Any Way the Wind Blows (15 page)

“I’m doing. How you doing?”

“Just trying to stay out of trouble. You know how the ladies can’t leave yo boy alone.” I teased.

“You always had your way with the ladies. I see you guys got a lot of snow. I keep telling you to move back down here full time,” Pops said.

“I just might do that sooner or later. Some of the big muckety-mucks at PMK are trying to buy us, and it will make your son a very rich man,” I said.

“Oh yeah? You already do pretty well. If you sell it to them, don’t let it go for cheap. When you gonna get me my autographs?”

“What autographs?” I asked, trying to remember which one of my clients my Pops was a big fan of.

“Don’t tell me you done forgot.”

“Pops, come on, now. You know I’m getting up in age,” I said, and laughed.

“Venus and Serena, the Williams sisters. You said you were gonna see what you could do,” my father said.

“Oh yeah, but you know they’re not my clients. I said I would check with one of their advisers.” My Pops had been acting like a horny schoolboy ever since I took him to see Venus and Serena play in a tournament outside of Miami. He had complained the entire drive about not wanting to see no white folks hit no ball that dogs chased. That was until he saw Venus and Serena in tennis attire. The man hadn’t been the same since.

“You do that, and make sure you have them put love and kisses,” Pops said.

“So you going after the young now? Don’t tell me I got to compete with you and all the other clowns,” I said.

“Aw, it ain’t gonna be no competition when they meet me. You better map out another plan,” Pops teased.

“So you got it like that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How is everything else?”

“I can’t complain. Life is good. I could stand another trip with my son, but I understand you busy with yo business and keeping track of the ladies.”

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

“How ’bout Vegas? Are there any fights coming up? I like that guy Sugar Shane Mosley. See if he’s fighting. Or Roy Jones. I like him too,” Pops said.

“Let me do some checking, and I’ll get back with you,” I said.

“Okay, son. Take care of yourself. Watch out for those women after yo money and your honey,” Pops said.

I smiled at myself when I heard Pops say “honey,” his term for male semen, and said, “I’ll protect them both, Pops. I’ll call you in a couple days.”

“Take your time. I’ll be here.”

“You know I love ya, Pops.”

“Yeah, I know,” Pops said before hanging up.

I leaned back in my chair, savoring my relationship with and love for my Pops, when Kendra buzzed me and said she had a quick errand to run and that the phones would be unattended.

I clicked on the University of Miami football Web site to see what was going on with upcoming spring football, since I was intent on signing some more players from my alma mater. The Net had made getting information and statistics so much easier, and I printed out bios on several of the players I thought were definite pro prospects. I was making my way to the Florida State Web site when my phone rang.

“Basil Henderson,” I said.

“Basil, this is Bart.”

I silently mouthed “damn” to myself, then said quickly, “Bart, I’m real busy.” I’d given Kendra explicit instructions to tell him I was out of the office if he called again, and now
I’d gone and got caught. Kendra had told me Bart had shown up at my office a couple of days before, asking about the modeling job, but said he raced out once Nico walked into the office. What was that about?

“I need to speak to you.”

“Look, man, what don’t you understand? First thing, stay away from my office. We had a good time, but that’s all it was, a good time,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was having this type of conversation with a dude. Men, even gay men, knew how to separate love and sex, even if women couldn’t. Well, maybe Yancey could, but she certainly wasn’t your average female.

“So that’s all I was, a good time?” Bart asked.

“We hit it a couple of times. That’s it. From the beginning, I told you point-blank I don’t date dudes.”

“Then what about the modeling job?”

“What about it?”

“Am I going to get it?”

“I told you that’s out of my hands,” I said.

“So I was just a free fuck. You like messing with people’s lives, don’t you?” Bart responded sharply.

“Call it what you want.”

“You said you loved me. How could you play me like that?”

What was this mofo talking about? I just shook my head and started focusing on some papers on my desk. I figured if I let Bart get out all of his emotional bullshit he would leave me the fuck alone.

“Are you still there?” he yelled.

“Look, mofo, don’t holler at me. I never said I loved you. Damn, I don’t even know you.”

“The last time we were together you said it’s ‘all love.’” “Dude, that’s a brotherman greeting. But I don’t guess you would know that, since you seem knee-deep in being gay.”

“So you don’t think you’re gay?”

“Fuck no,” I said, wondering why I dignified his question with a response. I couldn’t figure out why I was still on the phone with this unbalanced mofo.

“Then you’re either stupid or lying to yourself. Men like you are the ones who are an …”

I didn’t allow Bart to finish his little tirade. I hung up the phone.

I
dropped my backpack on my small kitchen counter, grabbed the phone and punched the speed dial to Wylie’s office. I needed to piss, but speaking with Wylie was more important. He picked up after the first ring.

“This is Wylie.”

“Wylie! I need you to do something for me,” I said in a rushed voice. I was still fuming from my phone call with Basil, and I wasn’t about to tell Wylie how he’d talked to me on the phone.

“What’s the matter with you? It sounds like you been running.”

“I was on the train coming back from a fitting for Yancey B’s video, and I thought of a way to get back at that fuckin’ Basil,” I said.

“Honey, you need to just let that man be. He told you he was stray from the jump.”

“Yeah, that’s what you would do, but I’m gonna teach these so-called strays they can’t play me like I’m some kind
of drum. And I do know him from somewhere. I need LaVonya’s number.”

“Why?”

“I want to take her out for a drink.”

“I thought you didn’t have time for fag hags,” Wylie said.

“Come on now, Wylie. I didn’t say that. Besides, I need her to do something for me, and I’m going to do something for her,” I said.

“So how did your fitting go?”

“Wylie, you’re trying to change the subject. Give me the damn number.”

“I don’t have it. My assistant, Mollie, is downloading some information into my Palm Pilot,” Wylie said.

“You should know her number by heart.”

“I don’t.”

“Wylie, you’re my friend, right?” I didn’t know why Wylie was tripping, but I knew questioning our friendship could get him back on track.

“Bart, why would you doubt that? Of course I’m your friend.”

“Then either give me LaVonya’s home number, or you call her and tell her I want to take her out for drinks this evening.”

“I’ll have Mollie call you in five minutes with the information,” Wylie said.

“Thanks.”

“Bart, I’m beginning to worry about you. This guy might change his mind and give you another chance if you don’t go off and do something stupid.”

“You have a point there. But I’ve got to put a plan in
place to make sure he knows he can’t treat me like shit. Not unless he’s willing to put up with
Nightmare from Faggot Hell
, the movie, live and in person
.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” Wylie pleaded.

“I’m always careful and correct,” I said as I hung up the phone and ran to the bathroom.

• • •

I
rushed to open the door of the Saloon restaurant, across the street from Lincoln Center. It was freezing cold, hinting that winter was going to stick around for a while. When I walked into the small annex of the restaurant, I saw LaVonya Young sitting on a bar stool.

I took off my coat and went over to LaVonya and gave her a hug and a kiss.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” I said.

“No problem, boo. Whenever someone calls me and tells me he’s got a story about sex and a famous man, I’m there,” LaVonya said as she patted the empty bar stool next to her. “Here, have a seat.”

“What are you drinking?” I asked LaVonya, as I took the stool next to her.

“Cappuccino. Ain’t nothing like it in the winter,” LaVonya said as she took another sip.

“Let me have what the lady is having,” I said to a female bartender as I pointed to LaVonya’s mug.

“So tell me,” LaVonya said as she pulled out a narrow white tablet. I began to tell LaVonya my version: I met Basil, and after seducing me, he sent me out to pasture without the promise of a job, love or steady sex. LaVonya listened intently,
and every now and then jotted down a few notes. When I stopped talking to take a sip of my cappuccino, LaVonya said, “Sounds like he spit you out like stale bubble gum.”

LaVonya was a large woman with exquisite features and thoughtful brown eyes. She had a messy head of her own hair, plus a little weave. It was a little bit blond, brown and red, and the colors were slammed against each other. Her skin was pear brown, and LaVonya glowed like she had just been polished with some type of butter. She was wearing an expensive, snug, black gabardine suit with gold buttons and lots of jewelry. I couldn’t tell if it was from Tiffany’s or QVC.

After I finished my story, LaVonya looked at me and said, “You know, I’m going to have to get Mr. Henderson’s version of the story. Is he out as a gay or bisexual man?”

“I don’t think so, and I doubt if he’ll tell you the truth or even talk to you,” I said.

“Oh, he’ll talk to me. Especially when I point out there is no future in frontin’. I couldn’t wait to find out who you were talking about when you called, so I made Wylie tell me. I did a little research before I came to meet you, and Mr. Henderson was nominated for the Pro Football Hall of Fame. He didn’t get in, but he’ll be back up next year. He’ll talk to anyone from the media who will get his name out there, and that includes a gossip columnist like me,” LaVonya said.

“Before you speak with him, are you going to run one of your famous blind items?”

“I might do that,” she said as she paused to take a sip of her drink. “So Mr. Henderson worked you over and still didn’t give you the job that you went there for. Sounds like you ought to be talking to a lawyer too. It sure would make
the story more juicy if I had a court proceeding I could be following as well.”

“A lawyer? You think I could sue him?” Maybe the threat of a lawsuit could get me back in Basil’s bed, I thought.

“You did trade sexual favors for a job you didn’t get. Sure sounds like it to me. If I gave some pussy to a man who promised me a job and then he reneged, I’d be in a lawyer’s office quicker than you can say money can’t buy me love, but it can sure ease the pain,” LaVonya said, laughing.

“Fuck pain, I need some money,” I joked.

“So what do you think about bringing a suit against him? Even if it’s thrown out, I could give you plenty of ink in my column. Who knows, some Hollywood producer might come around and make you an offer for your little story,” LaVonya said with a broad smile.

“But a lawyer would cost money, and I don’t have a lot of that,” I said.

LaVonya picked up her large designer purse from the floor, pulled out a card and wrote something on the back. She passed the card to me and said, “Give this woman a call and tell her I sent you.”

“What if she asks for money before she’ll hear my case?” I asked.

LaVonya suddenly leaned in, lowered her voice and said, “Let me tell you a little back story to make sure she’ll take your case. …”

I
was on my way inside Tower Records at Sixty-fifth and Broadway to check out the first-day placement of my CD when my cell phone rang. “Blocked I.D.” flashed across the console, but I clicked the phone on anyway.

“Hello,” I said.

“Is this Yancey B?” a female voice said.

“This is Yancey,” I said.

“Yancey, this is LaVonya, darling. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Do I know you, LaVonya?” I knew exactly who she was, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“Of course you do, darling. Remember? I covered your alleged wedding last year. I see you’ve bounced back in a big way. Way to go, girl,” LaVonya said.

“What are you talking about?” I asked in an annoyed tone.

“Look at you. Making the media rounds. You’re everywhere. Got a song climbing the charts, and it sounds like a tune of sweet revenge.” LaVonya laughed. “I haven’t checked lately—is your song in the top forty yet?”

“It’s number thirty-six. My album’s out today. What publication do you write for and how did you get my number?” I asked, still pretending I didn’t know who she was.

“I know you’ve read me. I write ‘Lines from LaVonya,’ and I got your number from your publicist at Motown. Sounds like they love you over there.”

“I’ve heard of you. You’re a gossip columnist, right?” I said. I was relieved LaVonya was inquiring about my song rather than Madison.

“I’m a journalist. Listen: The reason I’m calling is because a little bird told me your new song, ‘Any Way the Wind Blows,’ is about somebody famous. Could it be that fine man who left you at the altar—Oh, excuse me, darling, I’m sorry, the man you left at the altar,” LaVonya said. Her voice was so full of sister girl sarcasm, I knew LaVonya hadn’t bought my wedding-day story. Now I was really worried and figured I needed to get off the phone before I said too much.

“LaVonya, why don’t you call Austin over at Motown and set up a full interview. We can talk about the song then,” I said as I rode the escalator up to the second floor of Tower in search of my CD display.

“I don’t do full interviews, darling, unless it’s a cover story for
Diva
or
People
. I’m much too busy. Just tell me if it’s true and if the guy’s name is Basil or John,” LaVonya said.