Let's Get It On (4 page)

Three weeks after the Super Bowl and one wedding-date change later, Lauryn and Maurice were in full wedding mode. The church had been booked. They'd been on every local morning show from radio to TV, and
SportsCenter
had even done a profile of the couple.

Maurice was ready for it all to be over. He'd booked a tropical getaway for him and Lauryn, and she'd promised no interviews on their honeymoon. It was going to be about the two of them starting their life together.

“It's not too late to back out of this,” Maryann said as she and Maurice ate lunch at her favorite restaurant in Charlotte, McCormick & Schmick's, a swanky seafood place nestled among the skyscrapers and bank buildings in uptown.

“Ma, when are you going to accept Lauryn? We're getting married.”

“And I don't trust her. You men are so blind. You let a pretty face and a nice body take away all of your common sense. Your father, God rest his soul, was the same way. He let pretty women turn his head, and what did it get him?”

“I'm nothing like Daddy,” Maurice spat bitterly.

Maryann raised an eyebrow. “Oh no?”

Maurice silently chewed his fish as he thought about the hell his father had put his mother through during their marriage. He remembered one incident in particular.

 

 

“Richard, I'm not doing this anymore. You can go out with your whores and flaunt your affairs, but you will not come into my house at five in the morning, making a mockery of our marriage,” Maryann had shouted one night long ago, waking James and Maurice.

“I pay the bills in this damned house. I'll come and go as I please,” his father had snapped.

Maurice had crept from his bed and had inched toward the stairwell so that he could make sure things didn't get out of hand. Sure he only ten years old, but he was protective of his mother. When he saw his father raise his hand as if he was going to slap his mother, Maurice had sped down the stairs and had jumped between them.

“If you touch my mother, I'm going to kill you,” he had exclaimed.

Richard and Maryann had taken a step back, with shock and frowns etched on their faces. The next morning, Richard was gone, and two weeks later a jealous husband had shot and killed him.

Maurice had sworn then that he would never make a woman cry the way Richard had made Maryann cry. Maybe that was why Kenya had stayed on his mind after all of these years. He'd broken his solemn vow.

“Maurice,” Maryann said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “I don't trust her, and I don't think you're going to be happy.”

“And I love you, but it's my life.”

Maryann rose to her feet. “I know that, but I'm not going to stand by and watch you make the biggest mistake of your life.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm not coming to your wedding, and I'm not welcoming that tramp into my family. I'm going back to Atlanta.” Turning on her heels, Maryann stormed out of the restaurant.

 

 

Mya ran her finger down the curve of Lauryn's arm. “And you're still getting married tomorrow?”

Lauryn pushed her hand away and groaned. “Don't start this again.”

“Start what? You know how I feel, and you know what I think of this wedding. Look me in the eye and say you don't love me, and I'll back off.”

“You know I can't choose you.” Lauryn couldn't look at her.

“Why do you keep coming here then? You ruined my relationship with Homer by putting that little bug in Mo's ear.”

“You didn't care one thing about Homer.”

“You won't let me care about anyone else. Every time I try, you find some way to sabotage it.”

“That is not true,” Lauryn exclaimed indignantly.

“Really? Then what would you call what you do when you see me spending time with someone else?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Anytime you see me with someone else, I become the top priority in your life. Why won't you admit that you want your cake and ice cream, too?”

“I want to be with you, and even if I'm married to Maurice, I can still be with you. Nothing has to change.” She reached up and stroked Mya's cheek.

“What happens when you have kids? Will things still be the same then? Right now, Lauryn, you have to choose me or him.”

Lauryn rose to her feet. “I do love you, and if things were different, then I would choose you, but I can't.”

Mya rolled over on her stomach and buried her face in a pillow, silently sobbing. Lauryn leaned in to comfort her. “Don't cry,” she whispered in her ear.

“I deserve so much better than this,” Mya said. “If you walk out that door, don't come back.”

“Mya, please,” Lauryn pleaded. “Don't do this to me the night before my wedding!”

Mya leapt from the bed. “We've had this argument before, and I'm sick and tired of it. Just go and live your little NFL wife life, and be miserable. When you show up at my door after your honeymoon, don't expect me to open it.”

Lauryn pulled Mya into her arms, but Mya pushed her away.

“No,” Mya said. “Not again. You're poison to me, Lauryn. I don't know why I thought I could change your mind and make you see that I was the one for you. You're nothing but a gold-digging witch. You're going to break his heart, too. He's just too stupid to see that.”

“You did this to me! You made me want you because you thought making the straight girl queer was a game.”

“I love you. I've loved you from the day I kissed you. And I didn't make you do anything that you didn't want to do.”

Lauryn closed the space between them and pulled Mya into her arms, kissing her until she felt her knees quake. “God, help me. I love you, too,” Lauryn whispered into Mya's ear as they fell back into bed.

 

 

Kenya leaned back in her desk chair. It was nearly midnight, and she wasn't any closer to leaving work than she had been at five p.m. The case she'd been working on was going to be the feather in her cap when the yearly reviews came up.

She wanted to make managing associate this year. She'd be the youngest lawyer in the firm's history to do so. Besides, this case had come at the best time. Now she didn't have to see the details of Maurice's wedding on all of the entertainment shows and ESPN. Even the local news had run a story on “Atlanta's former high-school standout and Super Bowl champion.”

She had to wonder when Maurice had become such a glory hound. Then again, this had Lauryn's dirty fingerprints all over it. Even when they were in college, Lauryn had had a flair for the dramatic.

Why am I even thinking about this?
Kenya thought as she cross-referenced a precedent case with her brief. She stood and walked over to the window overlooking the streets of midtown. Everything was quiet, and only a few cars darted down the street. Kenya pressed her hand against the window. Why had she let heartbreak turn her into this? Outside of her job and her family, she didn't have a life. She couldn't spell fun anymore. And love? What was that? So what if she did become the youngest managing associate, which was one step below partner? She would still be alone and lonely.

“I can't keep blaming Maurice for this,” she said, thinking aloud. “He probably doesn't even think about me. So why have I wasted nine years thinking about him?”

Walking back to the computer, Kenya decided she'd done enough work, and she was going home.

As she headed down to the parking garage, she decided that she needed to recharge her batteries. Maybe it was time to put the superwoman act on the shelf and do something she hadn't done since she was a freshman in college—take a vacation. She deserved it. How much work was she supposed to squeeze into 365 days, anyway?

 

 

The next morning, Kenya awoke with a start, thinking that she was late for court. However, it was only a few minutes after five. Still, she rose from the bed, showered, and fixed herself a pot of Irish creme coffee and a bowl of sugar-free oatmeal.

God, my life is so boring,
she thought as she ate her bland hot cereal. She tried to remember the last adventurous thing that she'd done, and she couldn't. She made a mental note to call her mother after court to get the name of her travel agent. Though Georgia winters weren't brutal, Kenya wanted to go somewhere tropical, where her only decision would be whether to wear a one-piece or two-piece bathing suit.

If the thought of a vacation had cheered Kenya up on the drive to work, the decision from the mediator in her land-dispute case put her on cloud nine. The ruling favored her client and gave G&C Industries the right to build housing for low-income families on over one hundred acres of land in Cobb County that had been unused for nearly thirty years. The real estate had originally been zoned for retail use, but the city had changed this to residential use fifteen years ago.

Some adjacent businesses wanted to block the G&C project because they wanted more upscale housing in the area. However, the developer wanted to make sure that people like his grandparents would have someplace to live in the county they'd grown up in.

After months of going back and forth, Kenya had finally won. When she walked in the office, she realized word of her victory had already reached the right people, mainly her manager, Janice Howell.

“Kenya, may I see you in my office?” Janice said, with a smile on her face.

Kenya walked into the corner office that overlooked the capitol building. The huge windows let in the gold reflection of the capitol's dome, bathing the room in a golden glow. Everything looked as if King Midas had touched it. This was the kind of office that Kenya had been working to have. But once she got the office, what would she do then? What professional goal would she set for herself to mask her loneliness?

When Kenya took a seat across from Janice's desk, she had no idea that her life was about to make a 360-degree turn.

“First of all, congratulations on today,” said Janice. “I didn't have one doubt about you winning.”

“Thank you,” Kenya said.

“Your hard work hasn't gone unnoticed here. All of the long nights and your winning percentage are off the charts. That's why we want you to head up our new office.”

Yes!
Kenya thought excitedly.
This is it.

“This firm is really trying to put it's footprint on the southeast,” Janice said. “We've done that in Atlanta, and we're hoping to do the same in Charlotte. I would love for you to head up our effort.”

“Where?” asked Kenya. Her happiness had deflated like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon hooked on a light pole. “You want me to relocate to Charlotte?”

“Yes. You've shown that you're the best person for the job. Your record speaks for itself. There's no way we'd lose with you heading up our North Carolina team.”

“Well, uh, I need some time to think about it. My life has been in Atlanta for a long time,” Kenya said, stumbling over her words when what she really wanted to say was, “There is no way I'm going to Charlotte and running the risk of running into Mr. and Mrs. Goings.”

“I'd like to say take all the time you need, but we want to pull the trigger on this in the next three months,” said Janice. “I need an answer sooner rather than later.”

“Uh, okay. I can't turn this down,” Kenya said. “But if it's all right with you, I'd like to take some time off.”

“You've earned it.”

Kenya rose to her feet. “Thank you, Janice.”

Yes, Kenya needed a vacation, and she certainly planned to enjoy this one. She rushed back to her desk and called her mother to get that travel agent's telephone number.

Lauryn nervously applied lip liner as time ticked away. It was her wedding day, and she wasn't even sure if she could go through with it. Mya's words echoed in her head. Mya's kiss burned on her lips.

“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 supposed 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.