by Shana Burton
“No, I never had a reason to go into a bridal store . . . until now.”
Lawson was oblivious to Mark staring at her. “These dresses are all so beautiful!” she exclaimed, admiring the intricate beadwork on one of the wedding gowns. She pressed a form-fitting strapless gown against her torso. “You think an up-do will be okay for this gown?”
Mark frowned. “Do I look like an extra from Queer Eye? How should I know?”
“What happened to being secure in your manhood?” She rolled her eyes and placed the gown back on the rack. “Considering that you’re the one who insisted on coming, the least you could do is offer a valid opinion.”
“I don’t see the point of buying a dress if you don’t have a wedding date.”
“That is not the opinion I wanted, and we’re setting the date very soon. He wants to get married in January, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed for next fall.”
“What makes you think I won’t have swept you off your feet by then?” asked Mark good-naturedly. “You might decide you want that ol’ thing back!”
“Very funny.” Lawson held up a beaded gown. “Oh, this one is gorgeous!”
“Are you sure you should be wearing white?”
“I have just as much right to wear it as your baby’s mama does.” She draped the dress over her arm.
“If you’re likening yourself to Tasha, you ought to be wearing red.”
Lawson laughed. “I still can’t believe that I’m out here picking out wedding dresses with the guy who took my virginity.”
He sidled up next to her. “I don’t recall having to take anything, it was given to me. You were a very willing participant, remember?”
Lawson sighed. “Ah, to be young and full of hormones and questionable judgment.” She opened the dressing room door. “I want to try this dress on, and you are not to go anywhere, understand?” issued Lawson and shut the door behind her.
“The least you could do is let me in,” he teased.
“You saw all you were going to see fourteen years ago.”
“You sure you don’t need any hooks fastened or zippers zipped?”
“Positive.”
Minutes later, the door creaked opened, and Lawson emerged in a strapless gown with a fitted bodice and a full skirt. “How does it look?” Mark’s mouth dropped, and she panicked. “What? What’s wrong with it? It’s too much, isn’t it? You’re thinking I don’t have the height to pull this look off, aren’t you?”
Mark blinked a couple of times. “Well, I’m thinking about pulling it off,” he murmured. “You look great, like . . . wow.”
She faced the full-length mirror and beamed. “You think Garrett’ll like it?”
“If he has eyes, he will. That’s the one,” he asserted, gazing at her as if he were seeing Lawson for the first time
Lawson squinted her eyes and swayed in the mirror. The thick folds of her dress rustled whenever she moved. “You think so?”
An attendant approached them and spread the train of the dress onto the floor. “You’re stunning in that,” she enthused. “Here, try this.” She pinned a tiara with a veil attached to it onto Lawson’s head. “It’s perfect!”
Mark’s eyes were glued to Lawson. “You’re breathtaking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any woman look more beautiful than you do right now.”
“It looks like somebody couldn’t wait until the wedding day,” noted the attendant to Mark. “She’s going to make you a beautiful bride.” Mark grinned but didn’t correct her. The attendant smiled and moved to assist someone else.
Lawson whirled around and placed her hands on her hips. “Mark, why did you let that woman think I was marrying you?”
“You didn’t set her straight either.”
Lawson gazed at her profile. “The dress is lovely, isn’t it? But I probably shouldn’t get my hopes up. Garrett may never speak to me again once he sees the pricetag. He’s too practical to spend this kind of money on anything, especially a dress that I’m just going to wear for a couple of hours. This indulgence is going to take a huge chunk out of our wedding budget.”
“Then tell him you got it on sale. I doubt that he’ll call up here to verify it.”
She thought for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.” She looked at her reflection again. “I don’t like lying to him, but I do want this dress.”
“You should get it. It’s you all the way.”
“I better take it off before they have to pry me out of it.” Lawson glanced back at Mark, who was still staring at her. “What?”
“Nothing . . . I just can’t believe it’s you, that’s all.”
“If this dress can have that kind of effect on a man, I better get over to that cash register quick!” She hiked up the dress to step down.
“Wait!” Mark stepped out in front of her and lifted the veil from her face. “I just wanted to see you one more time. Your fiancé is a lucky man.”
“Rest assured, I remind him of that all the time,” Lawson added smugly.
Mark thought for a second. “I bet you haven’t even been practicing, have you?”
She frowned. “Practicing for what?”
“What do you mean, practicing for what?” Mark pretended to be shocked and reached for her hand. “Didn’t you know that the bride’s first lover is supposed to be the one who rehearses the first wedding dance with her?” He swept her into his arms.
“Isn’t the bride’s first lover supposed to be the actual groom?”
“In theory. Then again, the bride’s first lover and groom may end up being one in the same.” He pulled her closer. “I bet there’s something else you didn’t know.”
“And what’s that?” she asked, giggling as he goaded her into dancing with him.
“I bet you didn’t know that this platform right here doubles as a time machine.”
“Is that right?” They swayed along with the music that could only be heard by the two of them.
“Yep. You see, it may look like we’re dancing in the middle of a bridal shop, but we’ve actually leapt back into the nineties—specifically, graduation night at Manny’s basement party.” Lawson laughed out loud as he began singing in her ear. “So you’re having my baby, and it means so much to me . . .”
“You’re silly,” said Lawson, but pretended with him nevertheless.
“I must be. I don’t know what I was thinking all those years ago,” admitted Mark, holding the small of her back. “I can’t believe I didn’t see what a catch you were.”
“Mark, we were just kids. Even if we’d gotten together, I’m sure we would have screwed it up way before now. Things happen for a reason and work out the way they’re supposed to.”
Mark stopped dancing and lifted Lawson’s chin toward him. “If that’s the case, then why do I have such a strong urge to kiss another man’s fiancée?”
Her heart fluttered. She was not sure of what to make of her feelings or Mark’s words. “Urges aren’t the problem,” she said. “You get in trouble when you try to act on them.”
“Well, what would you do if I acted on it? On second thought,”—he leaned in to kiss her—“I’m sure you can show me better than you can tell me.”
Lawson shied away from him before his lips made contact with hers. “I think your time would be better spent trying to find us a good seat in the auditorium.”
“Are you sure?” gambled Mark, not quite ready to give up his pursuit.
She nodded. “We work together, Mark. I’m trying to keep it ethical. Even if I wasn’t, I would never do anything to hurt or betray Garrett. He’s been too good to my son and me.”
“Gratitude is no reason to stay committed to someone, especially when there’s a man standing in front of you who would do anything to have another shot with you.”
“My feelings for Garrett run much deeper than just gratitude.”
He seized her hand. “But are you one hundred percent sure you want to marry this guy?”
“Do you know how much mon
ey I’m about to drop on this dress? If I wasn’t serious before, I am now,” she answered, attempting to lighten the mood.
“So, you won’t even consider giving me another chance?”
She let go of his hand. “Mark, I’m going to marry Garrett.”
“Okay. You’re engaged, not married. Nothing is official yet.”
“I love him—that much is official.”
Mark nodded and heaved a sigh. “I take it that there’s no chance for us to turn back the hands of time, huh? I mean, we are in this time machine, after all.”
She shook her head. “I’m in love, Mark.”
They were both silent for a moment, thinking of what could have been, but focusing on what was. “Like I said before, Garrett is a lucky man.” He touched her cheek. “I guess I’ll have to look you up next lifetime.”
Lawson smiled. “It’s a date.”
Mark exhaled and looked around the room. “Well, imagine that . . . the time machine got us to and from the nineties in one piece. And by the looks of it”—he glanced down at his watch—“we didn’t lose any time while we were gone. There are still twenty minutes left in our lunch break.”
Lawson smiled. “Thanks for the dance lesson . . . and the quantum leap.”
Mark kissed her on the cheek. “Anytime.”
After Lawson took off the dress and paid for it, she and Mark left the store. She had her wedding gown tucked under her arm and her commitment to Garrett still intact.
Mark made a final plea on his behalf. “You know, there’s still one thing I can do for you that your fiancé can’t,” he hinted.
“And what’s that?”
“Find you a good seat near the front of the auditorium. Come on. Let’s go.”
Chapter 21
“My husband knows I’m no Girl Scout.”
—Sullivan Webb
Sullivan had just gulped down a Morning Sunrise when her cell phone vibrated, signaling that she had an incoming text message: I have the day off. I wanna see you. She read it and smiled. It was from Vaughn.
Charles entered just as she turned off the phone. “And how’s my lovely wife this morning?” He planted a kiss on her jaw. Sullivan’s smile drifted into a slight frown. Charles sat down across from her at the table. “Guess who I just got an e-mail from.”
“I don’t make guesses before noon,” replied Sullivan.
Charles poured himself a cup of coffee. “It was from John. It looks like I’m going to be a great-uncle again. My niece Michelle is pregnant. John’s very excited, but it made me kind of sad.”
She nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t imagine having a kid at Michelle’s age. She’s only twenty-four, and she and Daryl haven’t even been married a year. Now they have to be responsible for this whole other person. Nothing kills the honeymoon like a load of dirty diapers.”
“That’s not what I meant,” clarified Charles. “I’m happy for them, for the whole family. I’m kind of sad for me. I thought I’d be the one making grandchild announcements. Here I am at fifty, and I haven’t even announced my first child.”
Sullivan rolled her eyes. “You have a career. You don’t need kids.”
“Sullivan, no job or any amount of money could ever replace bringing a new life into the world, not even work in the ministry.”
“I think children are highly overrated. They’re needy, whiny, and expensive.”
“You make them sound like wives,” joked Charles then changed the subject. “It looked like you were on the phone when I walked in. Is everything all right?”
The thought of Vaughn reignited her smile. “Yes, everything is fine.”
“The car hasn’t been giving you any more trouble, has it?”
She shook her head.
“See, I told you Mike would take good care of you.”
Sullivan bit into her blueberry scone. “Actually, his associate Vaughn did all of the work. Mike was out of town.”
“Vaughn is the young guy, right, the one with his hair all braided up?” Sullivan nodded. Charles shook his head. “You know I don’t judge a book by its cover, but that young man looks like some common street thug if you ask me. I told Mike that having a guy like that around could be bad for business. Even the Bible says to avoid the appearance of evil. If I’d known Mike was away, I would’ve sent you somewhere else.”
“Vaughn isn’t a thug. He’s an artist.”
“I hope you don’t mean a con artist.”
“No, he paints.”
“What—graffiti?”
Sullivan rolled her eyes. “You’re so closed-minded, Charles. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about picking up a paintbrush again myself.”
He sipped his coffee. “I thought you gave that little hobby up years ago.”
“It’s not little, and it was more than just a hobby. I would probably be the toast of New York, hosting my own art shows if I hadn’t settled for married life with you.”
“It’s because the Lord has blessed us that you don’t have to live like some starving artist. We have more than enough money to commission any painter you want.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“Am I, darling?” He wiped his mouth. “I tell you what, why don’t you go out and buy you some paints and an easel, if that’s what makes you happy.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Can I convince you to come downtown for a breakfast meeting with me this morning? I’m linking up with some of the campaign workers, and I would love to have you sit in on it. I want your input as much as I want theirs.”
Meeting with Charles and his aides paled in comparison to a romantic rendezvous with Vaughn. “No, you go on ahead. I’m really anxious to get started with my painting.”
“All right, I’ll see you around dinner. I love you.”
“Yeah, love you too,” she echoed, but Sullivan’s mind was already on other things, namely when and where she would meet Vaughn.
“Welcome to my lair!” was the greeting Sullivan received when she reached Vaughn’s modest studio apartment after she’d called and agreed to meet him there.
She ducked underneath the doorway. “So, is this where all the magic happens?”
“This is it. Come on in.”
The small apartment had an open floor plan. It housed a tiny kitchenette, a crocheted afghan draped over a loveseat, a wooden table that leaned on a broken leg, and a hand-me-down bed that was missing a headboard. Sullivan walked in and was immediately struck by the intense and passionate paintings mounted on myriad canvases between the sparse furnishings. “Is this all your work?”
“Yep, every one.” He picked up a few clothes that were scattered on the floor.
“Vaughn, these are not just good; they’re breathtaking . . . brilliant, even.”
He tossed a shirt into the hamper. “I just do me, you know? I put the brush to the canvas and see what happens.”
Sullivan was captivated by a painting depicting an elderly man playing a bassoon. “This is amazing.”
Vaughn slipped his arms through the sleeves of a black hoodie. “So, you ready?”
“Ready for what? I thought we were hanging out here.”
“I wanna show you something first. I want to take you to my favorite place.”
Sullivan smiled at him. “You mean it’s not the bedroom?”
He laughed. “Well, my second favorite place.” Vaughn reached out for her hand. “Come on. We can walk. It’s just a couple of blocks from here.”
“Where are you taking me?” she asked him for the third time as they walked down the street hand in hand. She felt light and sexy, a feeling that she hadn’t gotten from Charles in years. Vaughn took pleasure in torturing her, not telling where they were going.
“We’re here,” he announced at long last. She looked up at the building’s marquee. “It’s a new and little known art gallery, mostly black artists.” He pulled open the glass doors. “Come on. Let me show you around.”
She slid her arm into his, an
d they began the tour of the gallery. Vaughn stopped in front of a whimsical painting of a man and a woman in what appeared to be the inner city. “You see this? This is one of William H. Johnson’s works. He’s an artist who emerged in New York after the Harlem Renaissance.” The piece was entitled Moon Over Harlem. “Look at his use of color in this one,” pointed out Vaughn, admiring another work by Johnson. “Notice all of the saturated reds and oranges and bold brush strokes. This technique is called sfumato. It works very well for this kind of painting. It’s beautiful.”
Sullivan was surprised and impressed by his observations. “I studied his painting called Midnight Sun,” she told him. “He created it in Norway. He had to climb around two thousand feet every day for about a month to capture the view from the top of a mountain. The result is just spectacular.”
This time, Vaughn was the one who was impressed. “How do you know that?”
“I’m not just another pretty face, Vaughn. There’s a brain in there too.”
He turned her head to look at her profile. “This is a face that was made to be photographed and painted. I would never call it something as common as pretty.”
“Thank you,” she replied, enchanted by everything about him. Her attention turned to another painting. “And look at this one. Doesn’t it remind you of some of O’Keefe’s work?”
“How do you know so much about art, Sullivan?”
“I took about a thousand art courses in undergrad. You know, art history, art appreciation, et cetera,” she answered off-handedly. Sullivan paused, transfixed by an Elizabeth Catlett painting. “Wow. I’ve never seen this one before.”
“Wait a minute!” said Vaughn, recovering from his shock. “First things first, you said something about taking art courses. Where? When?”
“I graduated with a degree in art from Howard. I was into everything art in college. It was my dream to be an artist, or at least a curator.”
“So, why didn’t you pursue art more?”
“I fell in love. Art didn’t seem so important after that.”
“And you really graduated from Howard University?”
