Any Way the Wind Blows (28 page)

I dropped my cell phone in my bag and glanced over the balcony to see if the café and bar were too crowded or if I should walk down to the Lincoln Road area again. Suddenly my eyes landed on Desmond. The man even looked good from nine stories up. He was sitting casually at a table and talking with one of the production guys. Just as I began to savor the view, he rose to leave. I watched him for a second to see which direction he was going. When it looked like he was headed for the beach, I quickly raced from my suite and rushed to the bank of elevators. I pushed both the down button
and the up button. Moments later I heard a
ding!
, but the up arrow was lit. I thought about taking the stairs, but I knew I’d be sweating like a pig once I reached the lobby. Seconds that seemed like minutes passed, and finally, the next
ding
signaled a down elevator. When the door opened, an elderly white man gave me a smile as he moved to the back of the elevator. He stood directly behind me, even though there was no one else in the elevator. I could feel his eyes on my butt, so I moved over so we were standing side by side.

I was getting really agitated when the elevator stopped again and a young black man with blond hair, talking on a cell phone, stuck his foot against the door to hold it open for his slow-moving girlfriend, who was wearing a Wal-Mart special pale pink short set. She was smacking gum, and I looked away so she wouldn’t see me roll my eyes at her and her boyfriend. But then she looked up at me like she knew me, and I began to pray that the elevator would reach the lobby quickly.

“Ain’t you Yancey B?” she asked me in a loud voice. I nodded and smiled.

“Bitch, you’re the bomb with a mushroom cap. I heard yo song. Me and all my girls listen to your CD all the time. Can I get your autograph?” she asked as she started pressing her elbow into her boyfriend’s side. Of course, this wasn’t the first time someone asked me for an autograph, but Broadway fans and hoochie mamas were very different in their approach.

“Sure. Do you have a pen and paper?”

“Tuwan, give me a piece of paper and a pen,” she demanded.

“LaTonya, I ain’t got no pen and paper. Who do I look like, yo assistant or sumthin’?”

LaTonya looked at the white man and said, “You got a pen and paper, ole man?”

He smiled and whispered, “No.”

The elevator finally reached the lobby, and LaTonya grabbed my hand and said, “Come on, let’s go to the front desk. They better have some pens and papers up there.”

I wanted to tell LaTonya that we would have to do this later because I had a man to catch, but I also realized that keeping my fans happy was part of being an entertainer. Three autographs later (for LaTonya and her two best friends, Trina and Bedonna), I headed for the hotel café, passed the pool and began to frantically search the long stretch of white sandy beach for Desmond.

The moon was hanging full and glorious over the water, and the sun had dipped below the clouds and bathed the distant cruise ships and small boats in gold. I kept looking all around, in front, behind and then up the beach. I started to run south, when I suddenly spotted Desmond’s tall, lean self as he walked along the water’s edge. He was walking slowly, but his stride was so long, I had to run to catch up to him, quite by accident, of course.

When I got within a few feet, I stopped and caught my breath, brushed some of the sand off my feet, and smiled as I mumbled to myself, “You got him, girl!” I felt a little bit like a stalker, but I enjoyed the excitement of following him. Desmond was wearing cream-colored linen slacks and a matching linen shirt that must have been unbuttoned in front, because it flared out as he walked. During the shoot,
his dreads had been tied back away from his face, but now they swayed freely to the left and right as he glided along, beckoning me to follow.

The warm night air was humid, kissed by the softest of breezes. The farther we walked from the hotel, the more quiet and peaceful it became. I could hear my own heart beating rapidly. I wondered if Desmond could hear it too. Perspiration was dripping down my back, collecting just above the waistband of my sarong. I told myself I better make my move before I was completely drenched. But it was Desmond who made the first move.

He turned in toward the water and stopped. He let his shirt fall from his shoulders to the sand, kicked off his sandals, then stepped out of his slacks. His almost naked body cast a fierce silhouette against the moon, which seemed to hang in the sky just inches above the water. For an instant, I thought he was going to throw back and beat his chest like he was Tarzan. And damn if he didn’t look like Tarzan dipped in chocolate and caramel.

I had assumed that Desmond was on the thin side of lean, but now, seeing him with next to nothing on, I realized how his usual oversized clothing masked a fabulous physique. Desmond looked like a sculpted Hershey hunk of muscle, not bulky, mind you, but well defined. Arms, back, thighs, calves, ass—especially ass—smooth flawless skin pulled taut over rock-hard muscle. It was not a Basil look-at-me body; it was more natural, less forced and much, much sexier. I was slightly aroused, but was more overwhelmed by the pure, almost spiritual nature of his looks.

“Desmond,” I wanted to say, but the words got caught in
my throat and no sound came from my mouth. I coughed to clear my dry throat, and he heard me. He turned around and tilted his head slightly to the side with a quizzical look on his face. When he recognized me, a broad smile spread across his face. I knew I was caught, but the brilliant contrast of the stark white swimsuit he was wearing against the brown hues of his skin had my full attention. His crotch bulged almost obscenely, or maybe my eyes had suddenly become as big as cookies. “Desmond,” I said again with mock surprise in my voice, “fancy meeting you here.”

“That’s pretty weak, Yancey,” he said, laughing at me with his eyes. “How long have you been standing there? Are you following me?”

“Following you? Of course not. I mean, it
is
a free beach. You’re not the only one who decided to take an early-evening stroll on the beach. Look around,” I said as I whirled around with my arms spread toward the other people walking along the beach.

“True. True,” he said. “Let’s not get defensive.”

“Defensive. There’s nothing to defend. I was on my way to dinner, but that beautiful moon and sea air called out to me. I wasn’t looking for you,” I said unconvincingly.

He walked over and took my hands in his. He looked deep into my eyes, and I could see my face reflected in his pupils. “You are a very beautiful woman, Yancey Braxton. And a very lucky one as well.”

“Lucky? How so?” I asked as I looked at him with affection and just a little fake contempt. I still didn’t want him to think I had chased him down the beach like a brazen schoolgirl.

“Because you are here with me under the alluring spell of the full moon,” he said, pulling me to him.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and I held him around his neck, nestling my head into the space between his head and shoulder. His body was protecting me from the slight night breeze like a shield. We spoke no words, yet we communicated a great deal to one another. I found strength in his raw masculinity, and security in his sensitivity. Within moments, the tiredness and tension that I’d held in my body all day were replaced by calm and peacefulness.

A few moments later, Desmond asked me if I was a swimmer.

“It’s my second-favorite exercise,” I said with a seductive smile.

“Oh, you’re bad, Yancey Braxton.” Desmond laughed as he waved his index finger a few inches from my nose.

“No, I’m very good.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, Desmond looked at me and said, “Let’s go for a swim.”

“I’d love to,” I said. “But I’m not wearing a swimsuit.”

“Your point would be?” He laughed again.

I hesitated a second, then unwrapped my sarong and tossed it in the direction of his clothes piled on the sand. Desmond stood there perfectly still, then slowly looked me up and down like he was checking for places to kiss. After he’d taken me all in, he nodded his approval. I stood there in my tube top and robin’s-egg-blue thong underwear, but felt no awkwardness with this man who seemed to see right through me.

“Very beautiful, indeed,” he said. “And here, too,” he
added as he placed his hand over my heart. He took my face in his hands and brushed his lips softly across mine. He pulled back for an instant and studied my face, running his thumbs over my eyelids, along the scar on my eyebrow, over my mouth, and then leaned in and gently parted my lips with his tongue.

It was a kiss I didn’t ever want to end, even though I knew it could lead to something better. Desmond’s pillow-soft lips suddenly left mine, and he took my hand gently and walked me into the ocean. Goose bumps rose all over my body as we entered the deep, cool weightlessness of the water. Before we began to swim, I pulled Desmond toward me and looked into his eyes and said, “I haven’t done anything in my life to deserve someone like you.”

Desmond smiled at me and touched my bottom lip and said, “Just be Yancey. The Yancey no one has ever seen.”

B
art was hiding from me, and my anger was still very much alive. I came home the next morning around nine when it was clear he wasn’t going to show. I got undressed, crawled into bed and drifted into a heavy childlike sleep.

I woke up renewed, determined that I was not going to allow life to wrestle me to the ground. I ate a bowl of cereal and then took a shower. I stood for a long time and let the warm jets of water beat on my body in full force.

When I came out of the shower, I wrapped a beach towel around my waist and readied myself for some important calls. I needed to speak with Brison. He had called several times to express his concerns and assured me I was still wanted and considered a partner. When I reached him, I asked, “What about Nico?” He took a moment before replying, “Nico is an idiot. We got the votes to overrule him. Don’t walk away from what we’ve accomplished.” I asked him to give me a couple of days to think and I would get back to him.

I called my Pops to make sure he was all right, and he didn’t even mention our last conversation. When I mentioned I was thinking about moving back to Florida, he sounded excited, and talked about the two of us going fishing. That was a good sign, I thought, unless he was simmering like me.

I went into the kitchen for some orange juice, but there were only a few drops. I was getting ready to get dressed and run to the store when the doorman rang the intercom phone. I started not to answer it. The day before, Rosa had shown up. Why I don’t know, but I’d told the doorman to tell her I wasn’t feeling well. Even when she told him it was important, my response was a firm no.

I figured it was probably Rosa again, so I decided I might as well deal with her. Her constant phone calls during the last couple of days and then showing up unannounced probably meant only one thing. She had gotten a call from Bart too.

“Yeah.”

“Mr. Henderson. I have a Mr. Tyler here to see you,” the doorman said.

“A mister who?” I heard the doorman ask someone to repeat his name, then a voice in the background say, “Raymond Tyler.”

“Mr. Raymond Tyler,” he repeated.

“Are you sure?”

“That’s what the man said.”

“Send him up,” I said.

I raced to my bedroom and then decided it was too late to get dressed. Damn, Raymond had seen me half-naked
before, anyway. But what was he doing here? I wondered as I moved to my bathroom to brush my teeth quickly. Just as I was getting ready to wash the excess toothpaste from my mouth, the doorbell rang, so I quickly wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

I went to the door, and I felt my heart pounding. I took a deep breath and pulled open the door. There he stood, Raymond Tyler, looking handsome with cool grape-green eyes and unblemished skin. He looked at me with a nervous, sexy smile. I looked at him in disbelief.

“Raymond, what are you doing here?” I asked.

“I came to collect my pay. You didn’t get my messages?”

“I haven’t checked my machine in a while. You called?”

“Several times.”

“Why are you here, seriously?”

“If you let me in, I’ll tell you,” Raymond said.

“Dang, I’m sorry, come on in,” I said as I grabbed hold of my towel to make sure it was tucked tight.

Raymond followed me to the living area, and we both took a seat on the sofa as I maneuvered my towel to make sure I didn’t get Raymond excited. Although the boy looked good, I knew he hadn’t come all the way from Seattle just to get a little piece.

“Be real, why are you here?” I asked.

“I was worried about you,” Raymond said seriously.

“Why? You know me. I can handle my business.”

“I’m glad to see you’re not in jail or something.”

“That’s ’cause I haven’t caught up with that mofo Bart. But trust me. His days are numbered.”

“What’s that going to solve?”

“It’s going to show a mofo he can’t fuck with my family and then just walk away. How would that make me look?”

“Don’t know. You tell me,” Raymond said.

I didn’t answer, and my loft began to vibrate with the still air of our unspoken words. A few moments later, the stillness was beginning to feel overpowering, so I finally said, “Can I get you something to drink?”

“You got any OJ?”

“Naw, I was on my way to get some,” I said.

“Why don’t you get dressed and let me take you to breakfast,” Raymond suggested. Maybe my towel and I were getting to him.

“So you came all the way from Seattle to take me to breakfast. I’m impressed,” I joked. But Raymond wasn’t going to let me take things lightly.

“Basil, when are you going to really deal with life? Are you going to joke, fight or fuck yourself out of every situation?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Basil, I got on a plane and left my home and job to come here to check on you, because the last time I talked to you, you were talking about beating some dude’s ass because he did something you didn’t like. Dude, this is a new century. We’re getting older. We’ve got to stop playing and acting like little boys.”