela, another model, who had somehow managed to escape the photogs. As if that was not enough to highlight her fall, the editors had been gracious enough to provide readers with a photo of her on the catwalk for Zac Posen during Fashion Week, in case they didn’t have a point of reference.

Grace’s eyes darted back and forth from the inset picture to the photo of her collapse on the sidewalk.

“How did you get all the way down there, Grace?” she asked herself, speaking the words.

The buzzer on the intercom interrupted her moment of quiet contemplation.

“Yes, Arnie?” She stared at the dome of her doorman through the intercom camera and wondered why he didn’t wear the hat that accompanied his uniform to hide his premature balding.

“Good morning, ma’am. Your car is here.”

“Good morning, Arnie. Could you please stop calling me ma’am? Your Christmas bonus is depending on it. And please send the car back. I did not call for a car. It’s probably another one of those lousy photogs trying to lure me outside while I’m looking crazy so they can post it on TMZ.”

“Ms. King—”

“Grace,” she insisted.

“Grace, Mr. Summerville sent this car to take you to his office.”

Grace smacked herself on the forehead. She’d totally forgotten the reason why she had bothered to get out of the bed this morning.

“Let the driver know I’ll be down in half an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am . . . Grace.”

“Thank you, Arnie.”

Grace made a mad dash for the bathroom. She took a two-minute shower, like she used to when she was homeless and used the showers in the parks department to get cleaned up. Either she’d ask to use the restroom and then hop in the shower or she’d sneak in with a crowd of teenagers walking in for their after-school program, a time when they were really busy.

She wiped the fog off her mirror with a towel, spiked up the front of her hair with pomade, and covered the dark circles around her eyes with concealer. Let’s make the most of today. All you have to do is a little bit of community service, and you’ll be back on top.

“Britney, T.I., Chris Brown.” While slipping into a gray A-line skirt and an oxblood peplumed blouse with sheer shoulders, Grace called out the names of celebrities who had behaved badly recently yet had managed to make a comeback.

“This is not a death sentence,” she proclaimed aloud, sealing the ankle strap of her black patent leather Mary Jane red bottoms. “It’s just another part of your journey.” She pulled her navy blue Burberry cape over her head and checked herself in the mirror. Grace smoothed a stray strand of hair and spoke to her reflection. “What doesn’t kill you can only make you stronger,” she declared before walking out the door.

She continued to mouth clichés and life-affirming statements on her elevator ride down to the lobby and during her car ride to Ethan’s downtown office in an attempt to block the thoughts of darkness that threatened to besiege her entire day and the rest of her life. These words had gotten her through so many other trials; she was depending on them to be enough to steer her through this.

Grace crossed her legs and leaned back on the chocolate-brown leather couch next to the window in Ethan’s downtown office. She stared down at the pedestrians hustling to and fro.

“You cannot sign these documents from all the way over there, and you certainly can’t read the conditions of your probation, which include community service, through those sunglasses. Please take a seat over here, Ms. King.” Ethan pointed to the mini conference table located in the opposite corner of his office.

Grace gingerly slid off her oversize, wide-rimmed sunglasses, pushed herself up from the couch, and asked, “Where do you want me, Ethan?”

“Just take a seat near Ms. Johnson.” He pointed at the stenographer. “The court sent her over here to record these proceedings.”

“Well, let’s just get this over with.” Grace plopped down on one of the aluminum and white leather, three-legged swivel chairs at the black matte conference table. “I don’t care where I have to do my time at,” she announced.

“Then you’ll have a great time at Mount Carmel Community Church.”

Grace drew her lips up so that they nearly met her pointed nose. “A church?”

“Yes, a church. They run a plethora of community outreach programs that you can assist with,” Ethan explained as he joined Ms. Johnson and Grace at the conference table.

“You couldn’t find anywhere else for me to go?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Summerville. I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Ethan’s secretary, Alice Wyatt, through a crack in the door. “Ms. King’s latte is ready, and I brought a bottle of water for you.”

“Come on in.” He waved his two fingers back and forth, granting her permission to enter.

“Ethan, I’m not doing community service at a f—”

“Grace!” Ethan shouted, halting the onslaught of expletives she was prepared to release on him. “That potty mouth of yours is how you wound up in my office.”

Grace rolled her eyes. She wondered when he was going to stop throwing her situation with Pamela Di Blasio in her face. Three years had passed since she cursed out Pamela and got sent to Ethan’s office on the third floor of Stars Unlimited, a one-stop shop featuring entertainment law, publicity, management, and a talent agency.

When Pamela started managing Grace nine years ago, Ethan was fresh out of law school. She was one of his first clients. Back then it was only paper and the lawyers with more seniority would handle her issues. Once she began racking up troubles and charges, everyone in the agency pushed her off on Ethan.

Pamela was the last to jump ship. When she did, the only thing she said between Grace’s obscenity-laden monologues was, “Ethan will now be managing you. I’ll take care of the contracts immediately, and if you don’t leave my office now, I’ll also be drawing up a lawsuit against you for harassment, which I will have sent right down to his office.”

“Spending some time in a church is precisely what you need,” Ethan said.

“Why?” Grace asked, smirking at him.

“The church would be the perfect place for you to do your time,” Alice said, shoving Grace’s latte at her. Alice had never been a fan of Grace and her wild antics, and she was sure to demonstrate that whenever she had to deal with Grace. “What you need is an exorcism in your mouth. I hope they do that there.”

Slamming her latte on the table, Grace rose from her chair. “And you need to be punched in the face, Alice.”

Ethan clapped his hands. “All right now, let’s break this up, ladies.”

“Did you get that, lady?” Alice shook her hand in the direction of the court reporter. “She just threatened to assault me.”

“I think that what we all need right now is a little prayer,” Ethan suggested.

“Don’t you think you’re taking this whole born-again thing a little too far?” Grace said, rolling her eyes. Although Ethan had given his life to Christ three years ago, he was still in what Grace called the “honeymoon phase.” It was her least favorite phase—that time when every new convert worked viciously to push his or her newfound salvation onto anyone within earshot, just like a new bride thinks all her friends should be married as well, that is, until the groom starts coming in late or, in Grace’s case, when God stopped answering her prayers. The moment she felt that God wasn’t listening, she stopped talking.

“Ms. Johnson, we’re going to take a break from these proceedings to pray,” Ethan said to the court reporter.

“May I join you, Mr. Summerville?” Ms. Johnson asked hesitantly. “I’m an usher at Mount Moriah Baptist Church, and I’m a huge fan of Ms. King. I really hope to see her make it out of this all right.”

Another one? I am surrounded. What is this? A Holy Ghost ambush? Grace could not recall the last time she’d been around this many Christians, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Ethan rose from his seat at the conference table, removed his tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses, and smiled at Ms. Johnson, revealing the dimple that decorated his square jawline. “Please join us,” he said, with his arm extended in her direction.

She slid from behind her stenotype and jumped to his side.

Ethan and Ms. Johnson joined hands like they had attended a few prayer vigils together in the past. The sight of Ethan holding hands with another woman made Grace cringe. Despite the fact that they’d shared nothing more than the occasional dinner, and the only dates they’d been on were all appointed by the courts, in Grace’s eyes, Ethan was all hers. She snatched his right hand with her left and stretched out her right hand toward Alice, who folded her hands when she saw Grace’s palm.

“Alice,” Ethan said with a raised eyebrow and in that fatherly tone he used that made every woman at the firm do whatever he said. “Let us look to heaven.”

Grace held back her groaning. I am going to use this exercise in futility to work on my acting. Just imagine that there is a God and that He cares about you.

Grace turned up the corners of her mouth in an innocent smile, nodded her head at Ethan first, and then lifted it toward the ceiling to face God, who, she believed, had turned His back on her long ago.

“Lord, we come before you as humbly as we know how to seek your help. Lord, we don’t know why, but everything in our lives has led us to this moment in time, to being together in this room. Please have your way and work this situation out to your honor and your glory. Guard our hearts from doing evil, and keep our mouths from speaking evil, in Jesus’s name. Amen.”

Ethan released both Ms. Johnson’s and Grace’s hand from his firm grip. Ms. Johnson licked her lips and offered Ethan a wide grin.

“Mr. Summerville, this is not my place to say, but if you’d like me to . . .” Ms. Johnson delicately placed her hand on his shoulder and traced his sharp profile with her eyes before going on. “Would you like me to strike the exchange between your secretary and Ms. King from the record?”

Grace observed Ms. Johnson.

“Ms. Johnson—” Ethan began.

“Candace.” She blushed.

Alice and Grace exchanged looks of shock when they realized what was taking place in front of them.

“Uh . . . can we get on with this?” Grace asked loudly, trying to break up the love connection that was forming.

“Yes, let’s move forward. Candace, if you would be so kind as to strike that exchange from the record, I’d—no, we’d—greatly appreciate it,” Ethan said, allowing his brown eyes to linger on Candace.

Grace’s eyes widened as she took in this scene. She returned to her seat at the conference table. Reclining in her chair, with her hand resting on her throat, she deflected her gaze to the Romare Bearden print that hung on the wall. Candace didn’t appear to be the brash, flashy type of woman Ethan was used to dealing with as an entertainment attorney. Maybe that was why her nude lipstick, her simple diamond studs, and the glow that had surrounded her since she walked in intrigued him.

“Do you need anything else, Mr. Summerville?” Alice asked. Ethan shook his head, and Alice cut her eyes in Grace’s direction. “What about you, Lindsay Lohan?” she asked with a slight smile and a jingle in her voice.

“Since we just finished praying, I’m not even going to entertain you.” Grace waved her hand at Alice. She crossed her legs and wrapped them around each other like twisted vines, then turned her attention back to Ethan. “Please, continue.”

Alice exited on cue, and Ethan sat back down at the conference table and returned to the particulars of her probation.

“You cannot consume any alcohol or take any drugs. Is that clear?” He removed his eyeglasses and stared hard at Grace. “Well, do you understand the conditions of your probation?”

“Yes. I just don’t understand why I have to do my community service at a church.”

Ethan got up from his seat at the table, walked over to Grace, and perched on top of the table. He rested one of his hands on her hand and caressed it.

“What I am about to say is going to hurt you.”

“I can take it.” Grace swallowed hard, shoring herself up. “Whatever it is, I can take it.”

“Right now you’re like tainted beef. No one wants to touch you.”

Sinking into the chair, with her eyes closed, Grace let her head fall limp. How could a single slap turn into this? she wondered. She replayed the night in her head to see if she had missed a GO LEFT sign.

The music thumped in my head. Scantily clad girls were gyrating on the dance floor, while DJ Tony Love hollered, “Who’s going to turn it up in here?”

All I did was tap her on the shoulder.

“I don’t do autographs at this hour, sweetie,” announced Soriah Sommers, the latest reality TV train wreck, shaking her twenty-six inches of Indian Remy in my face.

Since Soriah couldn’t take a hint, I squeezed into the small space that existed between her and my date for the night or the week. I had not yet decided what to do about Lance Weston, the newest VJ on BET.

“Excuse me!” Soriah shouted.

“You’re excused. Exit stage left,” I replied. Lance and I pointed to the dance floor in unison while cracking up.

“Don’t nobody play me like that,” Soriah snickered at me.

“Keep it moving, sweetie,” I said.

“Do you know who I am?”

I turned around to face her. “Keep it moving, Soriah. I’m not the one.”

Lance whispered, “Chill, chill, chill,” into my right ear, and Soriah barked threats into my left ear. The shots I threw back with Lance and the pounding of the bass seemed to speed everything up. All I could hear was the voices of chipmunks. Before I could stop myself, my fist was in Soriah’s mouth.

“Grace . . . Grace? I thought you said you could handle this,” Ethan charged, disrupting her meditation on the past.

“I can.”

“I was able to get you a position at my church, Mount Carmel Community Church, so that I can monitor you.”

With the flick of her wrist, she waved her hand at Ethan and rose to a standing position. Grace peeked over her shoulder to make sure that Ms. Johnson was watching as she stood in front of Ethan and adjusted his tie. She scooped his bearded face into her hands. “You just want to be close to me.”

Ethan swatted her hands away from his face. “Please take a seat. This is a legal proceeding. Here are the terms of your probation. Please read over them and sign it. Then we can send Candace on her way, but not without lunch. Candace, would you like to join me for lunch? You’ve been so patient with us.”

“I’m sure that Candace has to hurry back to the courthouse. Don’t you, Candace?” Grace asked forcefully, attempting to compel her to reject Ethan’s offer.

“I am awfully hungry.”

“Enough said. Let’s wrap this up so that we can eat,” Ethan said.

“Shouldn’t we go over my itinerary for that new Tim Story film before breaking for lunch? What did you have in mind, anyway? I’m in the mood for some sushi,” Grace said.

“I really wanted to talk about that later.” He looked up at Grace, then over at Candace again.

Grace felt like a pot of seething water had spilled inside of her as Ethan turned from taking care of her to getting to know Candace. With every word he uttered, his eyes slowly shifted to Candace.

“Let’s do it now. She already knows all my busine. . .