Grace’s eyes fluttered when she heard her child above the chatter. “Yes, Dré,” she answered from the throes of careful contemplation.
“I’ll meet you by the car,” he shouted, then disappeared into the maze of parishioners before his mother had the chance to ask why. André cruised through the outside doors, then over to the west side of the building, where the high schoolers met to engage in fellowship in a manner that suited them. They were clueless to the fact that so many marriages had begun in the west wing of the activity center, cultivated over time under the watchful eyes of God. When André sensed that his brief stint of adolescent exchange had grown to a close, he doubled-timed it to the Volvo before Grace showed up to embarrass him with his peers looking on.
“Did you get to say everything you needed to say?” she asked him, while backing her vehicle out of a tight spot. Of course, André wanted to avoid the question altogether, but he knew Grace was merely letting him know that she knew what he’d been up to.
“There wasn’t much to say,” André responded softly, with a hint of reluctance. “At least not yet,” he added as an honest afterthought. “I’ve got time.”
Merely the thought of her child preparing his lines to spring on someone’s daughter stayed with Grace long after she’d dropped him off at Skyler Barnes’s house, André’s friend and high-school basketball superstar. Since when did Silly String and chasing spiders morph into macking to young girls and looking for the right time to make a move on one he’d developed feelings for? Grace asked herself.
Linda Allen was seated at a booth and sipping from a tall glass of peach-flavored iced tea when Grace arrived for their once-a-month Sunday brunch at Ursula’s Chicken and Waffles. Linda, pleasantly plump, high yellow with a cropped hairstyle and big brown eyes, was decked out in a casual denim outfit that suggested she’d passed on yet another worshipservice, but Grace had her own issues to contend with, so she didn’t bring it up. Shelia Chatham, the most scandalouslycarefree member of the trio, entered just behind Grace. Shelia, cinnamon brown and conceited, was dressed in her Sunday best and yapping into her cell phone a mile a minute. “Yeah, that was kinda nice. Can we do it again? Oooh, especiallythat,” she crooned seductively into the small telephone.Shelia placed an index finger up to her thin lips to quiet her girlfriends. Grace and Linda looked at each other with matching shame-on-her expressions. “Uh-huh, baby, you know just how to set me off. What? Yeah, baby, I’m naked right now,” Shelia added, rolling her eyes whatever-style.She was annoyed by the male caller but thought it necessaryto put in work for a payoff on the back end. All of her male friends, as she commonly referred to them, were instructedto show up at her place with little trinkets of appreciationfor her time, or not show up at all. “I’m about to step into a hot bubble bath right now. No, you can’t. Richard, I need some me time,” she said. “Just cause I’m about to get wet doesn’t mean I want to get you wet, too.” Shelia glared at Linda when it appeared she might bust out laughing and ruin her fantasy chat with the man she’d met the week before.“I let you paint my toenails Friday night, so they don’t need any attention right now. I gotta go. Don’t make me hang up on you. Find something else to do until I can call you back. Bye!” As soon as she clicked the flip phone closed and shut Richard out of her mind, Grace struggled to hold her tongue. “What?” Shelia hissed. “Don’t be looking at me like that.”
“Like what, Shelia?” Grace challenged, knowingly.
“Like you’re the kinkiest heffa this side of the projects,” Linda chimed in.
“Uh-uh, Linda!” Shelia objected, throwing her hand up to accentuate her point. She shook her finger to warn against their mad dash into her affairs. “I know how y’all get down, so it would behoove the two of you to do what? Let it go and leave it alone,” Shelia suggested with her patented get-your-nose-out-of-mine smirk. She opened an oval-shaped silverplated compact case, one of her many gifts from a married admirer. After eyeing her reflection in the mirror, she snickered heartily. “Y’all are just mad because I’m gettingpaid to have my toes sucked and polished, and you’re not.”
“Ewwh, that’s nothing to be bragging about,” Linda countered.“Now, if you were getting something else sucked by that fine specimen of a black man, Tyson Sharp, like my girl Grace does, then I’d be sipping on some hater-ade instead of this peach tea.” Linda paused long enough to perform a self-appraisalbefore fanning herself with an open hand. “See, all this is what keeps my stock up. Men fall for these adorable bedroom eyes, this rich butterscotch complexion, this bountifulbooty I got from my mama’s side of the family, or the way I moan when a brotha’s got his tongue gliding up and down it.”
“Tell her, Linda,” Grace said jokingly. “Would you tell her.”
“Ain’t got to, Grace, she already knows I can make the tail wag the dog, and then some. It’s honey sweet and deep,” Linda added, in the event that anyone missed her act of self-aggrandizement.The ladies always shared a laugh over silly sniping sessions which reminded them that secrets rarely survived in their midst. Grace’s monthly tryst with Tyson and her infrequent encounters with his fill-in, Greg Anderson,were common knowledge among the tightly knit circle. Shelia’s personal business was worthy of two bestselling novels, and Linda couldn’t play the prude after following a musician from gig to gig, up and down the New Jersey Turnpike,sixteen months ago. She blamed it on missing her exit, when the truth involved her burning up the highway for the private and uninterrupted encores he laid on her deep into the night. Regardless of how ridiculous the situations they found themselves in, the trio was always there for one anotherto help sort out the dramatic details and pick up the pieces when it was all over but the crying. Shelia, Linda, and Grace were simply a small faction of black women trying to get their kicks without allowing random emotions get in the way of having a good time.
When the waiter appeared, he introduced himself, then announced the brunch specials. Shelia rolled her eyes when the young, muscle-bound man stared past Linda’s outstandingattributes and seemed rather intrigued by her short, wavy hairstyle. “Uh, is there something you want?” Shelia snapped rudely, as the others peered up from their menus.
“Uh-huh, but not from you,” the waiter retorted rudely, smacking his lips. “I would kill for my hair to behave like girlfriend’s over there. I am sick with envy over those waves. Who does your hair?” The young man’s flamboyant personalitycaught Grace by surprise. She turned away, covering her mouth with her manicured fingertips. At first glance she would not have guessed that he was gay, but his keenly arched eyebrows, pouty lips poking out like a disgruntled five-year-old’s, and his wishing that his hair would behave like Linda’s removed any doubt that he was openly out and about. Grace had heard more than her share of tragic stories about women getting involved with men on the down-low and then later discovering they’d been paying rent on closet space. However, the waiter wasn’t even thinking of making a pass at one of them.
“Linda, could you hook him up with your stylist, then maybe he can get back to his job and get us something to eat?” Shelia recommended hastily. The waiter rolled his neck in opposition to her crass comment, smacked his lips again, then scribbled down their orders before walking away. “And your hands better be clean,” Shelia yelled after him.
“What’s wrong, Grace?” Linda asked, as she studied her friend’s sour expression. “Is the thought of that brotha gettingwith another brotha bothering you?”
“Please, you know that’s not my type of hype regardless,” Grace answered, still obviously perturbed about something. “No, I’ve come to grips with men who don’t want to be men, who’d rather be with men, and who’d give anything to be women. No matter how hard you try, there’s no way to make sense out of nonsense.”
“Okay, then, what’s got you looking like you just lost your good thing?” Shelia prodded, also really wanting to know.
After Grace deliberated awhile, she cleared her throat and cast a labored smile that didn’t fool either of the oth
er women. “I went to a beautiful wedding yesterday, you know, Chandelle from the office? I agreed to serve as a maid of honor, put her makeup together. The thanks I got was her hittingme with a statement that left a mark.” Grace glanced down at the table, not certain how her discussion with a younger woman would play out in present company. “It was innocent enough, but it stung a little when Chandelle asked me if I had ever thought about finding someone to get seriouswith, married-serious with,” she added for clarification. “Actually I hadn’t, but it doesn’t seem that far-fetched now that I’ve actually let the idea play around in my head.”
“Shoot, I’ve let it move furniture into mine,” Linda sighed. Shelia wanted to add her two cents but had nothing positive to offer so she kept quiet, for now. She had been thoroughly jaded against married-serious relationships after experiencing a terrible heartbreak several years ago.
“I don’t believe it,” Linda offered, clasping her hands togetherunderneath her chin. “Chandelle opened your eyes, and ripped off your superwoman cape at the same time?” Linda had known Grace for years and had never once heard her express love or pain about a man she’d spent time with. This was new and uncharted territory.
“It would seem so, girl.” Grace’s gaze drifted off into space like that sneaky idea Chandelle planted was more than just an idea. “Maybe it was a good thing, me getting a wake-upcall to start thinking about long-term situations. It put a jacked-up spell on me all right, and I want my cape back.”
“There’s something to be said for sharing a black woman’s woes,” Shelia contributed finally. “I was starting to think that you weren’t human, Grace. And I hope you don’t take this wrong, but I’m kinda glad you’ve become one of us.” Shelia smiled awkwardly for no particular reason. “If you keep moving,that spell won’t get the chance to put a hold on you.”
“What’s that?” questioned Grace, when she noticed the vulnerable expression hanging on Shelia’s face.
“Plight of the black woman. More of us are single than married, with more heartbreaks than dreams.”
Linda’s eyes sparkled as she sought to climb out of the funk encompassing their intimate circle. “But Grace’s blues aren’t exactly like ours, Shelia. See, Grace already has the big house, the fancy car, and the movie-star clothes. She just needs to decide which of her flextimers gets to share all of that with her.” There was a hint of jealously in Linda’s tone, although she didn’t mean any harm to Grace. Her loneliness just happened to get in the way while she assessedthe situation. As far as she could see, a man would have to be crazy not to fall all over himself if Grace wanted him to. And if she offered forever as an option, he’d certainlyvie for the platinum package with all the trimmings. Linda had no idea how wrong she was about the men in Grace’s life, or the way they’d respond to exercising long-termoptions on love.
If it wasn’t for Shelia’s easygoing attitude, their Sunday brunch would have been hijacked. “Well, I know one thing, Linda. I’m willing to go out of my way to get Grace’s cape back ’cause y’all done killed my groove. No, don’t try to cheer me up. My groove don’t even work no mo’. It just up and quit.”
When Grace laughed out loud, Linda followed suit. “Grace, hurry up and handle your business, find that super-cape, and I’ll get my groove back. That’s right. Me and Shelia.”
When the waiter returned with their entrées, Shelia heckledhim. “What you come back for? You’re the competition. Go on now, before you steal another black woman’s man. Go on! Git!”
4
All That Man!
Abustling herd of storm clouds rolled past the large plate-glasswindows of Grace’s corner office at Pinnacle Marketing.Monday mornings and gray skies seemed to go together like lyrics of a sad song played over a slow musical beat. Trying not to think about the conversation she’d had with Shelia and Linda, Grace felt better about getting her cape back. The cape was her force field shielding her from the various agonies caused by serious relationships with men. By not getting too close, she wouldn’t get exposed, hurt, or heartbroken. The cape was pliable, impenetrable, and machinewashable. The cape came fully accessorized and coordinatedperfectly with any ensemble. The drawback was how it also covered Grace’s eyes to reality like a lead veil. She dealt with the misconception that her cape had been the solution,when in actuality it kept her wrapped in a cocoon of false security, daring her to consider the possibilities outside of it. The worst thing that could have happened to Grace was getting her cape back.
Grace was thumbing through a fashion magazine when Marcia, her trusty executive assistant, poked her head in. “Miss Hilliard, aren’t you meeting with All-Jams to oversee their TV spot?”
Confused by the question, Grace shook the cobwebs from her mind. She laid the magazine on her broad mahogany desk and then glanced at her expensive Movado timepiece. “Yes, but that’s not until next week. Is there something wrong with Allen Foray’s schedule?”
The short brunette who never wore makeup under any circumstances flashed the same confused look back at her boss. “No, there’s no problem with Mr. Foray. He showed up at the shoot an hour ago, right on schedule.” Marcia watched Grace’s mind warm up to the thought of missing out on a very important matter for her biggest account.
Grace panicked. “They’re not shooting the spot on the twenty-second?”
“I’m afraid not,” Marcia informed her reluctantly.
“They’re filming my million-dollar commercial today?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I have to get over there before something gets broken that I can’t fix.”
After the elevator doors opened in the underground parkinggarage, Grace found her car and climbed in. She called ahead to the studio, had the director paged, then issued an immediate order to stop filming. Much to her chagrin, the director was quick to complain how his time had already been wasted trying to convince the superstar basketball player that his Captain Dream Creams costume didn’t make him look like a Village People reject. Grace informed him that she would be there momentarily. Then she prayed all the way up the tollway that the professional basketball icon wouldn’t remind her of the waiter from yesterday’s outing at Ursula’s. There’d be no faking it if he did.
“Miss Hilliard! Miss Hilliard!” shouted an oversensitive foreign director wearing faded black jeans and a thirty-dollar department store T-shirt. “Miss Hilliard, this Allen Foray is impossible to work with. He tells me to go away for street credit. I can not shop for something I do not understand where to buy.” Patrik was ultraprofessional, Italian, and came highly recommended. The lofty recommendation also included severalreservations outlining his inability to work with amateurs.Rich amateurs were out of the question because they were not known to be readily accepting of his constructive criticisms.
“Patrik! Patrik! Slow down,” Grace demanded with a firm tone. “I told you I’d handle it, and I will. Take a deep breath, have a latté, and then get your crew ready. I’ll be out in a jiff with the hundred-million-dollar man.” She leaned in closer to the director, who was still fuming. “I know where to whip up some street credit and how to serve it up too.” She left Patrik standing in the middle of the hall pulling his hair out.
“I’m out!” the six-foot eight-inch athlete barked from the comforts of a plush mole-hair love seat. His publicist was in full agreement when Grace walked into his private dressing room unannounced. She’d seen photos of Allen Foray in magazines. She’d watched him score fifty points against the Lakers, too. But, the reason she’d selected him for the All-Jamsco-op with Dream Creams’ national marketing campaignhad everything to do with her son André believing that Allen was the end-all, be-all in basketball.
“Excuse me,” the young female yuppie type shrieked as she marched in Grace’s direction. “This is a private room, and Allen Foray doesn’t want to be disturbed.” The publicist, attired in a flattering Aztec print Missoni belted dress, couldn’t have been out of college more than two weeks. Grace considered complimenting
her taste but didn’t have the time to waste gratifying words on her.
Grace stopped the willowy blonde in midstride. “Miss, you might want to get somewhere, sit down, and be still!” Now that Grace had captured the star’s attention, she lit in and didn’t let up until she had mastered the situation, demanded his respect and exacted a change of heart. “Allen Foray, my name is Grace Hilliard. That may not mean anythingto you yet, but suggesting that you’re going to walk out on my production is unacceptable.” When Allen stood up, he towered over Grace but underestimated her range. “Oh, you think by stretching your legs, I’m supposed to let you breach a contract after you’ve cashed my check. Oh yes, I’ve confirmedit. My money belongs to you, and for the remainder of this campaign your time belongs to me.” The publicist was stunned but smart enough to do as she was told while taking it all in.
“Who is she supposed to be?” the arrogant athlete asked, expecting his publicist to jump in and save him.
“Grace Hilliard,” the publicist reminded him, so that he wouldn’t forget again.
“Grace. Look. I’ve done all kinds of commercials, from cars to cattle, but I’m not putting on that Captain Cream Puff costume. I’ve got a rep, and I’m not strapping on some tricked-out Batman tights.”
“You’ll do exactly as I say,” Grace argued, “because you’re a man of your word, my son’s hardwood hero, and I know you don’t want to be sued by the number-one snack company in the southwest. Otherwise, you will be required to return the half-million-dollar advance. You will also be dragged through the courts and branded as a thief.”
“Thief?” Allen questioned in disbelief.
“That’s right, Mr. Foray, so you can close your mouth. Let me tell you something serious. If you disappoint me, I’ll have no other course of action but to forbid my son from idolizing the egotistical, money-grubbing, simpleminded jerk that he’s convinced you’re not.”
Down On My Knees Page 3