If This World Were Mine

by E. Lynn Harris

  “Cranberry and 7-Up.”

  “Sounds good.” His smile relaxed and then disappeared altogether. Despite his success as a recording artist, he seemed a little nervous.

  “I’ve been listening to your group’s music. It’s all that. How long have you been in the group?” I knew the answer, but I was trying to make him feel comfortable with me.

  “About five years, as a group with a record deal. But close to nine years altogether. We met in college, you know, just singing in talent and Greek shows” Monty said. The waitress walked over and Monty ordered a club soda. He picked up a handful of the mixed nuts on the table and plopped them in his mouth. His teeth were as white and perfect as the sugar cubes on our cocktail table.

  “Well, I’ve talked with the people at your record company. They’re really high on you. Are you nervous about going solo?”

  “Not really. I’m just worried how the public might accept me,” he said.

  This was my opportunity to bring up the subject at hand. I started to ask him how long he had been gay, but I decided on a different approach. “You know, you’re a very brave man to do this. My best friend is gay, and he tells me all the time about how difficult it is being gay in certain industries, like R & B music, for instance. Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” I wanted to kick myself for mentioning Leland so soon. I hoped I didn’t sound patronizing, but I wanted to ask if he was involved with anyone, or if he was interested in meeting a great guy.

  “Yeah, I think I’m ready, but I don’t know how brave I am. I’m sorta being forced. I’ve got to beat those knuckleheads to the punch.”

  “Do you think they would really leak this information to the press? There are other ways around this.”

  “Jealousy is a muther. The moment I mentioned my desire to go solo, the threats started. I thought we had an understanding that at some point we would all try to go solo,” Monty said. “I’m really trying to beat them to the punch. When they find out I’ve got a record deal and I’ve already cut the tracks—I know somebody will start talking.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened? How did they find out you were gay?”

  “I’m not gay. I’m bisexual. I still love women,” Monty said firmly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. How did they find out you’re bisexual?” I was thinking same thing, or whatever floats your boat, as my daddy used to say.

  “I slipped up and got caught. It was a dumb mistake. I’m usually more careful than that. We were over in Amsterdam, doing appearances. All of us had been running the women all week. The travel agency had screwed up our reservations, so instead of it being two of us in a room, we all had to share a large suite. It was nice, you know, we had a pullout sofa and they brought up a cot. But a couple of us had to sleep in the same bed. Well, anyhow, I met this guy backstage and he gave me this look. I knew what was up and whispered what hotel we were staying at and the room number. I had never fucked around when I was on tour with the group.” Monty paused as he took a sip of his drink and picked up a few more mixed nuts. I pulled out a pen and notepad and asked if he would mind if I took a few notes. “No, I don’t mind. Like I was saying, I gave the dude my information, and I headed back to the hotel. The other members of the group were going to a local club to hang out with some women they had met. I told them I was beat—I was singing most of the leads and so they understood. Pretty soon old boy showed up—we got busy, and I got busted ass-up,” he said.

  I didn’t ask what ass-up meant, but I had an idea. “How did they treat you after that night?”

  “A couple of the guys were cool, saying stuff like ‘I’m not gay, but whatever is clever.’ There was a lot of laughing and whispers of ‘Man can you believe that shit. Aw man, pretty boy Monty likes the beef.’ I tried to tell them I wasn’t that way, that I was just curious. Even made up some lame excuse that the guy must have slipped something in my drink.”

  “I guess they didn’t believe you.”

  “At first I thought they did.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “One time when some ladies came backstage wanting to git with us, one of the group members asked them if they had a brother for me. The rest of them giggled like little boys on a playground.”

  “When did they threaten to expose you?”

  “It was when we got back to the States. They heard from our manager that I was going to be the first one to get a solo record deal. One of the guys who thinks he’s the shit was so beside himself. Started calling me all kinds of names, until I decked his ass. When I beat his ass, he swore he’d get me. I think he convinced the other guys to back him.”

  “Are you ready to deal with all the questions that will come up? Most likely, the media will be more interested in your sex life than in your music.”

  “But that’s where you come in, right?” Monty asked. “You can keep that from happening, after we do the story,” Monty asked. His voice expressed curiosity rather than fear.

  “Not exactly. My job will be to prepare you to handle the press. Once we put it out there, we’ll have to deal with it. Now, we can flat-out deny the accusations. The music industry is filled with individuals who at one time or another had been accused of being gay or bi. Then just ride it out. I can prepare a statement and we can stick to that. We can also come up with a list of responses that aren’t lies, but that skirt around the gay issues. Making sure we’re both on the same page.”

  “What I should do is bust some of them,” Monty said. A bitter edge had entered his voice.

  “Bust who?” I asked.

  “I’m not the only one in the group who swings the door both ways. I found out through somebody I was dealing with that another member of the group fucks around. With a pro basketball player.”

  “A member of your group was dealing with a pro basketball player?”

  “Yeah, a basketball player. All kinds of men people would never suspect fuck around. Football players, singers, and what have you. I should bust them all.”

  “Are you certain about this other group member? Did he tell you?”

  “Naw, but I know. I’ve seen him hanging out with his boy, and I know,” Monty said confidently. I was thinking, then tell me how to know. I guess Leland was right when he said recognizing someone else who was gay was like a sixth sense.

  “Yeah, I should bust them all,” Monty repeated.

  “I don’t think you want to do that. If we’re gonna come clean, we should keep this on a higher plane. I want to contact Vibe, The Source, and Billboard and give them a shot at an exclusive. Your story. I think we should follow up with interviews in some of the gay magazines,” I said.

  “Gay magazines. Why should we go there?”

  “If we do this with the truth, you’re going to need them, Monty. They can be very influential in your public acceptance. They’ve been wonderful with people like Me’shell Ndegeocello and k. d. lang,” I said.

  “But those are women. The public accepts that shit.”

  “Both of them are wonderful talents. Have you heard Me’shell’s album Peace Beyond Passion?”

  “Yeah. Sister’s got skillz,” Monty said.

  “With you being the first Black man to come out in the R & B arena, it’s going to be big news. You’re really a trailblazer, but you understand it can be a liability also. I’ve already talked with several gay-oriented magazines. I didn’t give them your name, but they were all interested. I think we should talk with SBC, Venus, The Advocate, and Genre. Those are the ones I’ve heard really good things about. After the novelty wears off—then I think you’ll have a chance to show them what you can do with your voice.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. If they want to give me fever because of the way I am, then fuck ’em. I can sing my ass off,” Monty said in a clear, self-assured voice.

  “Are you prepared for the rejection you might face from the record-buying public? Part of your appeal has been that you’re a sex symbol,” I said.

  “I don’t thi
nk that’s going to happen. I’ll always have a woman on my arm. I’ll even get married if I have to.”

  I started to ask him if he felt it was necessary to ruin some woman’s life by marrying her, but I didn’t. If he could find a woman fool enough to marry him, then more power to the both of them.

  “I’m hopeful that in the end, your talent will be the only thing that matters,” I said.

  “You know, deep down I don’t want to do this, but I refuse to let those bastards have the last word.”

  “I won’t make a move without talking to your manager, the record company, and, of course, you,” I said as I stood and shook Monty’s moist hand. “Yeah, I need to sleep on this. Oops, that’s what got me into the mess,” Monty said with a nervous giggle. His body language was a little bit cocky with equal parts fear. I wanted to tell him everything would be just fine, but I wasn’t so sure.

  Later that evening over wine and a pizza packed with pepperoni, I told John about my meeting, without revealing Monty’s identity.

  “Why won’t you tell me who he is?”

  “Because it’s business. You’ll know as soon as the rest of the public finds out,” I said. I reached over to wipe some mozzarella that was hanging off John’s chin. He licked my fingers clean, then asked, “Is ole boy sure he wants to do this? I mean, if you think he’s going to be big, then he might want to keep that shit to himself.”

  “Well, I think that’s wrong.” I didn’t want to get in a big moral discussion, so I turned to every man’s favorite subject: himself. “What’s going on with you and ESPN?”

  “Funny you should mention that. I got an assignment this weekend. I’m doing a University of Michigan game in Ann Arbor. It’s really big-time,” John said.

  “The timing is perfect,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m leaving on Friday.”

  “Aw, baby, stay here. I’d love to come back knowing you’re going to be here,” John said.

  “As much as I love waking up with you every morning, I’ve got to get back to Chicago. I’ve got to follow up with some potential clients, like the new House of Blues, and I’ve got my group meeting on Sunday.”

  Before John could respond, his phone rang, something it did often during my stay. Most times he didn’t pick it up, allowing the answering machine to handle his calls, but this time he reached over to answer. He was so close, I couldn’t help but hear his conversation. “Yeah, Casey, I got your message,” he said. A few seconds passed and then I heard him say, “I told you I’m seeing somebody. It’s a one-on-one thing, hold on for a second. Hello? Whatsup, dude? Yeah, I got your message—I’ve been busy.” After a few minutes of silence John said, “I told you I’m not down with that. Take it easy. Casey, I’ve got to go.”

  When he sat back down I teased him by saying, “Aw, Mr. Popular.”

  “Folks need to recognize that no means no. Now, what were you saying, baby?” I loved it when he called me baby.

  “I was telling you I have to get back to Chicago for my journal group meeting.”

  “That group’s real important to you—huh?”

  “Yeah, it is. Keeps me sane,” I said. Suddenly I thought about Riley. I wondered how she was handling my decision and if she was going to show up at the meeting. Maybe I’d try to call her before Sunday.

  “What are you thinking about?” John asked.

  “I’m sorry. I was thinking about Riley. We might have to get a new member if she drops out,” I said.

  “You think she will?”

  “It’s hard to say. We’ve been together for a long time. Eventually Riley will understand that I did what I had to do.”

  “Let me join the group. Since I’m going to write a book, maybe I should keep a journal,” John said.

  “You live here in New York! And meetings in Chicago would be tough. But you should definitely keep a journal. Right now is an exciting time for you, with the new career and all,” I said.

  “And a wonderful new lady in my life,” John said with a big smile.

  I blushed. “Didn’t you tell me you’ve got family in Michigan? An uncle, right?”

  “Yeah, in Detroit,” John said as he took a bite of pizza. His grin disappeared.

  “Are you going to see him?”

  “Naw, I’ll be too busy. We’ll see him together.”

  “We will? What are you talking about?”

  “I want you to come with me at Thanksgiving and meet my father and my aunt. We’re all meeting at my uncle’s for a big family dinner. I’ve been talking about you so much, they already know you.” John paused to check out my reaction. “So what do you think?”

  “Sounds like fun. I have to make sure my sister or Leland doesn’t have plans for me,” I said. I was thinking family was a serious thing. I had introduced only Chauncey to my parents and I couldn’t recall the last time a man wanted me to meet his parents.

  “It would just be the two of us—you know, after the family stuff. Maybe we can head up to Canada and do some skiing. Just so you’re with me when the lights go out,” John said as he touched my face softly. I smiled and he kissed me, and we leaned back onto the couch, and moments later I felt a soft pizza on my back, but with John on top of me, it didn’t matter.

  Later that evening John ran a luxurious bath for me, carried me to his bedroom, then oiled me down and gave me the most sensuous massage I’d ever had—from my neck down to my toes. Before we fell asleep, he whispered he loved me, as if he were afraid to say it out loud. I was too stunned to respond.

  Chapter 24

  For Dwight, Thursday had started earlier than it should have with a four A.M. call from his mother. Sarah never seemed to get the time right and would often wait up until after midnight, California time, to “catch her baby” before he left for work.

  “Mama, it’s four A.M., whatsamatter?” Dwight answered the phone on barely awake.

  “Ain’t nothin’ the matter, baby. I just wanted to make sure I caught my baby ’fore he left for work. Can’t a mama call her own child just to say she loves him?”

  “But it’s two A.M. there. What time are you going to work?”

  “Oh, I’m going to leave about five-thirty. I don’t know, I just couldn’t sleep. Just want to hear my baby,” Sarah said.

  Dwight propped himself on his pillows and tried to come fully awake.

  “I love you too, Mama. Are you sure everything is all right? Do you need anything?”

  “No, baby. You take care of me just fine as it is. I always told you long as you take care of yourself, that helps me out a lot. How you doin’? Am I going to see you soon? You know I’d feel better if I knew when you might be comin’ home to see me.”

  In the predawn darkness of his bedroom, a light went on in Dwight’s mind. She had a feeling. She always had a feeling when something wasn’t quite right with him. He didn’t know how she did it, but she and her feelings were as predictable as the sun rising. Sarah was a mother.

  “Mama, I know you gonna find this out sooner or later,” Dwight began. “I’ve quit my job and I’m thinking about moving back to Oakland. I’m sick of working for white folks. Maybe I’ll start up my own firm. You think you could stand to see my ugly mug every day?”

  “Just this evening I was thinking how good it would be if I could see my baby every day. Now listen to you. God is good, chile. And He is still in control!” Dwight could hear the sudden joy in his mother’s voice.

  “Now, hold up. Don’t get excited yet. I’m just thinking about it right now. I’m still going over some job offers back here, and I’m going on a few interviews before I make up my mind. In fact, I’m glad you woke me up. I’ve got an early flight to D.C. this morning to interview with a new Black computer company there. I’m at least going to see what they have to say, then we’ll see.”

  “Suga, I hope it goes well. I really do. But any Black company worth its fatback in a pot of greens got to have some openings in Oakland. Now, you know your mama sure would l
ike to have you back home. Have you asked them about a job in Oakland?”

  “Naw, Mama. I got to get the job first.”

  “You will, ’cause God’s goin’ to work things out for the best. Whatever that may be. If it’s God will that I have my baby back here sittin’ at the table eating some of my world-famous hotcakes with warm maple syrup and butter drippin’ all down the sides—well, so be it!” They both laughed at that.

  “I’ll call you when I get back, and let you know how it went. I love you, Mama—more than anything.”

  “I’ll be praying for you, son. Good-bye.”

  Dwight’s mother always gave him such a lift. She made him feel like there was someone on his side, someone who loved him no matter what. When his thoughts slid naturally from his mother, his family, to Scooter (aka Sedrick), Dwight jumped quickly from the bed. He showered, dressed in his best three-button blue suit, packed a overnight bag, and headed for O’Hare. A couple of hours later Dwight arrived in the city that just might be what the doctor ordered. Chocolate City, U.S.A.

  Jackson-Hill, Inc., was a new player in the computer industry, but its president and founder, Edwin Jackson, had a long and illustrious reputation in the business for innovative thinking and a successful track record with three of the world’s largest computer corporations. Edwin was a Hampton grad who had risen to the top of his field by sheer determination. He was an average-sized man, and nondescript in appearance. A medium-brown color and somewhere between forty and forty-five years of age, he wore gold-rimmed glasses and was beginning to gray and bald simultaneously.

  A big-legged, short-skirted receptionist in a royal blue tailored business suit led Dwight down the plushly carpeted corridor to Edwin Jackson’s large corner office. It was an ole-boy kind of office with an Afrocentric twist. Rich wood paneling covered two walls, the sofas and chairs were leather, the furnishings antique. Original Black art hung in gilded frames along with Edwin’s numerous degrees, citations, and awards. Tall potted palms in brass containers stood on either side of the floor-to-ceiling glass walls that formed the corner of his office.