A Love of My Own (16 page)

4
__________________

Dusk arrived as I sat at my home desk and watched the television's constant replay of the day's horror. I pushed the mute button and decided to call my parents.

My mom answered the phone after a couple of rings.

“Hey, Mama. How are you and Pops doing?” I asked softly.

“We're fine, baby. How are you doing? I've been calling you all day, but there was a recording saying that the circuits were busy. I called your cell phone and couldn't get through on that either. Is everything all right? Where are you calling from? The caller ID came up with a 212 area code,” my mother said. I suddenly felt sad that I hadn't told my parents about my move to New York and breakup with Trent. It was like I was telling a silent lie. Yet I knew today wasn't the day to spread the news of Trent's new life.

“I'm in New York.”

“What are you doing in New York? Oh, baby, are you sure you're all right? You're not near that area, are you?” my mother asked, her voice filled with concern.

“I'm working and I'm fine. But it's really been a crazy day up here. I just wanted to call you guys and let you know I'm doing okay.”

“How is Trent? Is he up there too?”

“No, and Trent is fine,” I said. I assumed he was fine and was suddenly debating if I should call him after I finished the phone call with my parents.

“When did you get to New York?”

“I've been here a couple of months, working on a big project,” I said. I knew that I should tell her that I had moved permanently, but I thought enough had happened today.

“Where are you staying and why didn't you tell us?”

“I'm staying in a corporate apartment, and I've just been really busy. I'm sorry. Where's Pops?” I asked. I felt I needed to get my mother off the phone before her probe into my personal life continued and I could no longer tell half-truths.

“He's sitting over there in his chair, watching the news. They aren't showing anything but the World Trade Center. It's horrible and just makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Can I speak to Pops?”

“Hold on, baby,” my mother said. Before she gave my father the phone, I called out her name. “Mom, I love you. I really love you,” I said softly.

“And I love you too, baby. Here's your daddy.”

“Hey, son. How's Seattle?”

“I'm not in Seattle, Pops. I'm in New York. I'm working with Davis McClinton. You've heard of him, right? He's one of the richest black men in the world,” I said. I knew I could steer my father into talking about something other than the day's events or my relocation. I was glad Kirby kept his little-brother pact and hadn't revealed my move.

“Can you believe what those crazy religious fools did? I don't want any part of that kind of religion. You're safe and I'm glad. What about Jared and his family?”

“They're doing great. I forgot to tell you. Jared moved his family down to Atlanta this summer,” I said.

“I'm glad to hear that. Atlanta is a wonderful city. Maybe you and Trent should consider moving there. Have you talked to your little brother?”

“No. I'm going to call him a little later on. Have you heard from him?”

“Yeah, I talked to him before he left for practice,” Pops said.

“I'm sure he tried to reach me but my cell phone isn't working and it's hard to receive calls in New York. But I'll call him next,” I said.

“I'll call Kirby and tell him you're okay. How's Trent?”

“He's fine, back in Seattle,” I said.

“Tell him I said hello.”

“I will. I love you, Pops. I've got to run. I've got to make sure all my employees and friends are okay.”

“Listen to you.”

“What?” I quizzed.

“Your employees? What are you doing for this Davis McClinton guy? I've heard of him. I remember reading some articles on him
,
” he said.

“He's been on the cover of
Fortune
and
Business Week
. I'm the CEO of one of his publications,” I said.

“Are you enjoying it?”

“It's challenging, but I love the responsibility,” I said.

“That's great, son. I'm proud of you.”

“And I'm proud of you, Pops,” I said before I hung up the phone.

I got up from my desk and walked over toward the window, thinking about the traumatic day and who I was going to call next. I noticed lines of white clouds going in different directions like they were readying the release of another great disaster.

I looked down on the near-empty streets. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

I went back to my desk and made a series of phone calls, but I got no human voice, only several cheery voices on answering machines unaware of what sorrow the day had brought. I left a message for Kirby. I called and spoke with Jared and Nicole, who were relieved I was safe. Nicole told me she had been on her knees, praying for hours for all the victims and hoping that she wouldn't receive a call with bad news about people she knew.

Before I picked up the phone again, I slowly walked barefoot into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of water. I wanted a glass of wine, but I felt it would only heighten my sorrow.

I slowly dialed Trent's cell phone, planning just to leave a message telling him I was all right. Damn, I didn't even know if I still mattered to him. No, that wasn't true. I knew he would be concerned.

“Hello,” Trent said, his voice low and subdued.

“Trent,” I said.

“Ray. Man, I'm so glad you called. I was so worried about you, but I didn't know if I should call. Can you believe that shit? Man, I've been going crazy with worry. How are you? Were you anywhere near the World Trade? Where were you when it happened?”

“I was at the office, preparing for a trip to London,” I said.

“Oh, Ray, you need to stay off those planes for a while. Let them figure this shit out. Promise me you'll do that.”

“I'll be fine. How are you?”

“I'm doing okay. The babies keep me up,” Trent said.

Babies? Did I hear Trent correctly? I wondered. Maybe he was talking about his newborn and his son, Trent Junior, who spent a great deal of time in Seattle. I didn't want to delve into his personal life.

“Today was a crazy day. Even more frightening than the earthquake in Seattle last year,” I said.

“Man, I thought the same thing. Remember the phones were out all over the city, and I was going crazy trying to locate you,” Trent said.

“Yeah, I remember,” I said softly. I suddenly recalled that day of madness, which ended with Trent and me throwing lunch meat on the grill because the electricity in the house was out for close to forty-eight hours. It actually turned out to be a romantic night, as Trent and I had our own picnic by starlight and then held hands as we maneuvered ourselves into our bedroom in the darkness. I missed Seattle and Trent. I missed the rain, I wanted to hear it coming down fast and furious, or feel the mist on my face like a protective cover.

“It's so good hearing your voice,” Trent said softly. It's what I wanted to hear, but he had another life now, and what we had had was over.

“Did you say babies a couple of minutes ago?” I asked.

“Yeah, Ray, we had twins. A boy and a girl. Brandon and Bailey. They're beautiful, Ray. I wanted to send you a picture,” Trent said. His voice was no longer low, but booming with pride. A thin ringing silence followed before I said, “That would be nice. Do that. Trent, I've got to run. I'm going to meet a friend for dinner,” I lied. I just wanted to hang up and have a drink to ease the pain I was feeling. The silence returned thicker than before and was broken only by Trent's voice.

“You take care of yourself, Ray,” Trent said.

“You too,” I said as I hung up. The silence and loneliness of my apartment saddened me, and I picked up the phone and dialed Basil's number. I was expecting to get his answering machine, but instead Basil picked up, his voice a whisper.

“Basil?”

“Ray. What's going on?”

“Did you get my messages?”

“Yeah, I did, dude, but like everyone else, I've been running around like a crazy man. Can you believe this dumb-ass shit? I guess those crazy mofos really hate us,” Basil said.

“Yeah, I guess they do. What are you doing?”

“Sitting here, holding my baby girl. Talley is asleep. Man, this girl has stolen my whole heart,” Basil said.

“Is Rosa all right?” I asked. I felt a pang of jealousy that Basil and Trent had children to provide them comfort.

“She's fine. The first thing I thought when I heard what happened was where was Talley and where was Rosa? Was she on a flight? Man, I almost broke down when I went to her apartment and found Rosa and Talley there safe,” Basil said.

“Well, I won't keep you. I just wanted to make sure you're okay,” I said.

“I 'preciate that, man. I didn't call because when I got your message I knew you were all right. But brothas like you and me gonna always be cool.” Basil's voice was smooth and steady.

“You think so?”

“No doubt, my brotha. Hey, I need to go and put my little girl in the bed. Take care of yourself,” Basil said.

“You too.”

From
Bling Bling
Confidential

In support of the victims and families touched by 9/11,
Bling Bling
Confidential will be discontinued until further notice.

5
__________________

I guess it wasn't hard to understand why choosing the sexiest brothaman and exposing a lying diva didn't excite me as much as it did just a few days ago. But I had a job to do and it seemed like everyone in the city and on the staff was trying to get back to normal, although I knew normal left on September 11.

I spent the afternoon going over photos, first the ones submitted by modeling agencies, then the ones readers sent in. Obviously some of these people didn't really know what sexy meant. I had a lot to consider in making the final selections. I couldn't have too many curly-headed, light-skinned guys with light eyes, and I had to have at least one brother with dreads, a bald-headed brother and at least a couple who looked like their chiseled bodies had been dipped in Godiva chocolate.

During the days the office was closed, I had spent time writing in my journal and playing the piano and trying out recipes from
O
and
Martha Stewart Living
magazines. I made some of my favorite childhood delicacies like Spam on white bread with mustard and pickles. I called several people I hadn't talked to in years, especially the ones who lived in New York City, and apologized for not following up on promised lunch dates.

One of those calls was to a friend, Megan Norman, whom I met when we both did summer internships at
Vanity Fair.
Megan was a cool white girl from St. Louis who loved rap music, Broadway show tunes and classical piano. We had shared an apartment and for years afterward often ran into each other at functions and always promised to visit some of our old haunts. Megan was now an executive editor at
Town & County,
and she broke into tears when she heard my voice. I followed suit.

I had already decided to postpone the Yancey B. cover story, because once again I didn't think people were ready to read the trials and tribulations of such a tortured mother-daughter relationship. It seemed like every time we were ready to run the story, trouble and tragedy followed. Maybe this girl was bad news.

Cyndi stepped inside my office and told me Hayden was on line two.

“What's going on, Hay-den?” I asked.

“My feet are killing me,” he said.

“Where are you?”

“At rehearsals for the
Dreamgirls
benefit,” Hayden said.

“Are they still doing that?”

“Oh, yes, honey. The show must go on. They don't call us troopers for nothing,” Hayden said.

“I guess you're right. When am I going to see you?”

“Hopefully soon. I just called to share some good news,” Hayden said.

“What?”

“Looks like I got a job.”

“In a show?”

“The biggest show,” Hayden said.

“
The Lion King
? Did you get the part?”

“I sure did.”

“That's great. When did you find out?”

“My agent called me a couple hours ago. I got it by default.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were going to give it to this guy from Los Angeles who had flown in for the audition, but when they offered him the part, he said he wasn't flying or living in New York,” Hayden said.

“Oh, that's sad for him but good for you,” I said.

“You got that right. Hey, I got to go; we're getting ready to start back.”

“Bye Hayden.”

After I got off the phone, I checked my e-mails. The first one was from the corporate office, about how Davis and Veronica had given five million dollars to the 9/11 relief fund. I was impressed, but I thought both Davis and Veronica probably spent just as large a sum of money on a stylist to pick out the right outfit when they posed for the cameras. There was an e-mail from Jabar, which I didn't read because they always required a thug-boy interpreter. He always used words like
kwel and U
and a bunch of other words and phases I didn't understand, like
I think I will parlay at your crib dis evening.
I once asked him what did he think the word
parlay
meant, and Jabar explained it meant to chill at the highest level. Whatever.

A couple hours later I was looking forward to the bus ride home. I had given up on the subway. I didn't want to be stuck underground if there was another terrorist attack.

I kicked off my flats and was reaching for my tennis shoes, when my cell phone rang. The caller ID read
Private.

“Hello. This is Zola Norwood,” I said.

“I guess it is,” Pamela said. I recognized her slow, weighty voice immediately, even though we hadn't spoken for over five years. Was she calling to find out how I was after 9/11?

“Pamela, how are you?”

“There you go, forever the little polite debutante. You know I ain't doing good. I know Mama told you I was still hittin' the pipe,” Pamela said.

“So you called up here to ruin my day,” I said.

“Mama said you wanted me to call you,” Pamela said.

“I did not. She said you wanted my phone number.”

“That was a while ago. I wanted to see if you'd pay for me to go back into rehab, but I figured you'd try and send the check straight to a clinic I wasn't going to. I know how you think you're smarter and better than everybody,” Pamela said.

“If you called up here to start something, then this is the wrong time. I have work to do. . . .”

“I know, and people to meet. Little Miss Zola, who always could talk the stank out of shit,” Pamela said.

I didn't respond. Instead, I clicked the end button on my phone and turned the power off.