“He works for me,” I said.
“Great,” Michel said as he looked up at Bart and said, “The job is yours if you want it. The shoot is going to take place next Thursday at a studio in Harlem.”
“Hey, thanks a lot! I’m looking forward to it, and since I live in Harlem I won’t have far to go,” Bart said as he pulled up his pants and zipped them, then grabbed his sweater off the conference table.
“Thanks for your time, and I look forward to working with you,” I said.
“Me too. My friends who are Broadway groupies aren’t going to believe I’m working with Yancey Braxton,” he said.
“Yancey B,” I corrected.
“My bad, Miss Yancey B,” he said with that smile that must melt many a young gay man’s heart.
“I’ll contact your agent and book you right away. I’ll also have a final treatment messengered to your apartment,” Michel said.
“Cool,” Bart said as he tucked his sweater into his pants and grabbed his black leather bag from the floor. He shook Michel’s hand and then looked at me and asked, “Can I have a hug?”
“Sure,” I said as I gave my new leading man a simple embrace.
Seconds …
It was a little before midnight and I was getting ready to hit the sack, when my buzzer rang. I hit the intercom, and the doorman told me Bart Dunbar was downstairs. I had done a good job of avoiding his calls for almost a week, and even contemplated changing my digits. But I realized that wouldn’t do any good, since he still had my office number.
At first I was upset that Bart would show up uninvited, but then I remembered how hot our first session had been and decided he was as welcome as a soul food delivery after a month of eating in Russia.
I quickly brushed my teeth and put on a pair of black boxer briefs, which were sheer in the right places. No need to be shy.
A few moments later, I heard the doorbell ring. I waited almost a minute and then opened the door. I couldn’t appear like I was anxious to see him.
“Bart, whatsup?”
“Thanks for letting me up. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d see what you were up to before I headed uptown.”
“I was getting ready for bed, got a long day tomorrow,” I said, trying to sound annoyed.
“Then my timing is perfect. Looks like you were expecting me.” Bart smiled as his eyes moved up and down my body with bullet speed.
“Bart, if I didn’t tell you the last time, I need to tell you: I don’t like surprises.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t keep you long. Can I use your bathroom? I hate using the public ones,” Bart said.
“Sure, in the master bedroom,” I said as I pointed down the hallway.
“Did you get my messages?”
“Yeah, I’ve been real busy at work.”
“I figured as much. I hope I haven’t been calling too much. Don’t want you to get a big head.” Bart laughed. I didn’t respond.
Bart removed his brown leather jacket and passed it to me. I draped the jacket on the back of my sofa, went into the kitchen and returned with two cans of ginger ale. Soft drinks at this time of night would prevent liquor-induced sex, and I’d be able to see just how good Bart was in bed. I had to admit Bart was looking good in tan cargo pants that were hanging off his ass with white underwear peeping over. I put on my Carl Thomas CD and took a seat on the sofa.
About five minutes later, Bart walked back into the living room and stood near the coffee table. I started to tell him to have a seat, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that the only place he wanted to sit was in my lap. I had twisted feelings about whether or not I was going to allow Bart to seduce me twice in one month. Then I remembered how he had swallowed the jimmie in one skilled move, and it started to pump in urgent beat. My magic wand was ready to wave.
“Sorry that took so long,” he said as he looked around the living and dining area like he was seeing it for the first time.
“No problem. So how’s the modeling business?”
“Slow. But I did just book a video with a girl singer, so you’ll be seeing me on television real soon,” Bart said as he noticed the can of ginger ale on the coffee table. “You got anything stronger?”
“Some wine and beer in the fridge. Make yourself at home,” I said.
Bart walked toward the kitchen and asked, “So have you missed me?”
“Somebody missed you,” I said as I started to massage my jimmie. A few moments later, Bart walked back in the room with a glass of red wine in his hand. He was looking a little too comfortable in my home, so I made up my mind to make this an oral quickie and send him packing.
“What are you doing over there?” Bart asked with a sexy smile. I didn’t answer him, but I gave him a let’s get busy look, which both males and females understood. Bart took a sip of his wine and then placed the glass on the table.
“So you did miss me.” Bart smiled as he pulled his magenta turtleneck sweater over his head. He kicked off his light brown Timberland boots and then pulled his pants and underwear down with one quick motion. There he stood before me, butt-ass naked.
“You didn’t answer my question. Did you miss me?” Bart said.
“It’s all love,” I said.
“So I got it like that,” Bart said as he noticed his reflection in a mirror on the wall. He studied himself for a moment, touching the ripples on his stomach as he licked his lips. Then he turned back toward me and said, “Follow me.” I stood up like I was a fraternity pledge following orders and watched Bart and his naked ass walk down the hallway into my dark bedroom. I checked the double-bolt lock on my door and then followed Bart’s faint trace of cologne.
3-D: Doug, Dee Dee & the Diva
A little before seven-thirty, I stepped out of a limo on Park Avenue into a cold winter air that had a sweetness about it. I was on my way to an interview on the nationally syndicated Doug Banks Morning Show. I certainly wasn’t happy about having to get up so early, but I knew the popular morning show would sell some more CDs. Before I got on the elevator, I stopped at a deli on the lobby floor and picked up a coffee and a buttered bagel.
Michel had offered to come with me, but I had convinced him that I could handle this on my own. I rode the packed elevator to the thirty-third floor without removing my dark glasses and ignored the stares of a couple of women who were either admiring my mink coat or looking at me in disgust. Either way it didn’t matter. I had paid good money for my coat and was prepared to slap into next week anyone who said anything to me.
About fifteen minutes later, I was in the studio with Doug and Dee Dee after they had played “Any Way the Wind Blows” and invited callers in to talk with me. Doug and Dee Dee were really nice and told me how much they loved the song and how it had sparked a lot of debate with their callers.
“So is the song based on true life experience, Yancey B?” Dee Dee asked.
“I don’t know, because it certainly isn’t my life,” I laughed. I decide to make light of the questions and hoped Dee Dee would ask me about the CD and my future plans.
“So, Yancey B, I guess you’re saying that if the song is based on somebody, you’re not talking?” Doug asked.
“I’m saving a few things for my memoirs,” I joked.
“Lady, you’re much too young to be talking about any memoirs,” Doug said with a huge smile.
“Thank you, Doug.”
“So are you dating anyone?” Dee Dee asked.
“Right now I’m dating my career.”
“Have you ever dated a brother who was on the DL?” Doug asked.
“The DL? What’s that?” I asked. I knew what he was talking about but I figured if Doug took time explaining to me on what the down low was, my time would be up.
Instead of Doug explaining, Dee Dee did the talking.
“Now Yancey B, come on, girl. Where are you from?” Dee Dee asked as she pulled a sheet from my press kit and stared at it.
“I’m from Tennessee, but I’ve spent th
e last four years in New York. You know I did Broadway before I started my recording career,” I said.
“So you’re telling me you’ve never met one of those good-looking brothers who pretend to be straight, wining and dining you, and then later you find out their best male friend is more than a friend?” Dee Dee asked.
I paused for a moment like I was really thinking about the question and then said, “No, I can’t say that I have.”
“Now Yancey B, come on now!” Dee Dee said in amazement.
Before I could respond, Doug asked me if I was surprised at how well the song was doing.
“I’m not a bit surprised. My record company, Motown had a great marketing plan and the music and lyrics are just great. Not just with the single, but the entire CD. Have you guys played ‘I’m Not in Love’?”
“Yeah, and it’s tight, but we don’t get as many calls for that as we do for ‘Any Way the Wind Blows,’” Doug said.
“I think that will change when people hear the entire CD,” I said.
“Let’s go to the phone lines and see what our listeners think. Good morning. You’re talking with Yancey B, Dee Dee and Doug Banks,” Doug said as he punched a blinking phone line.
“Look at all those lines light up,” Dee Dee observed. “We haven’t had this many calls since we had Janet Jackson in the studio.”
I spent the next thirty minutes taking calls from all across the country. Everyone was telling me how much they loved the song and asking if I was going to tour their city. Several women told me that they’d bought several copies of the song and sent it to girlfriends who they thought were dating brothers on the down low. I thanked each of them and told them to go out and buy some copies for their male friends as well.
Everything was going smoothly until the last caller. “You’ve got a question for Yancey B?” Doug asked.
“Yeah I got a question for her. What about Madison?” a female voice asked in an unmistakable threatening tone.
“Madison?” Dee Dee quizzed. “Do you want to know if Yancey B is going to visit Madison, Wisconsin? Is that your question, caller?”
I drank the rest of my now-cold coffee and noticed Dee Dee and Doug exchanging puzzled looks. I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe, and my heart felt like it wasn’t going to take the next beat. There was also a pain pounding in my head and my body began to feel cold, so I pulled my mink back up to my shoulders.
“Caller, are you still there?” Doug asked.
“She knows what I mean,” she said, and then we heard a dial tone in the dimly lit studio.
“I wondered what’s her problem?” Dee Dee said as I breathed a sigh of relief and gave them both a weak smile.
When I left the studio and reached the lobby, my cell phone started ringing. The caller I.D. said “out of area” so I knew it wasn’t Ava or Basil. I thought it might be the person who had just called the station, and I suddenly felt like I was ready to confront whoever was playing games with me. I clicked the talk button and screamed, “Who is this? Hello.”
“Damn, baby, you get up on the wrong side of the bed? Do you miss me, baby?”
“Malik, why are you calling me so early?” I asked. I looked at my watch and noticed it was a little before nine, which meant it was before sunrise on the West Coast.
“It’s never too early to talk with my star,” he said.
“What do you want?”
“I’m just wondering why I haven’t heard from you. Haven’t you been getting my calls? I even called Motown. Did you get that message?”
“No, I didn’t. So you’ve been calling my cell. I don’t have it on all the time,” I lied. The truth was I was avoiding talking to Malik, hoping he would get the message that I didn’t need him anymore in bed or out. I decided no one could manage Yancey better than Yancey. I wondered if he was behind the calls and photos but then realized he had no way of knowing I had a child. Even though Ava had made me aware that with a little bit of money a person could find out almost anything about anyone.
“Then give me the number at your house,” Malik said.
“What?” I said as I walked out of the revolving doors into the cold winter air.
“Give me your number at home.”
“Hello? Hello? I can’t hear you. I’ll call you later,” I said as I hit the End button and smiled to myself at how easy it was to hang up on someone with a cell phone and blame it on the service.
Do You Hear What I Hear?
I came home after waiting tables at the Viceroy, emptied my tips on my bed, and stripped down naked. I got on my knees and counted the night’s take. Two hundred and fifty-six dollars, not bad for a Tuesday night, I thought. I took out my tip journal and wrote down “$126,” in case I got audited by the IRS, then placed the money in the leather pouch I kept my money in until I made my weekly visit to the bank.
I looked at my answering machine and was a little disappointed the message light was not flashing. It had been several days since I’d heard Basil’s voice, and I was determined to speak with him tonight even if I had to wait all night or make another surprise visit. I thought after my last visit I would hear from him more often. I had to hear him whisper “It’s all love” once more. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had said he loved me and I believed him.
I walked into my bathroom and turned on my shower. While I was waiting for the water to warm up, I lit a piece of jasmine incense and covered my face with Noxzema skin cream. I stepped into the shower and relaxed as the warm water ran like a river down my body. The water felt almost hypnotic. Five minutes later, I stepped out of the shower, drenched myself in baby oil and grabbed a yellow striped towel to wipe off my body. I wrapped the damp towel around my waist and walked into my bedroom. My apartment was quiet, almost peaceful, as I put my Mary J. Blige CD in my stereo system.
After a glass and a half of wine, I started thinking about love and being held by Basil’s strong arms. I had to see him, so I muted Mary’s voice and picked up my phone. Basil’s number rang a couple of times and then I heard his deep, sexy voice. My heart started pounding with excitement, like I had just received a call telling me I had won the lotto.
“’Sup,” Basil said.
“How you doing?” I asked nervously.
“’Sup, dude,” Basil said.
“Is this too late to call?”
“I was kinda busy. Sorry I haven’t returned any of your calls. Busy, you know,” Basil said.
“Oh, that’s cool. I’ve been busy too. You know, working and going on a lot of auditions,” I lied.
“Cool. Can I get back with you later?”
I took a sip of wine and then said boldly, “I was hoping I could walk up on a good fucking tonight.”
“I think we need to chill,” Basil said.
“What did you say?” His voice had become so quiet I could barely hear him.
“We need to chill. We can get together sometime and maybe have a brew or two, but I’m back with my lady,” he said calmly.
“What lady? You never mentioned any special lady. Besides, I don’t care. I just want to see you.”
“Let me call you when I get a minute,” Basil said, and then he hung up the phone.
My face felt flush and the back of my neck felt tight. I gulped down the rest of my wine and suddenly had a headache. I was mad as fuck. How dare Basil just brush me off like I was some little bitch? I picked up the phone and hit the redial button. This time after a couple of rings, a soft female voice filled with sleep or sex picked up the phone and said, “Hello.”
I hung up the phone, sank my body to the floor and muttered to myself, “Wrong move, Basil. Wrong fuckin’ move.”
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Tiffany was my latest overnight guest. I’d met her several nights before at Justin’s while I was out hunting down some new pussy. I had planned to call her the night Bart showed up unannounced, but he’d given me what I needed at the time. But that would have to last for a while, because I was going back
to the other side. It was time to start interviewing prospects for the mother of my children.
Tiffany played hard to get by telling me she didn’t go home with men on the first night, but the second night was open for debate. There wasn’t much of a debate, actually; I just called and asked her to come over, and she quickly obliged. All I cared about right now was the intense pleasure of chasing pussy, and the mystery and delight I felt at seeing another woman naked.
“Who was that?” Tiffany asked. “You must really like letting me answer your phone. Most men I know turn off their phones when I spend the night.”
“Somebody who doesn’t understand that no means no,” I said as I thought about the three messages per day Bart had been leaving. Besides, every time I heard his voice, it sounded more and more familiar. I just couldn’t figure out why.
“You’re not gay or bisexual, are you?” Tiffany asked as she looked at me seriously while pulling the sheets over her orange-sized breasts like she was covering them from a hidden camera.
“Hell naw! That doesn’t stop gay dudes from coming on to me. Some of those mofos are bold as shit. Like this guy. I did some business with him and now he keeps calling,” I said, looking her dead in the eyes.
“You think just because you got a woman answering your phone that will stop him?” Tiffany asked.
“Maybe you could come over and ride this jimmie again, so we can videotape it and send him a copy,” I teased. With all the talk of brothers who swung both ways, women still hadn’t learned all the games. They didn’t know that sometimes men brought shit out right up front so they would suddenly feel safe and secure and put their questions in the background. It was like talking on the phone with the old girlfriend while the new one lay beside you. Neither one would ever suspect shit else was going on.
“You’re not serious, are you?” Tiffany asked as she gave me the sexy smile of a secure woman who suddenly felt like she had the upper hand.
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