In My Father’s House

by E. Lynn Harris

“Naw, but I got some bad news for you.”

  I scanned the kitchen counter for my keys. “What bad news?”

  He paused; the suspense only made me feel more irritated. Then he said, “I’m having second thoughts about this party. I don’t think I can do it.”

  “Why not?” I snapped, dashing into the front entryway. Maybe I left the keys on the small glass table by the door.

  “I was talking to my girl about it and she’s giving me some flack,” Tristan said. “I guess I let it slip out that you said I need to be ‘gay friendly’ to do the party. Now she’s freaking out, asking me if I was one of those down low brothers. So I think I’m going to have to say I can’t do it.”

  “What?” My pulse was racing. I felt like I was about to break a nervous sweat from rushing around and feeling so irritated. My thoughts raced over my roster of models, and guys who’d come to the casting but didn’t get chosen. Would any of them be available and willing to attend the party on a moment’s notice? Damn!

  “But why wait until the last minute, Tristan? I promised them fifteen guys. Why didn’t you call me this morning or something?” I looked at my watch. I only had thirty minutes to get to the party, and I still couldn’t find my keys. They were not on the front table.

  “I feel like a punk,” Tristan said. He must have heard me thinking those exact words. “I’m sorry, Bentley. I’ve been thinking about it all day. Man, I really need the money, too. But I don’t think it would be worth all the grief my girl’s givin’ me. She’ll be checking up on me like she’s a detective on CSI: Miami and shit. I’m sorry, Bentley, but I just can’t.”

  I was not about to let Tristan jack my event. So, to convince him, I forced a nicer tone out of my mouth. “What about you coming and just staying for thirty minutes? What kind of clothes did you buy with the clothing allowance?”

  He sounded excited. “I bought some real fly shit.” But then he was depressed again as he said, “I haven’t worn it and I can take it back. I’ll bring the money by the office later in the week.”

  “Are you sure about this?” I hurried back into my bedroom.

  “I’m sure,” Tristan said. “I hope this won’t hurt me for legit assignments down the road.”

  “This is a legit assignment, Tristan.” There, my keys were on the dresser. I snatched them up and said, “Nothing is expected of you but to look good and be nice. And by that I mean with sparkling conversation. But I’m not going to try and talk you into something you don’t want to do. Now I’ve got to run and try and replace you.”

  I clicked off the phone and sighed, wondering where the hell I was going to find another guy at the last minute. I was heading to my home office when my cell rang: jah flashed across the screen.

  “What’s up, big bro?” His playful voice eased my tension a little.

  “What’s up, Jah?” I didn’t let him hear my annoyance. It wasn’t his fault that Tristan had punked out on me, the party, and all that money.

  “What are you doing, B?”

  I sat down at my computer, not even sure where to start looking for a last-minute model. “Heading to a function I got tonight. What about yourself?”

  “Chilllaxin’. I was going to drop by. I forgot this was the night of your big party.”

  “Yeah,” I said as I thought about asking Jah to take Tristan’s place. But was that the right thing to do? Jah was basically a kid and this would be a party for a bunch of grown-ass men. But I told myself if I kept him close by, everything might be okay.

  “You still there, B?”

  “Yeah, Jah. Hey, you got anything nice to wear besides jeans?”

  “Yeah. I got some real nice off-white gabardine slacks that hug my ass in all the right places and that black silk shirt you gave me. Why?” He sounded excited.

  Liking the image of him in that outfit, I didn’t even bother to log on to my computer. “I don’t know if I should do this, but one of my guys just canceled on me and I need another guy for the function.”

  He reacted like he was a kid and I’d just asked him if he wanted to go to Disney World. “Please, please let me go. I promise to do whatever you ask, B. I could use that money! And who knows? I might meet someone.”

  I stood up. “Jah, I think you might be too young.”

  “But you need me, B! Let me do it.”

  I thought about it for a few minutes. “Okay, Jah. Get dressed in something nice. I’ll meet you at the Ritz-Carlton on South Beach. Park your car there and meet me outside. You need to hurry.”

  “Don’t worry, B. I’ll be there in a minute. And thanks a lot. You won’t be sorry for this.”

  “I hope not.” A sinking feeling suddenly hit me and I knew in my gut that I’d just made a big mistake.

  Just as we arrived at the sign directing us to valet parking, I went over my rules with Jah one final time. As I followed a line of luxury cars through a gated drive lined with palm trees, I turned down my 50 Cent CD that Jah would have blasted if I let him.

  “Now remember,” I said, turning to him, “no drinking alcohol.”

  “Okay, I promise, B.” He was so excited, he could hardly sit still. As I looked into his eyes, I could practically see his imaginary visions of glamour and gorgeous men that he thought he’d see at the party.

  “And stick close to me,” I ordered. “Always within my eyesight.”

  “I will.”

  I inched my car closer behind the black BMW sedan ahead of us. “And if anybody asks you how old you are, what are you going to say?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I go to the University of Miami.”

  “What year?”

  “Freshman.”

  “What?” I shouted.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. Senior.”

  I looked at him with a serious expression that was just short of threatening. “Don’t exchange numbers with any of these guys. And if they ask you if you want to go for a swim, say you’re afraid of water.”

  “But I love to swim. Come on, B! Let me have a little fun.”

  I shook my head. As we proceeded forward, the mansion came into view. It was an enormous, Tuscan-style palace with a white tent where rich-looking men were getting out of their Mercedes, Lamborghinis, Porsches, limousines, and dark-windowed Escalades.

  Jah’s jaw dropped open as he stared at the cars and the house. “Remember I told you I’d be rich, B? This is proof. You have to speak it to get it.”

  “This isn’t your house, Jah.”

  “It could be someday,” he said dreamily, craning his neck to look up at the second floor.

  “Listen,” I snapped. “If anybody comes on to you, tell them you have a lover.”

  He crossed his arms. “I wish! But if that’s what you want me to say, B, I will. But what if it’s somebody around my age who comes on to me? Can I get his number or give him mine?”

  I drove forward. We were next. “Jah, he won’t be your age. Oh, if they ask you if you signed the nondisclosure, tell them yes.”

  “Okay. Can I eat the food?”

  “Of course you can eat. Just make sure you don’t drink, smoke, or let anyone give you something you haven’t seen them pour.”

  I didn’t like Jah’s rebellious tone as he said, “Man, you need to stop trippin’. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  We reached the young man at valet. As I opened the door, I looked over at Jah and said, “It better be.”

  When Jah and I walked up the steps to the beautiful Colonial-style mansion, a million butterflies suddenly filled my stomach. Would tonight be perfect and go off without a hitch?

  “This shit is off the chain,” Jah said as he looked up toward the Miami sky like only a young person could.

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

  “How big is this mug?”

  “I haven’t seen it all, but when I did my site visit,” I said, as we followed two well-dressed, gray-haired men up the stairs, “I was told that there are fourtee
n bedrooms.”

  Jah gasped. “That’s sick!”

  “Now remember, Jah, act like you’ve been somewhere. These are important people and I don’t want anyone to consider how young you are.”

  He smiled. “I’ll be cool, B.”

  “Don’t forget, you need to show the security guard your identification. Pull it out now.”

  “Okay.” Jah took his wallet out of his back pocket.

  I pulled my cell phone from inside my suit pocket as we approached the security station, which included a metal detector.

  “Can I have your name, sir?” The security guard asked me before looking down at the guest list.

  “Bentley Dean and guest.”

  “Do you have identification?”

  “Here you go.” I handed him my driver’s license.

  “What about your guest?”

  “Jah, show the man your identification.”

  “Cool.” Jah laid his ID on the black marble table.

  The security guard looked at our IDs and checked them against the list. “Have a good time, gentlemen.”

  As we walked toward the two huge doors with gold fixtures, Jah leaned over and whispered, “He called us gentlemen. That’s big-time.”

  “And don’t you forget it,” I whispered back.

  We walked through the doors into a brightly lit marble foyer. Handsome waiters with flutes of champagne greeted us. More waiters followed close behind with trays of boiled shrimp, sushi, and other fancy appetizers.

  “Would you like some champagne, gentlemen?” asked a very handsome Cuban-looking waiter. I made a mental note to give him a card and see if he was interested in modeling. Damn, he was hot.

  “I’ll have a glass,” Jah said as he eyed another equally gorgeous waiter.

  I quickly grabbed Jah’s hand and said, “No, thank you.” I gave Jah the evil eye. Had he already forgotten my instructions?

  We walked into the main area where several nicely dressed men drank and listened to a jazz ensemble. I scanned the room for Sterling. But to my surprise, I didn’t see him or any of my models. I had warned them all to be on time, but then again, I was early.

  The huge, high-ceilinged room had tall fireplaces, French doors leading to a terrace and pool, and clusters of fancy furniture with a lot of gold accessories. I looked toward the left side of the room where, finally, I saw Sterling walking toward me. Maybe I would finally meet my real client.

  “Bentley, so good to see you.” Sterling was dressed to the nines in pleated black slacks and a crisp white shirt with an open collar and a black suit jacket. He looked formal and casual all at once.

  “Same here, Sterling. This is one of my models, Jah.”

  Sterling looked at Jah like he was a platter of fried chicken. He put his hand on Jah’s shoulder and said, “I don’t remember seeing this handsome young man’s picture. Is this a new addition?”

  I fought the urge to remove his hand from Jah’s shoulder as I said, “Yes, one of my guys got sick at the last minute. Fortunately, Jah was available to fill in.”

  “Well, well, aren’t we lucky,” Sterling said in a way that I didn’t like at all.

  “Nice meeting you,” Jah said. “This is a beautiful house.”

  Sterling all but licked his chops as he faced Jah. “It’s not mine, young man, but please allow me to give you the tour before the night is over.”

  “Cool.”

  “Did you bring your swimsuit?” Sterling asked Jah, not me.

  “Swimsuit?” Jah cast questioning eyes my way.

  “No, I forgot to tell him, with it being last minute and all.”

  Sterling looked Jah up and down. “How tall are you and how much do you weigh, Jah?”

  “A little over six feet and one hundred and eighty-five pounds,” Jah said.

  “Then I’m sure we have something that will fit you perfectly,” Sterling said.

  “Cool,” Jah said, looking around as more men filled the room, forcing us to talk a little louder amid all the deep voices. “See if you got something in black. I look good in black.”

  “I bet you look good in anything, Jah.”

  Jah cast a flirtatious look at Sterling and he said, “I try my best, S.”

  “S. I like that,” Sterling said, nodding his head and admiring Jah’s beautiful body.

  Just as Sterling was getting ready to take us to another section of the mansion, we heard a shrill, high-pitched voice say, “The party can start now! Gabriel has arrived. Gabby is here!”

  I turned around. There was Gabriel, standing in the foyer with his hands high in the air like Diana Ross in a Mahogany pose. He wore a nice black suit that looked like it could fit a male or a female, and a white hat with a black band.

  As I looked at Sterling, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Who dipped him in sissy sauce? I guess that’s the fem I asked for. Great casting, Mr. Dean.”

  “Thanks, and exactly.” I pressed my lips tight to hold in my laughter.

  “I need a drink,” Sterling said. “Come with me, Bentley.”

  Sterling led me into the media room, where two men immediately pulled him aside for a private conversation. I figured I was on my own for a while. The giant screen showed a porn flick of gay men having group sex.

  I looked around the room. And he was the first person I saw. Our eyes met immediately.

  Warren.

  I smiled nervously at the man I once thought was the love of my life. What the hell was Warren doing here? He always told me that he didn’t do gay events. He smiled back at me and began walking in my direction. And excitement filled his hazel eyes that were so striking against his dark chocolate skin. Damn, he was more gorgeous than any man had a right to be. His tan linen pants and loose-fitting jacket did nothing to hide his football physique; his tan leather belt with a gold buckle cinched his tiny waist where a form-fitting white V-neck left nothing to the imagination about his rock-hard, sculpted pecs and abs.

  Suddenly I felt like I was overheating with the thought of his nude body, the way his broad shoulders tapered down and his hamstrings curved from his ass to the backs of his knees. And his ass . . .

  This was not how I had told myself I would react if I ever saw that man again. But my heart felt like it was beating twice as fast as normal. All those butterflies fluttered back into my stomach.

  As he wove past people and the red velvet chairs, he was smiling like he was glad to see me. And when he was standing right in front of me, Warren laced his fingers with mine. It seemed like both our hands were shaking slightly.

  But aside from that, I wasn’t about to let my face or my voice snitch on how I was feeling. No, my expression was cool and my tone was even cooler as I said, “Warren, how are you?”

  “I’m good. I’m surprised to see you.” His deep voice could have made me melt inside, if I weren’t trying to put the deep freeze on my reactions.

  His eyes sparkled at me. “I guess I could say the same thing. I would have never expected to see you here. How long have you been in Miami?”

  Warren’s fingers squeezed mine. “I came down for a job interview and one of my bois from Cali invited me to the party. I guess I forgot that you lived here.”

  I didn’t like the nonchalant way he said that. As if I were so easy to just forget. But I shrugged, with an expression like I just didn’t care, and said, “That’s understandable.”

  “B—” Warren was about to say my name when a gentleman in his early forties came over and stood next to Warren.

  “Here’s your Henny, baby,” the guy said, handing him a drink. Warren released my hand and took the glass.

  “Thank you,” Warren said. “Bentley, I want to introduce you to Radford Johnson. He’s an actor and director.”

  “Nice meeting you,” I said politely, but I was not impressed. The guy was well-groomed, but average in the looks department. Medium brown, my height, slim, wearing gray pants, expensive loafers, and a white dress shirt. The only thing about him that stood out was th
e slightly exotic slant of his brown eyes.

  “Nice meeting you as well,” Radford said. “Isn’t this a fabulous party?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty nice,” I said, noticing that Warren was watching our exchange as if he’d forgotten about our history. I also didn’t appreciate that he’d been so secretive about our relationship, but here he was at a who’s who event with this dude. I played it cool and said, “I still haven’t met our official host.”

  Radford said, “I don’t think he’s made his grand entrance, but he will soon, I’m sure. Fasten your seat belt, because it will be a shocker. Is Bentley the name?”

  “Yeah, Bentley Dean.” I looked around at all the rich-looking men. Many wore wedding rings. I recognized the CEO of a major Fortune 100 company. I only knew his name because he was featured in GQ, thanks to his reputation for dressing well.

  “Bentley Dean,” Warren’s boyfriend said, making me remember that he was there, trying to engage me in conversation. “That sounds like an actor name. Are you in the business?”

  “I own a modeling agency,” I said flatly.

  “Oh, so you must have supplied the eye candy. I can’t wait to see what little morsels we have tonight.”

  I looked back at him with an almost snobby tilt of my chin. I wanted to say, “Your ordinary ass wouldn’t have made the cut for my agency or this party.” Instead, I bragged, “I have some great guys who work for me.”

  “I bet you do.”

  I turned to Warren and asked, “How long are you here, Warren?”

  “It depends on how my interviews go.”

  Radford pawed on Warren like he was a prized teddy bear. “Oh, he’ll get the job if he wants it,” he said. “Look how handsome he is.”

  Warren said modestly, “They’re looking at a lot of people.”

  Radford’s face lit up as he took Warren’s hand. “Do you think Warren ought to be in the movies, Bentley?”

  Without looking at Radford’s love-swept expression, I said, “I’m sure Warren can do whatever he sets his mind to.”

  “See, boo, your friend agrees with me,” Radford said.

  Boo. Warren and I used to call each other that. He also called me Bent, in private. And he was my boo boo.