“Where did you hear that from?” the casting agent asked when she finally stopped looking at the head shot. Her voice was flat and emotionless.
“Around. You know how word gets around.” Yancey smiled automatically.
“Truth be told, I’m one of the tops in the business. Period.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“I still don’t think I’m going to let you read because I have about ten young ladies who we’ve already tested on screen.”
“That’s a lovely sweater you have on. Is it cashmere?” Yancey asked. She leaned closer, as if to admire the mustard-yellow turtleneck sweater.
“No, it’s a blend. Now, Miss Braxton, back to the role.”
“You can call me Yancey.”
“Yancey. I’m sure you’re a talented young lady, but like I said, you’re not the type. Sally Hemings was of mixed race.”
“My father was white,” Yancey lied.
“He was?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
“Yes.”
“I can put you in contact with the agent handling the extra casting.”
“I’m not interested in extra work,” Yancey said firmly. She wanted to take off one of her suede backless pumps and throw it at the lady, who had a self-satisfied look every time she gave Yancey a reason why she wasn’t right for the role. But Yancey reminded herself that she could get more with honey than with vinegar, so she offered a compromise after the agent mentioned her tight schedule.
“Who’s the executive producer?” Yancey asked.
“Why?”
“I was thinking maybe I could do a test with him while you see the other girls.”
“It’s being produced by CBS, and seeing the executive producer on your own is not an option. I’ll keep your head shot and résumé on file. You never know when I might be casting something you’re right for,” she said as she stood with an icy glare and extended her hand to Yancey. Realizing the meeting was over, Yancey tried to stop herself but couldn’t and said, “You people like playing God, don’t you?” and stormed out of the room.
5
I HAD JUST gotten home from dinner at Lola’s on West Twenty-second with a hard-drinking client when the phone rang. I was hoping it was Yancey calling to give me the word to come over for a late-night bath. It wasn’t.
“Dude! Where have you been?” a somewhat soft, trying-to-be-hard male voice said.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“This is Bradford. Remember, we met a couple of years ago at the gym on Sixty-sixth?”
I vaguely recalled this caramel-colored dancer with a real tight body who gave killer head. Bradford could deep-throat the jimmie like a fire-eating circus performer. We had hooked up a couple of times before I met Yancey and right after I gave up on Raymond.
“Oh yeah, whassup? I haven’t heard from you in a while,” I said.
“I know. I was doing a show over in London for a couple of years. I just got back in town a couple of days ago and you and that big ole dick of yours came across my mind,” he said.
I was thinking I should have gotten all my numbers changed after I met Yancey, but I said, “Yo, dude, I hate to disappoint you and that magic tongue of yours, but I don’t roll like that no more.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I met a young lady and I’m keeping things real.”
“I got the impression you liked what I could do. I’m not looking for romance. You don’t even have to look at me. Just close your eyes and imagine my sweet lips are those of your lady. I know she probably don’t get down like that. Before you open your eyes I will be gone and you can go to sleep with a smile on your face,” Bradford promised.
For a moment I started thinking about Bradford’s perfect bow lips, and as it had been a no-draws day I could feel my jimmie make his presence known by standing at attention and pressing against my suit pants at the mere memory of Bradford’s last visit. I started to think maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to give Bradford a go, and since Yancey was probably asleep, it would be kind of a no harm, no foul situation. So I was a little bit surprised at myself when I said, “You can’t even compete with my lady, so I think I’m gonna have to pass. Welcome back home,” I said and hung up the phone.
I stood silently for a minute and unbuckled my pants and let them drop, my jimmie not waving freely, but more like half-mast. I thought about getting it at full attention and then calling Yancey, but my thoughts went back to the phone call. Years ago, I wouldn’t have been so polite with Bradford. When men were forward with me, it pissed me the fuck off. Still does. Sometimes I call them all kinda faggots, sissies, and other times I just let it pass. Damn, I hope I’m not becoming one of those good guys like Raymond.
6
YANCEY WAS standing silently in her dance studio, the nearly empty room where Yancey would often read scripts out loud and sometimes would do full song-and-dance routines in front of a mirrored wall that made the space seem almost as large as a rehearsal hall.
She was wearing a black leotard with a beige wrap-around short skirt and toe shoes. While Yancey was trying to decide if she wanted to dance or look at some of the television scripts Lois had messengered over, the telephone rang. Yancey ignored the ring and went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. She had drunk almost half of the bottle when the phone rang again. Again, she didn’t answer it. After finishing the water, Yancey decided she felt like dancing and went to the bedroom to get a classical dance CD. Just as she pulled the CD from the wall unit, the phone rang again. Yancey looked at the answering machine and saw that whoever had called before didn’t leave a message, so she decided to answer. Maybe it’s Lois with some big news she doesn’t want to leave on the machine, Yancey thought.
The minute Yancey picked up the receiver and heard the voice on the other end, she sighed deeply.
“Ms. Yancey Braxton, please.”
“Speaking,” Yancey said as she sat down on the bed.
“This is Mimi Evans from Diners Club,” she said in the urgent voice all bill collectors possessed.
“What can I do for you?”
“Ms. Braxton, we just got a $9,800.00 charge resubmitted by a merchant. It seems we gave you a credit last month because we were told the item had been returned.”
“What store?” Yancey asked even though she knew exactly who the merchant was. It was D’Anita, an exclusive dress shop on the Upper East Side. Yancey had purchased a beautiful evening gown when she decided to crash a record company party in the hope of slipping her demo tape to Sylvia Rhone of Elektra Records. The formfitting sheer black gown with tiny diamonds around the neck and sleeves and a thigh-high split had been a hit with several men attending the party, but it didn’t get her closer than a hundred feet to the CEO of one of the country’s top labels. Yancey had only planned to stay about thirty minutes, come back home, get out of the gown, and return it the next day. She ended up staying three hours, and leaving the price tags on the dress couldn’t disguise the fact the gown had been worn in a smoke-filled room.
“The store was D’Anita in New York City.”
“I had my assistant take it back,” Yancey declared. She had asked Windsor to drop the dress off, which she did. But a couple of hours later, the dress was returned to Yancey by messenger with a note saying the dress was soiled under the arms and could not be returned. The gown was still in the garment bag hanging in her closet.
“We talked to the merchant, and they told us it was returned after it had been worn.”
“I never wore that dress. Besides, I thought you guys had some type of buyer’s protection plan where you would take my side in a matter like this,” Yancey said.
“We do, but just looking at the data I have here, I don’t think we can help you, Ms. Braxton. So we have to request your payment in full immediately.”
This is what Yancey hated about credit card companies like American Express and Diners Club. They gave you sky-high credit limits but expected their money every month. She had long maxed ou
t the three Visas she had, so Diners Club was the last card she could use. She knew she had to pay the bill, even though she didn’t have the money.
“I’ll send you a check today,” Yancey said. She was thinking about sending an unsigned check, which would give her a couple more weeks to get the money, but remembered she’d pulled that trick a few months prior.
“Will you be sending the full amount?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this month’s balance is also due. With the $9,800.00 return and an additional $5,559.67 in new charges . . .” She paused for a second and Yancey figured she was adding the two numbers so she said, “You don’t have to tell me the total amount. I can add.”
“Is there any way you can send the payment with one of the overnight delivery services? Your account is in jeopardy of being sixty days past due. In that case your account would be subject to review, and we might have to pull a current credit report.”
The mention of her credit report made Yancey’s body warm. “No, I can’t send it overnight! I’ll send it via U.S. mail the way I always do. If that doesn’t work then that’s too damn tough,” Yancey said. She slammed down the phone and began thinking about who she was going to call—Ava or Basil?
DAMN, girl, you look good,” Basil said in a seductive murmur when Yancey walked into his bedroom wearing nothing but some red caviar–beaded ankle-strap pumps. Basil was already under the covers wearing nothing but a smile. They’d just returned from the opening night performance and party for the Dance Theater of Harlem, and watching the taut bodies of the dancers had set their hormones in full gallop. Not that Basil and Yancey needed human stimulants to aid their very active sex life. Basil was a supreme lover who had taken time to take her places no man had gone before. Basil loved the fact that Yancey could perform with the sexual confidence of rap star Li’l Kim and carry herself with the regal beauty of Halle Berry the moment her feet reached the floor.
The clear and melodious voice of Brian McKnight, one of their favorite singers, was spilling into the room from the strategically placed speakers. They shared a small snifter of cognac and then made love for hours, caressing and kissing until a stillness fell over them and the room. Basil was enjoying the smell of Yancey’s body mixed with the lingering trace of perfume, and Yancey loved the tenderness he showed after making love.
When Basil thought Yancey was asleep he gently moved her head from his chest and went into the kitchen to refill the snifter. He was surprised when he walked back into the bedroom and saw Yancey wide awake with a worried look on her face.
“What’s the matter, baby? Was I gone too long? I thought you were getting some sleep.” He sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’ve got a little problem.” Her voice trembled and Yancey’s eyes teared as she lowered her diamond-shaped face.
Basil lifted her tearstained face and said, “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I got a call today,” Yancey said. Her voice sounded as soft as sand.
“From who?”
“From my bank. Some money I was expecting didn’t come through yet and I’ve been writing checks, paying bills. I called my accountant and he told me a new system had been installed and payments were going to be late. My bank is threatening to close my account and I’ve got to have a checking account.”
“Is that all? How much do you need?”
Yancey looked at Basil with a shocked look on her face and whispered, “Fifteen thousand.”
“I’ll have my accountant wire the money into your account tomorrow. You can pay me back when you get your money.”
“Oh, baby . . . thank you,” Yancey said, blushing with gratitude.
“No problem. Now you get some sleep. I’m going to take a shower.”
Before he stood up, Yancey pulled Basil toward her and gave him a deep kiss as her fingertips explored the delicate details of the top of his sex. When Basil stood up his thick and round penis hung perfectly still. Yancey’s face glowed with pleasure as her eyes passed over the backside of Basil’s body like a laser as he walked into the bathroom. He loved when Yancey watched him walking around in the nude.
When he shut the door Yancey waited until she heard the rush of the shower and quickly picked up the phone and called Ava.
“Hello.”
“Ava,” Yancey whispered.
“Yes. Where are you?”
“I’m at Basil’s.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t have long to talk. Basil’s in the shower. I need to ask you a favor.”
Without missing a beat Ava asked, “How much?”
“Fifteen thousand.”
“How much?”
“Fifteen thousand. I need to pay for a dress they wouldn’t let me return. You remember the dress I wore trying to get my demo to Sylvia Rhone?”
“Honey, you must think rich husbands grow on trees. I haven’t gotten this one trained yet the way I like. We still have separate accounts. Besides, you’re a big enough star where you should be getting your dresses and jewelry for free. You need a publicist or a manager to make that happen. I know this wonderful designer down in Dallas who is just fabulous. His name is Mark Anthony Hankins. I need to call him and see if we can’t get you a couple of free dresses,” Ava said.
Yancey took a deep breath. She needed money, not another lecture. So she said the words she knew Ava wanted to hear, “You’re absolutely right. Can you talk to him for me?”
“Sure I will. I buy at least six gowns a year from him.”
“So will you loan me the money?”
“Loan? I know I’m not getting this money back, Yancey, you need to stop wasting time with that ex-jock and get you a rich man. There are lots of Internet geeks out there who would love to marry somebody as beautiful as you. They might not be able to make love like Basil, but there ain’t nothing that says you can’t have someone like Basil on the side.”
“Ava, please. There’s a phone in the bathroom.”
“Honey, men have somebody on the side all the time. I’ll send you a check tomorrow.”
“Can you wire it?”
“I could but I’d rather send it overnight express,” Ava said, laughing to herself.
“What are you laughing about?” Yancey asked.
“There is this handsome Hispanic guy who picks up and delivers in my neighborhood. He’s fine and I’ve been flirting with him. Wearing a little less each time he rings my bell. So let me send it through him.”
“You better be careful.”
“I am always careful, but I got to see if I can still work the young guys,” Ava said.
“Okay, send it that way, but please do it tomorrow.”
“I will.”
“Thanks, Ava. I’ve got to go, I just heard the shower stop.”
Yancey hung up the phone and readied herself to sleep soundly and peacefully in Basil’s arms.
7
I WAS IN a deep sleep when my phone’s second line startled me. In the B.Y. (Before Yancey) days I used to call it my hot line. And it was. A private telephone line just for the freaks like my boy Bradford. Booty Call Central. If I wasn’t in the mood for something low-down and nasty, I’d just let the phone ring. Now when the line rings I know it’s one of my clients or my seven-year-old nephew, Cade. I gave him the number because he’s already telling me when he goes pro, I’m going to be his agent. Cade only calls after school and on Saturday mornings to remind me to watch The X-Men, so when the hot line rang at 2:30 A.M., I figured trouble had to be calling.
“Yeah,” I grumbled after I picked up the phone.
“You have a collect call from a Cavell Clemmons. The call is coming from a correctional institution,” the female voice said.
I immediately sat up in my bed and turned on the lamp next to my phone and said, “Yes, I’ll accept the call.” A few seconds later I heard Cavell’s stressful voice.
“Thanks for taking my call, Basil. Man, I’m in deep trouble.”
&nbs
p; “Whassup, dude? Where are you?”
“I’m in jail, Basil. My wife had me arrested,” Cavell said.
Cavell Clemmons was a former client and someone who I thought had everything on the ball. He had played for more than four years for the New Jersey Warriors as running back. Three of those years he was All Pro, but after a series of injuries, the Warriors cut Cavell and he really hadn’t been the same since.
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story, but what I need right now is for you to bail me out. I’m good for it, Basil. I got some money coming from a football camp I did. I just got to get out of here before my kids get up in the morning.”
“Cavell, where am I going to get bail money this time of night? I don’t keep a truckload of money here at the house. I’ll do it first thing in the morning. But you need to tell me why your wife had you arrested,” I said.
“I got caught cheatin’,” Cavell said. His voice sounded like a little boy who had just got caught stealing money from his mother’s purse.
“I know they didn’t pick you up for cheating. Shit, if that was the case they couldn’t build enough jails,” I joked, trying to lighten up the phone call. Cavell didn’t laugh.
“Man, the bitch installed some kind of spy phones in our house and was recording all my conversations with the freak I been fucking for the last six months. I mean, for months she’s been dropping hints about knowing more than I thought she knew. She asked me flat out if I was cheating and I said no. That’s when she hit the remote control and all over my house I hear me and the chick talking nasty and making plans. I was mad as fuck and I just lost my temper and slapped her a couple of times. She called 911 and the next thing I know the police are busting into my house.”
“This sounds like some shit from a soap opera. Man, where are women learning this kinda shit? Fucking spy phones.”
“Probably from watching soap operas or some damn talk show.”
“You didn’t hurt her badly, did you?”
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