“Oh, here comes Nicole,” Candance said.
I watched the lady in the mink coat come into the restaurant and head directly to the corner of the bar where the three of us were standing. She and Candance exchanged big hugs and kisses on the cheeks and she then kissed Kelvin quickly on the lips.
“Nicole, this is a good friend of Kelvin’s, Raymond Tyler,” Candance said as she introduced the two of us.
“Raymond Tyler,” Nicole said as she extended a small hand with brightly polished nails.
“My pleasure,” I said as I took her hand in mine.
“Oh, don’t be shy. Give me a kiss,” Nicole said as she gave me a quick peck on the lips.
As she and Candance talked and giggled, I noticed how beautiful Nicole was. She looked like a porcelain Barbie doll dipped in chocolate, with beautiful black shoulder-length curly hair and a lovely face with sharp facial features that made me wonder if she had been under the knife for plastic surgery. Nicole had high cheekbones and her nose and lips looked perfect. Her tawny brown eyes were very large and expressive. She removed her black mink coat to reveal a short black sequined minidress that highlighted her long legs and ample cleavage. With lithe poise, Nicole crossed her legs as she sat on the barstool next to me and Kelvin ordered a round of drinks for the group.
After a couple of sips, Candance and Nicole excused themselves to go freshen up before we left for the theater. It was the first time Kelvin and I had been one-on-one in almost seven years.
“Nicole is beautiful,” I said to Kelvin.
“Yes, she is. She’s Candance’s best friend.”
“Oh well, you look great. I like that jacket,” I said, admiring Kelvin’s caramel-colored herringbone.
“Thanks. It’s a Christmas present from Candance.”
As we waited for the ladies to return, Kelvin and I engaged in nervous chitchat and tried to appear at ease.
“How do you like coaching?” I asked.
“It’s a lot of fun, but I’m thinking about going back to school when Candance finishes.”
“Oh, where?”
“Howard or Georgetown.”
“You ever run into anybody from AU?”
“Very rarely. What about you?”
“Hardly ever. I saw Sela while I was at home.”
“How was she?”
“Doing great. Matter of fact, she’s getting married the same day as you and Candance.”
“What a coincidence.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
The conversation with Kelvin went as though we hardly knew each other, much like our first conversation so many years ago: talking but saying very little, especially what was on our minds. Kelvin was playing with the stirrer from his drink and looking around the huge open-spaced bar and restaurant. He looked as though he was getting ready to say something, when the ladies returned.
“Well, we better head out. We don’t want to be late,” Candance said.
As Kelvin helped Candance with her coat, I assisted Nicole with her heavy mink.
“Thanks,” Nicole said with a soft voice and friendly smile.
As the four of us walked out of the bar and prepared to cross busy Eighth Avenue, I reached for Nicole’s hand. She looked up at me and broke out in a huge grin and a mischievous look on her face. I suddenly felt myself blushing painfully.
During the opening act of the Stephanie Mills concert, Nicole and I talked and talked. She was a very interesting lady. She, too, was from the South—Arkansas—and was now appearing in a revival of the musical Dreamgirls, which was playing at the Ambassador Theater a few blocks away. She told me that she was only in the chorus and was understudying one of the female leads.
I learned that she and Candance had met at Spelman College in Atlanta, where they were both AKAs and roommates. She was very smart, easygoing, and made me feel very comfortable. We hardly heard the singer Christopher Williams, who, as I looked at him onstage, reminded me of Julian, so I was very easily distracted. Nicole suggested that I come and see her show when she took over the lead role of Dena Jones while the regular actress was on vacation. Although I had seen Dreamgirls before, I wanted to see more of Nicole. We then exchanged numbers and I promised her that I would come to see the show again. Every once in a while I noticed Kelvin looking over at me and Nicole with a puzzled look on his face.
During the intermission the four of us went out to the lobby for drinks. We talked about the first act and Candance commented on how well Nicole and I were getting along. I looked around the lobby and saw a lot of familiar faces from the bars. I don’t know why I was surprised: Stephanie Mills had had throngs of gay fans since her early days in The Wiz. When I spotted people I knew from the bars, I simply nodded acknowledgment but didn’t say a word. Again, I caught Kelvin’s eyes on me when I gave these nods. One guy whom I had talked with in the bars saw me and started in my direction. A nervous tremor went through my body as he approached us. When he got close, Nicole and Candance left to go to the ladies’ room without noticing him. Saved!
“Raymond,” the familiar face said.
“Yes.”
“Don’t you remember me, Derrick Jeter? We met at the Nickel.”
“Oh yeah. How are you doing? This is a friend of mine, Kelvin Ellis.”
A startled Kelvin extended his hand with a forced smile and then walked away. He appeared a bit irritated.
“Are you enjoying the concert?” I asked.
“Yes. Are you going to the party?”
“What party?” I inquired.
“Dr. Larry Washington and his lover. It’s a black-tie affair up in Harlem,” Derrick said.
“I didn’t know about it.”
“Honey, it’s going to be a grand affair. You can come as my guest.” I hated it when men called me terms like honey.
“Thanks. When are you going?”
“Right after the concert. We can take a taxi,” he said.
“Why don’t you give me the address. I’m with a group of straight folks and I don’t know what they have planned,” I explained.
“Chile, I can understand that. I’ll leave your name at the door. Here’s the address,” Derrick said as he handed me a torn check with the address on it. I wondered why Derrick couldn’t just call me Ray.
“Thanks, Derrick. I’ll try and make it.”
“Trust me … you would want to,” he said, laughing.
I went over to where Kelvin was standing. “So is that the type of people you hang out with?” he asked sarcastically.
“Excuse me?”
Before Kelvin could respond, Nicole and Candance walked up.
“You guys ready to go back in?” Nicole asked.
“Sure,” I replied, rolling my eyes at Kelvin.
The concert was fantastic. Stephanie Mills had the crowd spellbound. I left her performance a bigger fan than before. Ms. Mills was now a close second in my book to Whitney Houston.
After the concert Nicole suggested that the four of us go to JR, a pub in the theater district, for coffee. Even though I had the party uptown on my mind, I agreed to join them.
JR was a place where a lot of Broadway actors met to unwind after their shows. It was a small bar, deceptive in its simplicity. Once we entered, many of the patrons seemed to recognize Nicole and she stopped to exchange pleasantries with some of them as we walked to our table. It reminded me of Sela working restaurants after football games back at school.
While enjoying coffee laced with a little Grand Marnier, Nicole and Candance were busy catching up on people from school. Kelvin and I sat there listening, occasionally glancing at each other. Talk of the upcoming nuptials became my cue to exit. “Well, ladies and gent, this has been a wonderful way to bring in the New Year, but I’m really beat.”
“Oh, Ray, you’re leaving?” Nicole asked.
“Yes, but we will talk real soon.”
“Well, Ray, I’m glad you could make it. You watch after Nicole,” Candance suggested. There she went with
her matchmaking.
“I will. Kelvin, great seeing you. Give me a call. Maybe we can get together for some boy talk.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll do that,” Kelvin said.
I gave both Nicole and Candance quick pecks on the cheeks and gave Kelvin a firm handshake. I darted out of JR toward Eighth Avenue into the chilly wind and hailed a taxi heading uptown.
“One Forty-sixth and St. Nick,” I instructed the driver.
While riding up Broadway, I relished the busy New York streets. As we approached Eighty-sixth Street, I realized that I was very tired and decided to go home instead of the party. The evening had been enjoyable and I decided to quit while I was ahead.
The taxi driver let me out on the left side of Ninety-sixth and Broadway and I waited for the light to change. It was the beginning of a New Year and I was spending the night alone. As I walked through the lobby of my building, I pushed the button for the elevator. Just as I was about to step onto the elevator, someone called my name.
I turned around and saw Quinn standing before me. “I guess you came for your ring?”
“Yes and to talk. That is, if you will let me.”
“I’m not in the mood. Let me go up and get the ring,” I said sullenly.
“Ray, please let me come up and explain,” Quinn pleaded.
“I don’t know,” I said, addressing him with the impersonal hostility of a prosecutor offering a plea bargain to a known child molester.
“Please. Just ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes. Come on up.”
Once we arrived in my apartment, I removed my tie and jacket and Quinn took a seat on the sofa. I grabbed a beer and sat on the sofa opposite Quinn, purposely not offering him anything to drink or a reason to stay beyond his allotted ten minutes. I turned the television on with the remote control and immediately put the MUTE button on.
“So talk,” I demanded.
“Where do you want me to start?”
“Hold on one second.”
I went into my bedroom and retrieved Quinn’s gold band and brought it back into the living room, dropping it in Quinn’s lap. “Why don’t you start here,” I said, with my eyes on the gold band sparkling against his black wool slacks.
With big, apologetic eyes, Quinn began to talk. He spoke slowly and deliberately. Yes, he was married, but he and his wife were having problems. Major problems. They were even considering divorce. They had two small kids, a boy and a girl. His wife didn’t know about this side of his life and he just needed somebody to talk to. He assured me that this was not the cause of their problems. His wife was at her parents’ home in Virginia to think things over. He said that no matter what happened between him and his wife, he still wanted to pursue a friendship with me. He rationalized the advantages of being involved with a married man. When I asked him to explain, he said, “With everything going on in New York City, you can count on me being faithful to you.” Quinn continued by telling me it was a rare occurrence that he even went to the bars and it was fate that we met. He had wanted to meet someone who didn’t appear gay, that he could even invite to his office or home. As he talked, I listened intently and began to soften. We had many of the same views when it came to the life and the longevity of gay relationships.
Quinn said he wasn’t calling just about the ring: he had thought of me constantly since our meeting. He also pointed out that he had not lied about having a lover. Nothing about a wife had come up. As he talked, I sat on the sofa in silence, occasionally looking at the television or sipping some of the beer from the now warm can. After Quinn finished talking, he stared at the television. His face revealed a restless loneliness. Then he turned to me, watching me for a long time, saying nothing. Then, “So, Ray, will you forgive me and let’s start all over as friends?” he said.
“I don’t know, Quinn, this is an awful lot to digest.”
“I understand. Could I have a beer or something to drink?”
I relented and said, “Sure.”
I went to the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine and put in a Luther Vandross CD. I walked back over to the sofa and just looked at Quinn, at the television and around my apartment. Without warning, Quinn pulled me against him, putting himself in my arms as though he was giving me himself to protect. He looked me directly in the eyes and kissed me with intense passion. I felt powerless! Quinn stood up, pulled me up and started to lead me toward my bedroom. Once there, he started to slowly undress me. When he removed an article of clothing to reveal my skin, he gently kissed that portion of my body, until I stood naked in my bedroom. Quinn quickly undressed and pulled me down with him on the bed. We wrestled playfully for minutes, each of us jockeying for position. We tossed and rolled with each other until our bodies seemed to be intertwined. Quinn and I began to make love, gently attending to each other’s needs. The lovemaking lasted for hours. Each climax better than the one before. After making love, Quinn lay in my arms and seemed lost in his thoughts.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“Nothing, just wishing,” he said.
“Wishing what?”
“That life could be like this forever.”
I smiled and brushed his face. We kissed a long breathless kiss and I lay back and surrendered myself to a deep sleep on the first night of the year.
Quinn and I became prisoners in my apartment. The days rolled into nights and time was not a factor. We watched the college bowl football games, played chess, listened to music, talked and became familiar faces to the Chinese and pizza delivery guys. I turned the ringer on my phone off and the volume of the answering machine so low that neither one of us could hear it. The only way I knew that people were calling was from the red digital numbers that indicated how many calls had come in. We ordered a case of Chardonnay and finished it in our three-day hibernation. In between the talks, television and music, we managed to enjoy lustful lovemaking. We took showers together that lingered until the rush of water became ice-cold. Our clothing consisted of robes and old T-shirts.
I learned a lot about Quinn during this time. He had played basketball at Wake Forest University and received a degree in business. He, too, experienced his first relationship with a man during his senior year. Quinn married his high school sweetheart and she was now a bank loan officer when she wasn’t at home raising their two kids, Baldwin and Maya. He said he never worried about being found out, either at home or at work. “I don’t fit the mode,” he remarked.
His only long-term relationship with a man was with his best friend, who was also married. He said the guy had moved to the West Coast and they were just friends now. When I asked him if he was sure his wife didn’t know, he replied, “She wouldn’t believe it even if Jesus Christ Himself told her.”
We talked about how even the smartest of women couldn’t detect undercover gay guys. We also discussed how white businesspeople never picked up on it either. I related to him how one of our senior partners was always talking about faggots this and faggots that in our staff meetings. Quinn said that his wife’s brother was gay and that he avoided him like the plague. He said he was always polite to him but avoided prolonged conversations or being alone with him. He laughed to himself when he talked about his wife being a real BAP, black American Princess. I shared my airport scene with my father, and Quinn showed compassion I had not expected.
We finally faced up to the fact that we must return to the real world when the beeper from my office went off. My apartment was beginning to smell pungent, similar to a locker room. Grady also slipped a note under my door stating that Kyle had come by a couple of times and appeared worried.
Quinn gave me his office number but wanted to hold off on the home number until he and his wife decided what they were going to do. We decided to take a break from each other for a couple of days and get together for lunch on Saturday to discuss where this relationship was going. When Quinn left, I felt brand-new. I was able to put my problems in proper perspective. I was ready to take on the world, or a
t least New York City.
Eight
January settled in. It was blistering cold. The gray days became blue. They lingered like a kiss with someone you no longer loved. Kyle and JJ were back. They were a ray of sunshine through January’s doom and gloom. The three of us decided to meet for dinner on Saturday evening at Sylvia’s restaurant in Harlem. I talked to both of them on the phone several times to discuss our plans before we met on Saturday. When I spoke with Kyle, his voice brimmed with excitement and mystery. I was as anxious about seeing the two of them and comparing notes on our holidays as they were me.
I had talked with Quinn a couple of times, but I had to cancel our Saturday lunch date because of work. One of the senior partners at the firm, Mr. William Clay, called me into the office before I was due back from vacation. When I walked into his huge office, he explained that he had a tremendous opportunity for me. In fact, he was giving me my first big case: a computer software copyright infringement suit against Tri Tech Telcom, a large computer software company. Our client was a computer programmer who had developed a software program that Tri Tech was selling to their customers at huge profits. We would be filing a $50 million lawsuit against the giant corporation. It was my chance to shine.
My initial reaction was that I had been given the case because all the white boys were away somewhere skiing, but I felt that whatever the reason, I was going to make the most of this opportunity. Prior to this case, I had been given only small cases that required no litigation and was limited to writing briefs and doing research for other big cases in our office. There were times when I felt more like a paralegal than a lawyer. I was spending twelve to thirteen hours a day in the office going through documents and preparing for upcoming depositions. I even missed going to the Nickel Bar Friday evening, so I had to show up at Sylvia’s Saturday night.
After the long train ride uptown I ran the last two blocks to the popular Harlem eatery. Sylvia’s was more like a large luncheonette than a restaurant, with low ceilings, long counters and an adjacent dining room. Before I could take off my coat, Kyle and JJ left the table they were sitting at to come and give me big bear hugs and kisses. As I hugged them back, I shared in our excitement about seeing each other again.
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