Let's Get It On

by Cheris Hodges

  “I don’t love her. I’m marrying Maurice,” she said to her reflection. Standing, she smoothed her body-hugging Vera Wang gown and placed her veil on her head.

  “Knock, knock,” Vivian said as she walked into the room.

  Lauryn smiled. “Viv, I’m glad you’re here. How’s my make-up?”

  “You look beautiful. Girl, it’s time for you to march down the aisle and get that man.”

  Lauryn stood up and hugged Vivian tightly. “Thank you for standing up for me at the last minute.”

  “Why didn’t Mya do it? You guys are thick as thieves,” Vivian said.

  “I don’t know,” Lauryn said. “Let’s do this. My man’s waiting.”

  Mya stood next to her cousin, Lola, as they watched Lauryn march down the aisle. Mya tried desperately to make eye contact with Lauryn. Maybe if Lauryn saw her there, she’d stop this act, this farce of a marriage that would never work. Tears sprang into Mya’s eyes as she started for the front of the megachurch, waiting for the pastor to ask the question she had the answer to.

  Mya ignored the vows that the couple exchanged, because she knew Lauryn was lying to God and all of these two thousand witnesses. Just last night she’d promised Mya that their relationship wouldn’t change and that she loved her. Now she was promising to love Maurice until death. What a crock.

  “If anyone here knows why these two shouldn’t be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  Mya had made it to the front of the church by now. And when she exclaimed, “You can’t do this,” all eyes were on her. Mya marched to the altar. “Lauryn, I love you, and I can’t let you marry Maurice when I know you love me, too.”

  Gasps and catcalls rose from the audience. “Damn down low sistas,” someone called out.

  Maurice looked from Mya to Lauryn, his eyes begging for an explanation. This had to be a joke.

  “Maurice,” Lauryn said in a whisper as she dropped his hand. “I’m sorry. I thought I could do this.”

  Maurice looked around for TV cameras or MTV’s Ashton Kutcher, because this had to be an episode of Punk’d. Smiling, because he knew there was a punch line coming soon, Maurice stood there in silent shock. But when Mya opened her arms to Lauryn, and the two women embraced, then bolted from the church, he knew this wasn’t a joke.

  Pastor Adams grasped Maurice’s shoulder. “Son, I-I’m sorry.”

  “Was I just punked?” Maurice whispered as he watched the sanctuary empty.

  Three weeks had passed, and Maurice hadn’t been outside of his uptown penthouse since he’d been humiliated in church. The voice-mail boxes on his home and cell phones were full. Some people were genuinely concerned; others were simply being nosy. For all Maurice cared, they could all go to hell. And if people were making reservations for a trip there, he hoped someone would have the good sense to take Lauryn along for the ride.

  Though weeks had passed, Maurice was still hoping that this was a joke, a bad dream, or some pilot for a reality TV show. But realistically, he knew that as sorry and pathetic as this situation was, it was his life. Maybe if there hadn’t been so much media attention focused on his wedding, it wouldn’t have been so difficult to deal with. But the world had seen his meltdown. Jay Leno and David Letterman had made jokes about it on their late-night shows, and the local media hadn’t been any kinder.

  He leaned back on the chaise lounge that Lauryn had had to have. The thing wasn’t even comfortable, and just like his ex-fiancée, it was confused about what it was—a chair or a sofa. Maurice leapt to his feet, feeling as if he had been burned. Then he pushed the chaise lounge over, jumping back as it wobbled and crashed into the mirrored-glass table in front of it. The sound of the smashing glass drowned out the echo of the front door closing.

  “Mo!” James called out as he ran into the living room. “What in the hell?”

  “What are you doing here, and how did you get in?” Maurice snapped.

  James threw his hands in the air. “Ma gave me her key. Everyone’s worried about you.”

  “I’m fine. Now go.”

  James shook his head. “Bro, this ain’t living. You stink. Your house looks like a bomb went off in it.” He pointed to three weeks’ worth of empty pizza boxes and Chinese-food containers. “You’re going to breed roaches if you don’t clean up.”

  Maurice walked over to the front door, opened it, then said, “You can go and leave me to my breeding.”

  James folded his arms and stood his ground. “Look, bro. You need to pull yourself out of this funk, get out of the house, and get a life.”

  Maurice closed the door, then turned to James. “I know people are still talking about it, aren’t they?”

  “Mo, forget people and what they have to say. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Nodding, Maurice let James’s words sink in. Then he wondered if this was payback for something he did nine years ago. “Damn, my honeymoon trip was nonrefundable.”

  “Take the trip, anyway,” said James.

  “It’s for two people.”

  James held up his arms and spun around like Michael Jackson. “What am I?”

  “Oh, that’s rich. A honeymoon with my brother? I don’t think so.”

  “So, you’re going to waste all of that money. Weren’t you guys going to the Bahamas?”

  Maurice shook his head. “This is the last week I have to make reservations. Maybe my travel agent can switch us to a singles resort.” As Maurice spoke, he began to like the idea even more.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” James said as he watched his brother’s face brighten.

  “All right,” Maurice said as he picked up the phone. “Let’s do the damned thing. When do you want to leave?”

  Kenya polished off another glass of chardonnay and shook her head. “Imani, God is laughing at me.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “I know. But moving back to Charlotte where Maurice and his new wife are? That’s not what I want to do.”

  Imani moved the bottle out of her friend’s reach. “Then don’t go.”

  “And commit career suicide? I have to go, because if I don’t, then I won’t look like a team player.”

  “Charlotte is big enough for you to avoid him. I bet you wouldn’t even be able to afford a house in their neighborhood,” Imani said, trying to calm Kenya’s nerves.

  “Well, I already said that I was going to take the job,” Kenya slurred. “So, the only thing I can do is go.”

  “It probably won’t be as bad as you’re thinking.”

  Kenya stretched against the chair before she stood up. She stumbled a bit as she placed her dinner dishes in the sink. “You think I’m crazy, right? That I should be over Maurice by now, right?”

  “Well,” Imani said, then shrugged her shoulders.

  “And you’re right, I should be. But I’m not. My mother was right. I shouldn’t have run away, because I-I have some stuff to get off my chest.”

  “So, you haven’t talked to him in nearly ten years?”

  Kenya shook her head. “Nope. What would I say to him?”

  “Thought you had stuff to get off your chest?”

  “Oh yeah, I do.”

  “Kenya, come sit your drunk butt down.” Imani laughed.

  Kenya stumbled over to the sofa as Imani started their favorite movie, The Color Purple.

  “You know,” Kenya said, “I’m not going to worry about Maurice. I’m going to focus on my vacation and then my new position.”

  “And who knows, you might just meet someone on your vacation that will take your mind right off Mr. Goings. I mean, what did that brother put on you that lasted for nine years?”

  Kenya couldn’t answer, because she had drifted off to sleep.

  The next morning, Kenya woke up with a splitting headache and an aching back, because Imani had left her slumbering on the sofa. Drinking was definitely going to be out for her vacation.

  The Breezes Sports Club Resort in Nassau was s
upposed to be a place where singles could go to recharge without the pitter-patter of little feet. There were activities where men and women could socialize and maybe hook up. That was one thing Kenya wasn’t going to do. She had no interest in an island fling. Then again, whatever she did in the Bahamas would be between her and the tropical stranger she decided to share whatever with.

  Who am I kidding? I’m not going on vacation to be a tramp, she thought.

  Kenya’s flight to the Bahamas left right on time, and she was sure that her vacation was going to be as smooth as her flight from Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. When she took her seat next to the window, she decided that she was going to throw caution to the wind and let her hair down. Then her seatmate, an elderly woman with an oversized carry-on bag, squeezed in beside her. Kenya decided to pretend she was asleep until she actually fell into a peaceful slumber.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are making our descent into Nassau,” the captain announced. “Please fasten your seat belts, and return your seats to their upright position. I hope you all enjoy your stay on the island, and thank you for flying Delta Airlines.”

  Wiping her mouth and opening her eyes, Kenya looked out the window at the crystal blue water and the sparkling sunlight dancing on it. “Wow,” she whispered. She could feel her batteries recharging, and the plane hadn’t even landed yet.

  This is going to be great, she thought as the plane taxied to a stop.

  Maurice and James stretched out on a couple of pool chairs, ready for a second day of women watching. It was James idea, because Maurice was content to sit in his hotel room overlooking the ocean and eat. He couldn’t help but wonder how Kenya had felt when he’d dumped her for Lauryn.

  When James started hooting and hollering, Maurice looked up from his sports magazine to see a group of women walking by who looked as if they’d stepped off the pages of Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit edition.

  “Hurt me. Hurt me,” James called out. “Umm, umm, good.”

  The women smiled and continued on their way. While Maurice had glanced at the sexy ladies, he had no interest in them, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were all sleeping with each other, while some sap waited for them in colder weather.

  “What’s that look?” James asked when he noted the scowl on his brother’s face. “A gang of sexy senoritas just walked by, and you’re frowning?”

  “It’s hot, and the sun is in my eyes.”

  “You’re still moping over Ms. Down Low, huh?”

  Maurice dropped his magazine over his face. “I’m not thinking about her. But I have to wonder how many other women are doing shit like that.” Pushing the magazine down, he looked in the direction of the model squad. “Just like those women over there. How many of them do you think . . .” The sight before him took all of the words out of his mouth.

  “Just let me watch,” James said, not noticing the look on Maurice’s face.

  “Oh my God.”

  James looked in the same direction as his brother. “What?”

  “The girl in the red bathing suit. Is that . . . Nah, it can’t be.”

  “Damn, she looks like Kenya Taylor.”

  The woman in the red bathing suit came closer to where they were sitting. It was undeniably Kenya. But my had she changed. She had a figure that wouldn’t quit, shaped just like an hourglass. Her butter-rum skin was smooth and flawless. Her shoulder-length hair framed her face with curly ringlets, a style Maurice had never seen her wear. She pushed her sunglasses up on her forehead and wiped sweat from her face with the back of her hand as she seemingly searched for a chair.

  “Hey . . . ,” James attempted to yell, but Maurice placed his hand over his brother’s mouth.

  “Shut up.”

  James pushed Maurice’s hand away. “Man, if that’s Kenya, why don’t you want to say hello to her?”

  “Let’s see. Because she hates me?” Maurice replied. “I’m sure I’m the last person she wants to see.”

  “You might be right about that,” James said, then laughed. “Still, you should say hello. That’s a fireworks show that I’d love to see.”

  “Just let her be. That might not even be her.” But Maurice knew it was Kenya. She may have slimmed down, but her eyes were the same.

  “I know that body isn’t hers, because that girl is fine as . . . She’s coming this way.”

  Kenya took an empty seat beside Maurice, but she didn’t look at him as she unwrapped her sarong and spread it across the pool chair. Kenya dropped her bag on the side of the chair away from Maurice and pulled out a bottle of sunscreen.

  Maurice couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as she smoothed the lotion on her skin. She was Kenya, older, sexier, and right beside him. He wanted to reach out and touch her and make sure she was real. Maybe this was his chance to make things right with her. And if he did that, then maybe karma would give him his life back.

  Damn, I don’t remember her legs being that long, he thought as he watched her stretch out on the lounge chair.

  Obviously, she had her eyes closed, because without turning her head, she said, “Sir, please stop ogling me. I’m sure there is something much more interesting to look at than me.”

  Her voice was the same, smooth like honey, thick like molasses, and cool like an unexpected breeze.

  “Kenya Taylor.”

  She turned toward him as if she knew who he was. Snatching her sunglasses off, Kenya sat up in the chair and focused her gaze on him, the color draining from her face as if she’d seen a ghost.

  “I don’t believe this. This is unbelievable,” she said, then began to gather her things.

  Maurice rose to his feet and blocked her from leaving. “This is unbelievable. I can’t believe we just ran into each other like this.”

  Standing toe to toe with him, Kenya hauled off and slapped him. The echo of her blow caused everyone in close proximity to them to look up at them. Maurice held his cheek as it stung.

  “Ouch. I guess I deserved that,” he said.

  Kenya turned on her heels and stomped away.

  Chapter 6

  Kenya’s heart was beating faster than a roaring race car’s engine as she stormed into her suite. How in the world did this happen? Why did she end up at the same resort where Maurice and Lauryn were spending their honeymoon? This place was supposed to be for singles, and they were here, invading her vacation!

  And there he was, leering at her, and he’d just married the same tramp he’d left her for all of those years ago.

  I should’ve pushed him in that damned pool. He has some nerve.

  Kenya paced back and forth in her room, kicking off her thong sandals and tossing her sarong on the bed. Though she’d been at her resort for less than three hours, she was ready to go home, because if she saw Lauryn, she was going to push her in the pool.

  “No,” she said as she stopped pacing and looked at herself in the mirror. “I’m not running from them again. This isn’t college, and I spent too much money to come here and relax.”

  Scooping up her beach bag, shoes, and sarong, Kenya headed outside again. She went back to the pool to look for Maurice and his new bride. She found Maurice and his brother. That didn’t make sense to her. Who would bring a third party on a honeymoon trip?

  Kenya hoped in vain that another seat would open up. Fate had brought all of the sunbathers outside, and the only seat was beside Maurice, who was sitting on the edge of his seat, with ice on his cheek.

  Did I hit him that hard? she thought as she walked over to the chair.

  “Kenya, how are you, girl?” James asked when she approached them.

  “Fine,” she said, smiling at him. “Look at you.”

  He hugged her, then held her out. “I’d rather look at you. Atlanta has been good to you. Do they all look like you back home?”

  She blushed, not because of his complements, but because she could feel Maurice staring at her as she talked to James.

  “You’re in Charlotte now,
huh?” she asked.

  “Yeah, helping my brother out with some community service and running our company,” said James.

  “Public relations?” she said, drifting back to her goals when she and Maurice had entered Johnson C. Smith together.

  “No, real estate. Isn’t that what you do? Public relations?” James asked.

  “No. I’m a lawyer now.”

  “Whoa,” Maurice and James said in unison.

  “I thought you wanted to run your own PR firm,” Maurice said.

  Kenya turned to him. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know and never knew. I don’t think I was talking to you.”

  Maurice jumped up. “Kenya, do you have something to say to me?”

  “No, I don’t,” she spat. “Why aren’t you with your wife?”

  Maurice blanched, and James shook his head. “My wife? You saw all of that?”

  “You were all over the news, you and Lauryn. I’m surprised she isn’t out here, all over you like cheap cologne.”

  James cleared his throat. “I’m going to get a drink. You want something, Kenya?”

  “No, thank you,” replied Kenya.

  When James left, she glared at Maurice, tempted to hit him again. “Get out of my face,” she said as she attempted to push him aside.

  “Lauryn and I didn’t get married. It was a mistake.”

  “Only took you nine years to figure that out?” Kenya said as she took her seat. “I hope you don’t expect me to feel sorry for you.”

  “No, I don’t. Why would you? Obviously, you hate me.”

  “Does that surprise you? You broke my heart, and I don’t have to forgive you for that.”

  “You don’t, but I do want to tell you that I’m sorry for what I did. There have been so many times when I wanted to reach out to you and say that. It’s really ironic that we ran into each other here.”