“I don’t have a choice,” Monty said.
I stood up from the sofa and headed to my kitchen to get some water, but first I looked at Monty and said, “Monty, get real. Them mofos ain’t gonna say shit. They will be too worried about what people gonna say about them.” Monty got up and followed me to the kitchen.
“You think so, man? I don’t know. You know niggas, like crabs in a barrel. Don’t want to see anybody get to the top. You got a beer, or some wine?”
I grabbed a beer and gave it to Monty. I wanted him to drink this beer and get to steppin’ with his dumb ass. I know those mofos wasn’t going to say shit. We walked back into the living room and I asked Monty why he thought I needed to know about his going public.
“Just in case, you know, some people might know we used to hang out. And this lady I’m working with on dealing with the public told me reporters might want me to name names.”
Without thinking I said, “Yolanda ain’t going to instruct you to do some dumb shit like that.”
“You know Yolanda Williams? How do you know her?”
I started to tell Monty none of his damn business, but I was proud of my lady. “Yeah, I know Yolanda. And I know she’s been working with you. Yolanda’s my lady.”
“And she told you about me? That’s fucked up. The record company told me everything I told her was confidential until we decided whether or not I’m going public,” Monty said.
“Naw, she didn’t tell me your name. But once you started talking, it didn’t take me too long to figure out it’s you. I mean, how many singers you know getting ready to do something like what you’re thinking about.”
“I can’t believe this shit,” Monty said as he shook his head.
“Can’t believe what?”
“That female would be talking about my business.”
“What are you talking about? You’re the one that wanted to talk. If you had any sense, you’d keep your goddamn mouth shut and just use it for singing,” I said. I started to say, And for sucking dick, since you do that so well. This mofo was getting on my nerves with his dumb shit. This was the prime reason I wasn’t going to deal with a man ever again.
“Whatcha getting upset with me? I just came over here to warn your ass. You keep talking to me like I’m some child or your punk and I’ll make sure I leak your name to the press. Matter fact, I could start with your lady friend, Yolanda. Since she likes to talk so much. Let her tell the public that the man she’s fucking is just like me,” Monty said.
“Nigger, you tripping! You’ve lost your mind. I ain’t even trying to hear this crap. You ain’t telling Yolanda shit. Leave me out of this sordid shit. I’m sorry I ever let you get anywhere near me,” I said. My voice was rising with anger, and the sweater was making my body itch. I needed a shower and to get Monty out of my apartment.
“Hold up, Basil, you right I’m tripping. I’m not gonna say anything to Yolanda. Maybe you right. I’m going to rethink this. Maybe I should just keep my ass in the group and forget about going solo,” Monty said.
“Now you talking. Man, you can’t let the public know men like you swing both ways. You think women gonna wanna hear you sing ’bout making love when they know you could be talking ’bout a man. That shit ain’t gonna fly even if you put wings on it.”
“I know you’re right. I’m letting these white boys at the record company make me think everything’s going to be all right. When my records don’t sell, they’ll drop me quick,” Monty said.
I was glad to see this fool hadn’t lost all his God-given common sense. “And you know it,” I said. I was ready for Monty to get his ass out, but he looked like he was getting comfortable on my sofa.
“So what you got up for tonight?” Monty asked.
“Nothing. I’m getting ready to shower and call it a night. I have an early flight in the morning. Matter fact, I need to say good night,” I said as I looked at my watch and rubbed my face as though I was trying to erase the fatigue I felt.
“Okay, I’m going to run, but I want you to hear these new tracks and then I’ll let you get some rest,” Monty said. I liked Monty’s voice, so I didn’t see any harm in listening to some of his new music.
“Is it a CD or a tape?” I asked as I walked over to my stereo system and hit the power button.
“It’s a tape. But why don’t you go on and take a shower and I’ll set it up. When you walk out you’ll be listening to the new sound of Monty,” he said proudly.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said as I headed to my bathroom, a windowless cubicle only somewhat larger than my walk-in closet. I removed my clothing and washed my face, and then applied a face scrub I used every other day. I turned on the shower and while waiting for the water to get hot, I brushed my teeth. The peppermint flavor of the toothpaste rushed up my nose as I reached for the mouthwash.
A steaming mist was filling up the space, so I jumped into the shower. I covered my body with an almond body scrub and put my head under the water, and for several minutes I enjoyed its soothing roar. Under the water’s force I thought back to a couple of days before, when Yolanda and I had shared the shower for almost an hour, washing each other and kissing until we both were beginning to feel like prunes. I missed her so much. I stopped the shower and drenched my body in baby oil and then sprayed my Dunhill cologne in the air and moved my body into the citrus scent. I grabbed a beach-sized towel and realized I didn’t bring a change of clothes into the room, not even underwear.
When I opened the bathroom door, I heard Monty’s singing, his smooth voice floating through the apartment. I stopped in the hallway between the bathroom and bedroom and enjoyed the mellow beat and flashy rhythms, thinking this mofo might have a hit on his hands. I pulled out a pair of my red baggy boxers and slipped them under the towel. I searched for the matching T-shirt and remembered putting it in the dryer located in the closet next to the kitchen. I walked through the living area, where Monty was dancing with himself. When he saw me with just a towel wrapped around my waist, he smiled.
“You’re sounding real good, my brother,” I said as I walked to the dryer and pulled out the shirt.
“And you’re looking quite good, my brother. How often are you working out these days?”
“Two hours, six days a week,” I said.
“It’s working.” Monty smiled as he walked toward me.
“So when are they going to drop your music?”
“We don’t have a release date yet. Still got to work out that problem,” he said.
“Can you leave the tape? I’d like to listen to it on the flight tomorrow,” I said.
“Sure, it’s all yours. You want anything else?” he asked with a sly smile. I knew what he meant, but I was willing to play dumb.
“Naw, that’s it.”
“Can I use the bathroom before I leave?”
“Sure,” I said.
While Monty was in the bathroom, I immersed myself in the music. When I realized a third song was starting, I wondered why Monty was taking so long in the bathroom. I quietly moved closer to the door to see if I could hear any sounds coming from the room. Just as I was lowering my head toward the door, it opened suddenly, startling me.
“You want to join me.” Monty smiled. He was buck naked. Monty had the smooth and muscular lean body of a track man. I felt the muscles in my face soften, my eyes grow wide as I gazed at his body from neck to toe. But I snapped myself out of Monty’s magic and shouted angrily, “Man, whatsup with you? I told you I ain’t rolling like that anymore.”
“Just one more time,” Monty said as he moved his hand toward my groin area.
I quickly grabbed his hands before he reached his desired spot and yelled, “Put your shit back on and get the hell out of my house.”
“Come on, Basil, just one more time. I promise I won’t bother you anymore,” Monty pleaded.
“Man, you better git your ass out of my house before I have to kick your faggot ass,” I said.
“I got your faggot hangi
ng low,” Monty said as he grabbed his piece. “You didn’t think I was no faggot the last time. And you’ll see how much a faggot I’ll be when I serve your story to Yolanda.”
“You ain’t gonna do that,” I said.
“Watch me,” Monty said as he turned toward the bathroom. This mofo was acting like a spoiled-ass bitch. I didn’t know what surprised me more, his threats or the way he was acting. Like a punk-ass bitch. A madness was welling up inside me. I started to kick him dead up his ass. Beat him down. But I knew where that could lead. But I had to find a way to reason with this fool.
“Wait!” I said.
Monty turned toward me and said, “Wait for what?” You don’t know how bad I wanted to just bust him in the face, but instead I dropped the towel from my waist and pulled my limp manhood from my underwear and said, “So is this what you want?” In the back of my mind a reasonable voice was saying Don’t do this. Don’t let this mofo blackmail you into giving up the beef. Monty’s eyes landed on my hands and he lowered his face to my midsection. I looked toward the living room, but I heard his knees hit the floor. Before his lips reached my muscle of manhood, he whispered, “Some dicks are made for sucking.”
Chapter 26
“Thanks, Ms. Williams, enjoy your flight,” the flight attendant said.
“I will,” I said sadly.
I didn’t want to go back to Chicago and leave behind the warmth of John’s bed. But I had to. When I boarded my plane, the airline service agent announced that the flight was overbooked. The airline was offering a free round-trip ticket to anywhere in the continental United States, plus free overnight lodging at the nearby Radisson until the next morning’s flight to Chicago for anyone who’d give up their seat. They didn’t have to ask me but once. I jumped at it—for more reasons than one. I grabbed my bag from the overhead, deplaned, got my certificate, and caught a cab back into the city. Back into John’s strong arms.
During the ride from Newark to John’s apartment, I thought about the prior week. I had left John’s around six—somewhat reluctantly—after the most enjoyable, passionate, romantic week I’d shared with anyone in ages. I was shocked when he told me he loved me. I believed him, but I didn’t feel myself falling in love. At least not yet. I liked John a great deal and I thoroughly enjoyed our long heart-to-heart talks and the time we spent together, but I didn’t ache when we were apart. I had Sybil and Leland when John wasn’t around, and I’d like to feel that I could include Riley and Dwight also.
The sex was good. Real good. But I was old enough to know sex was physical and love was spiritual, and I just wasn’t there yet. Maybe, I’d thought, a week of intimacy would push us over the top toward a long-term commitment. But so far it seemed only one of us had felt the push.
The cab pulled up into the circular driveway at John’s apartment. I still had the key John had given me when I first arrived, and I slipped the night-shift doorman a ten-dollar bill not to announce my arrival. The doorman said he didn’t think Mr. Henderson was home, and I told him of my plans to surprise him when he returned. I wondered where he could be this late, because I knew he had an early morning flight.
It would be perfect, we could take a car to the airport together and say our good-byes at the airport gate.
When I arrived at John’s door, I heard voices. Maybe he was home. I was certain I heard male voices as I slipped my key in the lock ever so quietly. I don’t ever think I’ll forget the image I saw when I opened that door. I was so shocked, I instinctively pulled the door shut again. I didn’t—couldn’t—believe my eyes. Oh, no, my mind screamed, I know I didn’t see what I think I saw! My key was still in the lock and I pushed the door open again.
My eyes hadn’t lied. There was John, standing buck naked, his underwear down around his ankles. Busted! Busted fucking some man who was bent over the sofa table! The first time, I’m certain they didn’t even hear me. Too busy taking care of each other. I could hear lusty moans of pleasure and John’s voice barking cuss words I’d heard when we made love. But the second time I opened the door, they both turned their heads toward me, shock and disbelief written all over their faces. My God, the other man was Monty! This so-called want to be the love of my life was fucking my newest client! I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They looked so ridiculous and so guilty, like little boys caught in the cookie jar. John called my name and pulled away from Monty. As he ran toward me with his underwear shackling his ankles, he fell flat on his face. He quickly got up, tossed his underwear and as he neared the door, I ran. I could hear him calling after me, pleading with me to come back. He could explain, he said. I was outta there! Next thing I knew, I was sitting in a cab feeling like I’d just narrowly escaped a serial killer.
I went directly to the Omni and was able to get a room. As soon as I dropped my bag, I reached for the phone and called Leland.
“We’ve got to talk, baby-boy,” I began. I hoped I didn’t sound too crazed. I didn’t want to alarm Leland, but I didn’t want to tell him long distance what happened. I wanted to see the shock on his face, so I’d have an idea of how I looked moments before. “I’ll be back in the morning. Can I come over from the airport?”
“What’s wrong, Yolanda? You want me to pick you up? Are you all right? Do I need to come to New York and get you?” I guess Leland had picked up on my somewhat distraught voice, but he was overreacting just a bit, I thought. Or maybe it was just me.
“I’m fine, Leland. Chill. Everything’s under control. I just need to talk, that’s all. Now, don’t worry all night. Promise?”
“I do worry about you, Yolanda. You’ve been gone a whole week and I haven’t spoken to you once. That’s not like you. Now I get this call and your voice sounds frantic, telling me you’ve got to talk as soon as you get off the plane. Whatsup? Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. Trust me. Didn’t you get my messages? I was really busy with this new client,” I said.
“Yeah, but somehow we always manage to talk person to person. I was thinking you were upset with me,” Leland said.
“Upset for what? You’re my best bud. I could never be upset with you. I love you, that’s all.”
“And I love you, that’s all,” Leland said. He was reluctant to let me off the phone, but he finally did after promising not to worry too much and to have breakfast ready when I got there.
My mind was a blur of confusing, contradictory images: me and John making love, my meeting with Monty, strawberries and whipped cream, that Raymond guy, Leland giving me the green light but telling me to be careful, John and Monty together, and the kiss at the Motown Cafe that started this shit. I couldn’t think straight. How in the hell, I thought, did I wind up sitting here alone on a queen-sized bed in a hotel room in the middle of the night? Tears began to well up in my eyes, but then I had a sudden vision of John with his underwear around his ankles, trying to run after me. Suddenly overcome with a fit of side-splitting, tension-relieving laughter, I fell backward onto the bed. With tears streaming down my face, I laughed until my sides ached. Life is a bitch, I thought. But thank goodness the bitch had a sense of humor.
When I saw Yolanda standing in my doorway, it was like watching my life explode like skyrockets. Her lovely face was filled with disgust that in seconds melted into disappointment. For a few moments I was in shock, and then I rushed toward her and fell on my ass. I started to follow her downstairs, but here I was, standing in my living room, naked, with Monty. When he told me not to worry about Yolanda, I snapped.
“Monty, shut the fuck up!” I shouted.
“Don’t get mad at me, how did that bitch get in?”
I moved over and grabbed Monty and said, “Look, asshole, I’ve told you, don’t call my woman a bitch.”
“I don’t think she’s going to be your woman after what she just saw,” Monty said with a smirk.
“How could I be so stupid, fucking yo’ ass,” I said.
“Basil, stop kidding yourself. You’d fuck a snake if you could f
ind a way to get up under it,” Monty said. I wanted to punch him dead in the mouth, permanently removing that smirk.
“Look, get your shit on and get out of my house. I don’t want to see your ass ever again in life. Do you understand?” Monty walked toward the bathroom, then looked at me and said, “Fuck off.”
I went to my bedroom and put on a pair of jeans and a sweater. Maybe Yolanda was still downstairs in the lobby. I suddenly wondered how she had gotten upstairs without the doorman calling. This kinda shit pisses me off. I reached for the house phone and a man with a slight accent answered. “How can I help you, Mr. Henderson?”
“Who is this?”
“This is Pedro, sir.”
“Who let Ms. Williams upstairs without calling up?”
“It was me, sir. The lady said she wanted to surprise you. I was told you had left permission for her to come up without calling. She said she had a key, sir.”
“I didn’t mean to let her up when I’m here. I’m going to have your job, Pedro,” I said as I hung up the phone. I looked around and saw Monty walking out of the bathroom. He looked at me and I raised my palm in the air in an I-don’t-want-to-hear-it stance. Monty got the message and left my apartment in silence.
I was so mad, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I just didn’t know who I was angry with, Yolanda for coming back without calling—she was supposed to be back in Chicago—or Monty for trying to blackmail me. I should still be kicking his ass. Or should I be mad at my own dumb ass? I could have told Monty no and meant it. Why didn’t I just stop with the oral sex? That would have satisfied him. But no, I got greedy. I figured if this was going to be my last time, I should just go for the whole buffet.
I didn’t even hear the key turn. My thoughts were lost in the physical pleasure, excited by the power I felt rocking back and forth. I invaded Monty like the Marines arriving on enemy territory. I wanted to make sure I punished him for forcing me to do something I didn’t want to do. I was trying to break his back.
In all my years, I’ve had some close calls. But I have never gotten caught in the act with either a woman or a man. Why, when I finally stopped seeing the faces and was really in love, would my past finally catch up with me? If I was a punk I think I would have cried, but tears of any kind are the ultimate sign of weakness. Instead, I just let off a stream of mumbled obscenities.
If This World Were Mine Page 22