In My Father’s House

by E. Lynn Harris

  “Joining us tonight,” the host said, “is Seth Sinclair and his lovely wife. Seth is one of the most respected men in Hollywood. And maybe one day, our second African American president.” The audience clapped as Seth smiled proudly and waved to the crowd and camera.

  I felt sick to my stomach. It had nothing to do with the combination of the pizza and popcorn I’d been eating. But it had everything to do with my rage.

  Then I thought about something my father once told me. When he got ready to purchase his football team, a wealthy white real estate developer tried to steal the franchise from him. Bo Sexton and Father had once been friends, often playing golf together and even vacationing as a foursome with their wives. But the relationship soon soured.

  Because, Father believed, Bo got jealous when Father’s wealth suddenly became much greater than Bo’s. Turned out, Bo had invested in a bad real estate development with the hopes of cashing in on luxury condos that were scheduled for construction along the Detroit River. Around the same time, when Bo found out Father was getting ready to increase his assets by acquiring the team, Bo tried to outbid him.

  But when the day of the deal and bidding came around, Bo silently bowed out. My father was strutting around his office like a peacock. I asked him why or how he got Bo to drop out. He simply took a puff of what he called his victory cigar and said, “Bentley Tre, our secrets always outweigh our strengths. So be careful with whom you share your secrets, and even more mindful of who finds them out.”

  Seth Sinclair had secrets. Many secrets. Maybe even one that could knock him off his perch. And maybe one of those secrets had fallen into my lap.

  Jah. I was almost certain that my young friend was in danger. And I blamed myself as the reason he was in this mess. Had I not invited him to the party, he never would have met Seth. Damn, if I hadn’t taken the job, their paths never would have crossed.

  I had to do something about Jah and Seth. And if my hunch was correct, it could save Jah.

  With my cell phone in one hand, I read Sterling’s number as I dialed it on the landline on the coffee table. I imagined he was at the Oscars, so I was prepared to leave a message. I would use the one word that would guarantee a return call.

  After two rings, Sterling answered.

  “Sterling, this is Bentley Dean. I need to speak with Seth.”

  “I don’t think Seth wants any more conversations with you, Bentley Dean. I strongly recommend that you lose my number and forget you ever met me or Seth.”

  I spoke confidently. “But you see, Sterling, there’s no way I can do that. Remember, it was you two who came into my life. I will decide when this relationship ends.”

  His rage shot through the phone, which I held away from my ear. “Motherfucker, do you know who you’re talking to? Is this a threat? My boss doesn’t take kindly to threats from anyone. Do you know what that means?”

  I stayed cool. “Sterling, to be quite frank with you, I consider what you just said as a threat. And my father taught me not to view threats favorably. So are you going to set up the meeting, or must I do it?”

  I watched the camera zoom on to Seth on television one more time as his right-hand man shouted into my phone.

  “Are you smoking crack or something, asshole? Do you think my boss gives a shit about some modeling agency guy? Or better yet, a gay-ass pimp?”

  Stunned, I looked at the phone, as if it would tell me that yes, this bastard had just called me a pimp. My insides blazed from a slow boiling simmer to a red-hot barbeque pit. And I had taken enough from this gofer.

  My voice threatened to crack with anger as I said, “I’m done playing with you two. I have a message you can relay to the great Seth Sinclair with his fake Hollywood life—”

  “You know, Bentley, Seth and I deal with haters like you every day—”

  “It ain’t hatin’ if it’s true,” I said.

  “If what is true?”

  “Allow me to finish, asshole. Tell your boss, if my friend Jah is not safely back in Miami in forty-eight hours, I’m going to the police.”

  Sterling said, “Go to the police. Nothing will happen. There’s no way you can prove anything.”

  I said confidently, “Tell Seth to try me and I will go to the police and the press with the one word that can destroy him.” The truth was I had no evidence except for my gut feelings and anecdotal stories from Daniel and Wilson, plus that strange text from Warren.

  “Word. What are you talking about?” Sterling shouted. “What word?”

  I paused for dramatic effect. This was, after all, Oscar night. Then I did a Hitchcock whisper into the phone: “Wentworth.”

  And the world between me, Sterling, and Seth suddenly became silent.

  FORTY-TWO

  My last day in my hometown almost felt like spring, even though it was the end of February. I had the driver stop by my mother’s house so that I could say good-bye to her and my father.

  “How are you, Mr. Dean?” asked Doris, my father’s nurse, as she opened the double front doors. A gust of lemon furniture polish greeted me. I was always so impressed with the sight of our double staircase and two-story foyer with the giant chandelier. It just looked so regal.

  “I’m fine, Doris. Where’s my mother?” I stepped into the huge foyer.

  “She had some errands to run. I expect her back in an hour.”

  I glanced up the staircase. “How’s my father doing?”

  “Better than yesterday,” Doris said as she closed the doors. “And I’m sure he’ll be even better when he sees you.”

  “I don’t know about that, Doris,” I said with a slight smile.

  “Oh, I’m sure of that,” she said. “You should hear how he talks about you while I’m taking him through his therapy. He’s so proud of you! Told me how you’d started a business in Miami without any of his help.”

  “He did?” The red panes in the stained-glass window on the doors behind her caught my eye. I remembered how I had thought about blood bonds the day Father had banished me from his house. What a difference five years could make!

  “Yes, he did brag about you,” Doris said. “Right now, he’s sitting on the sofa in the master suite. Go on up there.”

  I walked up the stairs and entered the bedroom, where Father was sitting on the leather sofa. He wore blue striped pajamas and a brown robe. He was reading a newspaper, but when I walked in, he immediately put it down.

  “How are you feeling today, Father?” I bent to hug him. He returned a weak hug, but I did feel strong hands patting my back.

  “I’m doing better. Feeling more like my old self. Here, take a seat,” he said as he put his hand on the spot next to him.

  “Father, I don’t have much time. My flight leaves in a couple of hours and I have baggage to check.”

  He looked disappointed. “I’m glad you stopped by. I have something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Sure, Father. What’s going on?” Were we finally going to talk about Kim? I didn’t know if I was ready for this conversation but whatever my father wanted I would do.

  “I need your help.”

  “Doing what?”

  “With one of my businesses. I don’t know when my doctor will let me go back to working full-time. And to be honest with you, I kind of like this life of taking things easy. But I’m anxious to get back to my own place and resume my life.”

  Did that mean a love reconnection was impossible for my parents? “So has Mother gotten on your last nerves?”

  “I don’t pay her no mind.”

  “I know.”

  “Besides, I miss Kim and I don’t think she feels comfortable here.”

  “I can understand that. I mean, the first time she came to the house was with me.”

  “That was a long time ago, son.”

  “Is that your way of telling me that we’re done with this Kim conversation?”

  “For now, but I know we’ll discuss it at some point. She is not going anywhere.”

&nbs
p; “Cool.”

  My father got serious and spoke in a tone as if he were wearing a business suit. “Now, Bentley, I want you to know that what I’m going to ask you to do doesn’t mean I accept or understand your lifestyle. I don’t ever think I will. But you’re my son. And if your mother and I raised you right, you’ll be okay.”

  This was the conversation I had been hoping to have for five years. I spoke firmly. “I don’t expect you to accept my lifestyle, Father, but it’s important that you at least love and respect me.”

  Father’s gaze softened as he looked at me. “You know I love you. But I’ve always told you, Bentley, you have to earn respect. That’s not what I want to talk about. Hopefully there will be days on the golf course where we can get to that point.”

  I nodded. “That’s cool. What do you need me to do, Father?”

  He got businesslike again. “I need you to come and oversee my football team.”

  If someone had told me just a month ago this would happen, I would have never believed them. I let the words bounce around in my head for a few seconds, to make sure that yes, my father had just said that.

  “I hired a new general manager right before the heart attack,” he said. “But the draft is coming up and I need somebody with my best interest to make sure we make the right picks. And to make sure my money is being well spent.”

  I looked back at him with a serious expression over the disbelief that made my jaw threaten to drop open.

  “Bentley, I know how much you like football and how one day you hoped I’d turn the team over to you.”

  “Father,” I said with excitement and respect. “Wow, that’s cool. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  He nodded. “Now don’t get me wrong, Bentley. I’m not ready to give up the team yet. But one day I will and it won’t hurt for you to get a little experience by going through a draft. The guy I hired used to play professional football and I think he’ll be good for the club.”

  A thousand thoughts shot through my mind. “I need to talk this over with my business partner, but I’m sure we can work something out. Will you need me to be here? Or can I do some work from Miami?”

  Father almost smiled. “That’s the good thing and why I think this will be so perfect. The combine and the draft will be in Fort Lauderdale, so you’ll be able to do a lot of work from there. Which, by the way, your mother has been on me to buy you a bigger place. So I guess you can start looking.”

  I shook my head. “That won’t be necessary, Father. I’m really happy where I live now.”

  “Nonsense, Bentley. You’re going to be a team owner and you need to live in a place befitting one. Besides, you’re Bentley Dean the third. We know lots of people in Florida. I’ll have my real estate guy locate some places. What’s that place down there? Star Island?”

  “That’s one of the places,” I said, “but can we talk about that later? I don’t want to miss my flight.”

  Father looked at me as if he would miss me. “Okay, get out of here, but let me know something as soon as you can. I want to send my general manager down south to meet with you.”

  “I will.” I hugged him again. “I love you, Father. And I’m really happy you’re back on the mend.”

  “Yeah, I know, son. Thanks for coming up and spending some time with me. It’s meant a lot. I think we’ll be okay.”

  “I know we’ll be okay.” I stood.

  “Have a safe flight.”

  “I will.”

  I gazed at my father, glad that he looked stronger. The color had returned to his face. And the whites of his eyes were as bright as the snow that had greeted my return to Detroit.

  A hot wave of melancholy seeped through me. All of a sudden, I wasn’t in such a hurry to return to sunny Miami. Tears burned my eyes, so I turned and headed toward the door.

  “Bentley.”

  I turned to face him. “Yes, Father?”

  “Thanks for the cheeseburger.”

  I smiled. “Anytime, Father.”

  FORTY-THREE

  As I sat in the waiting area of the Northwest Airlines boarding area, I thought about the last couple of weeks, my father, and my life. At the same time, I found myself studying couples, both straight and gay, as they came into the area. Would I ever engage in public affection with another man?

  I glanced at my watch. I had about thirty minutes before my flight would board, so I walked over to the newsstands. I was immediately struck by how most of the magazine covers featured our new first lady, Michelle Obama. Soon even Oprah would be sharing the cover with Michelle on the April issue of O magazine.

  The only people rivaling the first family on magazine covers, sadly, were singers Chris Brown and Rihanna. Here we had another black man who would most likely do jail time for being unable to control his temper, and a beautiful young girl who was willing to accept that in the name of love. It made me think back to a time when I was seeing Kim and Warren at the same time and I couldn’t get Kim to leave. I was so mad that I started an unnecessary fight. But I never thought of hitting her. My father had told me at an early age that that was never an option.

  As a television over the magazine stand streamed with a news ticker, I noticed an item about the California Supreme Court looking into the validity of Proposition 8. I envisioned myself standing before a minister or a judge to marry a man. Who would be at my side? Would times, and my father, change enough so that he might be there? The doctor had told us if he survived the surgery, it could add another twelve to fifteen years to his life. Now that would be a change that in my wildest dreams I could believe in. But hey, my father hadn’t thought he’d live to see a black man elected president.

  I purchased a couple of magazines and returned to the waiting area.

  Damn. I hadn’t arranged a car service to pick me up from the Miami airport. I pulled out my phone and called Mitch’s cell number. He picked up after the first ring, sounding happy to hear from me.

  “Bentley! You still up in the snow zone?”

  I laughed. “I’m at the airport.”

  “How’s your dad?”

  “Much better. Thanks for asking, Mitch.”

  “Do you know how lucky you are to have him back in your life?”

  “I do.”

  “Yes, sir, you’re very lucky, Bentley. I was thinking about that today when I was having breakfast. I had always wished the same for me and my daddy.” Mitch’s voice had swung into a melancholy tone and I felt sorry for him.

  “Your father knows you loved him, Mitch. I know that.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. When will you be back in town?”

  “In a couple of hours. That’s why I’m calling. I was wondering if you could pick me up at the airport. I didn’t think to arrange transportation.” I looked up at the monitor and saw my flight number flashing. NOW BOARDING was blinking brightly.

  “Sure, I can do that. What airline and what flight?”

  I pulled out my boarding pass. “Northwest flight 571. It arrives at three twenty-five.”

  Mitch said, “Let me jot this down. Okay, I got it. I’ll meet you outside baggage claim. I’ll be in my sports car.”

  “Thanks, Mitch. Maybe I can buy you a drink after I land?”

  “I never turn down a drink for a friend!” He laughed. “So you got a deal. Have a safe flight.”

  “I will. See you in a couple of hours.”

  “Bye, Bentley.”

  I shut my phone and headed toward the boarding door. As I reached the door, I opened it to shut off the power. It rang. WARREN flashed across the tiny screen.

  “What’s good, Warren?”

  Warren screamed, “Bentley, what in the fuck have you done? You’re gonna get us all killed!”

  “What are you talking about?” My heart raced as I followed the stream of passengers onto the plane.

  Warren shouted, “What did you do to Seth?”

  “What?”

  “Nigga, you heard what the fuck I said! You’re fucking with t
he wrong people, Bentley.” I had never heard Warren so furious. His voice was higher-pitched and nervous. “You gonna let that young punk be responsible for ruining or ending both of our lives?”

  “Are you talking about Jah?” I had reached the inside of the plane and already the flight attendant was giving me that “you know you gonna have to turn that off” look.

  “You know damn well I’m talking about him! But let me tell you something, Bentley Dean. You’re not takin’ my black ass down with you. Stupid fuckin’ move, Bentley. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “Warren, chill. I’m getting ready to take off. I’ll call you when I get home.”

  “Naw, nigga, I’ll call you. But take my advice and watch your back.”

  Click.

  My flight arrived at Miami International Airport thirty minutes late. As soon as I got off the plane, and turned my phone back on, it vibrated. Was it Mitch, wondering where I was? No, Mitch most likely knew that the flight was late.

  I looked at the phone, which showed three missed calls from Warren. Several new texts included one from Mitch telling me to come outside of the baggage claim door. The next one was from Warren.

  Dude, I really do care about you, but you’re fuckin’ with the big bois and this shit is serious. I’m going to lay low for a minute and suggest you do the same.

  Disturbed, I deleted the message, then questioned if that was wise. I went to the baggage claim area and waited for my bags. I always hated this part. MIA had to be the worst when it came to baggage. I started to call Mitch and let him know it might be another thirty minutes before I was outside.

  But oddly, the bags started to come down the turnstyle and mine were some of the first ones out. I grabbed them and headed for the door.

  Outside, it seemed like Miami had been blessed with a cleansing rain. The damp air smelled sweet with early spring. I looked for Mitch or his car, but didn’t see him. I walked across the street to where I saw rental car buses but no sign of Mitch. I walked to the other island for pickups and thought maybe Mitch was driving around the airport looking for me.