Eugene looked down at his hands.
“And there’s something else I need to say. I know you’ve been seeing the head of our new members group, Belynda Davis. She talks about you constantly. And until tonight, I thought that was a good thing.” His eyes burned with disapproval. “I pray it’s not your intent to continue this type of behavior. Because if it is, I won’t sit by and let you destroy another young woman’s life.”
Chapter 60
Vernetta had no idea what to expect when they parked outside what looked like an abandoned building on Hawthorne Boulevard. On the way over, Jamal had given them the 4-1-1 on the best gay hangouts in L.A. Most of them were underground clubs only insiders knew about.
Jamal led the way into the building, having promised Vernetta and Nichelle an entertaining night on the town. Once inside, the place looked like nearly every other nightclub Vernetta had visited. Loud music, low lights, nicely dressed people. Here, though, most of the couples on the dance floor were of the same sex. The crowd was about seventy-five percent black.
Vernetta slowed near the bar, struck by the droves of handsome, masculine-looking black men everywhere she turned. There were also a good number of lesbian couples. Two men were kissing near the bar. A few guys were flamboyantly dressed in leather and chains, but most wore stylish clothes suitable for an office setting. What Vernetta was seeing took her stereotypical image of gay and turned it upside down and sideways. If she had met half of these guys on the street, she would have assumed they were straight.
Jamal nudged her. “You okay?”
Vernetta smiled and nodded, embarrassed that she was standing there with her eyes bugged out.
Nichelle did a three-sixty turn. She was just as confounded as Vernetta. “This is something, isn’t it?”
“Follow me.” Jamal led them through a pack of men toward the back of the club. There was a high energy level in the place that didn’t just come from the music and dancing couples. Everybody looked carefree and happy.
“You haven’t really partied until you’ve partied at a gay club,” Jamal shouted over the music. He stopped in front of a booth that had a reserved label on it and slid in. “I know the owner,” he bragged.
Just as they sat down, Nichelle pointed at a man in drag. “Now that’s something I don’t get. Why would a gay man want to be with a man dressed up like a woman?”
Jamal spread his hands, palms up. “To each his own. But that isn’t my thing.”
A young white guy walked up and Jamal introduced him as his stockbroker. When he found out Nichelle and Vernetta were attorneys, he asked for their business cards and started offering them investment advice.
Two muscular men in doo rags, white tank tops and baggy jeans moved past their table holding hands. They looked like gangbangers, Vernetta thought. A popular rap song with some hard-core anti-gay lyrics drew a rush of men to the dance floor.
“I can’t believe they’d play that in here,” Vernetta said to Jamal, as she tried to square her image of gay with the two men who had just walked by.
“Nobody’s listening to the words,” he said. “The beat is slammin’. Lots of rap songs refer to women as bitches and ho’s, but women still dance to it. Same difference.”
As Vernetta continued to take in the scene, she could feel an air of abandon. She gathered that this was one of the few places where these men could be exactly who they wanted to be without fear of being hassled or condemned.
Vernetta watched a gay couple hugged up in the booth next to them out of the corner of her eye. Nichelle took a quick look and turned away. She seemed a lot less unnerved by this whole experience.
“So,” Vernetta asked, after Jamal left to flag down a waiter and order drinks, “is your research going well?”
“Yep. Look at these guys. You’d have no idea that most of them were gay.” She pointed to the right at a man who looked like a bouncer. “If I had run into that hunk of beef over there on the street, I would’ve been dying to take him home.”
She elbowed Vernetta, just as Jamal returned. “Check out the guy at ten o’clock.”
Vernetta turned and spotted a very well-known and wealthy rapper.
“He’s gay?” Vernetta asked.
“I hear he’s bisexual,” Jamal clarified.
“Isn’t he afraid of being seen here?”
Jamal laughed. “No. Men aren’t like women. We don’t run and tell. What goes on here, stays here.”
The rapper’s tight Lycra T-shirt enhanced his rippled muscles. He had a shaved head, a shiny gold chain around his neck, and huge—grossly huge—diamond earrings in both ears.
“Wanna dance?” Jamal extended his hand to Vernetta.
“Uh . . . I’ll pass.” Vernetta wasn’t proud of the way she was reacting, but she couldn’t help it. Nichelle gladly sauntered off to the dance floor with him. Jamal had a smooth, sexy dance style. They step-danced as if they had been partners for years.
Nichelle returned to the table, leaving Jamal with a male dance partner. “Stop frowning,” Nichelle said.
“It’s just so . . .” Vernetta hated to say it, but it was the only word that came to mind, “weird.”
“To you. But not to them. We’re stuck on this image of gay women as masculine and gay men as feminine, and we refuse to recognize that they look just like you and me. The black community is going to have to recognize that condemning these guys because they’re gay is wrong.”
She took a sip from her drink, then gave Vernetta a look that was dead serious. “Once we do, maybe they won’t feel the need to hide who they are.”
Chapter 61
For more than an hour after Reverend Sims departed, Eugene sat alone in his darkened living room, the minister’s words echoing in his head. Eugene was tired. Tired of denying who he was. Tired of living a lie.
Without giving it further thought, he did something he’d promised both God and Belynda that he’d never do again. He picked up the telephone and made the most important call of his life.
When Lamont, his ex-lover, rang the doorbell forty-five minutes later, Eugene had changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. After an awkward greeting, Lamont followed him to the living room couch. Eugene had cleared the mugs from the coffee table and replaced them with wineglasses. A bottle of Chardonnay sat cooling in a sterling silver ice bucket.
“I was surprised as hell to get your call, man,” Lamont said. They sat on opposite ends of the couch facing each other.
“Kind of surprised me, too. How’ve you been?”
“I’m cool. The gig at the new firm is working out. They don’t work us half as hard as Ramsey & King.”
Lamont was sporting a new look, a closely shaven beard. “The facial hair looks good on you.”
“Thanks.” Lamont absently shifted on the couch. “I heard you left the firm.”
“Yeah,” was the only response Eugene could think of. Lamont obviously knew all about the lawsuit. Who didn’t? He reached for the wine bottle and poured himself a glass. Without inquiring first, he poured one for Lamont, too.
“I heard about your girl. I’m sorry.”
Eugene nodded.
“And of course, I’ve been watching the news. I guess you’ve been through a lot lately.”
Eugene tried to smile, but his lips felt stiff. “You can say that again.” They sipped wine and engaged in small talk for another ten minutes.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Lamont said finally. “Why am I here?”
“’Cause I needed to see you.”
“About what?”
Eugene took another sip of his wine before answering. “About us.” He wanted to pull Lamont to him and bury himself in his arms, but he held back.
“So what about us?”
“I think we should give it another try.”
Lamont looked away. “Man, I’m getting too old for running the streets. I’m looking for a serious relationship. And I’m not trying to hook up with a guy who’s out there running women.
”
“I’m done with that. I’m ready to commit . . . and to come out.”
Lamont responded with a skeptical look.
“Besides,” Eugene said, “my story’s been told from here to Timbuktu. I’d have a hard time staying on the D-L now. I can’t even go grocery shopping without some sister shooting me a nasty look.” He laughed.
Lamont did not. “So is that why I’m here? Because you can’t pull women anymore?”
“No,” Eugene replied. “You’re here because I miss you and because I want to be with you.”
“What about your family?”
“What about ’em?”
“I always figured they were one of the main reasons you never came out.”
“They were, but now they know. Anyway, it’s time for me to start living my life for me. Not them. So, I guess I’m asking whether you’re still down with me.” The desire rising inside Eugene was so strong it hurt.
Lamont set his wineglass on the table. His silence lasted so long that Eugene knew what was coming. Lamont was about to tell him it was too late. When he couldn’t take the silence any longer, Eugene decided to give him a break. “I understand, man. There’s no reason for you to take the risk of—”
Lamont held up his hand. “No, that’s not it. I wanna kick it with you, too. But uh—”
He paused. “There’s somebody else.”
“It’s cool. I understand.” Eugene tried to smile. “They always say it’s all about timing. I’m glad you found somebody who—”
“No,” Lamont interrupted, “it’s not that serious. At least not as serious as you and I were. Excuse me, as I thought we were. I’m just going to need some time to tie up some loose ends. The dude I’m with is kinda possessive. He’s into me way more than I’m into him. We’ve been living together for the last three months.”
Eugene nodded, relieved. He still saw concern on Lamont’s face. “Is that all?”
Lamont twirled the ring on his baby finger. “There’s something else I gotta tell you.”
Eugene braced himself.
“I’m HIV positive, too. Looks like that test I took when your girl first got sick was wrong. The lab contacted me a while back. Told me my results had gotten mixed up with somebody else’s. Then I found out the guy I’d been with before we hooked up was positive, too.”
Eugene took a big gulp of wine, which went down the wrong pipe. So he had been the one who had infected Maya. Not that he’d ever doubted it despite what his attorneys were arguing in court. He would call Eagleman Monday morning and tell him to drop the counterclaim.
His heart went out to Lamont. Eugene understood exactly what he was going through. He recalled his own fears upon first learning the news that he was HIV positive.
Eugene put his glass down and reached out to comfort Lamont. The two men embraced, then kissed like the long lost lovers they were.
Chapter 62
Early Saturday morning, Special drove down Halm Street and parked half a block from Belynda’s house. If she knocked on the door, she figured Church Girl would run for the phone to call the police. She would have to play it cool and somehow convince the woman to hear her out.
Surveying the houses, she wondered how Church Girl could afford to live in this neighborhood. The cheapest place on the block had to cost close to a million. “She’s probably stealing money from the church,” Special muttered.
Since Church Girl practically lived at Ever Faithful, Special assumed she’d be leaving to go there soon. Saturday mornings were always busy days at a black church. Bake sales, usher board practice, youth events. Special had heard that Church Girl basically ran the place.
She was about to take a sip of the coffee that she had picked up on the way when she saw Belynda’s front door open. Church Girl walked out dressed in tennis shoes and a jogging suit. Special prepared to exit the car. She needed to reach Belynda before she drove off.
Before Special could make it out of her Porsche, Belynda disappeared through a side gate leading to her backyard. She came out a minute later holding a German Shepherd on a worn leather leash. The dog was almost waist high. Church Girl and the dog then headed downhill toward Centinela. Special hadn’t figured the dog into her plan. She wouldn’t put it past Church Girl to order the mutt to attack her.
Special let Church Girl walk several yards before following after her on foot. She was glad she’d worn tennis shoes. Belynda was almost at the end of the block when she spotted Special behind her. Alarm spread like a windshield wiper across the woman’s face.
“I’m calling the police!” Belynda cried out, swinging around to face Special, then taking several steps backward. She pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her windbreaker, but couldn’t dial and hold onto the dog at the same time.
Sensing its owner’s distress, the dog growled and lunged at Special, who darted behind a truck.
“You don’t need to call the police. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you!” Belynda exclaimed. “Get away from me!”
The dog was barking now and baring a set of large, sharp canine teeth.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Special said again, leaving the protection of the truck. “I just need a few minutes of your time. Not even minutes really. Just a few seconds.”
“I said get away from me!”
“I think you should know what Eugene is up to,” Special said hurriedly. “I don’t know what lie he’s been telling you, but the man is still out there screwing around with men. And I have proof.”
When Special reached into her pocket, the woman yelped, which made the dog lunge at Special again.
“Hold onto that monster!” Special demanded. She realized that Church Girl probably thought she was reaching for her pepper spray. “The only thing I have in my hand is this camera. See?” She held the camera out in front of her. “I just want to show you a picture I took.”
Belynda gave the leash some slack and the dog charged toward her again. Special was barely able to jump out of the way. Belynda had to use both hands to restrain the dog.
“It’s okay, Princess.” Belynda gave the dog a pat on her side. “It’s okay, baby.” She sneered at Special. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’m letting her loose.”
“I will leave you alone,” Special said, “as soon as you take a look at this picture.” She had thought about leaving a copy of it in Church Girl’s mailbox. But she wasn’t that stupid. She was already facing assault charges. Eugene would’ve taken the picture straight to the D.A. and filed trespassing charges
“This won’t take long. Just tie that dog up for a second so I can show you this picture.”
“Whatever it is you have, I don’t want to see it. Now get away from me!” Belynda backed away and started reciting Bible verses. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
You are sho nuf one crazy ass heffa. “I’m telling you, you need to see this.” Special held the camera toward her. “Here take it. I took the picture last night through Eugene’s kitchen window. It shows him and another man.”
Belynda repeated the verses louder now, as if she were trying to drown out Special’s words.
“It shows them kissing.”
That stopped Belynda mid-verse. “I don’t believe you.” She loosened her grip on the dog’s leash again. “You’re mentally ill just like Eugene said you were. Now get away from me.” The dog growled and snapped at Special.
“You don’t have to believe me,” she said, backing up. “Just look at this picture.”
An elderly woman stepped onto the porch of a neighboring house. “Ms. Belynda? What’s going on out there?”
Belynda looked from the woman to Special. “Either you get away from me right now,” she hissed, “or I’m telling her to call the police. Now which way do you want it?”
Chapter 63
Babe, you
need to wake up.”
Jefferson stood over the bed, gently shaking Vernetta by the shoulder.
“It can’t be six o’clock already,” she said groggily, not bothering to open her eyes. Vernetta hated Mondays. “Wake me up in fifteen minutes.”
“No,” Jefferson said firmly. “Wake up. Now. This is important.”
Vernetta finally sat up. “Why do you have the TV up so loud?”
“Because I know you’ll want to hear this.” He pressed a button on the remote control, turning it up even louder.
The body of local attorney Eugene Nelson was found this morning at his home in Baldwin Hills. He was reportedly shot three times. Nelson was the subject of one of the city’s first wrongful death lawsuits based on the transmission of the AIDS virus.”
Vernetta stumbled to her feet, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh, my God! Eugene is dead?”
“Sure looks that way,” Jefferson said.
Just last week, attorney and gay activist Barry Eagleman convinced a local judge to issue a gag order in the case and to ban television cameras from the proceedings. The mother of Maya Washington claimed that Nelson caused her death by infecting her with HIV. The lawsuit alleged that Nelson hid the fact that he was gay and HIV positive. Nelson’s body was discovered early this morning by his long-time housekeeper. . .”
“If I were you,” Jefferson said, “I’d call your girl and ask her if she has an alibi.”
Vernetta fumbled with the telephone on the nightstand next to the bed, almost knocking it to the floor. Her hands trembled as she dialed.
“Special,” she said, the second she heard her friend’s voice, “did you hear about Eugene?”
“What about him?” Special sounded as groggy as Vernetta had just seconds ago.
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