A House Is Not a Home (25 page)

“Uh-huh. It's my favorite. Sometimes Daddy reads it and sometimes Errol does. But I like the way you read it best.”

“Thanks.” He turned to place the book back.

“No, read it again,
pleeze
?”

“Baby Doll, you gotta go to sleep.”

“But I got a little more time left. See . . .” She pointed to her elephant clock. “The little hand is on the eight and the big hand is on the five. I have five more minutes until lights-out!”

“You don't want your song?” Mitchell interjected. She gets one every Sunday night.

“Um . . . may I have both?”

“There's not enough time for both. But I could
sing
you a story if you want.”

Destiny recognized the facial expression and the tone in her father's voice. “Oooh. You mean ‘Fly'?”

“Yes.”

“
Joody!
Uncle Raheim, you have to stay and hear it, too.”

“Okay.”

Destiny hopped off the bed. She got on her knees and clasped her hands. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. God bless Daddy, and Gran'ma, and Gran'pa, and Errol, and Aunt Ruth . . . and Uncle Raheim. Amen.”

Destiny scooted back in bed and folded her arms over the covers. Mitchell sat on the left side of her bed, placing his hands on top of hers. He began singing about the unorthodox friendship between a spider that hasn't “spun a single silver thread since 1968” and a fly that, as a poet, steals his inspiration from the Sunday
New York Times.

“I just wanna give you a sweet . . .” Mitchell crooned. He kissed her on her forehead. “. . . sweet . . .” Then her nose. “. . . sweet . . .” Then her mouth. “Jood night, Sugar Plum.”

“Jood night, Daddy,” she whispered.

Raheim leaned in and kissed her on the right cheek. “Jood night, Baby Doll.”

“Jood ni . . .” was all she could muster.

Raheim turned out her light. Mitchell smiled at her as he closed her door.

“That was beautiful,” Raheim complimented.

“Thanks.”

“It's obvious where Destiny gets her voice from.”

Mitchell gushed.

“I never heard that song before. Who recorded it?”

“Lena Horne. She did it in her one-woman show on Broadway.”

“Ah. It's the perfect lullaby.”

“Mmm-hmm. That's why she says her prayers before. By the time the song is over, she's off to dreamland.”

They stood in silence, studying their shoes.

Dressed in his nightclothes (a gray baseball tee and black cotton leisure pants), Errol emerged from his room with the
Jeopardy!
box under his left arm. “I'm ready when you are, Dad.”

Errol took the first game, his father the second.

“You came back strong,” Errol noted.

“I came
back
strong? You make it sound like I was way behind. You only answered one more question right and won.”

“True. For an old man, you can keep up.”

They smiled.

Errol began setting up for another game. “We gotta have a tiebreaker.”

“We do, but it's after eleven. You should be asleep.”

“I can function on less than seven hours.”

“You probably can, but that wouldn't be best.”

“Come on, Dad. I'm fifteen, not five.”

“I don't want you draggin' yourself from class to class. We got a GPA to keep.”

Errol frowned, putting the pieces to the game inside the box.

It had been years since Raheim had seen him pout. And for him to do it at this age . . . it made Raheim smile inside. “We can pick up our battle another time.”

“When?” Errol perked up.

“How about next Sunday?”

“You sure you wanna spend Father's Day gettin' trounced?”

They laughed.
Uh-huh, music.

Raheim shrugged. “That's a chance I don't mind takin'.”

“Okay. Thanks for helping me prepare.”

“Prepare?”

“Yeah, for the
Jeopardy!
Teen Tournament. I'll be trying out when they come to town next month.”

“Ah. I always wanted to go on the show.”

“You still can. It's not too late.”

He nodded. “No. It's not.”

“We can be the first father-and-son champs.”

“Hmm. Now that would be somethin'.”

“Oh, I gotta take out the trash. Excuse me.”

Raheim watched as he also made sure the back door was locked and the alarm was on (things Raheim used to do). Raheim met him at the bottom of the stairs. “This was fun, son.”

“Yeah. You need to come around . . . more.”

“I will.” He hugged him. “You have a jood night.”

“Ain't you gonna tuck me in, like Destiny?”

There was their song again.

“You're a little big for that. But I'll make sure you tuck
yourself
in jood.”

Errol grinned. Raheim followed him upstairs.

“Jood night, Unc.” Errol waved as they passed the great room.

Mitchell was sitting on the sofa—his back against the left armrest, his knees bent—reading the script. “Jood night.”

As Raheim stood just outside his door, Errol turned on his iTunes visual (Lizz Wright's “Open Your Eyes, You Can Fly” began to play), climbed under the covers, and clasped his hands behind his head.

“Jood night, son.”

“Jood night, Dad.”

“I love you.” Raheim hadn't said it to him in a while.

“And I love you, too, times two!”

Like the Supremes, Raheim heard a symphony as he shut off Errol's light and closed his door.

As Mitchell closed the script, Raheim sat next to him.

“So, whatcha think?”

Mitchell placed it on the coffee table. He smiled. He pretended to open an envelope. “And the Oscar goes to . . . Raheim Errol Rivers Jr.”

“Ya think so?”

“Definitely. If Denzel can win as a corrupt cop, you can win as a closeted baseball player.”

“I ain't Denzel.”

“No, you're not. But he won playing the Bad Negro and Sidney, the Good Negro. This role doesn't fall on either side of those extremes; it's in the middle. Glenn is presented as a decent, flawed man with an age-old dilemma—to be or not to be—and we get to see how he decides to be. So our third time will definitely be the charm. You'll be breaking new ground. How many Black actors play a gay role in which they don't drag up or queen out?”

“True.”

“I'm sure many turned it down because it isn't camp; they can't coon their way through it. So the fact that he's gay but acts, looks, and talks like a so-called straight man will also work in your favor. The majority of female voters will be attracted to him and the majority of male voters will view him as just one of the guys. And it won't hurt that you've battled an addiction. They love to reward folks who have overcome obstacles, been through the fire. Some will view this as your comeback.”

“My
comeback
? With a comeback, you comin' back to the spot you left. I'm in a different place now. It's . . . it's more like a rebirth.”

“When they throw comeback in your face, that should be
your
comeback.”

They chuckled.

“There are a lot of juicy moments. But, as with Diane Lane in
Unfaithful
, everyone will be talking about that one scene.”

“You mean, the part where I, uh, he has sex for the first time and realizes what it really means?”

“Yup. You will have gone through every emotion in that one moment that many of us have and still do. I can just hear Ebert and Roeper raving about it now. I see you've already claimed the role as your own.”

Raheim nodded.

“Some folks won't be ready for it; there's still fallout over the rumors about Mike Piazza and the player supposedly involved with that editor at
OUT
. And I didn't know Glenn introduced the high-five to baseball thirty years ago—that'll make many straight jocks in and outside of the pro-sports world squirm.” Mitchell leaned forward. “The role will require a lot of you. You'll probably have to go through some sort of spring training.” He knuckled Raheim in the chest with his middle finger. “But you're rather well preserved for a thirty-one-year-old, so that shouldn't be a problem.”

Raheim giggled.

“I'm sure your son will be glad to give you a few pointers on the game. And, if you won't be, I bet he'd love to play Glenn as a teenager.”

“Ha, he already put his bid in for that.”

“And, you've gotta
sing
, in a
church choir
. I can't wait to hear that!”

“Uh, will you help me out with that?”

“Of course.” Mitchell studied him. “Some of the scenes . . . they may be . . . emotionally intense.”

“I can handle it. I guess everything I've been through . . . it's kinda prepared me for it. I . . . I can identify with him in a lot of ways.”

“How?” Mitchell knew how; he just wanted to hear it.

“Not bein' able to . . . be yourself. Afraid of what people are gonna think, say.” Raheim peered at him. “Hidin' the one I love from the others I love.”

“Mmm. Something he says reminds me of you, too.”

“What?”

“‘I didn't think you could be gay and not be a sissy.'”

Raheim waved that comment off. “I don't think like that no more.”

Mitchell was glad to hear that—and knew he meant it. “And . . . I'm sure you'll be asked
the
question.”

“Yeah.”

“What will you say?”

Raheim considered it. “Somethin' like, ‘I'm not gay, but my man is.'”

They howled.

“
Jood
answer,” Mitchell affirmed. “Nathan Lane couldn't have said it better. Gene will be shocked. Babyface will be proud. And B.D.? He'll want to throw you a coming-
way
-out party.”

“I bet he will.”

“And he won't be the only one. If the white queens lusted you before as a model, they're gonna love you because of this role. But some of the Children won't be celebrating, since you're surrounded by whites in the film.”

“You gonna be in that group . . . ?” Raheim mumbled.

“Of course not. Now, would I prefer this was, say, an adaptation of an E. Lynn Harris novel, where you'd have a better chance of being in the arms of another brother? Yes. But, apparently, that wasn't Glenn's life. Speakin' of: How do you feel about the love scenes?” Mitchell already knew that, too.

“I'm not feelin' kissin' a white boy,” Raheim groused.

“
A
white boy? I counted three. And, you do more than kiss one of them.”

“Don't remind me.”

“That one scene is a little explicit, but it's important to the story. It may end up on the cutting-room floor though. Because the players walk around naked and talk trash about women in the locker room, it's guaranteed an R. That scene will definitely bump it up to an NC-17.”

“And don't forget about the naked groupies.”

“Mmm-hmm . . . this'll probably be the first time male groupies in professional sports will be portrayed. Uh . . . have you ever found a naked man in
your
hotel room like Glenn?”

Hmm . . . he never asked that question while we were together. Guess he feels safe asking it now
. . . “Nah. But there's been plenty that wanted to get naked
in
my hotel room.”

“I'm sure.”

Raheim huffed. “I just don't wanna be kissin' a troll.”

Mitchell laughed. “If it'll help, you can pretend you're kissing me.”

He placed his hand on Mitchell's. “I'd rather not pretend.”

They hadn't touched in any way in years. Mitchell drew in a quick breath; as he silently let it out, he folded his hand onto Raheim's. They smiled.

“Are you ready to be annointed
the
spokesperson for the Black gay/lesbian/bi/SGL/queer/transgendered/transsexual/two-spirit community?” Mitchell asked sarcastically.

Raheim chuckled. “What's that?”

“I know, right? But you'll be the most visible member of the tribe, so you'll be expected to speak for all of us. I know at least one person who will be giving you the third-degree.”

“Who?”

“Roe.”

“For real?”

“Yup. Ever since Errol told him his godfather is gay, he's had twenty
million
questions. Finding out about me shocked his world; finding out about you is gonna
rock
his world.”

“Mmm . . . I thought E. woulda told him by now. And Sid.”

“I think Errol's waiting for the right time to tell them.”

“Ha,
somebody
told me a long time ago there ain't no such thing as
the right time
.”

Mitchell acknowledged that with a nod. “He's waiting for the right
person
to do it. One thing's for certain: Roe's father won't be pleased to know that his best friend's father not only plays a homo in a movie but
is
one.”

“Then I guess we gonna hafta work on him, too.”

“And are you ready for
every
detail of your private life to be fodder for the tabloids?” Mitchell joked.

“I was just on international TV talkin' about my gamblin' problem. I ain't got nothin' to hide.”

“You don't think so? I got a few tales
I
could sell to the
National Inquirer
.”

“Sell away—so long as
I
get a cut.”

They laughed.

“As I've learned, you can work the bad publicity—it all comes down to spin. Uh . . . you gonna come with me to the Oscars?”

“Ooh, the chance to rub elbows with Halle and kee-kee with Jada? If you're still single, it's a date.”