In My Father’s House

by E. Lynn Harris

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Bentley Dean?” a male voice asked.

  “Yeah, this is Bentley. How can I help you?”

  The guy said, “I think I might be able to help you. This is Ramon Meeks. I met you on Lincoln Road a couple days ago. You gave me your card.”

  He must have been one of the guys who’d been window shopping with DeMarco. “Okay, Ramon. So you’re interested in modeling?”

  “I might be,” he said, sounding serious, “but I need to warn you about something.”

  “Warn me about what?”

  “My homeboy that was with me, the tall dude. His name is DeMarco.”

  I peeked around the corner to see if DeMarco had finished showering. “What about DeMarco?”

  “I think he’s going to try and set you up.”

  “How?”

  “He a cool dude,” the guy warned, “but he already got two babies and he needs some money to hold him over until the draft.”

  “Ha!” I said. “So he thinks he can get some money from me? I ain’t got that kind of money, Ramon.”

  The young man on the phone sounded sincere. “Then you need to keep your distance from him. He told me that he was going to come and see you and try and get you to make a pass at him, then threaten to sue you unless you gave him some money.”

  “Blackmail?” I asked, remembering the warning from my inner voice earlier this evening. “So he’s going to try and blackmail me?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  Was Ramon a hater who was trying to ruin DeMarco’s chances for a modeling gig? Or was he telling the truth? “Ramon, why are you telling me this? You don’t know me or owe me anything.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “I appreciate it, though.”

  “That’s cool,” he said.

  “So are you the good-looking one?”

  He sounded excited. “You think I’m good-looking?”

  “You were the one on the end?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Yeah, you were the best-looking one of the group.”

  “Dig that,” he said.

  “So why don’t you give me a call tomorrow and let’s try and get together and talk about modeling.”

  “I might do that.”

  I clicked off the phone and took another sip of my wine. I walked back into the living room just as DeMarco was walking out. He was wearing a white towel wrapped loosely around his body.

  “How was your shower?” I asked.

  “It was straight.”

  “How much do you weigh?”

  “Two hundred and thirty-five pounds.”

  My eyes moved down his coal-colored, lineless face encased in six foot five—I guessed—two hundred and thirty-five healthy country boi pounds with a solid meaty look. He noticed this and very clumsily dropped the towel. He looked at me, stroking what looked like nine plus inches of dick. He smacked his lips.

  “You want to take a picture of this?” he asked seductively.

  I looked at him and could see “schemer” written all over his face. “I think I should take pics of you in clothes or, at the very least, underwear.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Let me get my camera.”

  I went to the den and got my digital camera. When I came back in the living room, DeMarco was sitting on the sofa with his legs gaped open, stroking his now hard dick.

  “You got any lotion?”

  I knew what he was hinting at, but my voice and my expression let him know I wasn’t about to bite. “What kind of lotion?”

  “I don’t care. I can make it harder.”

  “I’m sure you can,” I said, unimpressed. “Would you like me to give you a pair of underwear or swimming trunks to put on?”

  “Don’t you want to touch it?”

  “Touch what?”

  “The dick, dude. You know you want to touch. And most likely do even more if the price is right.”

  “I think you read me wrong, DeMarco,” I lied. Under normal circumstances I would have been on him so fast, DeMarco wouldn’t have known what had slurped him up. I was proud of my oral skills and always had them coming back for more.

  “You ain’t gay?”

  “I told you I wasn’t going to answer that.” I looked at him as if he were wearing a business suit and sitting across my desk from me in my office.

  He sounded almost pleading. “Ain’t nobody got to know what we do.”

  “No worries,” I said, “because ain’t nothing going to happen here.”

  He sounded harsh as he said, “You must got a dude.”

  “DeMarco, are you interested in modeling or playing games?”

  “Why can’t we do both?”

  “I think you need to leave,” I said firmly.

  “You sure?”

  I looked at the massive piece of manhood he was stroking and thought about how good it might taste. But just as quickly I thought about Ramon’s call and how no dick, no matter how big or beautiful, was worth having to give up my hard-earned money.

  “I think you need to leave, DeMarco. If you get serious about modeling, give me a call. I’m not going to get myself into a situation with someone who might look like a man but who is obviously still very much a kid.”

  “You think I’m a kid?”

  “You just proved to me you are. I’m going to go into my bedroom and allow you to get dressed. You can let yourself out.”

  I turned around and walked very slowly toward my bedroom, leaving the massive mound of manhood alone. I wasn’t in the mood to defend my own manhood or end up the headline of the Miami Herald with the caption SOUTH BEACH BUSINESSMAN FOUND BATTERED. If DeMarco needed money for his first boi-boi sex experience, he was going to find another way to do it.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The next morning I had my coffee and got on my treadmill for forty-five minutes. Before going into the office, I called my mother to see what time she wanted to meet for lunch. I could tell by the shrill tone in her voice that something was wrong.

  “I can’t meet for lunch, Bentley. I’m sorry, but you should have come last night.”

  “I told you something came up, Mother. Is everything all right?”

  “Sure, everything is all right.” She sounded sarcastic and was talking like a tape recorder on fast-forward. “Why would you ask me that? Why does something have to be wrong? My life is fine. Just fine. I just said I couldn’t meet you for lunch. I do have my own life. Long gone are the days when my life centered around your father, Anna, and you.”

  I felt tired just listening to her. And worried. Had Tyrone done something to upset her? “Okay, Mother,” I snapped. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve. I just thought we were going to get together. That’s all! And I’m glad you have a life.”

  “Sure you are. I finally found a dress for D.C. and I’ve decided to get back to Detroit later on today.”

  I picked up my car keys and my coffee to go, heading for the door. “So you’re leaving today? I thought you said you might stay as long as a week or two.”

  “I changed my mind,” she said, sounding like she’d had too many cappuccinos. “A woman can change her mind. If you want to see me, you know where I live. It’s the same place. I guess if I hadn’t come to your little condo, I never would have seen you. But I understand. You and Anna don’t need me anymore.”

  I closed and locked the door, stepping out in the humid sunshine. “Now you know that’s not true, Mother. We’ll always need you.”

  “That’s what you say.”

  “Would like for me to come and go with you when you pick up your dress?”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “So I can see you. And since I’m not going to D.C., I want to see what it looks like.” I got into my car, thinking about driving to her hotel to give her the hug that she sounded like she desperately needed.

  Her hard tone shot through the phone. “I’m sure my dress will make somebody
’s society page or, at the very least, the Internet. And if not, I’ll have Anna take a picture and send it to you.”

  I started my car. “Anna’s going with you? I didn’t know that.”

  My Usher CD started to play; I turned it down as Mother spoke. “Yeah, I forgot to tell you that. She and that husband of hers are going. So I guess you see that your dad is still giving her money. I mean, how else would she be able to afford a Danish nanny for my grandkids?”

  “I know, Mother, and you don’t have to rub it in. I’m doing okay for myself. I’ll be just fine.”

  Mother’s voice was half angry, half worried as she said, “Bentley, I worry about you and that lifestyle you’ve chosen. I hear about bad things happening to gay people. AIDS. Haters. Discrimination. Violence.”

  “Mother!” I snapped, driving past the pastel-colored art deco hotels and buildings that characterized South Beach. “You saw me. I’m healthy and happy. Nothing bad is going to happen to me. Plus, I live in a place where it’s comfortable to be out. I’m doing just fine.”

  She huffed. “Bentley, if you were doing so fine, you’d be living on Fisher Island or Star Island where you belong. Not on the outskirts of South Beach! Living like you’re so common.”

  I wanted to hang up. I didn’t need to hear my mother insult me or my lifestyle.

  “Bentley, now don’t get me wrong, there are some lovely parts of South Beach. Did I tell you that when you were younger your father and I came down here for a little vacation and I tried to get him to buy some property on South Beach, but he wouldn’t listen to me?”

  I exhaled, resigned to listening to whatever else she had to say. Besides, I was still worried about her state of mind. “No, I didn’t know that. But, Mother, I’m already in the car. It wouldn’t be anything for me to run over to your hotel and see you. I can at least get a hug before you leave.”

  “No, Bentley, don’t do that,” Mother said. Suddenly there was a sadness in her voice and if I was hearing things, I could have sworn that I heard some sniffles.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll see you soon. Bye, Bentley.”

  “Bye, Mo—”

  Click.

  Something was wrong. I didn’t know what, but I was determined to find out. I called my sister. Some lady with a slight accent answered the phone and inquired about who was calling.

  “It’s her brother, Bentley,” I said.

  “Please hold, sir, while I secure Miss Anna.”

  A few minutes later, my sister, sounding bubbly as usual, was on the phone.

  “What a pleasant surprise!” she squealed. “How are you doing, brother dear?”

  “I’m doing okay,” I said, wishing I could feel that excited to just be alive. “Hey, do you know if everything is okay with Mother?”

  Anna sounded calm. “Why do you ask? I’m sure things are okay. But I haven’t talked to her in a couple of days.”

  I watched a tall, skinny woman with a chubby man cross the street in front of me at a red light. They each held a leash for a Bouvier that was pulling them across the street. “Did you know she was down here with that alleged boyfriend?”

  “Down where?” Anna asked.

  “In Miami. She showed up on my doorstep a few days ago.”

  Anna spoke like she was figuring something out. “So that’s why she wanted your address. I assumed she was sending you something. Did you meet the boyfriend?”

  I explained what happened. “I swear she sounded like she was crying.”

  Anna’s bubbly tone suddenly gave way to frustration and impatience. “That doesn’t sound like our mother, but to be honest, Bentley, she hasn’t been like our mother for the last couple of years. It’s like she had a stroke or something and didn’t tell anyone.”

  My sister exhaled. “But when I see her, she seems happy. She does have a different group of friends. All younger than her, but I guess that’s because all of Father’s friends sided with him in the divorce. It’s okay for him to have younger girlfriends, but they treat Mother like she has some plague because she got herself a hottie. It’s such a double standard.”

  I rolled my eyes, pulling into the parking garage at my office. “Well, I didn’t call to talk about the black bourgeoisie. I’m just worried about my mother. Do you think this young guy is doing something underhanded to hurt her?”

  “Like what?” Anna asked.

  “I don’t know. You see her more than I do.”

  My sister sounded like she was ready to end this conversation. “Bentley, I’m sure you’re making more out of this than need be. I’m going to Washington, D.C., with her for the inauguration and I’ll be around her and the boyfriend. I’ll call you while I’m there and let you know what I think. Is that cool?”

  “Sure, Anna, please do that. Are you taking the kids?”

  “Oh, no!” she exclaimed playfully. “This is supposed to be fun, honey.”

  “But, Anna, you got a nanny.”

  “And your point is?”

  I got out of my car and headed toward the elevator. “Don’t let me get into this. I’m obviously not a parent, so I guess I can’t comment on parenting issues.”

  She laughed, sounding the same as when she was a little girl. “Wise move. How’s your business?”

  “It’s slow like everybody else, but I’m hanging in there.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be just fine. Let me know when one of your models gets a big job or something. Are you still doing movie business as well?”

  “We’re trying,” I said, riding up in the elevator. “But it’s a tough nut to crack. Alexandria is out in Hollywood right now trying to drum up some business.”

  “How is Alexandria?”

  “She’s doing great.”

  “Tell her I said hello.”

  “I will, and kiss my niece and nephew for me.”

  “I will. I love you, Bentley.”

  “I love you, too, Anna. Please check in on our mother and let me know what’s up. Also tell me what you think of this guy.”

  “Trust me, I will. And I promise to call and let you know what’s what.”

  “Thanks, sis.”

  “Bye, Bentley.”

  “Talk to you later, Anna.”

  It was nice talking with Anna, but somehow I got the feeling she was too frustrated or naïve or annoyed about our mother to give an objective answer. Why hadn’t she met Mother’s newest boyfriend? And why was she so unconcerned when I implied that something might be wrong?

  TWENTY-THREE

  I was so relieved when I walked into Dr. Fenton’s office. The way she looked at me and talked to me in such a nonjudgmental way, and the sense of security and confidentiality I felt within the walls of her office, put me at ease to unload everything that was weighing so heavily on my heart and mind.

  When I first sat down, I must have talked for five minutes straight about Jah, the party, and Seth.

  Dr. Fenton listened, nodding. Then she asked, “Why are you so worried about your young friend, Bentley?”

  I shook my head, remembering Sterling’s comment about Seth and his crew tossing out young bois like spoiled milk. “Because I don’t think Jah realizes what he’s getting himself into.”

  “And you do?”

  The way she asked me that made me wonder if I was letting my imagination get the best of me. I almost felt defensive about it, because I had no evidence of anything bad. Just a hunch.

  “Dr. Fenton, it’s hard to put my finger on it. But my intuition tells me, I just don’t think this guy is right for Jah. I don’t think this guy has the right motives in mind.”

  “Because he’s rich and famous?”

  “No, because I think he uses the fact that he’s rich and famous for power.”

  “Don’t most people?” she countered. “Doesn’t that sound like what your father did to you?”

  I stiffened. I loved Dr. Fenton’s direct style, but that rubbed me the wrong way. I snapped, “What does my fat
her have to do with this?”

  She took off her half-glasses and looked hard into my eyes. “I’m just thinking about the time you said you didn’t like the way he used his power.”

  “But we were talking about Jah.”

  “I understand. Do you feel guilty?”

  I flinched. “About what?”

  She raised her eyebrows as if it were obvious. “Well, Bentley, you’re the one who brought him to the party. If you hadn’t done that, this wouldn’t be happening.”

  Whether I believed that or not, I didn’t want to hear it. “But I needed an extra guy to complete my contract.” My heart was racing. Maybe that was my problem, that I felt guilty for putting Jah in this mess in the first place.

  Dr. Fenton asked, “So now you don’t want your friend to be happy?”

  I felt like I was about to break out in a sweat, despite the air-conditioning. Maybe to her, that’s what it sounded like. That I was almost hating on Jah for what—so far—sounded like his personalized fairy tale. But I just didn’t want the clock to strike at midnight, leaving him with a broken dream, out on the street with nothing but a pumpkin.

  “Dr. Fenton,” I said too loudly. “Do you think that’s what this is about? Me not wanting Jah to be happy? I would love for Jah to be happy. When he told me some of the stories about growing up in the foster care system, my heart just hurt so much for him. That’s why I helped him get his own apartment and into college. It’s why, a month after meeting him, I took him on a shopping spree for clothes. The reason why, when I buy myself a pair of sneakers, I will get a pair for Jah.”

  She looked puzzled. “Why do you do that?”

  “Why?”

  “Yes, Bentley.” She had that blunt New Yorker tone when she asked, “What are your motives in regard to Jah?”

  I crossed my arms and glared back at her. “Are you implying that I have some romantic interest in Jah?”

  “Do you?”

  “First of all, he’s a kid,” I said, not even trying to hide my annoyance. “And the answer to your question is no. Hell naw.”

  She looked skeptical. “Then why does this have you so worked up?”

  “Look, I love Jah like a little brother. I look back on my childhood and how my sister and I didn’t have to worry about anything. Ever. We were spoiled, but my parents always told us, ‘To whom much is given, much is expected.’ My sister and I have always reached out to help those who didn’t have as much as we did.”