“Hey, what do you know—a football player with a college degree? Sounds like somebody I need to meet,” I said, joking.
“Don’t come down so hard. Man, now I realize how lucky I was that Pops stayed on my ass about hitting the books. If I hadn’t graduated like I promised, I would have to hear about that shit every day of my life,” Kirby said, laughing.
“Yeah, from both Pops and me,” I said.
“So can I give him your digits?”
“Yeah. Give him my office number and the one here at the crib. I’ll take him to dinner and introduce him to Basil. Who knows, Basil’s firm might be looking for some young blood,” I said.
“Thanks, bro. I appreciate that and you. Sebastian is becoming like a little brother to me, like family, so I was hoping you’d look out for him.”
“Like he’s family. When’s he coming East?” I asked.
“I think in a couple of days, but I’ll holla back when I get the exact day,” Kirby said.
“That’s cool.”
“Ray, can you believe the sad news about Aaliyah? Man, you don’t ever know from one minute to the next what the universe has in store for you,” Kirby said.
“Man, that was really sad. I remember playing that Isley Brothers remake she did, “For the Love of You.” That song was tight,” I said.
“That song was the bomb. My big brother is more in the know than I figured,” Kirby said.
“Dude, good music is just good music. It has no age limit,” I said.
“I hear ya. Let me get off this phone. I love ya and miss ya,” Kirby said.
“I love you too, Kirby. I hope you make it to the East Coast real soon.”
“Me too. Holla!”
I was running about fifteen minutes late for my meeting with Kirby’s friend Sebastian Lewis. He’d called me the night before and we’d agreed to meet at B. Smith’s restaurant in the theater district. I’d made the mistake of going to the old location on Eighth at West Forty-seventh and had to call my assistant to get the correct address, almost two blocks away on West Forty-sixth.
I walked into the spacious restaurant that had the feel of an upscale art gallery. I rushed past the hostess and headed toward the bar, where I saw a handsome peanut-butter-brown man standing at the bar alone with an apple-red sweater and some nice-fitting straight-leg jeans. Sebastian had told me he would be wearing a red sweater.
“Sebastian?”
“Raymond,” he said.
“Yes, I’m Raymond. Nice meeting you,” I said as I extended my hand to shake his. I was startled when Sebastian reached for me and pulled me close to his broad chest in a brotha-man hug complete with the two pats with closed fists on my back. Once he released me, I moved back a few inches and smiled weakly.
“What’re you drinking?” I asked.
“Just a brew,” Sebastian said.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” I asked.
“I had something to eat before I came into the city,” Sebastian said.
“Where’re you staying?”
“Over in East Orange with my girl, but that won’t be for long,” Sebastian said. “I want to find me a small place in the city, but I got to make sure I get a gig before I start spending my money,” Sebastian continued with a slight smile. He had near-perfect teeth and a diamond stud in his left ear. His was wearing his hair in cornrows, but the lines between each braid looked like a perfectly manicured lawn, not scraggly like I had seen on some brothers wearing the seventies hairstyle that was making a comeback with the younger crowd.
“Kirby told me you were thinking about being a trainer,” I said.
“Yeah, but I got to get certified and find a good gym,” Sebastian said as he looked at a beautiful Latina woman who had walked into the restaurant and captured the attention of a couple of other male patrons. I let Sebastian finish checking her out, and when he looked back in my direction, I said, “How much are you going to charge?”
“For what?”
“Training.”
“I don’t know. This ain’t Pensacola, where folks used to bitch and moan over twenty-five dollars an hour,” Sebastian said.
“I think you can get a little more up here,” I said as I turned toward the mirrored bar to get the attention of the bartender.
“Man, I hope so. Kirby tells me you work for Davis McClinton,” Sebastian said.
“Yeah, I do.”
“What’s he like?” Sebastian asked.
“Hold on a second,” I said. The bartender came over and I ordered a glass of Merlot and then continued. “Working for Davis has been a new experience, and most days I like working for one of the world’s most powerful black men,” I said. The waiter placed my glass of wine on top of a white linen napkin and then went over to the cash register.
“Does he need a trainer?”
“Who, Davis? I’m sure he’s probably got about three or four working for him already,” I said.
“So he got it like that, huh?”
“Davis is a true example of living large. Why are you so interested in Davis?” I asked. Sebastian slightly shook his head and rolled his large brown eyes and said, “I just read an article about him in Black Enterprise and wondered if rich and famous black folks were different from the rest of us,” Sebastian said.
“Would you like to meet him?” I asked.
“I don’t think Davis McClinton wants to meet me,” Sebastian said as he took a long swig of his beer.
“Kirby mentioned that you might be interested in becoming an agent. Is that true?”
“True dat. He told me you’re tight with Basil Henderson, who actually tried to get me to sign when I left Florida State,” Sebastian said.
“So you’ve met him?”
“Yeah. He was a cool brother. I almost signed with him.”
“Why didn’t you?” I asked.
“You know that mentality we youngbloods sometimes have. I thought the white boys could get me a better deal. You know there ain’t any black men in management positions in the NFL signing checks, but I must say I was impressed with Basil Henderson. He tried to sell me on how important it was to get with somebody who was interested in making sure I was taken care of once my playing days were over. I had no clue I’d get to spend only a couple of seasons in the league,” Sebastian said.
“So what round did San Diego draft you?”
“They didn’t. I was drafted by Dallas in the second round and then traded to San Diego after the first season. I was like cool, because Troy Aikman wasn’t slinging the ball like he used to and the Cowboys were stocked with wide receivers, so I figured I’d have a better chance with the Chargers.”
“So what do you need me to do?”
“Whatever. I mean, you could introduce me to some of your peeps like Basil, and if you hear of any cheap apartments, that would be cool,” Sebastian said. He lifted an empty beer bottle in the air toward the bartender.
“What about your lady friend?”
“Dude, I’m cutting her loose as soon as I get on my feet. It’s not like she’s somebody I’m going to marry. We dated for a little while when I was in school, broke up, then I moved to Dallas and we just reconnected lately. It’s just a little something to do while I need a place to lay my head,” Sebastian said.
“How are you going to advertise your training services?”
“I need to get some pictures taken. You know, let the people see what I got. Nobody wants a trainer who can’t keep his own shit together,” Sebastian said.
“I feel you,” I said, thinking how old I was when I tried to use the catchphrases of the youngbloods.
“Do you know any photographers?”
“Not personally, but I’m sure the editor of Bling can recommend someone,” I said as I took a sip of my wine.
“Bling Bling has some nice-looking honeys in there, especially their swimsuit issue. I look through it to see what the hardheads are wearing and what the honeys aren’t,” Sebastian said, laughing. “It doesn’t matter t
hat I can’t afford half that shit.”
“Who’s your favorite designer?” I asked. I could tell from Sebastian’s well-groomed appearance that clothes were important to him and most likely one of the reasons he and my clothes-crazy little brother had hit it off.
“I like me some Sean John, FUBU, and Phat Farm. Yeah, that’s what’s up,” Sebastian said.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about hiring a trainer. Maybe we should give it a shot and see how it works out,” I said.
“You look like you’re holding your shit tight for an older dude, but I could put some more muscle on you,” Sebastian said as he reached over and squeezed the top of my arm. He had a powerful grip, and I felt like I needed a trainer just to protect myself from Sebastian’s masculine way of showing affection.
“I haven’t joined a gym yet, but there’s a pretty nice workout area at the apartment I’m living. I’ve been waiting to join one until I decide where I’m going to finally settle down,” I said as I looked at my watch. It wasn’t that I had to go anywhere, but my stomach was growling and I wanted to eat.
Sebastian saw me look at my watch and put down his beer and said, “I’m sorry, Raymond. I’m holding you. I ’preciate you taking the time to see me. Good lookin’ out.”
“No problem. Kirby said you were like a brother to him, so I want to do what I can to help you. Let’s talk in the next day or two and set up a time to get together,” I said as I took out a card from my wallet and pulled the pen from my suit jacket. I wrote down my address and my cell number and handed it to Sebastian.
“Here are all my numbers. Somehow you’ll be able to get me,” I said.
“Cool,” Sebastian said as he inspected the card closely.
“So, are you heading to the train station?” I asked as I grabbed my briefcase.
“Naw, naw. I’m going to hang out here for a minute and see what might come through,” Sebastian said as he looked around the restaurant.
“I’m heading home,” I said.
“Thanks, Raymond. I needed to meet somebody like you,” Sebastian said as he gave me another tight hug. This time I was prepared for his powerful embrace.
19
__________________
I don’t care how many stories I read about celebrities, I’m still surprised by how people who swear they love them will turn over the goods on famous people in a heartbeat. I was reading the final rewrite on the cover story we were finally running on Yancey B. After the story was delayed and all the commotion her publicist had caused, I was ready to put this story to bed. Two days before the magazine was being put to bed, Kirsten called and said she had some explosive information that must be added to the story.
The next morning she turned in a story with supporting information on tape and documents revealing that Yancey B., after receiving the MAC (Mothers Against Crack) Entertainer of the Year award, had entered a forty-five-day rehab for crack and alcohol addiction.
Kirsten had come in at the request of our lawyers to review the story and new information. Before she was to meet with one of our attorneys, I sat with her at my conference table over tea and toasted bagels.
“This is powerful stuff, Kirsten. Tell me again how you got the information,” I said.
“It was the strangest thing. Some lady called me on my cell and said ‘I understand you’re doing an article on Yancey B. I have some dirt that no one in the music industry is aware of.’ She told me she worked at the Montana clinic that Yancey B. had gone to, and that for a price she could get me the medical records and insurance forms,” Kirsten said.
“How much did you have to pay?”
“It wasn’t much. I put it on my expense report. I mean, how much money could you spend in a place like Montana?” Kirsten said, laughing.
“So you sent her the money and she sent you the records? Aren’t you concerned the records might be fake?”
“Yeah, I was at first, but the papers had her social security number and next of kin. I called the insurance company pretending to be Yancey Braxton and questioned when certain invoices were going to be paid, and after I had given them her social security number and date of birth, someone gave me the date the rehab had been paid,” Kirsten said as she paused and took a sip of her tea. I spread some chive-flavored cream cheese over my bagel and nodded as Kirsten continued to talk.
“There’s more. I contacted Yancey B.’s mother, Madame Ava, and with a little hesitation she was more than willing to talk because she said she felt it would help other young women dealing with substance-abuse problems. She agreed to an interview, which was taped, and I even got her to sign an affidavit supporting the tape. What I couldn’t believe was I offered to come to California to do the interview, but Yancey B.’s mother is loaded and offered to fly up to New York to meet me,” Kirsten said.
“I can’t believe her mother would give you all this personal information,” I said, looking at the words typed on the white paper and shaking my head.
“Yeah, I was surprised as well. I mean, I had the background information about Yancey B. giving up a child she had when she was young, but that had already been covered in Essence and I understood her plight. I didn’t want to rehash that. I was leaning toward doing a fluff piece about how hot her career is with the music, stage, and movies. I mean, the diva is a legitimate triple threat,” Kirsten said.
“Yeah, she is, and Yancey B. knows it,” I said, recalling how she had behaved during the photo shoot.
“Her mother was in entertainment as well, and there might be a little rivalry between them.”
“Did you ask why she was willing to cooperate?”
“Of course.”
“What’d she say?”
“Ava said the family had tried to keep it a secret, but when she saw Yancey accepting the award from MAC, she couldn’t remain silent. She showed me some of the receipts she had from paying some of the initial costs and plane tickets she had purchased to go to Montana to visit Yancey. I made copies of them and included them in your packet,” Kirsten said as she patted the large manila envelope she had prepared for me.
“Boy, this is going to make big news. Are you prepared to go on the talk shows when all of this is exposed? I know the entertainment shows will pick up on this. I mean, with the entire baby-mama drama and divas in distress, this is going to make that stuff look trivial,” I said, thinking how this story might bring the respect I’d been looking for when it came to my magazine.
“Yeah, I’m ready. Already hired a trainer to work off the ten television pounds I need to lose. I can’t believe how this fell in my lap, but I am not going to turn away from a gift,” Kirsten said.
On the tape Yancey’s mother talked about how Yancey had done drugs in high school, even working part-time as a call girl to support her habit. Yancey had kicked the habit and had been clean for more than seven years, until she fell in love with a bisexual football star who had called off their wedding the morning they were set to be married. Ava told Kirsten how Yancey and she had gone on vacation to help pull Yancey together, and she had relapsed but had managed to keep it from wrecking her record and movie deals by telling the record company she was making a movie and telling potential producers that she was working on a new album. Yancey’s mother had said she had warned Yancey about going to high schools and colleges speaking out against drugs and lying about never doing drugs when quizzed by students.
“I don’t think we can or should use the information about her working as a hooker. I mean, it’s old news and there’s no way of verifying that kind of information,” I said.
“Well, Ava told me she could put me in contact with the lady Yancey worked for, but I don’t really think we need it,” Kirsten said.
“Still, I’d like to stay away from that. Did you try to get Yancey’s side of the story?” I asked.
“I did. I called her and told her I needed about an hour to clear up some facts and some new information I wanted to include in the article, and she told me she was preparing
for a world tour and didn’t have time. I called her publicist and manager, encouraging them to have Yancey speak with me, and neither one of them returned my calls,” Kirsten said.
“Okay, if the lawyers approve this, we’ve got a real exclusive. Great work, Kirsten,” I said as I stood in front of the conference table.
“I’m just glad you didn’t run the story when you had intended. Maybe some other writer or television person could have gotten the story. This might be my Pulitzer,” Kirsten said as she put a copy of the story and the packet in her plaid bag.
While Kirsten was putting on her jacket, I walked to the outer office and gave the packet of information and the story to my assistant. I told her to tell the legal staff that I needed a response right away.
* * *
From Bling Bling Confidential
Veronica had a request Davis didn’t know how to handle. She wanted media mogulette Oprah Winfrey at her next dinner party. When Davis suggested Diana Ross, who he knew personally, Veronica told him it had to be Oprah since one of her good girlfriends had recently dined with Oprah in Palm Springs. Besides, Veronica said we have more money than Oprah and she should be grateful to meet the McClintons.
Davis knew Zola had recently been on a committee with Oprah at their alma mater, Tennessee State, so he asked Zola what she thought would be the best way to get Oprah’s attention. Zola suggested that Davis donate a large sum of money to one of her favorite charities, like A Better Chance (ABC), an organization that took deserving minority students from the inner city and small towns and sent them tuition-free to exclusive prep schools on the East Coast.
Davis told Zola he would have no part of an organization that would put minorities in such a fish out of water environment and would rather give money to an organization that helped minorities to make better use of what they already had in their own neighborhoods.
A Love of My Own Page 11