Flaw Less (5 page)

—
Lawson Kerry Banks

 

 

Lawson's husband, Garrett, crept up behind his diminutive bride and snaked his arms around her waist. “Do you know what you were doing six months ago today, li'l mama?”

“Hmm, let me see . . .” teased Lawson. She dropped a few dishes in the kitchen sink. “Was it the laundry?”

He smirked. “Oh, it's like that, huh?”

“Wait a minute.” She pulled Garrett into an embrace. “I think I vaguely remember saying ‘I do' to the sexiest, sweetest, kindest, most romantic man on the planet. Does that sound about right?”

He leaned down to kiss her. “So how do you like being Mrs. Garrett Banks so far?”

“It's the best decision I've ever made.”

“Yeah, well, you made me work hard enough for it, that's for sure!”

“I had to make sure you were worthy, honey,” she replied, playfully taunting him. “You know not just anybody can get this.”

“Is that right?” Garrett's mood morphed from frisky to amorous. “What you know about me gettin' some of
that
right now?” he kissed her again.

She giggled. “I may know a little something about that. . . .”

He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “What do you know about going into our bedroom to re-create our wedding night?” Before she could answer, the phone rang. “Don't answer it. If it's important, they'll call back.”

Lawson glanced down at her cell phone on the counter. “Baby, it's Mark. I have to answer it.” She pulled away from her husband and picked up the phone. “Hi, Mark, what's up?”

Mark's husky voice came piercing through the phone. “Don't panic but—”

Lawson gasped and held her chest. “Oh my God, what happened to Namon?”

“I just told you not to panic,” Mark reiterated.

“Mark, what happened to my son?” broke in Lawson. Garrett edged closer, seeing her concern.

“Calm down, he's fine, Lawson,” Mark assured her. “Namon had sort of a little accident on my motorcycle.”

“
Motorcycle?
Mark, are you crazy? I told you I didn't want him anywhere near that thing! He's a child!”

“Namon is fifteen. He's not a child anymore, he's a young man.”

“Ugh!” roared Lawson. “I can't believe that you could be so irresponsible with him. Just tell me what happened.”

“All he did was mount the bike. It was a little heavier than he anticipated, and the bike fell over on him. He skinned up his leg pretty bad.”

Lawson sighed. “I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“For what? I just told you he's okay.”

“I want to see it for myself.”

“How about I put him on the phone?” proposed Mark.

“How about I just come over there and bring my son home where he's safe?” she shot back.

“Namon is perfectly safe here with me, and he doesn't want to leave. He didn't even want me to tell you about it because he knew you'd react this way.”

“So the two of you have been conspiring against me, is that it?” questioned Lawson, becoming more irate by the second. “I'm coming over, Mark, and you can't stop me.”

Mark was firm with her. “He's not leaving with you, Lawson. It's my weekend with Namon.”

“Whatever! I'll be there in five minutes.” Lawson hung up the phone and began searching for her car keys.

“What's going on?” asked Garrett, alarmed.

“Mark let Namon play around with that darn motorcycle of his, and now Namon's hurt. I'm going over there to check on him.”

“How bad is it?”

Lawson reached for her purse hanging on the back of one of the high-bar chairs. “Mark says that he only scraped his leg, but I want to see for myself.”

“Baby, if Mark says Namon is okay, I believe him. There's no need for you go charging over there, especially not on our anniversary.”

Lawson was irked. “Namon is my son, Garrett. If he's hurt, I'm going to be there for him.”

Garrett pulled his wife closer to him. “He's not in grave danger. He's a boy, and boys fall down and get hurt. He doesn't need his mother running over there and making a big fuss over him. Let him be a man.”

“Is that how we're defining manhood now?” she snapped.

“I'm just saying there's no need for you to go over there making a big deal out of it.”

“Garrett, you already know that I'm still not all that comfortable with the idea of Namon spending so much time over there, especially when it's obvious that Mark is letting him run amok and do whatever he wants to.”

“Baby, it's supposed to be our night,” Garrett reminded her. “Let Mark handle Namon, and let
me
handle
you
.”

Lawson shook her head. “Do you honestly think I'm going to be able to focus on anything if I'm worried about my child? I'll be back before you know it. I just want to see how serious it is and if Namon needs to be taken to the hospital.”

Garrett groaned. “All right, Mrs. Banks, we'll go. Just let me grab my jacket.”

“No, you stay here,” advised Lawson. “And I want you waiting for me in bed when I get back, preferably with some soft music and a bowl of whipped cream,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.

“Baby, Namon is my son too. Plus I don't like you driving alone at night, even less so when you're this upset.”

Lawson slung her purse over her shoulder. “Mark only lives a few miles from here. I'll be fine, and I promise to call you as soon as I assess the situation with Namon. I'm praying that we won't end up having to spend the night in ER.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to tag along?” Garrett offered again.

“Yeah, I think if we both show up, guns blazing, Mark will be on the defensive and think we're ganging up on him again. Things have been peaceful between us lately, and I don't want to rock the boat unless I have to.”

Garrett yielded to his wife. “Okay, just don't keep me waiting or make me start without you.”

Lawson laughed and perched herself up on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for being so understanding. I'm just going to run over there for a minute to check on Namon, then I'm going to come back home and show you why you're so lucky to have me!”

Garrett watched his wife duck out of the house. He knew Lawson's primary concern was seeing about her son, but it still irked him that she was also leaving him to see her ex-lover Mark. At that moment, he wondered just how
lucky
he really was.

—
Reginell Kerry

 

 

Reginell lingered in the bathtub for over an hour. No matter how hard she scrubbed, she could still feel hands all over her. She wasn't one to be prudish when it came to sex, but sleeping with a man she'd just met in exchange for a favor was a new low even for her. She didn't bother praying, fearing that she had gone beyond the perimeters of God's mercy and grace.

Reginell splashed water on her face to wash away the tears and drew her knees up to her body. Dinner with her family had given her a temporary reprieve from the ordeal she'd experienced at the strip club where she worked, but now that everyone had gone home, the images came flooding back.

Lawson's favorite scripture to hammer her with was, “Don't give to dogs what is sacred. Don't throw your pearls to pigs.” If by
pigs
, Lawson meant the patrons at the club, Reginell had neither pearls nor anything else sacred left to throw—not after what she'd done.

The twenty-four hours prior initially held such excitement and promise. Reginell's manager and club owner, Ray Stokes, had scored her a singing audition with the up-and-coming R&B group, Intermission, who had performed in Savannah earlier that night and were coming through Paramours to unwind. Ray had promised Reginell that this was the big break she'd been waiting for; the years she'd spent hoping to get “discovered” had finally paid off. By the end of the night, Lawson, Sullivan, and everyone who'd doubted her would have to eat their words once she stepped out with a record deal and a shot at the kind of future she'd only imagined.

Upon Intermission's arrival, Ray escorted Reginell to the VIP section of the club. “Here she is, fellas, Miss Reginell Kerry,” announced Ray as he introduced Reginell to the members of the group. “Everybody around here knows her as Juicy.”

“I see why,” replied a dreadlocked member of the band. “What's up, sexy? I'm Hurricane.”

“I can't believe it's really you! I'm a huge fan of your music!” gushed Reginell, shaking his hand profusely.

Intermission's lead vocalist approached her next. “Glad to hear it. My name is—”

“You don't have to tell me,” butt in Reginell. “You're Tron, right?”

He smiled, pleased to be recognized. “Yeah, I'm Tron. Ray here tells me that you're a singer.”

“More like a hummer,” cracked one of the bandmates. The others snickered.

“Man, shut up. I'm trying to conduct some business here,” said Tron and put his attention back on Reginell. “So you sing, ma?”

Reginell's face lit up. “Yeah, I can sing something for you right now if you want.”

Tron traced her lips with his finger. “Yeah, I bet you can do all sorts of things with that pretty mouth of yours.” The group members laughed again.

“Ray said that you're looking for singers for your new record label,” stated Reginell, ignoring the inside joke between the guys.

Tron nodded. “I'm looking for talent. You think you've got what it takes?”

“I know I do,” guaranteed Reginell. “Just give me a chance to prove it.”

“Oh, you'll get your chance,” promised Tron. “First, why don't you show me some of those dance moves you were doing on stage up there.”

“I thought you wanted to hear me sing,” said Reginell, a little deflated. “Ray said that you wanted me to audition.”

Tron licked his lips. “So, you wanna audition for me, huh?”

Her smile weakened. “Yes, I thought that was the whole point.”

“My office is available if you need her to
audition
in private,” offered Ray, obviously in on whatever they were plotting.

Tron nodded. “It looks like I may have to take you up on that, Ray.”

“Aye, if you audition for Tron, you've got to audition for me too,” spoke up another member of the group.

“Look, we're talking about singing, right?” Reginell asked cautiously. “I'm not down for anything else.”

Tron groped her. “We're talking about you doing whatever it takes to impress me. And after you show me how good you are, you've gotta show my brothers too. They get final input on any new artists signed to the label.”

“Why can't I just perform for you?” she bargained.

“We're a family around here. What's good for one is good for all,” hedged Tron. “Now, why don't you show me where Ray's office is?”

Reginell knew that this so-called audition would include a romp on Ray's couch, which was a common practice for men willing to shell out extra money for the service. Reginell hadn't stooped to having sex with any of the club's patrons but didn't know how she could avoid doing so now. She turned to Ray. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

Ray exhaled sharply and moved off a little distance with her. “What's up?”

“Ray, this feels like a setup,” she whispered. “I don't want to go in there with him.”

Ray shrugged. “Okay, cool.” She heaved a sigh of relief. “Consider this your last day. I'm terminating our agreement. You're fired.”

“What?”

“Reggie, I don't have time to play these games with you. I did my part. I got you the audition; I arranged for Tron to come here to see you, and what do you do? You refuse to even go in there and sing for the man.”

“Ray, my
voice
is the last thing on his mind, and you know it!” refuted Reginell.

“We've already had this discussion, Reggie. It's no big deal. It's just sex.”

“Sex
is
a big deal! I don't even know those guys. You know, just because I work here doesn't automatically make me a ho.”

Ray eyed her as if to say it did. “I thought most chicks would kill to kick it with a celebrity.”

“This is a little more than just ‘kickin' it.'”

“I told you when we first met that my reputation is on the line. When you flake out like this, it makes me look bad. Why would I put up with that when it's easier just to replace you with some other girl?”

“Ray, I'm not trying to make you look bad—”

“Then don't!” he barked. “Just go back there and walk out with your record deal.”

“But—”

“Look, Reggie, either you're in or out.” He pointed at Tron, who was flirting with another dancer. “You see that? He's already moving on. That's how it works in this business. If you don't take advantage of your opportunities, somebody else will.”

Reginell knew that she was losing time and possibly Tron's interest. Her soul couldn't afford to go along with the plan, but her career couldn't afford to let this chance slip away. “All right, I'll do it this once,” she stipulated. “I need a drink first.”

Ray smiled. “That's my girl. Don't worry, this will just be a footnote on your way to the top. Tron knows a lot of big names. Signing with him can take you places.”

Reginell wondered if hell was one of those places.

Tron walked over to Reginell and Ray. “What's up? Are we gonna do this or what?”

“Yeah, you know how it is,” said Ray, summoning a bartender. “She just wanted to make sure it was all right with Daddy.” Ray pulled out a set of keys and handed them to Tron. “You can go on back to the office while I get her situated.”

Tron smacked Reginell on the rear. “Don't keep me waiting.”

The bartender brought a whiskey sour to Ray, who handed it to Reginell. “Just show the man a good time,” he urged as Reginell woofed it down. “Everybody can walk away from this thing getting exactly what they want.”

Reginell thought of what was waiting for her inside of Ray's office. She knew how used and empty she would feel coming out of that room. “Can I have another drink? And some kush too, just to take the edge off.”

That night wasn't the first that Reginell depended on the mind-numbing effects of drugs and alcohol to get through her shift at work. Together, they had the phenomenal ability to make her forget that she was in the moment; they made her feel nothing. Feeling nothing was a whole lot better than feeling dirty and used like a whore. Feeling nothing enabled her to withstand Tron, and later his bandmates, desecrating her body with their sweat, their hands, and their bodily fluids, soiling her temple and her spirit. She felt nothing and, to them, she was nothing.

When Reginell returned home early the next morning, she headed straight for the shower. One hundred, fifty, and twenty dollar bills littered the floor. Inside the stall, Reginell sat crying as the water streamed down on her. By now, the high had worn off, leaving her to face the reality of what she'd done in harsh sobriety. She was a whore—worse than that, if possible. She was trash, unworthy of love, of respect, and of anything sacred. She couldn't show her face to God or to the people she loved most. What would they say if they knew what she'd done? She had pawned everything that was special about her in exchange for a record deal that Ray had called to say was now off the table due to “creative differences.”

She accepted that she was the slut everyone thought she was. She had done too much to turn back but didn't have the first clue about how to move forward.