Any Way the Wind Blows

by E. Lynn Harris

  “It was amazing. I think I might be in love.”

  “I ain’t mad a cha!”

  “There is one small problem, though.”

  “What? He doesn’t have the monster, does he?” Wylie asked. Monster was what some people called the HIV virus.

  “No. I mean, I didn’t ask him, but I’m sure he’s clean. Basil thinks he’s bisexual,” I said. “I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

  “Maybe the bathhouse or the park, you think?”

  “I doubt it. He doesn’t seem to be the bathhouse/park type,” I said.

  “So he’s one of those strays, can’t decide if he wants to be straight or gay. Mark my word, very soon there’s going to be more of them than us. Then we gonna be complaining like our sisters how black men are either in prison or can’t make up their minds,” Wylie said.

  “I said he thinks he’s bisexual. He’s a top, but he liked me way too much to think he doesn’t know which team he’s on.”

  “Did you get the job?”

  “What job?”

  “The modeling job.”

  “You bet I got the job and a new man. I mean, Wylie, this may be the one! I feel that strongly about this.”

  “For real?”

  “For real.”

  “But what if he is bisexual? You know he’ll never settle down,” Wylie warned.

  “I can change him.”

  “Where have I heard that before?”

  “Wylie, don’t spoil this for me. Stop being a homo-hater.” I despised it when Wylie got jealous.

  “I’m sorry. Describe him once more, and go slow on the good parts,” Wylie pleaded.

  “Now, Wylie, sometimes a boy has to keep a little something to himself. I can’t have my best friend trying to go after my man.” I laughed.

  “Be that way. I guess I need to go to Stella’s and see if I can’t find me a dreamboy for the night,” Wylie said.

  “Good night and good luck,” I said. Stella’s was a midtown gay bar where Wylie and I went when we wanted certain one-night-stand sex. I smiled, because after meeting Basil I knew my nights at Stella’s and cruising Mount Morris Park were coming to an end. No more nights of looking for Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now at the piers down in the Village. All the things I hated about being gay could end if I could get Basil to fall in love with me, and I was going to give it everything I had.

  • • •

  I was walking from my kitchen with a bowl of microwave popcorn when my phone rang. I figured it was Wylie trying to talk me into meeting him at Stella’s, so I answered the phone, “I’m not going to go.”

  “Is this Bart?” an unfamiliar male voice asked.

  “This is Bart. Who is this?”

  “This is David. I met you at the Viceroy about a month ago. We went out and had a drink. I’ve called you a couple of times,” David said. I remembered the tall and lanky man who I was certain was packing big beef, but when I grabbed between his legs all I felt was something the size of my thumb. Didn’t he know that’s why I wasn’t returning his calls? Any self-respecting little-dick man knew not to step to me.

  “Yeah, David. I’ve been busy,” I said quickly.

  “I was wondering if I could see you again,” he asked softly.

  “For what?”

  “You seem like an interesting guy,” he said.

  “But you don’t know me. What do you want to see me for?”

  “I thought we had a good time. But I guess …” “Listen, David, I’m sure you’re a real nice guy, but you ain’t packing enough for me to waste a minute of my time. And I’m dating a real man. Have a nice life,” I said as I hung up and put a handful of popcorn in my mouth.

  A Cold, Cold Wind

  I almost cut myself shaving when I heard Yancey’s voice sweep through my loft. I was in the bathroom getting ready for work when I heard Doug Banks announce, “This is the fastest-selling song in the country, ‘Any Way the Wind Blows,’ by Yancey B.”

  So old girl had changed her name and career path. The Yancey Braxton I knew wasn’t going to be stopped until her name was listed, large and bright, on the marquee. The song was smooth, but I got nervous when I heard some of the lyrics, “You want him and not me.” I better get a copy of this song quick.

  When the song was over Doug asked Dee-Dee, his co-host, a question.

  “So have you heard what this song is about?” Doug asked Dee-Dee.

  “Yeah, it’s about brothers on the down low.” Dee-Dee laughed.

  “But I wonder who she’s talking about.”

  “I don’t know, but it sounds like ole Yancey B got a score to settle,” she joked.

  “Well, you know she’s going to be here in the studio real soon. Do you think she’ll tell us?”

  “If sister wants to sell some records, then she needs to do more than sing. She better talk.” Dee-Dee giggled.

  I turned the radio off, and tiny beads of sweat started to cover my forehead and neck. Unwanted memories of my last days with Yancey began to flood my mind. I grabbed a towel, wiped my face dry and then rushed to my phone. I dialed the office and then hung up. At first I wanted to know if my assistant, Kendra, who listened to The Doug Banks Show religiously, had heard the song, but then decided I’d rather find out when I got to the office. I still had Yancey’s number on my speed dial. When a female voice picked up, I took a deep breath.

  “Windsor, is that you?” I asked.

  “Yes, this is Windsor. Who am I speaking with? Wait, I know this voice. Basil, how are you doing?” She sounded like the same old Windsor, optimistic and concerned about anyone she came in contact with.

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “I’m blessed and highly favored, even though I’m a little bit under the weather,” Windsor said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Got a little case of high blood pressure and then you add in I’m going to have a baby, well, the doctor has me on complete bed rest for a while, but my baby and me are going to be just fine,” Windsor said.

  “So when’s the big day?”

  “Which one?” Windsor asked.

  “When’s your baby due?” I asked, suddenly thinking about Rosa and wondering how her pregnancy was coming along. Damn, I didn’t need to be thinking about Rosa and her problems with Yancey and her song worrying the crap out of me.

  “At the end of June or the first part of July,” Windsor said. She didn’t sound like she was seriously ill.

  “I didn’t know you and Yancey were still roommates,” I said, forcing myself to sound unbothered and friendly.

  “Well, not exactly. I’ve been house-sitting for Yancey,” Windsor said.

  “That’s why I’m calling. I just heard her song on the radio. Doug Banks and Dee-Dee said it’s zooming up the charts.”

  “Yeah, it’s doing great!”

  “Do you know how I can get in contact with Yancey? I want to congratulate her,” I said, wondering if Windsor could detect the desperation in my voice.

  “That’s so sweet of you. You can reach her right here. Does she have your number?” Windsor asked.

  “Tell her it’s the same,” I said.

  “I think maybe you should give it to me again. Yancey asked me to throw out a lot of stuff when she went to Los Angeles,” Windsor said.

  “So she’s been hanging out in Los Angeles,” I said. Now I knew why I hadn’t run into Yancey or heard from her since our aborted wedding.

  “Yeah, she’s been doing great out there. So give me the numbers, and I’ll make sure she gets them.”

  “Thanks, Windsor,” I said as I gave her my home, cell and office numbers.

  When I got to work, I sent Kendra over to Tower Records to get a copy of Yancey’s CD. I thought about going and purchasing it myself, but I had several contracts I needed to review by noon.

  Kendra returned all excited, telling me about how much she liked the song and how Yancey B had a huge display in the record store.

  “When did you first hear
the song?”

  “While I was listening to it at Tower, I realized this was the song one of my girlfriends had been talking about,” Kendra said.

  “So the song’s pretty popular? I’m going to pop it in and check it out. Hold my calls.”

  I slid the CD into my stereo and gazed at the cover. Yancey looked damn good sporting a gold halter top and skintight pants and serving much attitude. I hit the Play button, and Yancey’s voice filled my office:

  “You said I was your lady

  As sweet as candy baby, and I fell for you

  But then one day I come home

  To find you’re not alone

  This can’t be true … it can’t be true

  You were in the arms of another man

  That was more than I could stand

  I had to let you go.”

  I was relieved after the first verse, because I realized it was just a song. Yancey couldn’t be talking about our relationship, since she never even caught me looking cross-eyed at another man. A long time ago, I’d been caught in an awkward position with a dude, and I’d learned a lesson. I continued to listen.

  “I can see your love goes

  Any way the wind blows

  Even though I know I have to

  I don’t want to be without you

  I can see your love flows

  Any way the wind blows

  It’s such a dangerous breeze

  You want him and not me”

  I was falling into the groove of the song when I heard someone knock on my door. I got up from my chair and hit the Pause button on the CD player and said, “Come on in.”

  “’Sup, buddy,” Nico said as he walked into my office. He was one of the best-dressed dudes I knew. Nico had on an off-white French-cuffed shirt, with a mustard-yellow tie, navy blue pleated slacks and reptile loafers. He’d been lifting weights with me a lot and had transformed his basketball body into a solid muscular look, and developed a thick neck and broad shoulders. Now Nico was so into lifting that he made sure there was always a real gym near his hotel when he traveled. Once when we were in Florida together, visiting prospective clients at Florida State, he dragged me to a gym after ten o’clock. I had created a gym monster.

  “’Sup, Nico,” I said as I watched Nico walk over to my desk and pick up Yancey’s empty CD case.

  “Damn, dude, who is this?” Nico asked as he moved the case close to his eyes to inspect it more closely. “She kinda looks like that singer Pebbles from back in the day.”

  “You don’t know who that is?”

  “She looks familiar and tasty,” Nico said, as he licked his lips like he was ready to go “downtown.”

  “That’s Yancey. The woman I was engaged to,” I said as I took the case out of his hand before he started to lick it. I could see I was correct in not introducing Yancey to Nico while we were dating. He wouldn’t have thought twice about trying to hit on her. Nico was both a baller and a playa hater. I had invited him to the wedding, but Nico told me he couldn’t bear to attend a ceremony celebrating a playa giving up his freedom.

  “Damn, B, now I see how this honey almost got you to turn in your playa card. I bet she was pissed when you told her you wouldn’t give up your freedom.”

  “It was a mutual decision. She wanted her career, and I still had some more hunney-hunting to do,” I said with a slight smile. “What can I do for you?”

  “Oh yeah, she made me forget my bizness. Who’s the dude from CSU you just signed?”

  “You talking about Daschle Thompson, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. Can I get his phone number? I’m trying to sign a basketball player over there, and I want to see if Daschle knows him,” Nico said.

  “Kendra has all Daschle’s information. I’ll reach out and tell him to expect your call.”

  “Thanks, Buddy,” Nico said as he picked up the CD single-case and said to himself, “‘Any Way the Wind Blows.’ I’m gonna have to check Yancey B out.” When he looked back at me and saw the puzzled look on my face, he quickly said, “I mean, check out the CD. Got to support a sista who was almost like a member of the family.”

  “Yancey always appreciates support from her family,” I said with a nervous grin.

  • • •

  Before I left the office for the evening, I got another e-mail from that crazy mofo out there trying to mess with me. I decided against blocking the messages, because I knew from the movie The Godfather that it was important to keep my enemies close. I opened the e-mail and read: Why won’t you answer my missives? I am serious. I don’t want to have to post your name and picture on brothersontheDL.com—what would your business partners and clients think of that?

  I’m Ready for My Close-Up

  I spent Monday in cold, sun-drenched New York, interviewing personal assistants at the Motown office near Fifty-seventh and Seventh Avenue, and looking for a director. I saw about six candidates, most of whom had worked for stars like Ashford and Simpson and Queen Latifah. The most qualified was a young lady named Nancy, who had worked for Diana Ross and Quincy Jones. She had excellent references, but there was a slight problem. Nancy looked like a model and had show business aspirations of her own. I had a rule: Never trust a beautiful woman to cover my back, especially one who carried her extra demo tapes in her purse and wore “I’m a Stank Ho” blue jeans. In light of that, I’m leaning toward this pleasingly plump sister, Amy, from the Bronx. She’s a little rough around the edges, but I think she’ll be fine for running the errands I hate, like picking up laundry and buying my toiletries. I also needed someone to help me with Windsor until she and her family decided whether or not to try and move her back home.

  I had insisted that Windsor stay with me in New York until the baby arrived, but Windsor was worried about being in the way and not being able to pay rent since she wasn’t teaching anymore. I told her not to worry, even though I was concerned she’d have another medical emergency. Wardell had assured me that if she got sick again, he would be in New York as soon as he could. I couldn’t help but envy Windsor a little. She had a man who loved her so much that he would just drop everything to be by her side.

  I shared a deli lunch of corned beef and chips with Michel, who seemed happy that I was in New York.

  “So you think I’m going to like this director?” I asked Michel as he took a swig from his can of root beer.

  “He’s up and coming. And I worked with him on a Chanté Moore video—it was one of the best of her career,” Michel said as he picked up the empty paper plate sitting in front of me. Our attempts to get two of the top directors, Billy Woodruff and Paul Hunter, had been unsuccessful. Both were booked for up to a year, and since they hadn’t heard of Yancey B, both had passed. But that’s okay. I intended to make them regret that decision when I got to my second or third video. By then I would have my choice of directors.

  “Are you surprised by how well your first single is doing? I mean, I looked at some reports yesterday and it’s the most requested song in ten markets,” Michel said.

  “I’m not a bit surprised. I’m just waiting for it to hit the top forty,” I said confidently.

  “It’s well on the way,” Michel said. “I mean to hit the charts after the first week is amazing for a new artist.”

  The phone in the conference room rang and Michel picked up the receiver while I touched up my makeup. Just as I was closing my compact, there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Michel said. The door opened, and in walked a man with an almond-brown leather coat, a hat and sunglasses. Hmm, I thought, who does this guy think he is? I’d only seen big stars wear sunglasses indoors.

  “Are you Desmond Fowler?” Michel asked.

  “I would be he,” Desmond said. His voice was deep and strong, and he had a commanding presence.

  “Have a seat. This is Motown’s newest diva, Yancey Braxton, a.k.a. Yancey B, and I am Michel Rodriguez, head of A and R for our East Coast operations.”

  “Nice meeting you,” D
esmond said as he took off his jacket and hat. He had thin dreads the size of a new number-two pencil and honey-colored brown eyes. He was tall, I would say a little over six feet, with a lean build. He was handsome in an adult homeboy kind of way.

  “Nice meeting you,” I said as I extended my hand toward Desmond.

  “Did you bring your reel?” Michel asked.

  “Sure did,” Desmond said as he reached into a leather duffle and pulled out a videocassette.

  “Who have you worked with?” I asked.

  “In terms of?” Desmond asked.

  “What stars have you directed?” I asked trying to make what I thought was a simple question clearer.

  “The only stars I believe in are in the sky. And I haven’t worked with any of them. But if you’re talking about people who sing and dance for a living, then I’ve worked with quite a few,” Desmond said.

  “Like who?” I asked.

  “Eric Benet, Kenny Latimore, Peabo Bryson,” Desmond-said.

  “Any female singers?” Michel asked.

  “I just worked with Tamia.”

  “Ooh, I loved her last video,” I gushed. “It was very sensuous.”

  “So you liked it? Thanks. I think that was some of my best work,” Desmond said.

  “Why don’t you tell us about yourself,” I said.

  “What do you want to know besides the fact that I’m a damn good director? Naw, make that a slamming director,” Desmond said confidently.

  “You don’t have a resume?” I asked.

  “Everything you need to know is on that tape,” Desmond said.

  “Where did you get your film training?” Michel asked.

  “I went to undergrad at the University of Minnesota and went to film school at NYU, but I dropped out.”

  “Do you mind my asking why?” Michel quizzed.

  “I learned what I needed to know and then moved on.”

  “Have you listened to my music?” I asked.

  “Yeah, and it was jive-tight.”

  I must have had a puzzled look on my face, because Desmond looked at me and smiled. “That means great. Your vocals and lyrics are real strong.”