Invisible Life

by E. Lynn Harris

  Quinn looked good and each successive Saturday brought some new realization of that fact. Spring had arrived and Quinn showed up at his appointed time in tennis whites. He broke into a big grin when I opened the door. The sight of him made my knees lock. He looked like a black Adonis, with his muscular body bulging out of the spotless white tennis outfit.

  “What’s with the outfit?”

  “We’re supposed to play tennis, remember?”

  “You’re wild. Come on in here.”

  We shared a long and tender kiss and Quinn announced that he had reserved a tennis court for us and I had ten minutes to get ready. After a brief protest I located my tennis shorts and matching T-shirt and followed Quinn to the front of my apartment building. He had rented a blue convertible Miata and we took the Henry Hudson Parkway heading toward Harlem. I reclined back in the seat and noticed that the bright yellow sun, ivory clouds and incandescent blue sky looked like a fried egg on an ocean-blue plate. As we drove, the brisk spring wind caused chill bumps on my uncovered arms, but with Quinn so close I still felt warm. Once we reached the park, Quinn looked as excited as a kid with an all-day amusement park pass. We hit a few balls and then started our game. I had forgotten that Quinn was an athlete and I was becoming a bit frustrated when he swept the first two games with relative ease. During the third game I dug in and made a more competitive showing, but Quinn still won. I told him I let him win to make him feel better.

  “That’s not possible,” Quinn said.

  “What’s not possible?”

  “My feeling any better. I’m with you.”

  There were times when Quinn said things that caused me to blush involuntarily. I had never been with a man who was so kind and romantic. My only regret was that it was usually only one day a week.

  We started back downtown and I assumed we were going back to my apartment until we passed Ninety-sixth Street. When I asked Quinn where we were going, he told me to be calm, that he was tired of us hiding in my apartment each weekend and he was in control. I sat back and enjoyed the spring weather as we sped down Fifth Avenue to the Village.

  We found a small restaurant with an outdoor patio and ordered a bottle of champagne and hot chicken wings. While we were waiting, I studied Quinn’s face and how supremely happy it looked. I had started taking for granted how handsome he was. In many ways, I thought, it was like taking the sun’s warmth for granted. I speculated if I was the reason that Quinn was in such a good mood and I began to realize how much I depended on him. When I was with him, problems were suddenly solvable. I talked to him about Kyle without really telling him what was going on. He told me that all I could do was be there if Kyle needed me. He talked about his son taking swimming lessons and his wife going back to school. It was one of the few times he had mentioned his family. It was not as though I thought that they had disappeared, but it made me realize what a small part I played in Quinn’s life. While he talked about his family, I gulped down the champagne and suddenly felt a wave of intoxication. Quinn observed this and suggested we go home.

  By the time we arrived at my apartment, a sadness settled in and I knew that Quinn would have to leave soon. Quinn walked over to the wall unit and bent over to put in my Anita Baker CD. As I eyed his every move, the outline of his jockstrap through his white tennis shorts caused an insatiable desire within me. Before he could sit down, I went to him and began kissing him as I had never kissed him before. He responded by swaying seductively against me and within minutes his tennis whites and jockstrap lay on the blond hardwood floor. After hours of vigorous lovemaking, Quinn prepared to leave. I pleaded with him to stay the night, telling him that I needed him and I wanted to wake up with him at my side. He gazed at me with unbelieving eyes and said, “I’m sorry, Ray, you know the deal.”

  Fifteen

  Reality paid a visit to my apartment. Kyle and I had finally talked about what was going on with him. To my astonishment and shock, Kyle was hooked on crack and alcohol. He had been fired from his job and out of necessity had decided to work for the escort service full-time. I wondered how I hadn’t seen it. I knew Kyle drank too much, but I had never seen him take any kind of drug. It made me take a hard look at how much I drank. Kyle wanted help and I agreed to help foot the bill at a drug rehabilitation center in upstate New York. It was a ninety-day program and Kyle promised me that he really wanted to clean his life up. As much as I was going to miss him, I knew this was the best decision. He was talking about going back to school or moving to Paris after his treatment.

  As shocked as I was about Kyle’s secret life, my curiosity was running rampant over his escapades as a call boy. He had met Basil through the service. I found that ironic since Basil had said that he got started in the life when someone paid him for sex. Now he was paying someone just to keep his identity a secret. Kyle confided in me about a lot of his clients, saying many were famous people in entertainment, sports or politics. Kyle bragged about some of the people he had met through the service. He mentioned that Sundays were busiest, with many of the wives away at church. I admitted I was surprised at how rampant this could be in the age of AIDS. Kyle commented, “Ray, you can be so enchantingly naïve! It’s a good thing you’ve got your JD.”

  Kyle wanted to go out in style by getting really fucked up one last time and then catching a train out of Dodge to the rehab center. I strongly advised against it, but finally gave in. Just as long as we didn’t go to any gay bars. JJ joined us and the three of us started drinking champagne at Sardi’s, where JJ announced that she was moving in with Bernard. After Sardi’s we went to JR for vodka gimlets and B. Smith’s for brandy. Toward the night’s end, Kyle and JJ said to fuck with me and headed to the Nickel. I was tempted to join them, but I had made a promise to myself. I gave Kyle a hug and a kiss on the lips and promised to visit the first time he could have visitors. I told him how proud I was that he had the courage to take back his life. His eyes started to tear, but the water stayed in place. He looked at me kindly and said, “Thanks, Ray, for being the best friend a faggot could have … pray for me.”

  “I will, Kyle, each and every day,” I said, fighting back my own tears.

  The week was turning out to be one of endings and beginnings. Brayton had indeed decided to leave the firm. We met for lunch and he seemed excited about his new opportunity. We spent about three hours talking about the difficulties of being a black professional in today’s corporate world. As we talked, I realized how brilliant Brayton was. The firm really hadn’t given him a chance. I shared with him what I had overheard in the men’s room and he didn’t seem surprised.

  “They just don’t have a clue. Howard has produced as many great lawyers as fuckin’ Harvard,” he said.

  “I know, my pops graduated from Howard and I know he’s a better lawyer than most of the guys in the firm,” I added.

  My recent triumph was a thing of the past. The firm worked from the what-have-you-done-for-me-lately principle. While Brayton and I were talking, I wondered if his skin color had played a role in his treatment at the firm. Brayton was extremely handsome, but his features and skin color were very ethnic. He reminded me of a regal African prince and he carried himself in that manner. I was not so dumb that I didn’t realize that white folks were more comfortable with blacks who were closer to them in looks. I had seen this work all my life. I knew that I benefited from my light skin color. My mother was dark-skinned and nobody ever thought she was my mom. She told me how upset my father’s parents were when he decided to marry her. They were worried about what color the kids would be. Didn’t they know that we would be black, no matter what shade we were?

  The same kinds of standards existed in the black gay community. Light-skinned guys were usually attracted to dark-skinned guys and vice versa. Guys who were obviously gay had a tougher time because most men were looking for men. There had been a time when the top student at Columbia’s Law School was an unquestionably black gay guy. I heard he went on several interviews, but didn’t get offers
from the top firms. The day he visited our firm for an interview, I made sure I was nowhere to be found. Later I felt badly about not being there for support. I didn’t know him, but I couldn’t risk the chance of being found out by being supportive. I was often critical of blacks who didn’t come to the aid of other blacks and here I was doing the exact same thing on two levels. I heard from a friend of Kyle’s that he was working for legal aid. At least people who needed him were getting the benefit of his brilliance.

  In the black gay life, success was based on youth and how you looked. My greatest fear was being old, fat and alone. Once when I shared my concern with Kyle, he replied, “You still have those eyes.” It didn’t really make a lot of difference what you did outside of the clubs. Money didn’t hurt, but being well endowed was a more treasured commodity. I didn’t know if penis size was as important to women as it was to men. Now, this didn’t mean that being successful was not important to black gay men; it was quite the contrary. They usually just weren’t that interested in dating each other. It was like in the straight world, being successful and a decent person did not always guarantee success with one’s love life. Being successful and congenial was not an aphrodisiac.

  This was not the last time I was going to see Brayton. I was definitely going to work with Big Brothers and accept an invitation to One Hundred Black Men. Nicole was having a lot to do with my change in attitude about myself. I didn’t realize the low self-esteem I had developed since coming out. I was still the same person who had always taken great pride in his achievements. Being gay was such a small part of who I was. Maybe keeping my gayness a secret was creating the low self-esteem. But was I gay or bisexual and what was the difference? Many gay men viewed bisexuality with misgivings. The feeling was that bisexuality was a cop-out. That you were one or the other, no in-between. Did I hang on to my bisexuality because it was more acceptable? The bottom line was how I felt about the people I was involved with. I wouldn’t allow society’s labels to run my life.

  I began spending more time with Nicole and less with Quinn. His comment the last time we were together felt as if someone had driven a stake through my heart. Dreamgirls closed and Nicole was busy working on her nightclub act, auditioning for commercials and participating in Broadway workshops. Nicole made the decision to pass up the Dreamgirls tour. She explained to me that it was time to move on with her career and not become comfortable with one show. Privately I was happy with her decision.

  Although she didn’t let it bother her, I knew she ran into the color-struck issue in her business. She once commented on the number of light-skinned sisters who were getting all the work and recording contracts. In my eyes Nicole not only was more beautiful than those light-skinned sisters but could definitely sing better than the ones you saw on the videos. I guess she didn’t really dwell on it, with Candance being her best friend.

  We started to spend more nights together—no sex, just heavy petting and cuddling. I think my holding Nicole all night meant more to her than me trying to hump her all night. It was a wonderful feeling waking up with her next to me. I had to make only a few minor changes with Nicole practically living with me. I hid my condoms and magazines. There was one close call when Nicole ran across K-Y jelly in my nightstand. She just looked at it and closed the drawer without comment. I realized that a decision on which direction to go was close at hand. I began to suffer unwelcome agony over the choices I had to make.

  The night I fell in love was a balmy spring evening. Nicole was performing at a club called Don’t Tell Mama in the theater district. She was on a bill with several other performers. I arrived late and had to stand in the back of the small, cramped club. As I found a spot, I saw Nicole step to the microphone. She looked stunning in a white sequined evening gown that Kyle had designed for her. Her full curly black hair cascaded down her back and she wore the diamond pendant I had given her. It sparkled against her skin and brought attention to her leaping bust line. She looked as though she had been poured into Kyle’s masterpiece gown. Chills took over my body as Nicole sang “Poppa, Can You Hear Me?” from Yentl, bathed in the shimmering hues of the stage lights. Although she could sing the pop stuff, Nicole adored show tunes and old standards. The lushly arranged ballads she sang unfolded like scenes from a romantic movie. I became spellbound as I looked at and listened to her. I noticed a twinkle in her eyes when she saw me standing in the back. It was as though she were singing only to me. I felt like the most special man in New York. I was in love with Nicole. But did I love her enough to give up my secret life?

  After the show Nicole and I went to eat sushi in SoHo. I was not a big fan of sushi, but Nicole loved it. She looked even more sensual when eating it. As I watched Nicole’s face, she looked as though she didn’t have a care in the world. I had a sudden urge to put her on the table and attack her with the same sensuality with which she ate the raw delicacies. She sometimes stopped eating and looked at me dreamily with a smile that would melt your heart.

  “What are you thinking about?” Nicole asked.

  “You.”

  “Is it good?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Please tell me.”

  “Nicole …”

  “Yes, Mr. Tyler.”

  “I’ve been in love before and I know it’s a lot more than holding hands.”

  “I know, Raymond.”

  “Are you ready to love me and do more than hold my hands?”

  “What are you asking me, Raymond?”

  “Are you ready to put your trust in me completely?”

  “I’ve already done that, Raymond. I’ve already done that.”

  “Nicole … I love you … I said it and I mean it … I love you.”

  “And I love you, Raymond Tyler.”

  “You do?” I smiled. The sound of her words caused a tingling sensation within me as her eyes flickered with great warmth.

  “You know I do.”

  “Is that why you’re so happy?”

  “Yes. Besides, it’s so much easier to be happy.”

  “Are you ever sad?” I asked.

  “Rarely.”

  “When was the last time you were sad?”

  Nicole looked around the restaurant as though the answer were at one of the tables that surrounded us. “The Miss America pageant.”

  “The pageant? Everything I’ve ever heard you say about your pageant experiences has been great.”

  “For the most part they were. But it was in Atlantic City that I realized the world wasn’t perfect.”

  “You thought the world was perfect?” I laughed, trying to bring Nicole out of her remorseful mood.

  “Yes, my daddy always told me it could be. He did his best to try and protect me from life’s harsh realities. But when I was named a runner-up instead of a winner for something I worked so hard for, I felt I let Daddy down.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t feel that way.”

  Nicole went on, quietly reminiscing, “Oh, he was so proud of me. But later that night I found out that my State director had polled the judges.”

  “Polled the judges? Sounds like lawyer stuff.”

  “Sort of. What hurt me about that night was the fact that the two black judges on the panel scored me the lowest. It probably cost me the title. I don’t think it would have hurt as much if the white judges did it.”

  “But look how you bounced back. Look at you, starring on Broadway. I bet you don’t even remember who won the title.”

  “You know, Raymond, I don’t,” Nicole laughed.

  “Nicole, your daddy was right.”

  “Right about what?”

  “Your world can be perfect. I’m going to do everything in my power to make it perfect. I promise.”

  “Raymond, you’ve already done that,” Nicole said as she took her small hands away from the wineglass and placed them on top on mine. “Nothing could be more perfect than this.”

  At times I was baffled at the trust women put in men. Although it went against her str
ong Christian principles, Nicole was prepared to go all the way with me. The night that I confessed my love we went further than we ever had without actual penetration. I had become pretty good at pleasing women with oral sex, thanks in part to JJ’s instruction. Nicole’s own expertise was a revelation. I found it interesting that oral sex was no longer taboo in the black community, as it once had been. I wondered if the taboo against homosexuals would eventually die. There was a time when black men never admitted to oral sex, but now they bragged about it. It was thought that only weak men or sissies would participate in such an act. Women, on the other hand, didn’t seem to frown at performing oral sex. Kyle was of the opinion that women would do anything to hold on to their men. He said that about seventy percent of the black men he knew had done it at least once with another guy. “Little boys would … when little girls wouldn’t” was his motto.

  Before I could expect Nicole to go all the way, I had some issues of my own to solve. Namely, what to do with Quinn. I didn’t know if it was possible to be in love with two people at the same time. I didn’t know whether, if I continued to see Quinn, I would fall in love with him too. Maybe I was already in love with him. I had come to the conclusion that I was passionately attracted to women and sexually attracted to men. I had to face the fact that no matter how I felt about Quinn, my future was with Nicole.

  My silence in the days that followed puzzled Nicole. I was thinking about the decision I was in the process of making. I had to be sure that I was making the right choice. I was both excited and nervous about seeing Quinn. Nicole was spending a great deal of time at my apartment and I wondered how I was going to get rid of her on Saturday now that she no longer had a show to do. Fortunately, Candance was in town and they had planned to spend the day together shopping and going over wedding plans. She casually mentioned the three of us getting together for dinner, but I was very noncommittal. I knew my moods were bothering Nicole, but I was living in a perpetual state of anxiety. The thought of not having Quinn in my life was extremely painful.