Seasoned with Grace

by Nigeria Lockley

  “I’ll take a lime-infused water and . . .” Grace paused, trying to think of something conservative to pair with her glass of water. By now she ordinarily would have asked the waitress for two scotches and inquired if she knew where she could get any good weed, but Grace was trying to play the reserved role to impress Horace. It was still not really clear why the opinion of a man who most likely had taken one of those purity vows and wouldn’t be giving up the goods anytime soon mattered. But it did. “May I have the grilled Caesar salad with French dressing?” she finally said.

  “A Caesar salad?” Horace questioned. “We did not come all this way for you to order no Caesar salad. Juliana, she can have the salad as an appetizer and give her this.” He pointed at the menu, then looked Grace squarely in the eye with a raised eyebrow, muting any protest that was stirring inside of her. “And I’ll have the shrimp quesadilla and the grilled Scottish salmon with a glass of rosé.” He folded his menu, scooped up Grace’s menu, and handed them both to the waitress. “Thank you, Juliana.”

  “Rosé, huh? You don’t have to try to impress me, Horace,” Grace said after the waitress had disappeared. She delicately stroked the spot on the small of his arm that was exposed by the eyelet on the sleeve of his shirt.

  “I suppose the same could be said of you, or have you started attending AA meetings? Lime-infused water, my foot.” Horace stomped his foot. “You want to drink that about as much as I want a colonoscopy right now.”

  Breaking out into a small fit of laughter, Grace clutched her side and slapped the table. His deadpan was good, and she was thrown completely off the mark. She didn’t know where to take the conversation now.

  “Seriously, I want to get to know you.” Horace pointed at her. “I want to know Grace King.”

  “You want to get to know me or my money, Horace?” she asked, questioning his motives. “Since you want to talk, let’s talk about why you seem to be so fond of me without actually knowing anything about me besides what’s on MediaTakeout.com.” Grace leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and folded her arms across her chest.

  Horace pinched his nostrils together before speaking, as if he was preparing to give a dissertation. “Grace, I am not fond of you,” he announced.

  Grace’s eyebrows met in the center of her forehead, creating a scowl on her face, at that proclamation.

  “I am not fond of you. I am fond of who you have the potential to be. I can see why your parents named you Grace, because you are seasoned with a great measure of it, and when you tap into it and figure out how to be victorious in your trials, instead of the victim”—he clapped his hands together—“that grace is going to shine right through. I am not fond of you.” He leaned in close to the table and whispered, “I want you, but I want you whole. Trust and believe me, every man is searching for his rib, and at the bare minimum, for a woman who can make ribs like his mama, but I need a whole woman to stand by my side.”

  Unsure of how to respond to that statement, Grace turned her eyes to the silverware lined up in front of her, hoping that the fervor going on inside of her wasn’t evident to Horace. Is something wrong with me? Allusions to the Bible shouldn’t arouse me this much. Grace had never known that a man who served God could be so sexy. She thought back to her early romance with David. Was that love or some strange preacher man fetish? Whatever it was, she was hoping it wouldn’t be reenacted between her and Horace. If they were going to have something, then it had to be real and honorable. She had to know what his intentions were before she proceeded any further.

  She cleared her throat, ready to respond to Horace’s remarks. “Horace, obviously, you’ve been given the gift of oration, and I thank you for the compliments, but it appears as though you’re evading my question. Are you digging me or digging for gold?”

  Horace took his time responding to Grace. The waitress arrived with his rosé. He sipped it casually and even offered Grace a sip. Finally, he wiped the corners of his mouth and said, “Money ain’t a thing to me, Grace. At one point in my life I threw it out like rice at a wedding. I used to run these streets.” He laughed. “Man, I had at least twenty blocks of Harlem on lock, and I was pushing those designer drugs to people just like you on the weekends at spots like Lunar, Greenhouse, and Limelight, before it got shut down.”

  Grace’s eyes widened as she took in his testimony. Maybe that was why he felt so familiar with her. He had probably sold her some drugs and was trying to make amends now. “Are you serious, Horace?” she asked, squeezing a lime into her water.

  “I was running drugs heavy up until about five years ago, when I met Pastor David at a funeral. His words really changed me.”

  “How did his words change you?” Her question slipped off her tongue rapidly. Her wondering was really meant for her and her alone. She’d always been fascinated by people who converted to Christianity and declared that they’d been liberated, when all that she had experienced was how restrictive Christianity was.

  “Really, they weren’t his words. They were the Lord’s words.” He tapped the back of his hand against hers, summoning her full attention. “You see, the funeral was for a friend of mine who’d been shot during a robbery gone way wrong. Near the end of Pastor David’s sermon, he began telling the story of a rich young ruler who’d been asked to give everything he had to the poor and follow Jesus. The rich young ruler walked away, full of sadness, and Jesus declared to his disciples that it was harder for a rich man to get into heaven than it was for a camel to get through the eye of a needle.”

  “And that changed your heart?” Grace balked. She’d heard some sappy stories about deliverance before—people trapped by the fangs of death, unsure of their next move, and then they surrendered everything—but one little Bible verse melting Horace’s heart was incomprehensible to her and hardly worth sharing.

  “Then he went on to give an excerpt from the scripture. He asked us if we knew what happened to that rich young ruler. Some of the boys laughed and shouted, ‘He kept getting that money,’ and Pastor David said, ‘No, he’s in the coffin lying before your eyes. Rather than give up his riches, the young ruler tried to hoard everything he had and let the devil rob him of eternal life.’” Horace wiped the corners of his mouth, as if he’d just bitten into a succulent piece of steak. “From there I was open. I ran to Pastor David and begged him to tell me what I had to do to inherit eternal life. He turned to me and said, ‘Rich young ruler, sell all that you have, give it to the poor, and follow Jesus.’ And I did. I don’t buy more than I need, and I live modestly, all to His honor and glory,” he said, pointing his index finger at the ceiling.

  After Horace finished telling Grace the story of his conversion, the waitress arrived with their appetizers. “Bon appétit,” she said, setting their plates before them.

  Grace pushed her food around, trying to avoid how foolish Horace’s story had made her look. Here she was, obsessing over money, when in fact he’d given all his money away. There weren’t many Christians who could make that their boast. It seemed that the gospel being preached today was all about greed and gain to Grace.

  “So, are you no longer speaking to me?”

  “I . . . I feel kind of like an idiot,” Grace confessed.

  “That’s fine. We all make mistakes. Now, stop thinking evil thoughts, and think good thoughts.”

  “Is that possible?” she asked, scrunching her face up.

  “With God all things are possible.”

  I need to see something good first to believe that’s possible. Stirring her ice, Grace recalled some of her encounters with men. Every single one of them had melted like the ice in the water right before her eyes. They had all appeared to have a solid frame that she could rest on, but when the heat was on, they were long gone. The only love she’d felt was between her and David, and it had felt like this—electric.

  Horace signaled for the waitress to pour him another glass of rosé and then stroked the back of Grace’s hand. “Where are you?”

 
Waving her hand, she replied, “I was lost for a moment, but I’m back, and I want to be wherever you are.” She arched her back and let all the sensuality in her drip onto the table.

  “You know, Adam never knew Eve was naked.”

  “What?” She scrunched her nose up, disapproving of his biblical commentary at the moment.

  “Adam didn’t know he was in a garden, buck naked, with that woman. All he knew was that she was for him and he loved her. That’s what I want. Actually, that’s all I want.”

  His morality and unwillingness to compromise only made her desire for him more palpable. She wanted to feel all the goodness that was wrapped up in the drop of chocolate seated before her. This ain’t right. I don’t know what it is, but this ain’t right. Grace reprimanded herself for being focused on the flesh while Horace was trying to commune with her spirit.

  “How do I become Eve?”

  “Get right, Grace. Get right in the sight of God. Seek forgiveness from those that you have offended.”

  Grace groaned. “That’s a long list.”

  “Listen, in Matthew, chapter five, the Word tells us that if we’ve offended our brother, then we must first go to our brother and ‘be reconciled’ and then offer our gift. The only real gift we have to give to God is ourselves. Apologize to those you know you’ve done wrong, and then ask God for His forgiveness.”

  “What if they won’t forgive me?” Grace couldn’t believe she was sharing her fears with Horace after only a few sips of water. Usually, it took some coke and a few shots before she did that. But Horace made her feel protected. Safe. “What do I do if they won’t forgive me?”

  “Then you go to your Father. Leave them and yourself at His feet for a cleansing. They’ll have to deal with God after that.”

  Grace liked the sound of that—having the Lord as her father had to be better than having her biological one.

  Chapter 23

  Cautiously, Grace planted her pointy-toe pumps on each marble step of 60 Centre Street. This wasn’t the first time that she had walked up the steps of the courthouse, so she wasn’t sure why buckets of fear filled her belly. She came in peace and had nothing to worry about, based on what Horace had explained to her over dinner Saturday evening. If Candace didn’t accept her apology, then Candace would now have to carry that weight, and Grace would be absolved of her guilt.

  Using all her weight, Grace forced the brass revolving doors to turn. She slid her purse through the scanner and maneuvered around the metal detectors, greeting every guard who manned the lobby by first name and stopping in front of one guard who had to be a descendant of Goliath.

  “Hey, Paterson. I could use your help today,” Grace said, patting him on the shoulder.

  “My help?” he said, sounding surprised. “What can I do for you, Ms. King?” he asked, tipping his hat without taking his eyes off the metal detectors.

  “I’m looking for a court reporter by the name of Candace. I can’t remember her last name. She’s kind of petite, with great caramel skin—”

  “Real conservative, though,” he interjected. “She’s always wearing pearls and sweaters.” He tapped Grace’s elbow with his elbow.

  “That sounds like her.”

  “She’s working with Judge Toomer today. If she’s not in chambers with the judge, she’s on lunch now,” he said, staring at the round clock that hung above the entrance.

  “Thank you, Paterson,” Grace replied, looking up at him. “What do I owe you?”

  Placing his hand on his heart, he said, “This one is on the house.”

  Grace dashed to the elevators and up to Judge Toomer’s chambers on the fifth floor. She’d appeared before Judge Toomer a couple of times. He was definitely a fan, so she knew it would be easy to get in and see Candace. After knocking on the door of his chambers once, she heard his commanding voice boom on the other side of the oak door. “Enter.”

  After smoothing her A-line skirt, Grace pushed open the door and began speaking right away. She talked quickly to ensure the judge didn’t have a chance to ask one question and to make sure he heard only one thing, “I need Candace.” Without hesitation Judge Toomer gave in to Grace’s seemingly desperate plea for a moment with her girlfriend.

  Judge Toomer came from behind his grand desk, escorted Grace to the door, and told her exactly where Candace could be found. “She’s in the pavilion, feeding the pigeons and praising God.”

  Grace looked back at the judge in disbelief. Who the heck spends their lunch like that?

  Pointing toward the window at the end of the hall, Judge Toomer said, “Come see for yourself.” Linking arms with Grace, he led her to the window. Grace looked down at Candace, then back up at Judge Toomer. The pity that had entered her heart the moment he told her where to find Candace had been doubled now that she’d seen it for herself. The chiming of Grace’s phone broke the state of quiet contemplation that she and Judge Toomer had entered.

  Raising one finger, Grace excused herself and turned her back on the judge to read the text from Junell.

  Sorry about the other day, G. Where are you? Want to do lunch?

  I forgive you. Can’t do lunch. I’m at the courthouse now.

  Court?

  Grace cracked up at the series of emojis that followed the word Court. I’m attempting to be a whole woman for Horace.

  G, you have to become a whole woman for you. Ciao. The cameras are about to start rolling. Call me later.

  Sucking her teeth, Grace turned around to face Judge Toomer, who was still watching Candace toss shreds of bread at the pigeons that surrounded her.

  “Is everything all right, Ms. King?”

  “Absolutely,” Grace lied, conjuring up a smile to support her lie. She wasn’t going to be spilling her guts twice this week, and she wasn’t even in anger management. “Judge, do you think you would be willing to excuse Candace for the day?”

  Judge Toomer raised an eyebrow and drummed his fingers on the ledge. “Grace, feeding pigeons in the park alone is a sad state to be in, but don’t bring me back a drunk court reporter who likes to get into bar fights.” He wagged his finger at her. “Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Grace placed one hand in the air, as if she was being sworn in. “I will not get her involved in any of my shenanigans. I promise.”

  Grace used the emergency exit staircase that led right into the courtyard. She flew down the steps as fast as her pumps could carry her. Clearly, she’d spent way too much time in the courthouse if she knew where each staircase let out. This was definitely something that needed to be amended on her journey toward wholeness. Maybe only one trip a year, she thought, until she completely got breaking the law out of her system.

  “If you feed them too much, they’ll explode,” Grace said over Candace’s shoulder.

  “That’s rice. If you feed them rice, they’ll explode. A little roll won’t kill them. Are you the bird police?” Candace asked, looking over her shoulder at Grace. She jumped to her feet, swiping her purse and the remainder of her lunch in preparation to take flight. “Grace, if you attack me in public, you’ll be locked up on the spot.”

  Grace smiled. Candace’s fear was amusing to her. Stepping over the pigeons, Grace moved closer to Candace. “Worried about retaliation, huh?” Grace hiked up the sleeves on her jacket. “You should have thought about that before you raised your hand to me.”

  “I don’t know what came over me.” Candace waved her hands in surrender.

  Grace grabbed her wrist. “I know what came over you. . . . You’re in love with a man. That has been known to cause many women to do some utterly ridiculous things that no one in their right state of mind would do.”

  Candace’s arm stiffened in Grace’s hand.

  “Relax. I came to make peace with you. Did you have lunch yet?”

  Candace held up a plastic bag containing some Tupperware. “I was about to get started. I always feed them first”—she pointed at the pigeons—“so they won’t bother me while I’m e
ating.”

  Grace interlocked her arm with Candace’s and pulled her close. “Come on. Let’s have lunch.” Grace ripped the plastic bag from Candace’s hand and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. “You won’t be needing this.” Grace looked Candace up and down. The various shades of brown adorning her slender body made Grace’s stomach feel queasy. “First, let’s make a stop at Bergdorf, because I can’t be seen in public with you looking like . . .” Grace waved her hand up and down, searching for an accurate term to describe Candace’s muddy brown outfit.

  “Like what?” Candace asked, breaking out of Grace’s armlock.

  Candace looked like a pot of beef stew that had been left out overnight, but Grace had to find a more appropriate way to say that. “Like a librarian. Now, come on. We’ll settle our score later.” Grace wrapped her arm around Candace’s again and began walking out of the courtyard.

  Candace didn’t budge, causing Grace to snap back like a rubber band.

  “Grace, I’m on lunch. I can’t go traipsing around the city with you.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ve been excused.” Grace looked up at the window where she and Judge Toomer had been watching Candace feed the birds. “Just smile and wave at the judge,” Grace said through her already smiling lips.

  The brilliant lights of Bergdorf welcomed them, along with the doorman, who swung the door open for Grace with his lips cut into a simple smile. He let go of the door immediately after Grace passed by, and Candace had to scurry through on Grace’s heels or get clipped by the door. Grace kept looking over her shoulder, like she was escorting kindergarteners on a school field trip. Candace paused at every item that shined and walked over to every sales clerk who leaned on the counter and summoned them.