A Love of My Own

by E. Lynn Harris

  “I didn’t tell him ’cause I didn’t think it mattered. Sebastian is just frontin’ for your boy Basil. You know that’s locker room talk. You know when dudes are just one-on-one shootin’ the breeze with each other they don’t talk like that. But if you want me to say something to him, I will. I’ll make sure the niggah will come correct around my peeps,” Kirby said.

  “Naw, I’ll handle it,” I said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. So you think he’s a good kid?”

  “Trust me, Ray. Give Sebastian a chance and you’ll see what I’m talking about,” Kirby said.

  “Okay, I’ll give him another shot,” I said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, you better get your tired bones up and get ready for your date,” I said.

  “That’s what’s up. I need to take a shower, put on some smell-good, and see if I can find some new pussy,” Kirby said, laughing.

  “Don’t forget your raincoats,” I said.

  “Never leave home without them,” Kirby said.

  “I love you, Kirby.”

  “And I love you back,” Kirby said.

  After I hung up the phone, I went to the refrigerator and poured me a glass of grapefruit juice. I wasn’t wearing anything but a robe, and I remembered Basil was coming, so I went into the bedroom and put on some light blue pajama bottoms and a Northwestern football jersey Kirby had given me from his final season playing there.

  I was walking back toward the kitchen to select one of the takeout menus I kept in the drawer above the dishwasher when the doorman’s phone rang. I picked it up and he told me Basil was on his way up.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I decided I wasn’t going to spend a lot of time rehashing the evening with Basil and I would wait until he left to order something. I was also thinking maybe I would just eat some microwave popcorn since it was so late. I was looking in the cabinet to see if I had any popcorn when the doorbell rang.

  I opened the door and there was Basil with a huge smile on his face and he asked, “You in bed, dude?”

  “I will be soon,” I said as I walked back toward the kitchen. I heard Basil holler, “You got any brew in this place?”

  “Yep, but there’s a one-beer limit in this place after eight,” I said.

  “Cool.”

  I grabbed two beers from the vegetable crisper, flipped off the caps, and walked back into the living room, where Basil was sitting on the sofa with his legs spread suggestively open and his large hands covering his crotch.

  “Ray, why haven’t you introduced me to that honey in your office?”

  “Are you talking about Zola?”

  “Yeah . . . yeah, Zola, that’s her name. Man, she is a fox. She has that pretty brown skin and those lips look like jimmie-sucking lips if I ever saw them,” Basil said.

  “I’m not trying to have you sleep with the women I work with. Zola is off-limits,” I said.

  “I don’t think Zola is going to go for that. She is already dreaming of seeing me naked,” Basil said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Dude, she wants me to do a photo shoot for her magazine, and I’m going to be in those panties before the week’s out,” Basil said confidently as he took a swig of his beer.

  “What did you come over here for?”

  “Dude, I want to tell you how sorry I am for what happened earlier this evening.”

  “You already did that.”

  “But you’re still mad at me.”

  “Basil, trust me, I’ve forgotten about your dumb ass,” I said.

  “Come on, Ray. Don’t be so cruel. You know how the young playas talk. You got to speak their language,” Basil said.

  “Are you going to give him a job?”

  “I need to talk with Brison, but he could help us out with some of the younger players we’re trying to sign. He’s from Florida, and there are three division-one schools down there. He could be a big asset.”

  “Cool, then you deal with Sebastian. Leave Zola alone.”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “Then we don’t have nothing else to talk about,” I said as I got up from the sofa.

  “Raymond, why are you always trippin’ like this? I can’t get in the panties unless Zola wants me to. She seems like a lady who knows what she wants.”

  “You’re just in it for the hunt. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you don’t bring your playa-playa shit to my workplace,” I said.

  “What are you going to do if I just have to hit it?”

  “I’ll tell her you’re a switch-hitter,” I said boldly.

  “You wouldn’t do that,” Basil said.

  “Try me.”

  “Man, I come over trying to show you some love and you trippin’ out on me. I’m outta here,” Basil said.

  “So you’re going to leave because I want you to face the truth?” I asked.

  “That’s your truth, Raymond, as much you think you know me, you don’t know jack,” Basil said.

  “You might be right, but I’m not going to let you bring your madness in my workplace,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “How would you like if I came into your office and tried to seduce your business partner, or better yet one of the players you were trying to sign?” I asked.

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. Why don’t you give me the same respect?”

  Basil didn’t answer. He finished the rest of his beer and then handed me the bottle and asked if I had another one.

  “Sure,” I said. I went into the kitchen and dropped the empty bottle into the wastebasket and then went to the bathroom. I came back to the kitchen and pulled two more beers out and walked back into the living room.

  Basil was standing near the television with his face lit with a dazzling smile and his steel-gray eyes blazing with amusement. He had removed his clothing with the exception of black nylon underwear that left little to wonder about. I could even see a portion of the plump head of his sex between his powerfully built legs.

  Basil had an awesome physique. About 215 pounds of ripping chest, ass, and abs layered to perfection on a lofty six-foot-two frame.

  “I figured out what you need,” Basil said as I moved toward him and gave him the beer. I remained silent as I gazed at his body like he was a nude model in an art class. Basil took a swallow of his beer and then set it on the coffee table.

  “I still look damn good, don’t I?” Basil asked.

  “You don’t need me to tell you that,” I said.

  “So you like what you see?”

  “You know I’m not hatin’. You look good,” I said.

  “Don’t you think this will make you feel better,” Basil said as he gently touched his nipple, rubbed his abs and then his bulging sex.

  “So you think you’re what I need?”

  “And you know that,” Basil said confidently.

  “What will we do in the morning?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After you give me what I need, then what?”

  “I don’t understand,” Basil said.

  “That’s the problem. You can give me what I need physically all night long, but I want the mental as well,” I said.

  “Raymond, why don’t you just take what I’m offering? You do remember how good it is. Look what all that emotional shit got you with that nigga in Seattle. We’re boyz. I’ll always be here for you,” Basil said.

  “For sex only?”

  “Whatever, whatever. You know I ain’t gonna hook up with a dude 24-7,” Basil said.

  “Then I think I better pass. Besides, I don’t know if I’m ready for the physical or the mental,” I said.

  Basil didn’t say anything. He just put his clothes back on in silence. When he was dressed he took another swig of his beer and then headed toward the door.

  I stood and watched him walk out. I felt disappointed, sad and alone.

  BOOK TWO


  Everything Must Change

  OLETA ADAMS

  * * *

  1

  __________________

  I was sitting at my desk, reading the final version of the story on Yancey B. I knew we’d sell a lot of copies because of all the additional media coverage the magazine would get for breaking the story of Miss Yancey’s crack problem. I couldn’t wait to see what the public reaction would be to the juicy dish Yancey’s own mother had turned over to Kirsten.

  When I finished reading the article, I thought back to the night before, when Jabar had not only made love to me with his young-buck passion but had given me a deep-tissue massage, all while listening to Maxwell croon “This Woman’s Work.” My body was sore from pure, unblemished joy.

  I knew I needed to get my mind back on work, when Raymond rushed into my office with a look of panic on his face.

  “Raymond, what’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Turn on your television,” he said.

  I looked at him, puzzled, and asked, “Why?”

  “You’re not going to believe this.”

  I reached for the remote control and turned on the office television, which I rarely watched unless I was working late and didn’t want to miss Entertainment Tonight or E! News Daily.

  “What channel?” I asked.

  “Any of them,” Raymond said.

  When the screen came on, I switched to Channel 2 and was a little surprised to see Bryant Gumbel and Jane Clayson still on. I knew it was a little past nine because Doug Banks and DeDe McGuire were no longer entertaining me on the radio.

  “Can you believe it?” Raymond asked.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “Two planes hit the World Trade Center,” Raymond said, looking at me disbelievingly.

  “You’re kidding,” I said as I stared at the television. “Is it an accident?” I asked.

  “They haven’t said, but it doesn’t sound like it. I mean, two planes hitting those buildings at the same time,” Raymond said.

  “That is bizarre,” I said. A few minutes later, Cyndi walked into my office and asked if we had heard what happened.

  “We’re watching now. How did you find out?” Raymond asked her.

  “My mother called to make sure I was all right,” Cyndi said.

  “Maybe we should close the office,” Raymond said.

  “You think so?”

  “I think we should,” Cyndi said. I looked at Raymond for an answer, as several employees starting gathering in my office. Melinda Turner, one of the staff writers, had tears streaming down her face.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked as I went over to console her.

  “Zola, you know there have to be people on the floors where the planes hit,” Melinda said.

  “Melinda, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. This just doesn’t seem real. It’s too crazy,” I said.

  “Davis isn’t in yet. I called his office before I came here,” Raymond said. “I think we should get ready to close the office.”

  “Cyndi, tell everyone we’re closing for the day,” I said.

  “I will,” Cyndi said as she dashed out of the room.

  “I’ll have Bristol tell everyone on my side of the building,” Raymond said as he left my office, leaving me with Melinda, who was now sobbing like a baby.

  Less than an hour later, the unthinkable happened, and we watched the towers crash to the ground. It looked like they were falling in slow motion. A security guard had stopped by and told us to evacuate the building immediately. I grabbed my purse and briefcase and headed out with Raymond, Cyndi and several staff members to the stairwell.

  Pandemonium was barely contained as we descended from floor to floor in a half-dark stairwell. It was chaotic but unusually calm at the same time. I could hear the sound of shoes and heels hitting the concrete steps and people mumbling in disbelief.

  Fifteen minutes later, when we all reached the ground floor, I breathed uneasily, thankful that I worked out. Some people were gasping. My body was drenched with perspiration as I walked through the door that led to the street. It was beautiful all day long, but after the events of the day, I wondered if the sun would ever really shine again.

  I saw people hugging and holding one another while many of them were trembling like a leaf after the first fall rainstorm. My beeper went off, and I saw I had eight new messages. The first one was from Jabar, asking if I was all right. I sent him back a simple “OK” message. I responded the same way to messages from Justine, Kai, Hayden and Davis. I looked in my purse for my cell phone and realized I had left it in the office.

  Raymond looked at me and asked how I was going to get home.

  “I guess the subway.”

  “They’ve stopped the subway. I heard that on television right before I left my office,” Raymond said.

  “Well, I know catching a cab will be impossible,” I said.

  “So let’s start walking,” Raymond said.

  As we hurried up Broadway, people on the streets walked briskly with a look of both shock and grief on their faces. Raymond and I moved in silence. I was thinking about the people in the towers and I felt so grateful to be able to walk a New York sidewalk. When we reached Fifty-seventh and Broadway, my eyes met the gaze of a somber-looking woman holding the hands of two small children. That’s when I felt an intense sadness in my heart and I could no longer hold back my tears.

  2

  __________________

  “Let it go, Zola,” I said as I held her tightly on the corner of a busy New York street. There were people everywhere, but it was unusually quiet. The city had a dreamlike quality, and all us residents were now extras in a low-budget horror film.

  Zola pulled away, wiping tears from her face.

  “I’m sorry. I just lost it,” Zola said.

  “I’m just glad I could be here with you. I think we’re all going to shed some tears before this is over,” I said, looking into her watery eyes.

  “Don’t you live near here?” Zola asked.

  “Yeah, a couple of blocks up. Would you like to stop and wash your face?” I asked.

  “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I think I’m going to keep walking. I have a lot to be thankful for and a lot to think about,” Zola said.

  “We all do. Do you mind if I walk with you?” I asked.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Zola said.

  “You’ll be doing me a favor. To be honest, being alone in a quiet apartment is the last place I want to be right now,” I said.

  “Sure, I’d enjoy the company. But you know I live on 127th Street, don’t you?”

  “I knew you lived in Harlem. I’ll just walk with you until you get tired of me,” I said.

  As Zola and I continued our walk up Broadway, stillness had settled over the city, which was ballooning with grief and love.

  Perhaps for the first time ever in New York, people didn’t react angrily when you bumped into them. Everyone was looking for a friendly face, and today it didn’t seem to matter if that face was black, white or brown. New Yorkers weren’t looking in store windows but into the eyes of one another. The gazes were comforting and nonthreatening.

  When Zola and I crossed 100th Street I couldn’t help but think about all the people who found themselves trapped in the two huge towers. Whenever I spotted people overcome with grief on the streets and crying, I wondered if they had lost a loved one and I wanted to reach out and hug them as I had hugged Zola.

  I called Basil’s office on my cell phone and was told that he wasn’t in, but his assistant assured me he was safe. I called his apartment and got his answering machine. Even though I knew he was okay, I very much wanted to hear his voice.

  “Well, this is where I live,” Zola said as she pointed to a handsome carrot-colored brownstone an hour or so later.

  “Beautiful building,” I said.

  “Would you like to come in?” Zola asked.

  “Thanks, but not today. I don’t know how lon
g the subways are going to be out of service, and I want to get back to my apartment and turn on the TV and see if there’s more information on what happened,” I said.

  “I understand,” Zola said as she started up the steps. I had walked a few feet, when Zola called out my name. I turned and she moved swiftly toward me and kissed me on the cheek and whispered, “Thanks for being there.”

  “Thank you for letting me,” I said.

  3

  __________________

  After two hours in a soaking bath I was ready to return to the world. The walk from midtown to Harlem was more than a notion and my body was aching with stress. My phone had been ringing off the hook and I knew I needed to talk to my family.

  After I put on my robe and turned on the television, the phone rang again. The caller ID displayed my folks’ number.

  “Hello, Mother,” I said.

  “Zola, baby, are you all right?” my mother asked, crying.

  “Mother, please stop crying,” I said.

  “Zola, honey, I am so glad to hear your voice. I know you have meetings all over that city, and all I could think of was you being there in that burning building. I was shaking and screaming when I couldn’t reach you . . . I mean, I have been praying all day. Thank God you’re all right,” Mother said. While my mother was rambling, my two-way pager went off. I looked at it and saw a message from Kirsten asking if I was okay. I paged her back with a simple “OK.”

  “Most of the cell phones were out most of the day and I had to walk home because the subways weren’t running. But I’m fine, Mother,” I said.

  “What about your friends?”

  “So far, so good. I have gone through my phone book, but I’ve heard from most of my friends,” I said. My pager went off again, and it was Jabar, leaving a one-word message: kwel.