Abide with Me (9 page)

“Thank you,” Raymond grimaced. Another thing he hated was when white folks used the term
articulate
when describing his speech.
He couldn’t stand the a-word. A code for black people who spoke the King’s English like it was a second language. It was like whites and some lower-class blacks were so surprised. Surely someone had seen him in the courtroom, or heard some of the lectures he’d given while teaching constitutional law at the University of Washington law school. Anyone who knew Raymond Tyler knew he was an articulate and skilled conversationalist. Whenever he worked on a case with other partners in the office, they always wanted Raymond to do the closing argument for that reason alone. There had been many times when he won cases because of his persuasive and powerful manner that others had assumed were certain defeats.

“The good news is, we’ve passed the first big hurdle. The local bar association has approved your nomination,” Lisa said.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Raymond said. He hadn’t anticipated any problem, though, because the current president had worked with Raymond at the University of Washington and was one of the first people to call with congratulations.

“Once we get a date for your confirmation hearing, our office will make your travel arrangements. Will your partner be going with you?”

“I hope so. His name is Trent Walters. And I’m certain my parents and younger brother will be attending as well,” Raymond said.

“They must be so proud of you,” Lisa beamed.

“Yes, they are pretty excited, especially my father,” Raymond said.

“That’s it for now. You’ll be contacted when the FBI has completed its research. Of course, they will want to talk to you about any questions that might arise during the investigation.”

“Okay,” Raymond nodded.

“We’ll work on getting an endorsement of some kind from the NAACP and the Association of Black Lawyers,” Lisa said.

Raymond smiled, thinking how happy he was about being a member in good standing with both organizations.

He had been a member of the NAACP since he was nine years old
when his parents gave him a membership for his birthday. Raymond didn’t realize then what an important gift he had received.

“Do you have any questions?” Lisa asked.

“How long is the confirmation process?”

Lisa laughed to herself and said, “That’s a good question. It could be a few months or a few years. But let’s remain hopeful. There is a lot of pressure on Congress to give either a timely yea or nay on the president’s appointments. No matter what, I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank you. I will appreciate that,” Raymond said.

Lisa stood and extended her long and narrow hand with a simple gold band on her middle finger and smiled. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Raymond. I look forward to the day when I can greet you as Judge Tyler.”

“So do I,” Raymond said as he shook her hand.

It had been a long day for both Raymond and Trent. Raymond told Trent about his meeting with Lisa, then Trent told Raymond about a big project in South Africa he wanted to be assigned to. But since Brenda Taylor, the other African-American in his office, was project leader, Trent thought it might prevent him from a spot on the team for this dream assignment.

“I didn’t know your office had the ‘one is enough’ rule,” Raymond teased.

“I didn’t either, but then I’ve always been the only one,” Trent said. “Doesn’t the project leader have a say?”

“Yeah, and Brenda’s cool, but you know how
we
can sometimes be our worst critics.”

“If this Brenda is as cool and smart as you say, then you’re on the team,” Raymond assured him.

Dog-tired, Raymond and Trent decided to retire earlier than their usual 11:30 bedtime.

Wearing a white, hooded, terry-cloth robe, Trent was pulling back the comforter on their bed when Raymond, wearing only a lime-green striped towel, walked behind him and kissed him gently on the neck.

“I’ve got something to ask you,” he whispered.

“Now, you know you don’t have to ask,” Trent joked as he turned to face Raymond.

“Would you marry me?” Raymond asked.

“What?” Trent could not believe the question. His soft laugh sounded like a cough.

“I’m not asking you right now, but this is a question that might come up in my confirmation hearing. Would you marry me? I mean, if it was legal.”

“I … I …” Trent stammered. His face was coolly composed and unreadable. Just as he was getting ready to explain his hesitation, Raymond’s private line rang. His hesitation wasn’t because he didn’t love Raymond, but all he could think of at the moment was his mother. He could hear her sigh with a loud sound and tell Trent how his father would roll over in his grave at such an event. Trent couldn’t think of getting married without his mother’s blessing. And he was sure Raymond felt the same about his own parents’ response.

“Hello,” Raymond said as he answered the phone somewhat distractedly. Trent took a deep sigh of relief and was getting ready to go into the bathroom when Raymond put his hand on the receiver and whispered, “It’s Kirby, I won’t be long.”

A few minutes later Trent returned to the bedroom wearing only a white muscle T-shirt and a smile. Raymond was already in bed with his back toward Trent. With only a wedge of light coming from the hallway, the room glowed like a dusk-covered evening.

“So how’s your little brother?” Trent asked.

Raymond turned and faced Trent. When he noticed his bedroom attire, he smiled and said, “He’s cool. Can you believe he’s already in Evanston?”

“For what?”

“Football practice.”

“Well, it is getting close to that time,” Trent said.

Raymond sat up in the bed, moving the pillows to support his back, and said, “So you didn’t answer my question.” For Raymond it was a semiserious question. He had never really thought about marrying Trent, or any other man for that matter. He simply assumed when he accepted his sexuality that marriage was not an option. Now that he might be faced with taking a position on gay marriage, he wanted to know how Trent felt.

Trent smiled and started moving from side to side in a little electric slide type of groove and started singing.

“I’m so in love with you. Whatever you want to do … is all right with mee … mme
,” Trent sang in his rich tenor voice as he swiftly removed his T-shirt. Raymond admired Trent’s splendidly muscle-packed body and had a sudden urge to embrace him. As Trent was dancing in front of him still singing the Al Green tune, Raymond felt a tremendous charge of energy, then he felt Trent move closer to him, grinding to the sound of his own voice. Whenever Trent’s body touched his, Raymond felt a rush of joy spread through his body. Trent suddenly dove into the bed and nestled his head in the curve of Raymond’s chest, breathing in his familiar scent. He hadn’t answered Raymond’s question.

“Well I’ll be. Look what the cat done drug in,” Peaches said as Nicole walked into Cuts ’n’ Cobblers, located in Harlem on 127th between Lenox Avenue and Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard.

“Peaches, it’s so good to see you,” Nicole said as she gave the small, red-bone, and wiry middle-aged woman a big hug. “Where is everybody?”

“Miss Thang, didn’t I tell you brunch, not dinner? It’s almost four o’clock. You do know what brunch is and that I do have a personal life, don’t cha? And who is this light-skinned look-alike you brung with you?” Peaches asked as she noticed Yancey standing slightly behind Nicole. Peaches thought Yancey looked like her cousin Mabel Lee. Her cousin who lied so much Peaches said you could only believe every fifth thing she said.

“This is my new best friend and my understudy, Yancey Braxton,” Nicole said as she moved so Peaches could get a look at her new friend.

“Braxton,” Peaches said as she took Yancey’s arm, looked her up and down and then up again. “You any kin to that singer? What’s her name?”

“You mean Toni?” Yancey asked.

“That’s her,” Peaches said.

“Yes, she’s my cousin,” Yancey lied. Nicole looked a bit surprised. She was learning something new about her friend every day.

“So I guess sanging runs in your family,” Peaches said.

“Yes, Miss Peaches, I guess so,” Yancey replied.

“Ain’t no need of calling me Miss. Peaches will do.” Peaches thought Yancey’s kiss-up demeanor also reminded her of Mabel Lee.

“So did we miss dinner? I mean brunch?” Nicole asked.

“Yeah, but there’s some food back there. I’ll fix you ladies some plates to take home. But I thought you came here to help,” Peaches said.

“We did,” Nicole said.

“Dressed like that?” Peaches said, noticing both women were dressed in their Sunday best. Yancey and Nicole were wearing similar silk dresses with pearls.

“And you missed all my kids. You know I’ve been tellin’ them about you, Nicole, my Broadway diva friend. I know they git tired of me talking about people they ain’t never met. A couple of them even heard of you. I got this child—you know, she a
translation
, you know a man wanna be a woman. But she’s some kinda beautiful. I told her all about you and she knows who you are. Her stage name is Miss Kitty Cotillion and she’s a mess.” Peaches laughed to herself, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her off-white waitress uniform.

“I look forward to meeting her,” Nicole smiled. Suddenly Nicole remembered Peaches in Kyle’s apartment with a cigarette in one hand, a drink in the other, encouraging Nicole to read Bible passages to Kyle while he rested. When Kyle fell asleep, Peaches would tell
Nicole to read them to her. She loved Nicole’s theatrical reading of the Scriptures.

It was Nicole and Yancey’s plan to come to Harlem to help out with the weekly Sunday brunch Peaches cooked for HIV-positive patients in Harlem. It was just one of the things an organization called More Than Friends did for patients in the Harlem area. The small organization also made sure patients on their client list got some kind of cheerful card every two weeks and they didn’t let a birthday or holiday go unnoticed. Peaches was also working with GMHC (Gay Men’s Health Crisis) to ensure people in Harlem had access to the new AIDS drugs and rides to their doctor appointments.

More Than Friends had been set up in the memory of Peaches’s son, Kyle Alexander Benton, who had died of AIDS almost six years earlier. Nicole had been a close friend of Kyle’s and had met Peaches during the last months of his life. She fell in love with the quick-witted Kyle moments after Raymond introduced the two. Nicole also fell in love with Peaches instantly, since mother and son shared a wonderful sense of humor. Not even AIDS could get them down.

Though it was a small organization, More Than Friends had a big heart. Its board consisted mostly of Kyle’s family and old friends, like Raymond, Jared, and Nicole, and some new friends Peaches had met once she decided to move from South Jersey to Harlem. Peaches had said she needed to be in New York to be closer to her son’s spirit during his happy times. Kyle loved New York City. Besides, without Kyle’s monthly visits, Peaches felt she had nothing to look forward to in Jersey.

Raymond, who was instrumental in getting the organization off the ground, had offered to hire a full-time administrator once he and Trent moved to Seattle, but Peaches wasn’t having it. She was determined to keep her promise to Kyle, a son she liked, adored, and loved with her whole heart.

Raymond had done all the paperwork in creating the nonprofit
organization, and Jared had taken some of the funds from Kyle’s insurance policy and invested some and put the remainder in a trust. Jared had also written proposals for funds for which he thought the organization might qualify. But it was Peaches who made it work. She didn’t depend on funds from the trust, but used her lottery winnings for an operating budget. She only called on her son’s friends when she needed business advice. Nicole had put on a couple of small benefits before she left New York, but had lost contact once she moved to Atlanta.

Not only was Peaches the driving force behind More Than Friends, but she also had her own small business: she was part owner of Cuts ’n’ Cobblers. She was the cobbler part, being the head cook in charge of baking some of the best peach, apple, and blueberry cobblers to ever come out of Harlem. Add to that the special nutmeg-spiced coffee Peaches prepared and suddenly Harlem had a new institution. Mornings were a madhouse with the lines out the door for the coffee and thick-crusted cobblers Peaches prepared. She sold them in the front part of the establishment. Peaches was proud of her double-shelved, refrigerated showcase. A couple of carpet pieces and a black leather mat covered portions of the steel-gray concrete floor. There were a few tables that were made for sitting, but customers used them for packages and briefcases while they chowed down on the sweets, because the shop was always so crowded during the morning and evening rushes. There was an old-fashioned cash register that constantly displayed in the same black and white characters the total of $5.00, the cost of a large slice of cobbler and cup of coffee. A whole cobbler was nine dollars. The register didn’t always work, so Peaches had a small calculator right under the shelf. Whenever there was a rush, which there usually was, she would survey a customer’s purchase and say, “Just give me twenty dollars and we even.”