A Love of My Own

by E. Lynn Harris

  “Z, what?”

  Jabar didn’t get it yet. He pulled me back to him. “Yo, boo,” he said, “let me taste you and give you what you want.” He put both hands on my breasts, kissing one nipple and then the other.

  I pushed him away again. I took both his hands and put them at his sides. When Jabar reached for me again, I put his hands firmly back at his sides and held them there. This time, he left them there and smiled, his beautiful bald head cocked to one side, one brow lifted in question.

  I touched his hairless hard chest and erect nipples. He turned his head as I walked behind him and rubbed his shoulders. I loved being naked with him. Jabar turned around with a raging erection. He doesn’t feel like Play-Doh, but like granite. I decide to stop the game short and let Jabar take over, but not just yet.

  “Z . . . damn yo. This is torture. What do you want me to do?”

  “Just stand there,” I commanded. I circled him, running my hand across his erection, across this taut, round butt and back around, and said, “Do what any real man would do with all this.” I bent over and stepped out of my panties.

  I saw the light come on in his deceptively sleepy amber-brown eyes. He grasped my wrists and pulled me within an inch of his handsome face. He stared deep into my eyes, then suddenly pressed his mouth hard onto mine, nipping my lower lip before pushing his tongue between my lips. He slapped me on the behind and then scooped me up into his arms like I weighed less than a feather. I could hear Usher begging for love on the CD player, and I laughed to myself thinking Usher and Jabar were probably the same age. Jabar dropped me on my king-size bed. I leaned back on my elbows, knees up and apart with a devilish grin.

  “Stay there!” he said, and he went to the door of the bedroom to retrieve his warm-up suit. I was looking up at the ceiling, ready to feel him inside me for the rest of the evening.

  Jabar sat on his side of the bed, picked up the orange juice and drained the glass in one long, slow drink. He stood and began to dress, putting on his warm-up pants, his socks.

  “Jabar!”

  He looked down at me on the bed. “Beg me to stay, yo,” Jabar said, slipping his T-shirt over his shoulder. He looked serious.

  Was he playing with me? Zola does not beg. Would he really walk out on me? Who’s the Play-Doh now?

  “Jabar, come to bed, baby,” I said, as I tried to beg and seduce him simultaneously. “I’m sorry.”

  Jabar moved closer to the bed, pulling off his warm-ups. I noticed his erection was still around in the flickering light from the candles, which threw his shadow across the bed and over my body.

  “Will you be good?”

  “I will be very good,” I said as I gently touched my nipples.

  “Yo, you got to stop so much playing, Z. You know, I been thinking ’bout this all day,” Jabar said as he placed his face at my center, kissing me until I felt as wet as a gushing spring.

  “Don’t you want to come in from the cold?” I whispered as I stroked his erection.

  “Yo, Z . . . in a minute. Don’t this feel good?”

  “It feels amazing,” I moaned.

  “That’s what’s up,” Jabar mumbled.

  Moments later he entered me. I felt like he was using my body like he was seeking refuge in some secret space that only I possess. I felt like I was going to explode as I enjoyed the sound of Usher’s sensual voice and the rhythm of Jabar’s heavy breathing. They both sounded like I felt: magical and magnificent.

  16

  __________________

  “Have you been sleeping, Raymond?” Dr. Few asked just as I was getting comfortable on her sofa.

  “Somewhat,” I said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I stay at the office pretty late. I come home and watch a little television, or it watches me, eat dinner, and maybe have a couple of glasses of wine, and I’m in bed by ten. The problem is I wake up around three-thirty, wide awake. I go to sleep again around maybe six. I know it’s six because I have the television on TV Land and Mannix comes on at that time. I guess I fall asleep and I wake up again when the alarm goes off around seven-thirty,” I said.

  “Do you want me to prescribe something to help you sleep?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready to do the drug thing,” I said.

  “What do you think about when you wake up?”

  I thought about her question for a few moments and then I began talking. “I think about the fact I can’t believe I’m living in New York City, working for one of the most powerful men in the world. A black man whom I can’t figure out if I like or not. I respect Davis, but something isn’t right. I don’t know what it is. I think about Trent, our relationship, and what went wrong. I wonder if I’m ever gonna really have true love in my life. A love I can depend on. I know I’ll have people who will say that they love me. Might even love me for that moment in time. I want an everlasting, unconditional love, someone who’s gonna love me forever like my parents and my brother. And then there are moments when I think I don’t want anything to do with love. I just want to go and date, have fun without feelings or emotions attached. Like a male version of Sex in the City. Damn, what am I talking about? Men have always lived their love life like that,” I said as I paused and took a swig of the bottled water I was holding near the not-so-lean part of my stomach.

  “So you’re saying there isn’t much difference between heterosexual men and homosexual men?” Dr. Few asked.

  “Not really. We’re both accidents waiting to happen,” I said causally.

  “What do you mean by accidents?”

  “The opportunity to fuck up. Mistakes,” I said.

  “Have you ever made mistakes in your journey toward manhood?”

  Damn, that’s a deep question, I thought. Should I come clean? Yeah, I was paying Dr. Few to tell the truth and not worry about judgment.

  “Yeah, I have.”

  “Are there any mistakes that stick out in your mind?”

  I thought for a few seconds and said yeah.

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  “I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my love life. Done a lot of dumb things in the name of lust. I remember one time I was in Florida and I don’t really recall if I was there on vacation or for business. Anyway, I was staying at a motel, which means I was most likely spending my own money. It was some kind of motel with the two double beds, cheap furniture, and the television standing on the low end of the dresser drawers. Small rectangular soap that didn’t have any kind of fragrance to it or much lather for that matter. I digress. I woke up one morning with nothing but my underwear on and I get out of bed and walk over to the curtains to see if it’s going to be a sunny day or a rainy day; you know, with Florida you can never tell. I think I was yawning and had my hand in my drawers rubbing on my sex like I’m digging for gold, and I suddenly notice this man getting in his car. He stops and he’s just staring at me. It was early morning, which means I probably had a hard-on. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, so I push back the curtains. I must have been heading for the shower or to the bathroom, when I suddenly hear a knock at the door. Still in my underwear, I walked to the door and opened it and there’s the man from the car standing at my door. He has on a skinny tie with a short-sleeve shirt. I don’t know why I remember that, but he looked like a geek,” I said. I took another swig of my water and wondered if I should continue.

  “What did he want?”

  “He just looks down at my crotch and says, ‘Can I suck your dick?’”

  “What did you say?”

  “I just laughed and said, ‘Not now, come back in an hour,’ and then I shut the door,” I said.

  Dr. Few gazed intently at me for a few moments and then asked, “Did he come back?”

  “Yeah, in almost an hour on the dot. I let him suck my dick, got off, and asked him to leave,” I said.

  “How did you feel?”

  How did I know that question was coming?

  “I
was young, so I didn’t feel guilt. That was a time in my life when I thought about sex a lot and it was nothing for me to have sex three or four times a day. It didn’t matter if I was alone,” I said as a grin came across my face.

  “What are you thinking about?” Dr. Few asked.

  “Looking back, life was so simple then. I thought it was tough, but I didn’t have a clue,” I said.

  “How so?”

  “I was so busy trying to live up to the expectations of my parents, peers and the world. I made life harder than it needed to be.”

  “Do you think you’re doing that now?”

  “I’m trying my damnedest not to. That’s why I’m here,” I said. I noticed Dr. Few look at her watch, and so I lifted my body and prepared to leave.

  17

  __________________

  A ringing phone woke me from a deep sleep. I rubbed my eyes and looked at my caller ID and saw Justine’s number. I fumbled to pick up my cordless phone.

  “Hello,” I said in a voice still filled with sleep.

  “Zola? Have you heard?”

  “Have I heard what?” I asked as I sat up in my bed.

  “Girl, Aaliyah is dead,” Justine said. “Can you believe that shit?”

  “Aaliyah who?”

  “Aaliyah the singer. Didn’t you have her on the cover once? Remember, you told me how pissed off you were that she was so sweet, beautiful and nice.”

  “Justine, don’t believe everything you hear. There are rumors all the time about famous people being dead. Remember the Luther Vandross death lies,” I said.

  “If you don’t believe me, then you need to turn on your television, because all the major networks are running the story. If it’s a joke, then it’s a sick motherfucking one,” Justine said.

  I grabbed my remote control and clicked on the television, which was already on CNBC. There on the television was a photograph of Aaliyah and then a shot of plane wreckage.

  “Justine, let me call you back,” I said as I turned up the volume on the television. I sat with my back against my pillows in a stunned silence as I learned of Aaliyah’s demise on a small plane in the Bahamas.

  My thoughts went back to a few months before, when I sat in the suite at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Washington, D.C., and interviewed Aaliyah. I went in expecting another over-hyped diva. I left wishing I had a little sister with the inner peace and beauty of Aaliyah. I recalled her quiet confidence as she talked about her dreams to be a multitalented performer. She had plans to not only make hit albums but to do movies and Broadway as well. When I left my interview, I was convinced that nothing could get in the way of Aaliyah achieving all her dreams.

  I hopped out of bed and got down on my knees and prayed for Aaliyah’s safe passage to the next life.

  Then I jumped into the shower, put on some jeans and an oversize shirt, and grabbed my bag. I had to get to my office fast.

  Two days after Aaliyah died, I experienced one of the longest days of my life. It was Tuesday, and one of those heavy summer days when the sun looked as though it had found a permanent spot in a blue blue sky. I still couldn’t believe someone so beautiful, kind and talented was no longer with us.

  My staff and I spent most of Sunday and all of Monday trying to pull together a tribute issue for the young singer. This meant a new cover and moving some stories to the December issue. Miraculously, we pulled it off and put the issue to bed. Now came the fun part, informing our cover girl Yancey B. that we had to change plans. I was hoping she and her publicist would understand, but if the photo shoot was any indication, I knew the phone call wasn’t going to be easy. But it had to be made.

  I located Lena’s phone number in my Palm and quickly dialed the number.

  “Lena Ford Agency,” a cheery female voice said.

  “Is she in?”

  “Who may I say is calling?”

  “Zola Norwood of Bling Bling,” I said.

  “Hold on. I’ll see if she’s available.”

  A few moments later I heard Lena’s voice. “Zola. How you doing, girl?”

  “Fine, considering everything that’s happened,” I said softly.

  “What happened?” Lena asked.

  For a moment I wondered what rock Lena had been hiding under. The story of Aaliyah’s plane crash had been on all the news programs and on the front page of several New York newspapers.

  “Didn’t you hear about Aaliyah?” I asked.

  “Oh, that. Yeah, that was real sad,” Lena said causally. “Did you like the pictures of Yancey B.?”

  “They’re beautiful,” I said, slightly annoyed that all this lady could think about was her client.

  “I told you Anthony was just fabulous. I know you’re happy we insisted on using him instead of whoever you were planning to use. When is the issue hitting the stands?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. We had to make a change,” I said calmly.

  “What kind of change?” Lena asked. I could hear impatience in her voice.

  “Well, I—I hate to tell you,” I said. It was as though the words were jammed in my throat.

  “You hate to tell me what?” Lena demanded.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. I grabbed a bottle of water that was sitting on the edge of my desk, took a long swallow, and then said, “We’re putting Aaliyah on the cover.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to have to move the Yancey B. cover story back a month. We’ve decided to do an Aaliyah tribute issue,” I said.

  “Tell me you’re joking,” Lena demanded.

  “No, I’m sorry. We’ll put Yancey B. on the next cover,” I said.

  “You need to stop trippin’! Yancey B. is going to be on the cover of the December issue. Need I remind you that we gave up a chance to be on Vanity Fair to do the cover of your little magazine? I bet they aren’t going to do some morbid tribute issue. So whatever plans you’ve made, change them. Dead singers don’t need publicity,” Lena said coldly.

  My body began to feel warm, and I was thankful that I was in my office and not with Lena face-to-face, because I would have slapped her silly. I couldn’t believe how cruel she was.

  “Lena, I understand why you’re angry, but my decision is final. I suggest you call Yancey B. and tell her that she will be on the cover in December,” I said.

  “I’m not telling her shit. If she isn’t on the cover as planned, then she won’t ever be on the cover of your magazine.”

  “Suit yourself. But I can put her on the cover whenever I please. Have a nice evening,” I said. As I was preparing to hang up the phone, Lena started screaming and swearing.

  “Bitch, don’t hang up on me. Change that cover! We spent all day doing that shoot. Do you know how valuable Yancey B.’s time is? You can’t do this. I’ll ruin you and your magazine.”

  This woman had cracked my last good nerve. I had had enough! “Lena, you need to check yourself. At least you and Yancey B. are alive. She’ll have plenty of cover stories in the future, including Bling Bling. You need to look in the mirror and check yourself,” I said, and slammed down the phone. I was surprised by the tears flowing down my face.

  18

  __________________

  I was getting ready to go and pick up a pizza before calling it a day, when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw the 858 area code and figured it was Kirby.

  “What’s up, li’l bro?” I asked as I laid my keys down on the kitchen counter just in case I was getting ready to settle in to one of those long conversations about life.

  “’What’s poppin’, playa? How’s the new job?”

  “I’m getting into the groove of being in the world of publishing,” I said. “How are you doing?”

  “Everything is cool. We lost again this week, but I guess you saw that. I’ve been talking to my coach about getting me involved in more plays. The head coach thinks since he got a first-rounder in the backfield he needs to get their money’s worth, but they’re paying a brotha like me a
bunch of benjamins too. I want to feel like I’m earning my keep,” Kirby said.

  “I hear you. I’ve got to get me one of those DirecTV packages so I can see your games. They don’t ever play them here in New York ’cause you guys start so late,” I said.

  “I know. Pops was saying the same thing, but he went out and got one of those satellite dishes because he didn’t want to miss nothing. He’s come to three games already, and Mama told him if he was going to get on a plane every week to come out here then she was going to start looking for a home out here,” Kirby said.

  “How would you feel about that?” I asked, laughing.

  “I don’t have to worry about that. Mama isn’t moving again,” Kirby said.

  “I know that’s right,” I said.

  “Besides, she would be treating me like a baby.”

  “You’re always going to be her baby. She worries about you just like me. Which, by the way, are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Yeah . . . yeah. I’m fine. Dating a different honey every other night. Not about to leave my heart with anyone just yet. I called because one of my buddies is coming your way, and I wanted you to meet him and see if you can help him out,” Kirby said.

  “What’s up?”

  “His name is Sebastian Lewis. Cool dude, played backup to me during the exhibition season and he crashed with me during training camp. Dude busted his knee, so his season is over and most likely his career. He’s dating this honey from Jersey, so he’s going to shack up with her for a minute until he gets on his feet,” Kirby said.

  “What does he want to do?” I asked.

  “Sebastian is going to do the trainer thing, and he’s interested in becoming an agent. I thought you might hook him up with your dawg Basil to see if he can help out. You know, just look out for him, make sure he keeps his head on straight and doesn’t get in trouble in the big city.”

  “Where’s he from?”

  “Pensacola, Florida. Seb played ball at Florida State and he was giving your li’l bro a run for the starting position until his knee problems cropped up. He’s got his degree in business and was really interested in meeting you when I told him you were working for that McClinton dude,” Kirby said.