“This is so exciting,” I said.
“Yeah, it is. One more month before the second single drops, so we need to be one step ahead,” Michel said.
“Tell me what I need to do.”
“Just do what you do. Oh yeah, I think we might be able to get Billy Woodruff to direct number two. I’m not certain, but I’ve got a call in to his agent,” Michel said.
“What about using Desmond again?”
“You want to do that?”
“He did a great job, and he’s easy to work with. I say let’s stick with a winner,” I said. I was also thinking it would be nice to see Desmond and maybe find out why he hadn’t called the morning after our Aïda date.
“I’ll check with his agent. Also, I think we’re going to do this on location. Right now, I’m checking out some spots in South Beach. So it might take a couple of days. Where would you like to stay?”
“The Delano. And make sure you put Desmond there as well.”
“First I need to see if he can do it,” Michel warned.
“I think he’d do it for me. Why don’t you let me call him,” I suggested. Desmond would be happy to hear my voice, especially when I was bringing him work.
“You want to do that? I mean, I can get my assistant to take care of those details.”
“Let me do it. You handle the hotel and travel plans,” I said.
“What about casting? Do you want to sit in on it? We could save a lot of time if we cast in New York. I know Miami has several agencies, but most of the guys down there are biracial,” Michel said.
“You do it, even though it would be nice if we could find someone like Bart,” I said, recalling the nightmare the first casting had been but how Bart and Desmond had made the video fun to shoot.
“Okay. I’ll take care of that. I’ll talk with you later on this afternoon.”
“Fine. I love your calls with all this good news,” I said.
“And I love giving it to you,” Michel said.
Friends and Strangers
Plaza Hotel. Where may I direct your call?”
“Ava Middlebrooks, please,” I said.
“Is she an employee or a guest?”
“A guest.”
After a few rings, Ava picked up the phone. “Ava speaking.”
“Ava, this is Bart. We’ve run into a little snag. I need to get another lawyer. Do you know anybody in New York who would take my case?” I asked.
“What happened?” Ava asked.
I told Ava that Gail had decided to drop me as a client when I wouldn’t take Basil’s offer. I also told her how she was upset with LaVonya’s blind items.
“What kinda lawyer wouldn’t appreciate a little free publicity for their client?” Ava demanded. “And you better believe that won’t be the last line in LaVonya’s column.”
“So what do you think I should do? Maybe I should take the money,” I said.
“Listen to me. You don’t want to let him off that easy. From what I know, fifty thousand dollars ain’t shit to him. That’s like giving you ten dollars. If you settle, don’t you have to sign some kind of agreement which says you can’t speak about the case?”
“Yep, that’s part of the deal. Take the check and keep my damn mouth shut,” I said.
“And when your little lady lawyer gets her share, you won’t have nada. Are you going to let Basil do that to you?”
“My lawyer thinks she can get him to pay legal fees,” I said. For the first time, I was beginning to wonder if getting back at Basil was worth the trouble.
“What’s all that noise in the background?” Ava asked.
“I’m heading toward the subway. I just left a go-see.”
“Honey, you still riding the subway? That’s why you can’t give this thing up. You can make more money by writing a book.”
“You think I could sell a book?”
“Maybe I’ll even back your book. You know, I’ve been thinking about writing a book about my own career and life. I could call it something like Diary of a Diva,” Ava said, and laughed. She was going on and on about her life, and here I was not having a clue about what my next move should be.
“What about my lawyer?”
“Maybe we don’t need a lawyer. Maybe we can really do some damage to Basil, and I’ll take care of that little money he was offering you, plus some,” Ava said.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s time to get personal. It’s time to let his family, friends and some of his clients know what kinda freak Basil is,” Ava said.
“I’ll call you when I get home.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Ava said.
I clicked off my cell phone and headed down the stairs of the subway thinking about one of my favorite childhood films, The Wizard of Oz. I just might be dealing with the real Wicked Witch of the West.
• • •
I stopped by Wylie’s after I had a late go-see for a fashion show at Gucci. I didn’t know why my agent had sent me on the call, since he knew I wasn’t white-boy Gucci thin, but I went on those calls sometimes just to see what I could see. This was a wasted call on both counts: I didn’t get the job and I didn’t get leads on any other work.
I walked into Wylie’s prewar midtown building. The doorman knew me and said he’d tell Wylie I was on my way up. On the elevator ride I was deciding if I should tell Wylie what Ava wanted me to do. I knew he would be judgmental, but I didn’t give a shit because he didn’t have my bills to pay. I pulled some lotion out of my bag and worked some into my hands just as the elevator stopped and opened into a large foyer. Just as I stepped out, I heard Wylie’s voice: “What a wonderful surprise. I’m just having my evening cocktail.”
“Now, that’s a surprise,” I said as I gave Wylie a kiss on the cheek and walked into his spacious living room. It was a casually decorated apartment with the appearance of money. It had thick Oriental rugs from Wylie’s trips to Asia, and built-in bookshelves packed with books. The room had two soft couches in pastel colors and a beautiful mahogany bench that doubled as a coffee table until he replaced the glass-topped one some of his trade had broken. The end tables had lamps with Tiffany shades, and silver picture frames with photos of Wylie’s family.
I took my jacket off and threw it over a leather high-back chair that didn’t really fit the room’s decor, but Wylie said it was his throne. I sat on the sofa, and Wylie came out of the kitchen with a glass of wine and swirling ice in a cocktail glass.
“So how was your day?” he asked as he sat down next to me.
“Another day without making a dime,” I said as I took a sip of the wine. This was not the brand of wine I served or drank at my own place. It had a smooth buttery taste with a touch of fruit. I couldn’t remember the name of it, but I knew it was over eighty dollars in the restaurant where I used to work.
“Don’t worry, things will pick up,” Wylie said.
“How much is this wine per bottle?” I asked.
“Oh child, I don’t know. I usually buy it by the case,” Wylie said casually.
“One day very soon,” I said softly.
“Guess what?” Wylie asked with excitement in his voice. I knew this could only mean one of two things: a man or an exciting trip somewhere soon.
“I’ve got a date with that man I told you about,” Wylie said.
“What man?”
“David Carroll. Remember I told you about him? He’s from the Bahamas, and he wrote a workout book with the best pictures in the world. He’s the one who was on the Bahamian gymnastics team.”
“I thought you didn’t date your clients,” I teased as I sat my wine down on the bench.
“I don’t date my American-born clients,” he said, and smiled.
“Oh, I see. It’s like that,” I said.
“I can’t wait. Where should I take him?”
“He’s the author, let him decide. But you’re a braver girl than me, ’cause I would never date a man who can do a split,” I said, laughing.
“Oh, I ain’t worried about him doing no splits. I just want to make sure those beautiful legs of his stay firmly on my bed and don’t go swinging in the air before I can get mine up there,” Wylie laughed. “What about yourself? Are you back in the dating game?”
“Naw, not just yet. I still got some unfinished business with Mr. Basil, and then I’ll see,” I said as I took a sip of the wine.
“Bart, come on, now. This is getting crazy. Move on and leave that child alone. I know he’ll think twice before he tries to mess over someone again, but I’m beginning to worry about you,” Wylie said.
I told Wylie I didn’t know what Ava had planned but I was going through with whatever it was as long as it didn’t include serious bodily harm.
“Bart, you can’t be serious? This woman sounds cruel. You could both end up under the jail,” Wylie said.
“I don’t give a fuck, I’m getting back at Basil. Besides, where am I going to get the ten thousand dollars to pay Miss Ava back if I don’t do it? Shit, I need that and everything else she promised me.”
“Bart, you can go back to personal training. I mean, I hear some trainers are getting eighty and ninety dollars an hour now.”
“Then they’re doing something more than training, especially if they’re black,” I said.
“So when are you going to do this?”
“I’m going off to the Plaza tomorrow and follow Ms. Ava’s plans,” I said.
“Think about what you’re doing. You are ruining another man’s life,” Wylie said, his voice tight, and there was a coldness in his face, like he was either sad or disappointed.
“It’s easy for you to sit here and pass judgment on me ’cause it didn’t happen to you. None of this happens to you. You collect your fat paycheck and come home to your fabulous home, sit on your fat ass and drink all week, and then go to church on Sunday. You’re a trust-fund baby. When your parents die, you’ll be set for life. I don’t think you’re in any position to judge me,” I said firmly.
“Finish your drink.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Finish your drink and leave,” Wylie said. I could see tiny pools of tears forming in his eyes, and I wanted to take back what I had said. But I didn’t. I just grabbed my coat and bag, then left like a gush of wind, without telling my friend, my only friend, goodbye.
Who Can I Turn To?
I was watching Shirley MacLaine in Sweet Charity on The Movie Channel when the phone rang. I looked at the caller I.D. and saw it was Michel, so I picked up the phone. Michel said he was calling with more good news. Both People magazine and Vibe wanted to interview me for a possible cover story.
“That’s great!” I said.
“Yeah, it will help with the second single and the CD,” Michel said.
“When do they want to do it? Before I go to South Beach or after?”
“Most likely when you get back. The writer who proposed the story is a reporter here in New York. You’ve probably heard of her. She writes a column called ‘Lines from LaVonya’ for the Daily Press.” There was a long silence as my brief moment of joy turned into plummeting disappointment.
“Yancey, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” I felt a shiver of fear race through my body at the thought of LaVonya dipping into my life, both past and present.
“What’s the matter? This is great news.”
“But why does LaVonya have to do it? She’s a gossip columnist.”
“She is the one who got them interested. What’s the problem?”
“No problem. But I need to think about this.”
“Think about what? This is free publicity. There is nothing to think about. You have to do it.”
“Michel, let me call you back,” I said as I hung up the phone. I needed someone to talk to, so I decided to call Windsor.
When Windsor answered the phone, I said, “It’s Yancey. You feel like talking?”
“Sure. What’s going on? You sound sad,” Windsor said.
“Being a pop diva is starting to wear me down,” I said as I sat on the edge of my bed.
“But Yancey, this is what you dreamed of. I was talking to Marlana the other day, and she was so excited because her record is out and it’s doing well. You know, she really looks up to you,” Windsor said.
“She does? She doesn’t really know me,” I said.
“But she’s read about you and she’s seen you perform. Plus I talk about you all the time,” Windsor said.
“Be careful, Windsor. Marlana is competition now,” I said, and laughed. I certainly didn’t view Marlana as a threat. I hadn’t heard her song or anybody talking about her.
“I don’t think Marlana feels that way. She was saying how wonderful it was for two former Howard students to be taking on the music world.”
“I guess that’s nice. You know, Puffy Combs went to Howard also,” I said.
“Yeah, I knew him. Don’t forget I was Miss Howard,” Windsor said proudly. There were many times when I wished I had a personality like Windsor’s. Everybody that met her fell in love with her, and I was happy I had her for my first real friend.
I told Windsor about LaVonya wanting to do a story on me, but I didn’t tell her what she had asked me. I tried not to think about Madison, so I never talked about her.
“Yancey, you can handle this woman. Whenever she asks you something you don’t want to answer, just say, ‘That’s not something I’m willing to discuss.’”
“You think so?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’ve got to leave town for a few days. I’m shooting another video,” I said.
“That’s wonderful.”
“Windsor, are you getting nervous?”
“About what?”
“About having the baby?”
“I’ll be fine,” Windsor said.
“Well, childbearing is no joke,” I said.
Windsor was silent for a moment, and then she asked, “Do you ever think about Madison?”
“Why would you ask that?” I asked as I moved quickly from my bed. My body suddenly felt warm.
“Yancey, I’m sorry. I was just thinking, with you becoming so famous, it’s bound to make you think about her. I mean, how old is she now? She might be a fan of yours,” Windsor said.
“I need to go and call Michel and talk about travel plans. Thanks for listening, Windsor,” I said as I hung up, suddenly feeling like I didn’t know whom I could trust.
The Big Payback
I rang the doorbell of Ava’s suite the next day. I had decided not to call Basil’s family, and I thought it was only fair I told Ava in person. I don’t know if it was the fear of losing Wylie’s friendship or holding out a small hope that Basil might give me another chance at being with him that made me back out of Ava’s grand plan for revenge.
After a few moments, one of the double doors swung open and Ava greeted me with a wide smile and tousled, almost messy hair. She looked like the lost black Gabor sister in her strawberry-red nightgown covered with a matching robe with dyed fur trim. The air in the room was filled with a strange scent; it was hard to tell if it was expensive or cheap perfume mixed with a man’s cologne.
“Bart, darling, come on in,” Ava said as she waved her long cranberry-colored fingernails in the air.
“How are you doing?” I asked as I followed Ava into the living area of her large one-bedroom suite.
“I’m doing fine, darling. Are you ready for our big day?” Ava asked as she sat on one of the two matching sofas. I sat on the sofa opposite her and stared at the roaring fireplace I hadn’t noticed on my previous visits.
“Bart, are you ready?” Ava asked again.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking how nice it would be to have a fireplace in my apartment,” I said as I smiled weakly.
“Baby, after we finish doing what we have to do this afternoon, you can have anything you want, including a fireplace in Harlem,” Ava said.
There was no use holding back, so I said quickly, “I’m not going to make the phone calls. But since you’ve been so nice to me, I wanted to tell you in person.” Ava raised her eyebrows as if she was totally shocked by my decision.
“Do you mind telling me why? I mean, we’ve made plans, and I know you need the money,” Ava said.
“Yeah, I could use the money, but I do have to live with myself. Why don’t you give that money to some charity up in Harlem?” I suggested, trying to soften my refusal.
“Give my money to somebody up in Harlem? Are you kidding? From what I’ve heard, with Disney and Magic Johnson putting money up there, Harlem don’t need my money. Besides, my husband gives enough to the downtrodden. I’m only concerned with the uptrodden,” Ava said with an artificial laugh.
“Don’t worry, Ava, Basil will get his one day. He can’t just go around hurting people forever,” I said.
“I hope you’re right,” Ava said as she got up and walked over to the bar. She walked like she owned not only the suite, but the entire Plaza Hotel. She pulled out a bottle of champagne and popped the cork, then poured herself a glass.
She quickly emptied her champagne in one gulp and then turned toward me and asked if I wanted a drink.
“You got any brandy?”
“Of course, and if I don’t, I’ll call room service and we’ll get some up here right away,”Ava said.
While Ava was looking for the brandy, I walked over toward the windows overlooking Central Park. I gazed quietly at a winter blue sky without a cloud, as faint sunlight bounced through a large bay window. When I turned to walk back over to the seating area, I glanced toward the open door to the bedroom and the large canopy bed, layered with pillows and silk linens. My eyes moved toward the pale green carpet and I noticed a pair of men’s boxers on the floor. I figured either Ava’s husband was in town or she had gotten lucky.
“So is your husband coming to New York soon?” I asked.
Any Way the Wind Blows Page 18