Any Way the Wind Blows

by E. Lynn Harris

  “LaVonya Young. You know, she writes the column ‘Lines from LaVonya.’ She said you were one of the best sexual-harassment attorneys in the country,” I said.

  “Oh yeah, LaVonya. How could I forget her,” Gail mumbled.

  “So will you take my case?” I asked. Gail remained silent as she leaned back in her chair, studying me while twisting a silver pen in her hand. She was an above-average-looking white woman. She was tiny, with reddish blond hair, high cheekbones and a prominent chin. Gail’s makeup was perfect and pale and brought attention to her piercing blue eyes.

  “I don’t really do a lot of sexual-harassment cases. My notes say you’re a model and a waiter. Who do you want to sue?”

  “John Basil Henderson.”

  “Then why are you suing his firm, XJI?”

  “Didn’t your assistant or whoever I talked to tell you?” I wanted to know why whoever I had talked with was wasting my time.

  “Oh yeah, it’s all here in the notes. But I want to hear what you have to say,” Gail said.

  “Let me see, where should I start?”

  “Why not from the beginning.”

  “Okay,” I said. Right when I was getting ready to start my story, Gail spoke again. “I’m going to tape this. Is that a problem?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s get started.”

  Instead of telling Gail what had happened, the lies began pouring out of me, as they had in my earlier conversation with Gail’s assistant.

  I told Gail how I had been promised the job of being a part of XJI’s ad campaign if I serviced John Basil Henderson.

  “What do you mean, service?” Gail interrupted.

  I looked at Gail with a puzzled stare and said, “Suck his dick, sit on his dick. Whatever he wanted me to do.”

  “So you are homosexual?”

  “You would be correct with that assumption,” I said.

  “So you didn’t get the job. Were you told why?”

  “He gave me some bullshit excuse about how the other partners and office staff had picked someone else. This could have been my big break. You know, like Tyson getting that Ralph Lauren campaign.”

  “Who’s Tyson?”

  “It’s not important,” I said. I wanted to tell her how it pisses me off when white folks don’t know shit about African Americans. I had stopped watching one of my favorite shows, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, because white contestants didn’t know anything about us. Now I was sitting in front of someone who was displaying the same type of ignorance and I needed her help.

  “Okay, go on. Wait, was this relationship you had with Mr. Henderson consensual?”

  “Consensual?”

  “Did you agree to have sex with him before or after he promised you the job?”

  “I didn’t want to have sex with him, but things were tight and I needed the job. And it seemed that if the only way I could get it was to get on my knees, then that’s what I was going to do,” I said with bitterness in my voice.

  “You know, male-on-male cases are rare and difficult. I don’t know if I’m the right person,” Gail said.

  I wanted to tell Gail she was the only person. She didn’t know that LaVonya had told me a little bit about her background and why she might be interested in taking my case. Apparently Gail had been married to one of the top players in the NBA. They were one of the city’s glamorous couples, and their wedding had appeared in Town and Country. Gail was called out of town suddenly for a business trip, and when her flight was canceled, she returned home to find her handsome husband with not one, but two of the building staff (the doorman and an electrician) entertaining her husband in their bed. Suffice it to say, Gail was not a big fan of bisexual men. She owed LaVonya a favor for when LaVonya had agreed not to print Gail’s story in one of her famous blind items. I’d promised LaVonya juicy details about the talented Mr. Henderson once the lawsuit was filed. I’d lied and told her Basil had given me the names of several other high-profile athletes and entertainers who swung both ways.

  “I know it’s going to be tough. But men like John Basil Henderson must be stopped,” I said firmly.

  “John Basil Henderson,” Gail said out loud while looking out her huge picture window. “Why does that name sound familiar? Did he play basketball?”

  “I think he played football.” I was certain Gail was wondering if Basil had “hit it” with her ex. Maybe that would convince her to take the case.

  “Did you play sports?”

  “Powder-puff football,” I joked.

  “So you know this will attract the attention of the media?” she asked. I wanted to say if we’re lucky, but instead I said, “I have truth on my side, so that’s not a problem for me.”

  “Are you prepared to put me on retainer?”

  “LaVonya said you might cut me a break. I mean, if you take my case,” I said.

  “Let me think about this. It might be hard to sue the firm, or even Mr. Henderson. You weren’t really an employee, and it will come down to your word against his,” Gail said.

  “What if I have proof?”

  “Proof? What kind of proof?”

  “Say I got him to admit what happened to us on tape?”

  “Are you still in contact with him?”

  “No, but I have his number. I know his reputation is important to him, and he might be willing to settle if he’s approached by the right person, like a high-powered attorney.”

  “I don’t want to be a part of anything like that, and you might find yourself looking for an attorney to defend you against an extortion charge. I am advising you to discontinue any communication with this man. I will get back to you within twenty-four hours,” Gail said as she stood up, closed her binder and extended her thin hand. I could feel her wavering and I had to bring her back over to my side.

  “We can’t let these men who call themselves ‘bi,’ continue to destroy the lives of people who are comfortable with their sexuality. Somebody has to pay,” I said as I shook her hand firmly. The sudden change in Gail’s stern demeanor gave me hope that she agreed.

  Diva Dearest

  I was getting ready to head up to Harlem for a run-through of my video when my doorbell rang. I figured it was the car service, so I opened the door without looking out the peephole. This was the second mistake I’d made since I returned to New York, the first was opening the door for Basil. Now standing at the door, wrapped in fur from head to toe, was my mother, Ava Parker Middlebrooks. When I didn’t hear from her again after her phone call, I figured she would get the message that I didn’t have time for her. No such luck. A deep disappointment bubbled up in my stomach. Ava’s visit was about as welcome as an early-morning snowstorm, but at least snow eventually melted.

  “Ava, what are you doing here?” I stuttered.

  “You need to get a two-way pager. Everybody who’s anybody has one,” Ava said.

  “What are you doing in New York?”

  “I got business here. Need I remind you that I have a big investment in this little career of yours? All the money I’ve spent on singing, dancing lessons, not to mention gowns for pageants where you always came in second. It’s payback time. I thought I’d drop in and surprise you. It’s all decided: I’m going to manage your career,” Ava said as she walked into my town house, removing her hat and coat and dropping them on an empty chair.

  “I already have a manager, and Motown handles all my other needs,” I said.

  “I’m sure whoever they got, I’m better, so just fire them,” Ava said flatly.

  “I’m on my way out. I thought you were the car service,” I said, figuring it was best just to ignore Ava’s ranting.

  “Car service … oh. I guess you’re back in the money,” Ava said as she sat on the sofa. She was wearing a too-tight black leather skirt and rust-colored scoop-neck blouse. Ava simply refused to dress her age.

  “My record company is picking up the bills,” I said. I didn’t want Ava to think I had any extra money lying around.


  “So it’s your record company now. Funny how I missed that announcement in the trades,” Ava said.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Ava said as she patted the sofa cushion. “Come sit down. Let’s catch up.”

  “I can’t talk now. I’ve got to run,” I said as I went to the door and looked out, praying that I would see a limo outside with my name in the window. When I didn’t, I went over and sat next to Ava.

  “So don’t you want to know what I’ve been up to? So much has happened since that sad, sad wedding day of yours. I’ve been doing a lot of singing engagements in Spain, and I’m thinking about starting my own record company. I have an agent who sent my demo to Hidden Beach Records—that’s Michael Jordan’s record company. I tell you, if I could get rid of all those secretaries and executive assistants and talk to Michael myself, I know I could get myself a deal. But at least with my own label I don’t have to take shit from anybody else. I think I’ll release my CD in Europe first and then bring it over here to the States. Who knows? You and I could be the first mother-and-daughter on the charts at the same time,” Ava said. She liked to fill the air with her own voice; it didn’t matter that no one cared or listened to a word she had to say.

  “That’s nice,” I muttered as I looked at my watch and wondered where my driver was.

  “So tell me. Have you heard from that sick ex-boyfriend of yours?”

  “Who?” I asked. I knew she was talking about Basil. Ava gave me an are you stupid? look and said, “Yancey, don’t play with me. You know I’m talking about Basil.”

  “He called, but I haven’t spoken to him,” I lied.

  “What did he want?”

  “I guess he called to congratulate me on my success. My song is the talk of the country,” I said proudly.

  “Child, you better get the getting while the getting is good, ’cause there ain’t no real singers out there. I mean, Britney Spears and that group Destiny’s Dolls. Those girls are something else! I mean, what kind of parents are raising these children?” Ava asked as she looked around my apartment.

  “I think it’s great that Destiny’s Child has parents who are so involved in their careers. And if record sales are any indication, they’re doing a pretty good job,” I said. Ava rolled her eyes at me and then glanced around the room. I could tell from the look on her face that her next topic of conversation would include a few body blows to my budding recording career. To avoid that, I got up from the sofa and went over to my desk and pulled out one of my early reviews from Entertainment Weekly.

  I stood near my dining table and said, “Listen to this,” as I began to read the review. “Motown’s Yancey B has a hit on her hands the first time out. With great lyrics matched with lovely melodies, the results are exquisitely brilliant. An album that tells a story with each song. Yancey B’s Broadway-trained voice, with a little bit of soul and pop, shines on the first single, ‘Any Way the Wind Blows,’ and with this beautiful voice Yancey B is going only one way. Straight to number one. Grade: A+.”

  “Did you write that?” Ava asked coldly.

  “No, I didn’t. That’s from Entertainment Weekly,” I said proudly.

  “Do you have anything to drink? My throat is parched,” Ava said as she gently touched her neck.

  “What would you like?”

  “Water or wine. I don’t imagine you have any snacks around,” Ava said. I walked into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of water and silently congratulated myself on my self-restraint. I wanted to tell Ava to get her ass out, but I was not going to let her ruin my day. I walked back into the living and placed the bottle of water on a coaster.

  “What, no glass? Who do you think I am?” I turned toward the kitchen to get a glass when she said, “That’s all right. I can drink it out of the bottle.”

  Ava drank almost half of the water and set it back on the table. Suddenly her voice changed, taking on the dramatic manner she used to describe her latest schemes. “Yancey darling, I have figured out a plan to make you even bigger than most limited-talent girls ever get. We might have to eliminate a few with Enquirer-like scandals.”

  “I’m not interested,” I said firmly.

  “What! Are you crazy? One hit doesn’t make a star.”

  Just as I was getting ready to tell Ava where she could go, the doorbell rang. I rushed to the door and looked out the peephole. An older white man stood there holding a sign with my name on it. I quickly opened the door like I was trying to escape from prison.

  “I’m here for Miss Yancey Braxton,” he said.

  “I’m Miss Braxton. I’ll be with you in a few seconds. Come on in,” I said. I usually didn’t invite drivers into my home, but I figured it would be one way to get Ava out of my house, since I knew she didn’t associate with hired help.

  “So I guess you’re kicking me out?” Ava said as she got up from the sofa. I reached in the hall closet and grabbed my leather jacket. I grabbed my bag and gave Ava one of the fake smiles I’d learned from her, then said, “Good seeing you. I’m off to shoot my video.”

  “I’ll have my driver follow you. Maybe I can give you a few pointers. You know what, maybe we should consider being a duo like the Junes. I mean the Judds. No, scratch that, it means I would have to admit to being a mother,” Ava said wistfully. “But I can still help with your first video.”

  “Sorry, the director insists on a closed set. Make sure you lock the door when you leave.” As I followed the driver out the door, I heard Ava say, “Call me when you change your mind. I’ll be at the Plaza.”

  Beauty Bonding

  Miss Yancey B walked into the studio looking fabulous. If I were into women, then Yancey would be the kinda bitch I’d date. Beautiful, talented and in control. I bet she had all kinds of good-looking men sniffing behind her for just a little taste of her sugar.

  “Bart, how are you, sweetheart?” Yancey said as she gave me a peck on the cheek like we had known each other for years. I was glad I had worn my suede pants and a form-fitting beige turtleneck. I wanted to show her I knew how to dress for success.

  “I’m fine, Yancey. You look great,” I said.

  “Thank you. Where is everybody?” she asked as she took off her short leather jacket and looked around the studio.

  “The director is back there,” I said as I pointed to a small room with light pouring out into the large, dark studio.

  “Oh, Desmond’s here,” Yancey said as her eyes lit up with an I want to know you better look.

  “Yep, he’s here. Doesn’t talk much, though,” I said.

  “Do you think he’s on your team or mine?” Yancey asked.

  “Depends which team you’re on, Miss Yancey,” I said. “Do you like boys or girls?”

  “Oh, I guess you could say we’re on the same team. I like men. I don’t care how good a girl is, she ain’t getting near this,” Yancey said as she outlined her chest and hip area.

  “I think he’s for you,” I said.

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah, the old gaydar didn’t pick up any signals, but he is a cutie,” I said.

  “I like you, Bart,” Yancey said as she put her hands softly on my shoulders. “You keep me feeling like this and I might have to take you on tour with me.”

  “Cool! So you’re touring?”

  “Yeah, I think we’re going to wait until we drop the second single. They tried to hook me up with a male singer to tour with. But they want me to audition. And I am over that,” Yancey said.

  “I heard that. Do you miss Los Angeles?”

  “Child, pleeze, with all those fake-ass people? No, I don’t miss it a bit,” Yancey said.

  “But I know movies have to be in your future,” I said.

  “Yeah, but a lot of films are shot here in New York and in Toronto. Los Angeles has become so expensive,” Yancey said.

  “What kind of roles do you want? I see you as the Sanaa Lathan/Nia Long type,” I said.

  “They should see the
mselves as my type.” Yancey laughed. “I want the kind of roles Jennifer Lopez is getting. I hear that heifer is getting nine million dollars a film. If they want to give away that kinda money, I wish they’d give it to somebody who can act, like Angela Bassett or me.”

  “Ain’t that some shit. I mean, how many awards, nominations has she gotten? When Miss Angela, Vivica, Lela and all them Waiting to Exhale girls have to beg for roles, you know the business world ain’t fair,” I said.

  “I hear you. Doesn’t it just drive you crazy when everyone talks about J-Lo as a woman of color? Do you think if the studio’d considered her a woman of color she’d be doing love scenes with George Clooney?” Yancey asked.

  “I feel you! Even though I think he has a little case of jungle fever,” I said with a grin.

  “I’m not a bit surprised.” Yancey smiled.

  “Don’t you think it’s funny that Hollywood is supposed to be so liberal, yet there ain’t never gonna be a superstar black woman actress, much less a black gay male actor?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. I guess if you’re black and gay and you’re an actor, then you better keep your mouth shut,” Yancey said.

  “And trust me, there are plenty of black gay male actors. They act when they’re on the screen and when they’re off. Showing up with their fake girlfriends and wives,” I said. I was getting my dandruff up. It happened every time I thought about all the black men who were afraid to tell the truth about who they really were.

  “You got any names?” Yancey said as she rubbed her hands with glee.

  “I might drop a few when I get to know you better. I don’t know, though, you might be working undercover for the Enquirer or something,” I said, and laughed.

  “I probably know more names than you,” Yancey said. Just as I was getting ready to see if I could pump any information out of her, my cell phone rang.

  “Excuse me,” I said as I flipped open my phone and moved a few yards from Yancey.

  “Hello,” I said.