Seasoned with Grace

by Nigeria Lockley

  Kneeling down in his two-thousand-dollar suit amid the vomit and the tattered pages of the script, he poured out the contents of his heart. “Father God, I come before you as humbly as I know how right now. Please, Lord, look upon Grace right now and have mercy on her. Lord, bring her back from the dark place that she traveled to in her mind with her body and spirit. Lord, you died so that she could be saved, and I beg you, Lord, to save her even now. I pray that you will forgive me for the harsh words that I have spoken to her, and if I caused this, have your way with me, Lord. Please deliver her from this oppression. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”

  After Ethan finished praying, he remained on his knees, waiting for the Lord’s guidance. The few minutes that Ethan spent on his knees felt like hours to him, but they were not unfruitful. He arose with a name in mind.

  Candace.

  The spirit urged him to call her. She was the last person he had had in mind. Actually, he hadn’t thought of her at all. Ethan did not associate Candace’s large brown eyes, anointed words, and faith that did not falter with alcohol-induced blackouts. Nevertheless, he decided to be obedient and call her. Candace picked up on the first ring, and when Ethan explained what had happened and asked for her help, she assured him that she would drop everything and rush over.

  Upon her arrival, Ethan praised God for his omniscience. Candace took over like a surgeon who’d been called to operate in an emergency room.

  “Get her into the bathroom. She needs a bath,” she commanded, dropping her purse and coat on a bar stool at the island in the kitchen.

  Ethan carried Grace to the upstairs bathroom, and Candace followed them up the steps. Candace ordered Ethan to go back downstairs, and then she entered the walk-in marble shower with Grace. She turned on lukewarm water and scrubbed her down. Grace’s body shook in Candace’s hands. Her speech improved from moaning and groaning to a few intelligible words.

  “Thank you, Mom,” she repeated over and over again, reclining on Candace’s bosom.

  “Grace, it’s me, Candace,” she said each time, but Grace still repeated the same thing, until Candace stepped out of the shower and then made the water colder in order to shock Grace’s system.

  Grace began to writhe like a fish out of water, flopping all over and sputtering curse words. She regained full consciousness and control of her body after a few moments. Peering through the glass door of her shower, she asked, “Who are you?”

  “Grace, it’s me, Candace.”

  “Candace? The court reporter?” Grace forcefully slid the shower door open and yanked a towel off the rack. “Why are you in my condo?”

  “You blacked out, so Ethan called me over to help get you cleaned up before he takes you to the hospital.”

  Clutching her forehead, Grace winced. From the expression on her face, it looked like her head was pounding like a djembe drum. She took a few short breaths and tumbled backward. Candace swooped down and caught Grace.

  “What happened to you?” Candace asked, her words dripping with love and care.

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital.” Grace moaned. Her brown eyes looked glassy.

  Candace exhaled, relieved that she had not fumbled and dropped Grace. “I’ll tell Ethan no hospitals,” she said, leading Grace into the master bedroom. “I’m going to make you something that will help you out. Okay?”

  Grace nodded, then looked down at the floor, avoiding eye contact with Candace. Maybe Grace was afraid of seeing herself, or maybe she was expecting Candace to spew fire and brimstone and condemn her to the pit. Yet those were the last things that Candace felt Grace deserved.

  Sorry was the feeling that pulsed through Candace’s veins. She was sorry that Grace’s life was so messed up and was so intertwined with the life of her new beau. This much drama could lead only to destruction. But she refused to let the devil have his way in either of their lives. She stood in the doorway of Grace’s bedroom, determined to prevent Grace from sabotaging her own. “Lord, I don’t know why or how I wound up in this place, but, nevertheless, I am here. Please use me to demonstrate your grace.”

  After her prayer, she marched downstairs. Ethan was busy on his hands and knees, attempting to peel the pages of the script off the floor. Apparently, vomit and liquor were excellent adhesives when dry.

  “It would help if you wet the floor first to loosen all that stuff up,” Candace suggested, wrinkling her nose at the gunk all over the floor.

  “How is she?” he asked, looking at Candace from over his shoulder. Just the fraction of his face that she could see sped up her heart rate.

  “She’s all right.”

  Candace opened every cabinet, looking for the ingredients her father used in his hangover soup. Most of her life, Candace had cursed God for sticking her with two alcoholic parents, but now, as she lit a burner on the sleek black electric stove, she recognized that everything in her life had a purpose.

  “I didn’t go to law school for this,” Ethan complained, with his arms locked stiffly under the pressure of his weight.

  “Gird up your loins,” Candace sputtered from the kitchen.

  Ethan’s eyes were full of disgust, and his jaw was clenched tight.

  “It sure smells good over there,” he said in a polished tone, his voice brimming with appreciation, which contrasted with his jaded look.

  This must be his courtroom voice, she thought while she minced garlic. “Ethan, can you get me a pot cover from the cupboard, please?”

  Hopping to his feet, Ethan shuffled into the kitchen. After vigorously scrubbing his hands like he was an extra on Grey’s Anatomy, he rummaged through the cabinets and pulled out a lid.

  He lingered by the cabinets for a moment. Candace could feel him appraising her body with his eyes. His observation and silent admiration began at the nape of her neck, then twisted and turned with every dip and curve. Candace felt slightly awkward and aroused at the same time. She wanted to turn around and accost him with kisses, but she was still a little nervous about touching and kissing him.

  Even though they had seen each other every day since they’d met, and had confirmed that they were officially dating during brunch on Sunday, they had not discussed how to handle physical affection. Candace didn’t want to come off as one of those counterfeit Christians who were decked out in modest apparel and toted a Bible, but were willing to strip out of those clothes as quickly as they quoted scripture. Twisting her head slightly, she peered at Ethan over her shoulder. This moment was a slippery slope they were about to slide down.

  She could tell by the way that Ethan’s shoulders slouched that his spirits were down and that he could use a little physical comfort right now, as he was possibly thinking about all the negative publicity this situation with Grace was going to bring. Then he’d have to deal with the impact it would have on Grace’s current probation violation. Even a small touch seemed like it would help make this situation positive. Getting physical under distress could also lead to some spiritual unrest, and Candace was done dancing with the devil when it came to lust in her flesh.

  As she contemplated the spiritual ramifications that could come from being in such close quarters, Ethan groaned behind her.

  “It smells good, right?” she asked purposefully to snap him out of his trance. Not only had his desires carried his mind and eyes away, but they had also somehow transported him to a spot only a few inches away from her. “It smells good, right?” she repeated.

  Ethan inhaled deeply. Candace smiled. Her mom was right, as usual. The scent of jasmine and wild berries was a delicate and powerful combination that could bring any man to his knees.

  “I don’t think that’s the soup. I think that’s you,” he said softly.

  “Mr. Summerville, I do believe you’re being a little fresh.”

  “I believe you’re correct.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her away from the stove. “Are there any objections?”

  Candace giggled and leaned back just enough so that their bodies colli
ded.

  Chapter 14

  The aroma of bacon, potatoes, and tomatoes demanded that Grace come downstairs. She applied some BB cream to cover up the cracks on her splotchy skin and dabbed on a cranberry lip stain. How sweet of Ethan to send someone to cook for me.

  Grace dashed from her bedroom to the staircase just in time to catch what had to be by far the most passionate kiss Candace and Ethan had exchanged yet. Their bodies curved into each other, and Candace’s back was pressed against the granite countertop. The ladle for the soup dangled from the tips of her fingers. She clutched Ethan as if he were the last man on earth. The heat that emanated from their kiss was greater than the crackle and hiss of the burner beneath the soup, which was now boiling over. Grace’s stomach filled with a churning sensation. The contents of her stomach had already been emptied twice, so all that came out was a hacking sound, coupled by a dry heave. It was still dramatic enough to produce the effect that she wanted.

  Out of either embarrassment or shame—Grace couldn’t tell from her position on the steps—Candace broke from Ethan’s firm grip and went back to stirring the soup. Ethan met Grace at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Are you okay?” Ethan asked softly as his eyes scanned her face, assessing her well-being.

  Grace turned her lips down to form a sultry pout. “No. I think I need to rest,” she whimpered, shifting her gaze toward the kitchen.

  “Candace, can I speak to you for a moment?” Ethan calmly requested, walking toward Candace. He’d picked up on the hint that Grace had dropped with her eyes. Ethan whispered into Candace’s ear, offering her praise and thanks and promises of alone time soon to come before dismissing her.

  “Thank you for everything,” Grace called out, waving at Candace from the steps as she prepared to leave. A tinge of remorse plucked at Grace’s heart as Candace exited, but she refused to give up the one good thing she had going in her life.

  Ethan made his way back to Grace and sat down beside her at the foot of the staircase. She rested her head on his shoulder. Voluminous clouds floated past her window. Grace wished she could just jump out her window and ride the wave of clouds until the end of time.

  “I know you told Candace that you didn’t want to go to the hospital, but I think you should,” Ethan insisted, breaching the calm that was slowly taking over Grace.

  She shook her head sheepishly, like a coy little girl. “Ethan, do you know how many times I’ve had alcohol poisoning or ingested too many pills?”

  Ethan shrugged his shoulders. “I lost count after my first two years of working with you.”

  “All they’re going to do is pump my stomach, hook me up to an IV, and get on my nerves. I’ve already thrown up multiple times. I’m good.”

  Ethan brushed one of her stray strands of hair out her eyes and turned Grace’s face toward his by gently nudging her chin.

  Staring directly into his eyes, Grace felt naked. She squirmed on the edge of the step, prepping herself for the sermon that was bound to follow his direct stare and his gentle stroking of her hair.

  “What in the world happened here?” Ethan asked in an accusatory tone, pointing to the mess that was still on her living room floor.

  “I’ve got a little history with Javier Roberts—”

  “I know that story already, Grace. He discovered you and photographed you exclusively for about five years, more or less.”

  “There are things about our relationship that neither you nor anyone else in this world knows about.”

  Ethan sighed and clutched his forehead. “Is this going to be a problem when it comes to filming? I hope not. I can call Javier and smooth things over, hopefully.” Ethan walked to the window and planted his feet shoulder width apart and continued speaking to Grace with his back to her. “This is a big deal, Grace. Javier fought for you to have this role. Right now he’s the only person in the western hemisphere who is willing to take a risk on you. He said that only you could portray the soul of this character. Do you think you can do it?”

  Grace rocked back and forth on the steps. Of course she could bring this character to life—this character was her—but she didn’t want to. She’d lived enough of her pain in the public’s eye on Front Street, Broad Street, and Main Street. This film was where she drew the line.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “No. I cannot do this role. I can’t.” She rose to her feet, using the banister to support her still weak legs.

  “You can.” Ethan turned to face her. “You can.” He repeated these words until they were face-to-face again. “Javier believes in you, and so do I. Let me get back to the office and try to smooth things out, since you missed an important preproduction meeting and screen test.”

  Grace grabbed Ethan’s arms. “Please don’t leave me here alone, Ethan.”

  “One of us has to do damage control. Stay here. Get yourself together, and I’ll see you in the morning.” He kissed her on the cheek and patted her hand softly before departing, leaving Grace alone with her guts on the floor.

  Chapter 15

  “Arnie, I did not call for a doctor. Don’t let him up here,” Grace said, holding her forehead.

  “He says his name is Dr. Sternberg, and Mr. Summerville sent him here.”

  Grace rolled her eyes. “You know, I’m not in the mood for this,” she grumbled half to herself.

  “Listen, Ms. King,” Arnie said in a whisper as he leaned in close to the intercom’s camera. His forehead glistened like a full moon in the camera shot, and his earnest emerald-green eyes demanded Grace’s full attention. “I don’t know what the deal is with this doctor, but he’s on his cell, telling his secretary to get Summerville on the phone, because he’s getting paid regardless. Just let him up. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Go ahead and send him up.”

  Grace changed out of her pink cotton nightgown and into a pair of turquoise yoga pants and a black racerback tank in an attempt to make it look like she was returning to normalcy. Her fridge was still pretty naked, except for the leftovers of the magical soup Candace had whipped up the night before. Grace was pretty sure it was a homemade hangover cure, but she put it on top of the burner, anyway. By the time Dr. Sternberg reached Grace’s unit, the air was filled with the robust aroma of bacon and potato soup, and Grace had managed to paint a little happiness on her face. She jerked the door open and drew it back until the hinges halted her.

  “Hello,” Dr. Sternberg said. “I heard that you had an episode.”

  “You’ve got some good sources, Doc. However, I’d rather not make it public knowledge. You can come inside if you’d like.”

  Doctor Sternberg took small, measured steps through Grace’s doorway and into her condo. He looked at the couch, the stools in the kitchen, and then back at Grace.

  “Doc, what were you expecting? The presidential welcome? This is my home. When I worked, I was barely here between gigs, and after each gig I went to the party to celebrate the gig, and then to the party after the party. I told you I need to redecorate.” Grace smiled, recalling their first meeting. It’s not that bad, she thought. Still, she wasn’t about to divulge all her business to some stranger. “You’ve got two choices, the couch or the stools. What’s it going to be?” she asked, walking to the kitchen to check on the soup, which was now bubbling on the burner.

  Doctor Sternberg chose the stool. He arranged himself on top, removed his tablet from his satchel, and unbuttoned his moss-colored topcoat. “Is there some place I can hang this?”

  “Give it here.” Grace extended her arm across the top of the island. “You want some soup, Doc?”

  “Sure. Why not?” Dr. Sternberg handed her his coat. “This story will be great to tell my grandkids. Supermodel Grace King served me soup in her condo.”

  Grace tossed Dr. Sternberg’s coat in the skinny closet near her front door and returned to the kitchen. She scooped up a serving of soup for herself and Dr. Sternberg into two Aztec-themed bowls. Grace slid the doctor’s bowl and
a spoon over to him and then left the kitchen and trekked across the expansive living room floor. She took a seat on the couch and folded her legs beneath her. She blew into the bowl and peered up and down at Dr. Sternberg. They both ate their soup in silence for a few minutes.

  “Are these red potatoes or russet? They really hold the flavor well.”

  Grace shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t cook. Let’s cut to the chase, Doc. Ethan called you and told you what happened, and now you’re here to give me something to keep me calm. I’m not a fan of antidepressants, but I could really go for a little Prozac right about now.”

  “I’m not that kind of doctor,” he said and took another spoonful of soup. “I don’t medicate my patients. I use psychotherapy to treat my patients.”

  “Psychotherapy? I ain’t crazy.”

  Grace stood up and walked over to the island. She placed her bowl on the counter, stood beside him, and stared at him. This might have been only their second meeting, but she hoped that he could tell that she wasn’t crazy. Injured. Bruised. Disgruntled. Those were a few of the adjectives that Grace would openly admit were applicable to her, but she didn’t believe she was psycho. His silence made Grace tremble a little.

  “Can you really label me as crazy after meeting with me formally only once and having a bowl of soup?”

  Dr. Sternberg’s eyes traveled from his soup bowl to Grace’s face. His eggshell-colored skin warmed up a bit as his lips formed a smile. “Grace, undergoing psychotherapy doesn’t mean you’re crazy. I think you should start cooking. It is said to be very relaxing.”

  “So is Prozac.” She chuckled.

  “I don’t believe in slapping a fresh coat of paint on a dirty wall to hide the dirt. That’s what medication does. It masks the wound and clouds the mind. I try to treat the mind by getting to the root of the problem and providing you with techniques to deal with the issue.”