Let's Get It On (2 page)

“Listen up, people,” she yelled. “I know you've been discussing my personal life. I just have one thing to say. Get your own damned lives. I didn't cut anybody, I didn't cut myself, and I'm sick of the rumors. My boyfriend and I broke up. That's it.”

Kenya didn't give anyone time to respond before she ran out of the classroom. The main reason she'd decided to attend JCSU, because it was such a small school, was going to be the same reason she'd have to leave. She wasn't going to be the next Eboni.

Kenya remembered when Eboni Sanders, a popular cheerleader, passed out at a basketball game, and rumors swirled for a year about what had caused her to faint. She'd been rumored to be on drugs, she'd been rumored to be pregnant, and she'd been rumored to have HIV.

As it turned out, she was diabetic, and her blood sugar had been extremely high that day. But the rumors had dogged her until the day she dropped out of school. Kenya wasn't about to allow that to happen to her. Her last few months of college weren't going to be spent dodging rumors and Maurice.

While heading back to her dorm room, Kenya came face to face with Lauryn and her crew. The smirk on Lauryn's face spoke volumes. She looked as if she'd beaten Kenya. And in a sense, she had. But if Maurice was the prize, Kenya hoped it would rust.

“Hey, Kenya,” Lauryn said. “Listen, I'm so sorry about what happened yesterday. But that's life. Men leave women. Don't let it consume you, and please don't try to kill yourself.”

“Lauryn, go straight to hell, and take Maurice with you. You guys deserve each other,” Kenya replied, then shoved Lauryn as she blew past her. She didn't stick around to watch Lauryn tumble down the hill, but from the laughter that rose from the football players watching them, she knew it was a funny sight. But she didn't take any pleasure in her irrational act. She was acting the way everyone had rumored that she was.

What am I doing? I can't sink to her level,
she thought sadly.

When Kenya made it back to her dorm room, she sat down at her computer and logged on to Clark Atlanta University's Web site. She had to laugh as she perused the CAU site. Her mother, Angela, had urged her to go to her alma mater, but Kenya had wanted to attend the same college as her boyfriend.

Mother always knows best,
Kenya thought, remembering the conversation she'd had with Angela before applying to Johnson C. Smith.

 

 

“Kenya,” her mother had said as they looked over college catalogs, “you've always made good decisions, and I want you to choose the college you attend. But following Maurice isn't a good idea.”

“Ma, I don't want to go to a school that has an Angela Taylor Mass Communications scholarship. That's too much pressure to live up to.”

Angela had folded her arms across her breasts and had lifted her eyebrows. “No matter where you go, I'm not accepting anything less than a three point zero. I will not hesitate to snatch you out of school and let you work at Wal-Mart if you think you're going to Charlotte to play house with Maurice.”

Kenya had frowned and shaken her head. “Ma, I want to get an education. Maurice is going to be playing football, and I'm going to be laying the foundation for my future career as a public-relations executive. I love him, but I'm not a fool. Daddy, please talk to her.”

Henry Taylor, who had been reading the newspaper while his wife and daughter argued, had dropped the sports section and had looked at them. “Angela, let the girl make her own decision,” he'd said quietly. That was Henry's way, non-confrontational, until he was pushed. “I just know one thing. This better not be about chasing that knuckleheaded boy.

Kenya had folded her arms across her chest and had shaken her head. “Come on, Daddy. I'm not following Maurice.”

“Then explain to me why you want to go to Johns C. Smith,” Angela had said.

“Johnson C. Smith,” Kenya had corrected. “Well, Charlotte is a growing city, and Smith is a small college, which means less competition for internships and things of that nature. There are a lot of new public-relations companies moving to Charlotte. With all the banks in Charlotte, they are always looking for public-relations folks to tell their stories to the media.”

Angela had smiled at her daughter. “Well, I see that you've researched
Johnson
C. Smith and Charlotte. If that's where you want to go to school, then I'll support you.”

Kenya had hugged her mother and kissed her on the cheek. “I'm not totally clueless, Ma.”

Angela had patted her daughter's shoulder. “I know. Your father and I did a good job.”

 

 

As Kenya picked up the phone to call her mother, she prayed that Angela had enough clout to get her into CAU without much of a hassle. All she had to do was figure out a good reason for the desire to transfer in her senior year.

“This is Angela,” her mother said when she answered the phone.

“Ma, hi,” Kenya said.

“Hey, baby. Is everything all right?”

“I can't just call and say hello?”

“Not when you should be in class, and not when I'm at work.”

“You're the editor, Ma. You don't get busy until later.”

Angela sighed into the phone. “And I know when my daughter has something she wants to ask but is afraid to do so.”

“Uh, well, I kinda got into a little trouble.”

“Hold on,” Angela said.

Kenya heard her mother close the door to her office. She knew this wasn't going to be pretty.

“Kenya Denise Taylor, are you pregnant?”

“No. Ju-just suspended,” Kenya said, formulating the lie in her head.

“What! What happened?”

“Uh, I-I got into a fight.”

“Kenya, what in the hell is wrong with you? You're a senior about to graduate. Do I need to come up there and talk to the chancellor? I can't believe you did something so stupid as to get into a fight. Tell me that it didn't have anything to do with Maurice.”

“Ma, I'm sorry. Okay, I'm not going to lie to you. Maurice and I broke up, and this campus is too small for me to see his face every day, and it was really nasty, and I just want to get away.”

For the first time since she'd caught Maurice and Lauryn, Kenya sobbed uncontrollably. She told her mother the entire story about catching Maurice having sex with Lauryn and the rumors.

“You can't run from them, baby,” Angela said.

“Ma, you wanted me to go to Clark Atlanta, and now I want to go there. I don't see the problem.”

“The problem is, I don't want you to think that you can cut and run when you face some adversity. I know he was your first love, but you will get over it.”

“Easy for you to say. You married your first love. Ma, please, I can't stay here and be subjected to seeing him with her and hearing all of the rumors. Please, I'll do anything.”

“Let me talk to your father, and we'll get back to you tomorrow. Go to class, and ignore all of the talk.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Kenya said, all the while thinking,
Easier said than done.

 

 

Maurice rushed to the infirmary when he heard that Lauryn was there. He hoped that the reason behind her being there was another rumor. There was no way Kenya would have pushed her down a hill. That wasn't in her nature. Then again, Kenya was mad as hell, and there was no telling what she was capable of.

God, I hope Lauryn isn't hurt and Kenya doesn't get into trouble for this,
he thought as he opened the door to the infirmary. Maurice found Lauryn sitting on a bench, with a sling on her arm.

“Mo, Kenya tried to kill me,” Lauryn said.

“What happened?” he asked as he sat down beside her.

“That fat sow pushed me down the hill beside the student union.”

Maurice pulled her into his arms. “I'll talk to her.” “No, don't. Just ignore her. I'm going to press charges with campus police.”

“Don't do that. Kenya is upset about us, and you really can't blame her.”

Lauryn pushed away from him. “Hello! I'm your woman now, and my arm was nearly broken.”

“You want her to get kicked out of school? Come on, Lauryn. Your arm isn't broken. Just let it go.”

“Okay, who do you want? Me or her fat ass?”

“I'm with you, but you don't have to bad-mouth Kenya.”

Lauryn pushed her hair back with her unbandaged hand. “Fine, but you'd better keep her away from me.”

“Forget about Kenya. Come on. Let me pamper you until I have to go to practice,” he said as he scooped her up into his arms.

Maurice couldn't help but wonder if he'd made a mistake letting Kenya go.

 

 

Two weeks later, Kenya got the okay from her parents to come home to Atlanta. Though she'd have to start over at Clark Atlanta as a junior, it was well worth it. Watching the romance of Maurice and Lauryn was sickening. And to add insult to injury, Lauryn now had the entire campus believing Kenya was out to get her. She was happy to go home.

The day she packed her things, Maurice showed up at her dorm room. “Kenya?”

“What do you want?” she said, not looking up at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Minding my business.”

“Are you leaving school?”

She slammed her clothes into her suitcase, then looked up at him. “Maurice, get away from me. You gave up the right to know what I'm doing when you put that girl on top of you.”

“You fought so hard to come to school here, and I don't want you to leave because of me,” he said. Maurice timidly stepped inside the room.

“Aren't you just full of yourself,” she snapped. “Who cares what you think?”

“I still care about you, Kenya. Are you going back to Atlanta?” What he wanted to do was reach out to her, but the fiery anger in her eyes pushed that thought out of his head.

“Get out. Don't worry about where I'm going. Just know I won't be around you and your little tramp anymore. You win, Maurice. You and Lauryn drove me away. You broke my heart beyond repair, and I'll never forgive you for that. I hate you as much as I loved you. Now, get out of my way before I do something that I will regret. Enjoy, but regret.”

“Kenya—”

“Out!” she said. She knew that she was using anger to mask her pain, and though she wanted to hate him, she couldn't and didn't.

“So, this is how it's going to be? We're not even going to try and be friends?”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “Friends? Let me put it like this, if you were on fire, I wouldn't spit on you unless I had gasoline in my mouth. You snuck around behind my back to be with her. Would a
friend
do that? Would a
friend
lie to my face over and over again? Hell no, we're not friends, and we never will be again. Now get out of my face.”

A wave of sadness washed across his face. “I still have love for you, Kenya, and if you ever need anything . . .”

She picked up a broken shoe and threw it in his direction. Quickly, Maurice ducked out of the way.

“I need you to get out of my room and out of my life!”

Maurice walked away from the door, and Kenya thought that would be the last time she ever saw him.

 

“And the Carolina Panthers are headed to the NFC championship for the third time in three years,” the television announcer exclaimed happily. “We're standing here with first-year Panther Maurice Goings. What an unbelievable game!”

“I was just catching what Jake threw my way. This was a big game, and we all had to step up and make plays if we wanted to win,” Maurice said, with a smile. “Lauryn, baby, this is for you. I love you. Marry me.”

“Whoa! Championship run and an engagement,” said the announcer. “Lauryn, you're a lucky lady. Thanks, Mo.”

Maurice ran into the tunnel. After making sure there were no cameras or reporters around, he dropped his head. Hopefully, she was happy now. Maurice had been a standout wide receiver in the NFL long enough to know that he'd just opened the door for his private life to be put underneath a microscope.

“Damn,” he muttered as he walked into the locker room.

Defensive lineman and NFL journeyman Walter Homer popped Maurice on the butt with a towel. “Good game, bro!”

“Thanks.”

“I can't believe you just went all Ahmad Rashad out there and asked homegirl to marry you.”

“Hell, we've been engaged three months. The damned wedding is planned, but you know how women are. They want a damned show.”

“Sounds like the beginning of the end for you, man. Your woman takes high maintenance to another level. Send me an invitation to the reception.”

Maurice slapped the back of Homer's bald head. “Whatever. You're going to be a groomsman.”

“Damn! I was hoping I'd get a pass on that duty. I'm allergic to weddings. Haven't you noticed that I've avoided holy matrimony?”

Before they could continue their conversation, a crush of reporters entered the locker room, shoving tape recorders and microphones in their faces.

 

 

Meanwhile, across town, Lauryn and her girlfriends giggled happily as News 14 showed a replay of Maurice's proposal.

“Girl,” Vivian Sanders said, “your man loves you.”

Lauryn smiled cockily. “Yes, he does, and I have him wrapped around my finger.”

Mya Brown looked at Lauryn and shook her head. “You're really going to marry the money, aren't you?”

“Don't do this,” Lauryn warned.

“I mean, I know that you love this lifestyle, but you don't love Maurice,” Mya said. “He's always been a means to an end for you.”

Vivian observed the two of them talk as if she were watching a tennis match. Just like with tennis, she had no clue as to what was going on.

“Mya, why don't you mind your business? If you can't be happy for me and Mo, then leave,” Lauryn hissed.

“Fine,” Mya said as she rose to her feet. “Marrying him will be the biggest mistake of your life.”

Lauryn glared at her friend as she left.

“Forget her. She's just jealous. How big is the wedding going to be?” Vivian said.

“
SportsCenter
big. I'm thinking three thousand guests, cameras, and all of that. I want to be the black Princess Diana.” Lauryn picked up the phone and called Charlotte's most renowned wedding planner so that the media machine could be pushed into high gear.

But deep inside, Lauryn knew that she was going into this marriage for all the wrong reasons and that Mya was right. She didn't love Maurice. Her heart belonged to another, but there was no way Lauryn could leave the plush life that Maurice had provided for her. She loved their penthouse that overlooked uptown Charlotte. She loved the fact that they always got the best seats at the most exclusive restaurants. They never paid to party in Charlotte, Atlanta, New York, or anywhere else they went. She'd grown accustomed to dressing in the hottest fashions and wearing Jimmy Choo shoes and lots of jewelry—diamonds, rubies, and anything else she wanted. Her jewelry box resembled an upscale jewelry store.

This was what she'd wanted all along. That was why she'd hooked up with Maurice nine years ago. But nine years later, she had to wonder if it was worth it.

I don't care what Mya thinks. I'm marrying Maurice,
Lauryn thought.
I've worked way too hard for this.

Curled up on her sofa in Atlanta, Georgia, Kenya tossed the latest Dr. Phil book across the room, deeming it a waste of time. One day she'd stop wasting her hard-earned money on self-help books. She was fine; it was the rest of the world that had a problem. Why couldn't people just congratulate her for being a successful contract attorney, one who was licensed in four states and who had finished law school at the top of her class in under three years? No, people always wanted to know why she wasn't married, where her boyfriend was, and why she didn't have children. Kenya refused to be defined by a man or motherhood. It didn't help that her mother and father were dropping hints that they'd like a grandchild or two. Just a hazard of being the only child.

She turned the television on and flipped through the channels, looking for something to occupy her mind. Kenya paused when she came to ESPN.

“Carolina Panthers wide receiver Mo Goings isn't just celebrating his team heading to the NFC Championship game. He's also celebrating his engagement to his high-school sweetheart, Lauryn Michaels.”

The camera cut to Maurice asking Lauryn to marry him. Kenya snapped the TV off. “High-school sweetheart?” she said to the walls. “Somebody needs to get their facts straight.”

In the silence of the night, when Kenya's bed was really cold and lonely, she'd think of Maurice. What would have been if there had never been a Lauryn? Would she have been on the other end of that proposal? After nine years, she'd hoped to be over him, but every man she met, she compared to Maurice, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

When Maurice was drafted by the Dallas Cowboys a few years back, Kenya had wanted to call and congratulate him. Dallas had always been their favorite team. But she hadn't reached out to him. There was no need for him to know that she still cared.

After he was injured during his fourth game of his rookie season, Kenya had wanted to send flowers or a get-well card, but she didn't. Part of her had hoped his career would be over, because she knew that he loved football more than anything else.

She hated it when her mind was filled with “what-ifs.” Kenya knew that she couldn't change the past any more than she could predict the future. Maurice was the past, and according to ESPN, his future was with Lauryn. Why did it bother her so much that the sportscaster had called Lauryn Maurice's high-school sweetheart? That was her title, though it didn't amount to a hill of beans. She was the one who had ended up holding on to her love for him while he'd ridden off into the sunset, with Lauryn Michaels by his side.

Instead of sitting in the house and feeling sorry for herself, Kenya called her best friend and old roommate, Imani, who'd just moved to Atlanta with her husband.

“Imani, it's Kenya.”

“What's up, girl?” Imani said.

“Do you feel like heading downtown? Let me introduce you to Atlanta.”

Imani laughed. “I wish I could, but Roland and I are going to a jazz concert at the Foxy.”

“The Fox, you mean. Sounds like fun,” Kenya said, trying to mask her disappointment.

“Want to come with? I'm sure Roland wouldn't mind.”

“And be a third wheel? I don't think so.”

In the background, she could hear Imani's husband, Roland, ask, “Didn't you go to school with Mo Goings?”

Kenya cringed inwardly at the sound of Maurice's name. “I'd better let you go,” she said.

“Kenya,” Imani said, “you saw
SportsCenter,
didn't you?”

“Girl, please. So what if I did? That was over years ago. I'm just surprised Maurice didn't trade her in.”

“You still have feelings for him, don't you? Don't say you don't, because I can hear it in your voice.”

“You and your husband had better get going if you want to find parking downtown,” Kenya said. “Maybe we can have lunch tomorrow. Oh shoot, I'm in mediation in the morning.”

“I can't believe you, Kenya Taylor. You're still in love with Maurice, and you know that he is a lying, dirty, trifling dog.”

“I know who and what he is. Just hearing that those two are still together . . . and they called her his high-school sweetheart. It got to me a little bit.”

“Babe, ticktock,” Kenya heard Roland say.

“I have to go,” Imani said. “But I'll call you when I get back.”

“Have fun with your man, and don't worry about me,” Kenya replied. “I'll be fine.”

After hanging up the phone, Kenya picked up the Dr. Phil book again and started reading. Maybe there was something hidden in the pages of the book that could help her get Maurice out of her heart.

 

 

Monday morning, Maurice should have been sleeping in, or if he had to be up, he should've been soaking his sore muscles in a whirlpool. Instead, he was sitting in a television studio, with Lauryn on his arm, pretending that he knew what was going on with his wedding plans.

“And Maurice and I knew we'd get married,” Lauryn said as she hammed it up for the camera. “It was magic at Johnson C. Smith.”

Maurice nodded like a good lapdog.

“Mo, is the wedding going to be a distraction during the playoffs?” the reporter asked.

“No. I love Lauryn, and she understands that right now I have to concentrate on making it to the Super Bowl,” replied Maurice. “I'm going to leave the wedding planning in her capable hands.”

“Yes,” Lauryn said. “I don't want the fans mad at me. Besides, I want my man to be victorious in February.”

“When's the wedding going to be?” the reporter asked.

“When else? Valentine's Day,” Lauryn said.

Thanks for telling me,
Maurice thought as he smiled for the cameras.

When the interview was over, he turned to Lauryn and shook his head.

“What?” she asked.

“Why are we doing this?”

“Doing what? Getting married?”

“Turning it into a media spectacle? A wedding is supposed to be between a man and woman, not a man, a woman, and the media.”

Lauryn stroked his cheek. “But you're famous, and I want all of those women to know that you're mine.”

Maurice headed out the door, with Lauryn on his heels. “Baby,” she said. “Are you mad?”

He turned around and looked at her. She had a look of innocence on her face, and it melted his heart. “Just tired. This is my day off, remember.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I know. I'll make it up to you when we get home. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he replied, kissing her on the cheek.

As they drove home, Maurice had to question his sanity. Everyone had told him that Lauryn was a gold digger. He'd heard those sorts of things about her since they were in college.

College. Kenya.
How was Kenya? He hadn't talked to her in nine years, and when he went home to Atlanta for Thanksgiving, he'd driven by her parents' house, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. And if he had seen her, what would he have said to her? She wouldn't accept his apology nine years ago. Would she now?

“Maurice! The light is red!” Lauryn shouted, interrupting his thoughts.

“Sorry.” He slowed the car so that he wouldn't blow through the light.

“Maybe I need to run you a bath and let you relax while I hang out with Mya for a while.”

“If you want to. I'll probably study some film and sleep. Oh, Homer and his girl want us to have dinner with them tonight at Morton's. Cool?”

“All right,” she said flatly. “What's this girl's name?”

“I don't know. Just try to be nice.”

“That's all I can do. Try,” she said as he pulled into driveway of their home.

 

 

Moments after entering the house, Maurice headed for the marble spa tub in his master bathroom, and Lauryn grabbed the phone.

“Mya,” she said. “We need to talk. Why don't I come over and we have lunch?”

“Don't you have another news show to do?” asked Mya.

“You can't blame me for what I'm doing. Do you know how long Mo and I have been together?”

“But does he know what you're hiding?”

“I'm not hiding anything.”