As I walked back to my office, I wondered why Steve, or Basil, was calling me. I wondered how he had gotten my number until it dawned on me that I had given him one of my business cards at Kyle’s.
“This is Raymond Tyler, Jr.,” I said.
“Junior, I didn’t realize you were a junior,” the voice on the phone chuckled and said.
“Yes. Raymond Tyler, Jr. What can I do for you, Mr. Douglas?”
“Ray, please call me Steve. I just wanted to tell you what a pleasure it was meeting you on Friday and I wanted to see if we could get together for a drink before I leave town.”
“Leave town?”
“Yeah, didn’t I tell you I live in Atlanta?”
“Well, I’m really busy. When did you want to do this?”
“This evening hopefully. I’m staying at the Hilton Towers on Fifty-third.”
“That’s near my office.”
“Yes, I realized that when I looked at your card.”
“Have you spoken with Kyle about this invitation?”
“No, it’s not what you think. I’ll explain it to you, say around six-thirty in the lobby piano bar?”
“Let me get back to you. How are you registered?”
Suddenly Steve began to stutter. “Well, uh, I’ve already checked out. I’ll have to call you back.”
“No need. I’ll meet you there.”
“Great. I look forward to seeing you, Raymond.”
“Sure. I look forward to seeing you, Basil.”
“Great,” he replied without thinking. A silence occurred on the other end of the phone and I smiled to myself.
“Basil. Are you still there?”
“Yes, Mr. Smart Ass. I’m still here. So you know.”
“Yeah, some gay people do watch sports for more than admiring bodies,” I said.
“Point well taken. If you change your mind, I’m registered under Basil Henderson.”
“I’ll see you this evening.”
When I hung up the phone, I felt really pleased with myself. I knew I was right. How did Kyle fit in this picture? Did he know Steve’s real name? I picked up my phone and pushed the speed dial next to Kyle’s office number. When I asked to speak with Kyle, the voice on the other end responded, “Mr. Benton no longer works here.”
I instantly became worried. What was going on? I had spoken with Kyle about three times that week and he never mentioned quitting his job. I hit another button that had Kyle’s home number on the label. The phone rang several times before the answering machine picked up. “Kyle, call me at the office as soon as you get this message. It’s important.”
The rest of the afternoon I waited on a call from Kyle. I even tried to reach JJ to see if she knew anything. When I did finally reach her, she was as surprised as I was and said she didn’t know what was going on. Just when I was about to leave the office and meet Basil, Kyle called.
“What’s up?” he asked in a very cavalier fashion.
“What’s up with you? I called your job and they said you no longer worked there.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. I quit that bitch at the first of the year.”
“What are you going to do?” I inquired.
“Don’t worry, Ray, I’ve got a plan. I’m going to start my own business. Let’s meet at the Nickel in a couple of hours and I’ll explain everything.”
“What time?”
“Eight.”
“Okay. Oh yeah, your friend called and invited me for drinks. Do you have a problem with that?”
“What friend?”
“Steve.”
“Oh no, Ray. Go ahead.”
“Kyle, where did you meet him? I know his name isn’t Steve.”
“I’m not surprised. I’ll explain this evening. Now, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Kyle laughed.
Kyle’s call and attitude made me feel a little bit at ease. This recent chain of events was becoming more engrossing than my upcoming trial.
Eleven
Basil’s backside captured my attention as I walked through the huge lobby of the Hilton Hotel. He was bending over signing the T-shirt of a little boy who had recognized him. I walked up behind him and stood there as he held a conversation with the fan. When he noticed the little boy looking at me behind him, he turned to face me. We exchanged perfunctory handshakes and gave each other the once over.
“Ray.” He smiled. “I’m glad you could make it. This is Joey.”
“Hello, Joey. Are you a big football fan?”
“Yes sir, the biggest!” exclaimed the small redhead.
Basil spent a few more minutes talking with Joey and then suggested that we try the Oyster Bar for drinks and a quick bite. We both ordered Coronas with lime and took seats at a small table next to the window that faced the Avenue of the Americas.
“Nice suit, Mr. Tyler. Perry Ellis?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You wear it very well. That tie is too sharp, man.”
“Thanks a lot. So, Basil, why the alias?” I asked.
“No particular reason. Is Kyle your friend’s real name?”
“I think so. I’ve known him by that name for over six years. How did you two meet?”
“Didn’t Kyle tell you?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Well, let’s just say it was a mutual friend.”
“A mutual friend?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about Kyle. I want to talk about you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you know I’m surprised that Kyle has friends like you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, let’s face it, Kyle’s a flaming faggot.”
“Say, man, you’re talking about my best friend. I put the term faggot in the same category as nigger. Besides, what are you?” I felt my face redden from anger.
“Ray, I’m sorry. I deal sometimes, but I consider myself straight.”
“Good for you. Then I don’t think we have anything else to talk about.”
I reached for my coat and briefcase when Basil stood up and said, “Raymond, I’m sorry. Please don’t leave right now.”
I slowly sat back down but held on to my coat and briefcase. Basil started to talk about how he had been introduced to the life by a rich alumnus while he was playing college football. He said he did it because he needed the money. “He gave me head. My girlfriend wouldn’t.”
“So the money made your dick hard?” I asked with a smirk.
“Come on, Ray, give me a break. Put yourself in my position.”
“I can’t do that,” I replied coldly.
As he continued to talk, I noticed how really handsome Basil was. His honey-colored skin was clear and smooth and his eyes sparkled like polished silver bullets as he talked. Basil explained how hard it was going both ways and being in the public eye. He had to be careful whom he talked to about certain things, and eventually he would have to get married. He also said that there were several professional players, both football and basketball, who were in, but that it was the most secretive of cliques. He added that track-and-field guys were notorious for being in.
I pumped him for names I would recognize, but he politely declined to name names. As he talked, I realized that there were several things to like about Basil, but an equal number of reasons to dislike him.
He would use the word faggot as effortlessly as one sprinkled salt on hot buttered popcorn. Every time he used the word, I raised my eyebrows and he quickly apologized. I got the impression that it was a part of his everyday vocabulary.
“So do you consider yourself bisexual?” I asked.
“No, not really.”
“Gay?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then what did you want to talk with me about?”
“Well, I like the way you look. I mean, you don’t look gay.” Basil paused and then said, “I was wondering if we could hook up the next time I’m in the city?”
“What does gay look like, Basil?”
“You know.” He shrugged. “What about my question?”
“To talk about sports and stuff? Sure, I’m as big a football fan as your friend Joey.”
“Is that all we could do?” he asked in an amorous tone.
“I think so. I’m seeing someone.”
“Who is he?”
“Who said it was a he?”
I finished my beer and Basil gave me his phone numbers at three different places, including his mom’s and his girlfriend’s house. When he stood up, I couldn’t believe that I was turning Basil down as a potential suitor.
His body was a sculptor’s vision. I smiled to myself at how easily ‘I’m seeing someone’ fell from my lips. Whom was I talking about, Quinn or Nicole?
“So you’re still not going to tell me how you met Kyle?”
“No, I better not. If you and Kyle are as close as you say, then I’m surprised you don’t know.” We again traded handshakes and I wished him good luck on the upcoming football season and his desire for a complete heterosexual adjustment. He let out a hearty laugh and told me he would give me a call and invite me to a game next season. He walked with me out to the street so I could catch a taxi uptown.
“I’m going to meet Kyle. Should I tell him you said hello?”
“Sure, why not. Kyle’s cool,” Basil said.
“I’ll tell him you said that.”
As I rode uptown, I wondered what the big secret was about where Kyle and Basil had met. Kyle had a gift for meeting men anywhere he went and I knew most of his other friends. I knew men like Basil didn’t frequent bars, but they cruised the subways and other public places. New York City was famous for its tea rooms, a term used for the restrooms in the subways. Kyle told me about all the married men he met there. He said that traffic had decreased since AIDS hit the city. Somehow I managed not to become involved in this seedy side of the life, which also included gay bathhouses. I tried hard not to pass judgment on Kyle and others who chose that route. I learned not to be surprised at the number of professional black men who led secret lives. Had I stayed in Alabama, my life would have become similar. There was no way I would involve my family in my gay lifestyle. Besides, I came to realize that it was a lifestyle and not my life.
In Alabama I would also have had to be concerned with fraternity brothers who lived in the city. Maybe this was one of the reasons I loved living in New York City. When you left your place of employment, your life became your own.
For a Wednesday, the Nickel was packed. Kyle was on his regular stool at the end of the bar next to the door. When I went up to him, I could tell from his eyes and his breath that he was highly intoxicated.
“Ray, baby, what’s happening?” he asked, his speech slurred. “How did your meeting with Mr. Asshole go?”
“You mean Basil? It was okay. Where did you meet him, Kyle?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“He said you were introduced by a mutual friend.”
“Yeah, right. What do you want to drink?”
“Nothing. What’s going on with you and work and who is the mutual friend?”
“I told you. I quit the motherfucker. You don’t know all my friends.”
“What are you going to do for money, Kyle?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
Kyle called for the bartender and ordered another drink. A couple of guys came over to the corner where we were sitting and Kyle gave them both hugs and kisses.
“Miss Thing, where have you been, girl?” Kyle asked one of the guys.
“I’ve been around, staying out of trouble,” the small, frail guy said.
Kyle talked with the two guys while I looked around the bar. Suddenly I wanted to run out of there. I became fearful that some of Nicole’s castmates might come in. It was Wednesday, which was matinee day, and the kids in the different shows often came to the Nickel between shows. When the two guys left, Kyle leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I think he’s sick.” I just looked at Kyle and shook my head in dismay.
“Kyle, you’re getting too full. Let me put you in a taxi.”
“I’m fine, Miss Thing, just leave me alone. I’m fine.”
“Kyle, I’ve told you about that ‘Miss Thing’ shit. We have a deal. Don’t ever call me that again, Kyle. I just don’t play that shit,” I snapped.
“I’m sorry. Cool your heels.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” I asked.
“I’m fine. Do you still love me?”
“You know I do, but I’m beginning to worry about you.”
“Don’t, Ray, I’m okay. I forgot to tell you I met JJ’s new man.”
“Is he straight?”
“I don’t know, but I think she may have lucked up and found one.”
“Well, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a ton of work to do. We’ll talk tomorrow and I’ll tell you about your friend.”
“Okay, baby, be safe.”
“No, you be safe,” I said as I gave Kyle a firm hug and kissed the back of his neck.
As I left the bar, I decided to walk and clear my head from the eventful day. I was really worried about Kyle. We had all gotten drunk at some point, but Kyle was beginning to do it regularly. Maybe something was going on that he didn’t want to talk about. I thought about the frail guy who Kyle said was sick and felt a sudden anguish for all the people I had met over the years at the Nickel and Keller’s with Kyle who had died of AIDS.
I reflected on how most black gay men thought that AIDS was a white boy’s disease when it was first brought to the attention of the gay community. Most of us thought when black guys started to die from it, it was because they were snow queens.
AIDS was hitting the black gay community with devastating force, and with all the closet black men out there like Basil, it would soon hit the heterosexual community with equal force—not all black men were IV drug users, as the media would have had us believe. I thought about trade, men who had sex with other men for money or other motivations. The majority of these men were lower middle class and either married or living with black women of the same class. They usually chose feminine guys as targets and didn’t consider themselves gay or bisexual. The women they lived with usually had no idea of their secret lives because of their great sexual prowess. These women thought there was no way these men would mess around with a sissy or a punk. Difficult economic times had caused a lot of these black men to, in fact, mess around with sissies and punks. But as Kyle always said, “A dollar bill doesn’t make a dick hard.” A sweat broke out on my forehead as I recalled the time I went for an AIDS test. Waiting for the results alone almost killed me. I didn’t take the test by choice. My insurance company had insisted upon it when I applied for life insurance. I started to take them to task, but decided I wanted to know. I celebrated for days when I got my results.
When I reached the lobby of my building, I saw Grady sitting behind the desk with roses and a potted plant blocking his view.
“Hi, Grady.”
“Hi, Mr. Tyler. These are for you.”
“What?”
“Both of these,” he said, pushing both the roses and potted plant in my direction.
“Both of them?”
“Yes sir, you’re a popular young man.” He smiled.
“I guess so.”
When I got to my apartment, I anxiously opened the card on the roses.
Ray,
Now you can’t say that a man has never sent you Roses!
Always.
Q
I must have had a smile a mile long on my face as I tore open the card from the beautiful potted plant.
Raymond Winston Tyler,
Thank you for making my Sunday more of a blessing than it usually is. You’re some kinda special. God is so good!
Love,
Nicole Springer
P.S. Please call
My mood abruptly switched from a depressed state to one of complete euphoria. It couldn’t get much better than this.
Twelve
A cold New Year’s Eve dalliance had turned into a warm spring romance. My relationship with Nicole was flourishing faster than the spring flowers. We spent every free moment we had together. The run of Dreamgirls was winding down and Nicole had started preparations for her nightclub act. We had not yet consummated our relationship, but we had come pretty close. The first time I kissed her in a romantic way, I felt as though I was tasting heat. Her body was so warm that it oozed a sexual mist. When our foreplay reached the danger zone, Nicole pulled back and explained that she wasn’t a virgin, but that the next time she went all the way, it would be for love. I, of course, was very understanding, and in many ways it relieved a lot of pressure that was building within me. Quinn was still very much in the picture and he more than adequately took care of my sexual needs; in fact, he met both my physical and emotional needs without complications. I got the impression that things were going better at home with his wife, but we never talked about it. I had only casually mentioned Nicole, so he assumed he was the only reason I appeared to be floating among the stars. Men didn’t appear threatened by women in gay relationships. The truth of the matter was that the combination of the two had sent me into orbit.
My case at the office was still taking up a great deal of my time. We were just weeks away from going to trial. Susan and I were preparing for a trip to Washington, D.C., to do some additional research and conduct depositions with some of our witnesses. Susan and Nicole had become quite friendly. She called Susan when she couldn’t reach me and always brought enough food for Susan when she brought dinner to the office. Susan helped me pick out some diamond stud earrings for Nicole’s Valentine’s present. Kyle helped pick out sexy underwear for Quinn. They both loved their gifts. One of the things I enjoyed about dating Nicole was that she allowed me to spoil her with flowers, surprise dinners and gifts, and I loved seeing the look on her face when I did. She cried when I gave her a tape of love songs that I had picked out and recorded from my CD collection. When Sela and I were dating, I wasn’t in the financial position to do some of the things I was now able to do for Nicole. And men didn’t seem to appreciate gifts the way women did; the majority of them acted as though you owed them something after sleeping with them. But Quinn’s enthusiastic reaction to my gift led me to believe that with him this could be different.
Invisible Life Page 14