Kyle returned with the drinks and positioned himself on one of Steve’s huge legs. When he stood up, I noticed that his ass was so perfectly shaped that it looked as though it could stand alone, not needing the rest of his beautiful body for support.
I asked Steve questions like what he did, where he was from and so on. He was evasive with his answers and Kyle started to look a bit annoyed. Steve looked extremely sexy, but very uncomfortable. I downed my drink and made up an excuse about having to go back to my office.
“So what do you do for a living, Ray?”
“I practice law.”
“What type?”
“Litigation.”
“Do you have a card? You never know when I might need a lawyer,” Steve said, openly flirting with me.
“Sure, but I can only handle cases assigned to me by the firm,” I said as I handed Steve a business card. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Steve. Kyle, give me a call soon.”
When I reached the lobby of Kyle’s building, it suddenly hit me. That guy’s name wasn’t Steve. It was Basil Henderson. He played wide receiver for the New Jersey Warriors professional football team. I had seen him recently on ESPN talking about the upcoming playoffs. But what was with this Steve bullshit? Maybe I was mistaken. No, I thought to myself, I would never mistake a face like that. Should I tell Kyle or were they both trying to pull the wool over my eyes? Kyle knew what a big football fan I was; maybe he really didn’t know whom he had in his apartment. I did understand that he didn’t know shit about football, or any sports for that matter. Maybe Steve, or Basil, was lying to Kyle, or maybe I was wrong.
Nine
Saturdays were becoming my only days to spend with Quinn. We were both busy with work and I had no idea what was going on with his marriage. He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. I tried to call Kyle several times one Friday night, but he had his answering machine on, which meant he was probably busy entertaining Steve, or Basil.
My phone and buzzer suddenly rang at the same time. I picked up the phone with one hand and pressed the building intercom with the other.
“Ray?”
“Yeah, Kyle, hold on one second. Yeah!” I yelled into the intercom.
“Mr. Tyler, there’s a Mr. Mathis here,” the doorman announced.
“Send him up,” I said, realizing that I still had Kyle on the phone. “Kyle.”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Just the usual. Quinn is on his way up. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“Who are you kidding? Probably fuck all day. What did you think of Steve?”
“Oh, nice-looking brother, but we need to talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“About Steve, or whatever his name is.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll talk later, Kyle. Quinn’s at the door.”
“Okay, I may stop by your place later on. JJ and I are going to Needless Markup in White Plains.”
“Okay, but call first.”
“Yeah, we will.”
I greeted Quinn at the door and was very happy to see him. He had on a Wake Forest sweatshirt under his jacket and torn, tight jeans. His beard looked deliciously sexy.
“What’s up, Mr. Tyler?”
“You, Mr. Mathis.”
We shared a quick embrace and a light kiss on the lips. Quinn had his briefcase with him and we decided to just stay in and catch up on work and each other. We realized that we really hadn’t talked in a while, just quick phone conversations. I wanted to ask Quinn how things were going at home, but I resisted. We both seemed immersed in our work, occasionally glancing up and exchanging mischievous smiles. A few hours later Quinn slammed his briefcase shut and announced that he was hungry.
“I don’t think I have anything here.”
“Let’s go somewhere. It’s cold, but the sun is out,” Quinn said.
“Okay, but aren’t you afraid somebody might see you?” I asked in a playful tone.
“So what. We aren’t going to be walking hand in hand, are we?”
“Yeah,” I said, laughing.
“You’re terrible.”
We decided to go to Zabar’s and just get something to bring back to my apartment. Saturday afternoon found Broadway filled with people walking and shopping in the many stores that lined the popular Upper West Side thoroughfare. We stopped at a newsstand to pick up a New York Times and at a record shop before reaching Zabar’s. On the way back Quinn mentioned that I appeared preoccupied with something.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It just seems like you have something on your mind.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Anything I can help you with?” he asked with deep concern in his voice.
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Nothing? The look on your face doesn’t say ‘nothing.’ ”
“What would you do if your wife or somebody at work found out about this part of your life?” My voice filled with suspicion.
“What, are you planning to call my wife?”
“No, I couldn’t do that. I don’t have the number, remember. I’m not even sure your name is Quinn.”
“What?” Quinn asked in a shocked tone. “Do you want to see my driver’s license?” he asked, reaching in his jeans and pulling out his wallet.
“No, Quinn, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something that happened yesterday.”
“Does it involve me?”
“No, and I’m sorry.”
“What was it?”
“Oh, it’s Kyle.”
“What has he done now?”
“Well, he’s seeing this guy that I think is a famous athlete.”
“And …”
“Well, the guy is using a bogus name and I’m wondering if I should tell Kyle.”
“Are you sure it’s who you think he is?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty certain.”
“How did they meet?”
“I don’t know that.”
“Well, I think you should let Kyle find out on his own or wait and see where the relationship is going. Maybe this guy will tell him. Who is it anyway?” Quinn inquired.
“I think it’s Basil Henderson.”
“The Basil Henderson that plays for New Jersey? You’re kidding.”
“No, I think that’s who it is.”
“I didn’t know he was in.”
“Neither did I.”
“Well, you hear rumors all the time about athletes and famous people, but I usually take them with a grain of salt. You know how the kids are.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how they think everybody who’s bright and famous is gay.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right.”
“But how did Kyle meet this guy?”
“Only Kyle can answer that.”
“Maybe he knows who he is, but I’m not so certain that it’s your job to tell him.”
“But he’s my best friend.”
“And he’s an adult.”
I loved the fact that Quinn was so smart. He was easy to talk to and he viewed things from a heterosexual perspective most of the time. I respected his views. He was right about the fact that gay people labeled a lot of famous people gay. Sometimes they were right, sometimes they were blatantly wrong.
I knew that I didn’t want people at my office aware of my sexual life, so I knew that it must be even tougher for people in the public eye. I don’t think I was so surprised that a professional football star was gay or bisexual. I knew a lot of athletes who were gay, but they were always undercover like Kelvin. They didn’t go to bars, parties or anything that was remotely related to being gay and they always had females on their arms. I guess the burning question in my mind was how Basil and Kyle had met. I mean, Kyle didn’t cut corners with anyone; he glamorized his gayness. You either accepted that or he didn’t deal with you.
Saturday breezed by and before long Quinn was headed back to Long Island. The d
ay had been pleasant. No lovemaking, just heavy foreplay and much-needed conversation. He didn’t mention his wife and I didn’t mention Nicole.
Kyle and JJ showed up later in the evening loaded down with packages from Needless Markup (the gay term for Neiman Marcus) and a bottle of wine. We ordered some Chinese food and half watched “The Golden Girls” and “Amen.” JJ talked about her new man, Bernard Maxson. She was certain that he was straight as an arrow. Kyle was reserving comment until he met him. Kyle didn’t mention Steve but was talking about a Vietnam vet that he had met. I told them about Nicole and how beautiful and nice she was.
“Have you told her your story?” JJ asked.
“No, it hasn’t come up.”
“She probably knows. I mean, working in the theater with all those kids,” Kyle added.
“I don’t think she suspects,” I answered defensively.
“When do we get to meet her?” JJ asked.
“When do we get to meet Bernard?” I challenged.
“Tomorrow.”
“Well, maybe you’ll meet Nicole tomorrow too.”
“Well, to be honest, I’m not that excited about meeting a bus driver or a beauty queen,” Kyle added.
“Queen, be quiet,” JJ said. “Ray, it sounds like you like this chick.”
“She’s nice and very special. But I’m not about to change my religion.”
“You better not fuck her. You promised me the next time you got some pussy it was going to be mine,” JJ said, laughing.
“JJ, you’re crazy. So, Kyle, how’s Steve?” I asked, trying to catch Kyle off guard and avoiding JJ’s sinister smile.
“Oh, he’s okay. Didn’t I tell you he was fine? Did you notice the bulge in his pants?”
“Yeah, but you still haven’t told me where you met him.”
“Hasn’t told me either,” JJ chirped in. “Why don’t you bring him tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so. I’m sure he’s busy.”
“Where did you meet him, Kyle?” I repeated.
“On ‘Love Connection,’ bitch,” Kyle responded with his usual quick wit.
“Is he married?” JJ quizzed.
“I don’t think so,” Kyle responded soberly.
“So are we going to meet tomorrow with our new spouses?” JJ asked.
“I’d rather perform brain surgery on my mother,” Kyle quipped.
“You are sick,” I said. “Really sick.”
Kyle had a strange look on his face. It was obvious that he didn’t want to discuss Steve, or Basil. He was using his quick wit to avoid something. Kyle left my bedroom, where the three of us had been eating, and went into the living room to put on some music. All of a sudden we could hear Madonna blasting away. JJ and I went into the living room and Kyle was dancing by himself as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Just smiling and twirling.
“Let’s go to the Garage,” Kyle said.
“Not me. I’ve got to meet my man,” JJ said.
“Count me out. I’ve got work to do and I’m going to church tomorrow,” I said.
“Church. Chile, you’ve got to be kidding. I hope it doesn’t crash when you walk in,” Kyle said, still dancing alone.
“Come on, Miss Thing. Let’s go,” JJ said, grabbing her bags. “Cocktail kisses,” she said as she playfully blew kisses in my direction. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We should meet at the Saloon for brunch.”
“Okay, just leave me a message.”
I locked my door and turned off the blasting music. The food and wine had made me extremely exhausted. I turned off all the lights in my apartment with the exception of a small candle flickering on my bar. I put in the CD soundtrack of Dreamgirls, lay down on my sofa and let the music begin to stimulate my thoughts of Nicole.
The ringing of the phone yanked me from a deep sleep. Sunday’s bright sunlight was pouring through the large windows in my living room. Completely disoriented, I reached for the portable phone.
“Ray?”
“Yes.”
“Are you ready?”
“Ready? Who is this?”
“Nicole. I’ll be up in a taxi in about fifteen minutes. Why don’t you stand on the left side of Ninety-sixth and Broadway.”
“Oh, Nicole, I’m sorry, I just woke up. Maybe we should make it another Sunday,” I said, rubbing the matter from my eyes.
“I won’t take no for an answer. You have twenty minutes to get ready.” Click went the phone line.
I rushed into my bedroom to find Nicole’s phone number to call her back. There was no way that I could get ready in that short amount of time. When I found her number and began to dial it, it dawned on me that I really wanted to see her. Maybe I could get ready in time. I grabbed a blue suit out of my closet, a starched white shirt and a red paisley tie. Ten minutes to shit, shower and shave and maybe I could make it. As I was getting ready, I thought about my mom and how I needed to call her. I could hear her saying, “Don’t go out in that cold weather right after taking a shower.”
I was ready in record time. I grabbed my overcoat, my watch, and headed downstairs. As soon as I reached the corner of Ninety-sixth and Broadway, a taxi pulled alongside me. Nicole rolled down the window and yelled for me to get in.
“I knew you could make it,” Nicole said and she extended her cheek to my lips for a kiss.
“I don’t know how, but I made it. You look beautiful.”
Nicole smiled in acknowledgment and instructed the taxi driver to take the Henry Hudson Parkway. She looked even more beautiful than the first night I saw her. Her hair was up in a stylish French roll, which brought to mind a young Diahann Carroll. Her face was perfectly made up and her scent erased the stale odor of the taxi. She mentioned how happy she was that I was joining her and how she knew I would enjoy her church. A black Bible lay beside her black mink coat and I took note of her name engraved in gold on the leather cover. It occurred to me that this was not your standard date, that church and religion were important to Nicole and that her inviting me was important to her. That thought warmed me inside.
Nicole was right. I did enjoy church. I had been to several churches since moving to New York, but never on a regular basis. I think it’s one of the first things people rebel against once they leave their parents’ home. Growing up in my parents’ home, church was not an option, it was the law.
Nicole attended Canaan Baptist, one of Harlem’s most famous churches. Its exterior was unpretentious, like an old storefront. When we went inside, I noticed it was large and modern. The church was already packed when we arrived, so we had to take seats in the balcony. Nicole took my hand, smiled and made her way through the worshippers, many of whom seemed to know her very well.
The huge choir rocked with down-home gospel. The minister preached with an exciting vigor that was theatrical. Several times during the service Nicole appeared to be in another place, often standing spontaneously and waving her hand in the air while shaking uncontrollably. She looked as though she was filled with a nervous energy that kept her in constant motion. Toward the end of the service, visible tears filled her eyes, causing her makeup to stream in little black waterfalls down her cheeks. Was this the Holy Ghost? I had seen old ladies in my church back home get happy, but never had I seen someone so young and beautiful become filled in a church service. I had assumed that these feelings and emotions were reserved for the overweight and the old.
I reached for Nicole’s small hands. They felt warm. “Are you all right?” I asked.
“I’m blessed,” she whispered with a reassuring smile.
Blessed, I thought to myself. What a way to describe this beautiful Sunday afternoon.
After the services Nicole and I stopped to talk with several of the members. It was much like the scene at the stage door a week ago. Several old ladies came and gave Nicole big hugs and kisses. They chatted about the services and told Nicole that they had seen her in the show or on some TV commercial recently. Many looked at me and then asked Nicole, “Where did you fin
d this handsome young man?” I would smile and hold Nicole’s hand tighter.
We decided to take the train downtown, knowing it would be faster, since taxis were at a premium in Harlem on Sunday afternoon. It slipped my mind to check my machine to see if Kyle and JJ wanted to meet. Nicole had to be at the theater, so she suggested we stop at JR for a quick bite to eat. We finished brunch and Nicole invited me to see the show again, only this time from backstage. Even though I had tons of work to do, I promptly agreed.
This time I saw the show from a different perspective. Nicole was performing in the chorus instead of the lead role, so I was able to exchange several quick glances with her as she and the other members of the cast rushed backstage for costume changes.
Again, I noticed several male cast members whom I had seen at the bars. Even though they only smiled without moving their lips, I was becoming very uncomfortable.
Sunday ended without incident. I walked Nicole to her apartment after the show and stood in the lobby of her building, talking with her for hours. When we both noticed that the dark winter dusk had arrived, I gave Nicole a soft moist kiss on her fully made-up lips and took my leave.
Ten
Wednesday, hump day, and Susan and I were falling behind in our preparations for our upcoming depositions. I was deep into reviewing documents when my secretary, Hillary, located me in the firm library.
“Raymond, there’s a Steve Douglas on the line. This is the fourth time he’s called today. Do you want to take the call?” she asked.
“Steve Douglas?” I questioned. “Did he say what it was in regard to?”
“No, he said it was a personal call.”
“Oh, Steve,” I said, suddenly recalling Kyle’s mystery man.
“Do you want me to transfer it in here?”
“Oh, that’s okay. Tell him I’ll be with him in a minute. I’ll take it in my office.”
Invisible Life Page 13