I meekly moved from the back of the crowded gym to the front, trying not to notice the stares and looks as I got closer to Delaney.
“Excuse me. Excuse me,” I said as I moved through the crowd.
“Girl, why are you moving so slow? These children ain’t hardly paying you no mind. Besides all my good, good girlfriends are up here.”
Before I could respond, the music started and the only sounds besides the blasting pop music were the slapping of hands and thighs and heavy breathing. Minutes later sweat was popping from every pore of my body, but I was beginning to feel good.
After a quick shower, Delaney and I bounced out of the club and onto busy Broadway. “Where do you want to eat?” I asked Delaney.
“Eat?”
“Yes, I’ve got some time before I’m due at the theater. Let’s do Chinese,” I said, momentarily forgetting my appointment.
“Nic, I’m going to the Broadway Dance Center. They have a guest instructor teaching a master’s tap class and I can’t miss that.”
“A tap class after that workout. Are you crazy?” I asked as I silently breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t have time for a sit-down dinner.
“Chile, you never know when they bring another one of those colored tap shows back to Broadway. A diva must be prepared.”
“What are you going to do after that?”
“I’m supposed to hook up with Kyle. He’s due back from D.C. this afternoon. You know he’ll have plenty of stories,” Delaney laughed.
“Why don’t you two come by the theater?” I suggested.
“Okay, we’ll see. Maybe you can come by my place or meet us up at Kyle’s.”
“Not at Kyle’s,” I interjected quickly.
“Oh yeah, I forgot your ban on that apartment. Chile, you really need to get professional help,” Delaney chided.
“Delaney, don’t tease me. Kyle understands.”
“I’m sure Kyle has changed that apartment so much that you wouldn’t recognize it.”
“You think so?”
“Nicole, come on now. I don’t have time to discuss this craziness, I’ve got to run.”
“How are you getting down there?”
“I’m walking. Got to keep the blood pumping!”
“Okay, girl, see ya later,” I said as I kissed Delaney on her lightly made-up cheek. As she started down Broadway I called out, “Delaney, how did the audition go?”
“It didn’t,” she yelled back. “They were looking for high yeller with long hair and I ain’t buying no hair this week,” she laughed as she walked swiftly down Broadway.
“Next time, girl, next time,” I murmured to myself.
As Delaney vanished into the crowded street I hailed a taxi heading uptown and to my secret meeting place.
The black wrought-iron security gate leading to Dr. Huntley’s office was slightly ajar. I rang the loud buzzer and Dr. Huntley greeted me seconds later.
“Good afternoon, Nicole. Come in,” Dr. Huntley said as she led me into her office located in the basement of her fashionable brownstone on Harlem’s famed Strivers Row.
“Hi, Dr. Huntley. How are you doing today?”
“I’m doing fine,” she smiled.
I walked into the dimly lit dark-paneled room and took my regular position sitting upright on the large black leather sofa. Dr. Huntley moved behind her cluttered glass-topped desk and sat in the oil-colored recliner.
Dr. Vanessa G. Huntley was a regal brown-skinned woman, plump, broad-faced, serene with sleepy brown eyes and short gray-black hair. She was wearing dangling earrings that were bigger than the island of Manhattan. Pretty earrings, but big. Dr. Huntley gave me a smile as she arranged herself in the chair. Her grandmotherly smile was soft and reassuring.
“Is there anything you want to discuss today? It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen you,” Dr. Huntley said.
“No, not really. Delaney was joking with me moments ago that I needed to seek professional help because I won’t go up to Kyle’s apartment.”
“Refresh my memory, Nicole, why won’t you go to Kyle’s apartment?”
“Well, that’s where Raymond used to live. The place where I risked my life.”
“How so?”
“Oh, don’t you remember? I made love with him without using a condom. I felt he betrayed me because he went ahead without telling me he was bisexual.”
“Did he force you?”
“Oh no!”
“But you still blame him?”
“Why are we discussing this? We’ve been over this countless times. I know I have to take some of the responsibility. He did look for a condom, but I don’t want to talk about that,” I said, lifting my voice slightly.
“There is still some anger there, Nicole. I think we need to talk about it.”
“Well, I’m ready to go to the apartment, I’ve gotten over it. I’ve forgiven myself and I’ve forgiven Raymond.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You still sound upset. What’s bothering you?”
“I got fired from a recording session.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I think the singer got upset because she felt I was upstaging her,” I said.
“Upstaging her?”
“Yes, the producer kept telling me how great I was sounding and she kept rolling her eyes at me.”
“Were you?”
“Was I what?”
“Upstaging her?”
“No! I didn’t think I was. The chile couldn’t sing.”
“And so what happened?”
“About an hour later she ripped off her headphones, stormed into the area where I was singing, and told the producer to fire me.”
“Is that what she said?”
“No!”
“What did she say?”
“Get rid of that black bitch.”
“Was she white?”
“No. She was black but …”
“But?”
“She was high yeller.”
“Did that bother you?”
“Nobody likes being fired. I wanted that job. It could help me break into the recording industry.”
“Is that it?”
“Is what it?”
“Did it bother you that the singer was fair-skinned?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said as I looked at my watch.
“Why are you looking at your watch?”
“Well, I need to make a stop before I get to the theater.”
“Well, you still have plenty of time,” Dr. Huntley said.
“But I need to go.”
“Why, Nicole?”
“I just do.”
“Is there something else bothering you?”
“No.”
“Okay, Nicole, but I’d like to see you again next week. I think this firing is bothering you more than you’d like to admit.”
“Okay. Same time next week.”
“Fine,” Dr. Huntley said.
I flagged a gypsy taxi from Dr. Huntley’s office back to midtown instead of going directly to the theater. Once I was out of the taxi I could hear the sounds of a spring New York City evening. All the people walking along the sidewalks were giving me the extra energy I needed. I could tell that spring had started its struggle to leave the island to make room for another sweltering summer. I stopped at a nondescript Chinese restaurant and ordered a pint of shrimp fried rice and some shrimp toast. I decided to take the food to the theater and eat after the curtain went up. I knew Renee would be there. Although she was married she never seemed to spend time with her husband, even on holidays. I was starting to think that the show would close before I got to go on. Well, at least I would have time to prepare for Wednesday’s Bible study. The thought of Bible class brought me a little solace; it took my mind off thinking about how desperately I wanted to do this ro
le and my session with Dr. Huntley.
Although this show belonged to the male leads, the role of Anita was pivotal. She was the female lead and had one of the showstopping numbers at the end of the first act. It was a glamorous role with a lot of sexual overtones and completely different from the roles I’d played previously.
I stopped at a newsstand a few blocks from the theater to get some additional reading matter in case I finished my Bible study material early. I should have brought the sitcom script just in case I got called in for an early audition. The producers were doing a call in the city before heading back to L.A. for the final auditions. The prospect of going to Los Angeles didn’t excite me but a chance at a recurring role in a sitcom would be too attractive to turn down. Besides a trip to the Coast might be fun.
I arrived at the theater and went backstage. I was greeting various cast members when I noticed a pink note slip on the bulletin board with my name on it. I pulled the note down and saw that it was from my service—a call from Pierce saying he was sending a car for me after the show and a call from my agent, Samantha, saying the casting agent from the sitcom wanted me to fly to L.A. instead of auditioning in New York. Now that was great news to end an otherwise uneventful day.
Three
Jared Stovall was the only man I knew who could make me get up at 5:30 A.M. daily. He had that type of power. Each morning at 5:15 my phone would ring and I would hear, “This is your niggah with your wake-up call. Get your yellow ass up.”
We would meet at the Sports Time Health Spa in Buckhead every morning at six sharp. Free weights on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and exercise class on Tuesday and Thursday. After a strenuous workout, we’d swim a few laps and then sit in the steam room before starting out for work. We chose early morning because it was less congested than the evenings. Also the evening traffic at the gym included many distractions of both sexes. This was my reasoning and not necessarily Jared’s.
Jared beat me swimming and was lying nude in the steam room when I walked in. His body was glistening with baby oil and sweat that had formed into tiny droplets of water. The droplets appeared on every inch of his body with the exception of the dark brown fig-shaped birthmark that accented his left buttock.
“Get in here, slow poke,” Jared said.
“Hey, man, thanks again for last night. I had a great time,” I said, looking for a spot in the steam room close to Jared.
“I was glad to do it. I got a big kick watching you doing the chop.”
“Yeah, buddy, it was big fun.”
I lay on the ceramic tile slab and began to rub my body with baby oil and aloe vera. The steam increased and Jared was no longer visible. I couldn’t tell if we were in the room alone or if someone could be eavesdropping.
The previous night had been quite magical. Box seats a few rows behind Ted Turner and the mayor. The Braves won in the bottom of the ninth inning and we had two of the best seats in the stadium. Jared and I went to a bar named Tuesday’s in the popular Underground Atlanta mall after the game and drank Mexican coffee before Jared dropped me off. During the ride home he quizzed me about the weekend, but when I became evasive he simply changed the subject back to the thrilling game we had just witnessed. Jared did inquire about Kyle and asked when he was going to get the chance to meet him. I knew that I would have to tell Jared before he met Kyle but it was a long time to Labor Day and Kyle’s first visit to Atlanta.
In a way it was sad that I couldn’t share everything with Jared, especially my friendship with Kyle. I wasn’t ashamed of Kyle—I was certain that they would love each other when they met—but Kyle’s bold confidence regarding his sexuality sometimes caught people off guard and this was something that could wait until I knew more about Jared’s sexuality or his feelings toward gay men.
“How does your work week look?” Jared asked.
“I don’t really know. What about yours?”
“It’s pretty slow. You know this race for the Congress is all wrapped up. Congressman Thomas doesn’t really have any serious competition. I don’t know if I like races like this,” Jared lamented.
“What? Don’t feel like you’re earning your money, big boy?”
“No, it’s not that. You know me. I like putting out fires.”
Jared made no secret about his own political plans. He was going to head Congressman Thomas’s Atlanta office for about two years before running for a state senate seat of his own. Maybe these were two reasons we got along so well, sports and politics. Jared said that if the incumbent ran again in two years he would either move to another district or consider going to law school, skipping the state senate race, and going straight for the congressional race. There was talk of creating another black majority district in the Atlanta area and Jared hadn’t ruled out challenging Congressman Thomas if he became too complacent in Washington.
“I’m outta here, Ray-Ray. I’ll call you later on this afternoon,” Jared said as he walked sleekly from the steam room.
“Okay, dude. Peace out.”
During the drive to my office I became consumed with ways of breaking the news to Jared. I practiced what I would say to him, mouthing the words, reacting with my face and causing strange looks from other motorists at the many stoplights that lined Peachtree Street. Would I tell Jared about my sexuality and then break the news that I was in love with him? What if he was gay or bisexual, but not interested in me? I would be crushed. What would become of our friendship? Maybe I would tell him and then lead him to believe that Kyle and I were lovers, trying to incite a jealous reaction. Why was I planning scenarios that danced around the truth?
I also had to consider my professional and social standing in Atlanta. If my confession ended my friendship with Jared, then I had to consider the effect that might have on all the people I had met through him, including my employer, Gilliam Battle.
I grabbed the stack of messages from my box as I walked through the lobby of my office, located on the sixteenth floor of the large midtown Union Bank Building. Before I could escape to my office, I heard Mico, Gilliam’s legal assistant, call out, “Ray, Gilliam wants me to put you on her schedule today. Morning or afternoon?”
“Did she say what she needed?” I questioned.
“Nope,” Mico replied.
“Okay. Let’s do it first thing.”
“Great. I’ll check to see if that’s all right with Gilliam.”
I asked my assistant, Melanie, to bring me a cup of coffee and the correspondence that had come during my absence. I wondered what Gilliam wanted. Did she expect details about my trip? I’d lied and told her that I had several leads on players at Howard and Georgetown whom I was going to meet with. Well, I had seen a lot of basketball and football players last weekend, but not in places where I normally met potential new clients.
I looked through my messages and mail; nothing important except a handwritten note from a football player at the University of North Carolina expressing his interest in the firm’s representing him. He was a top draft prospect; here was some good news that I could give to Gilliam when we met.
Gilliam was on the phone, standing in front of her window, when I walked into her office. She gave me a smile and waved while she continued her conversation, motioning me to a seat in one of the burgundy leather wing chairs that faced her large glass desk. The walls of her office were painted a soft green with pink borders, the same colors in the Persian rug that covered the hardwood floor. An expensive collection of African art was stationed throughout the office and Gilliam’s various degrees and citations hung directly behind her.
Gilliam Battle was a blend of sass and class. A thirtysomething, cinnamon-brown beauty with auburn-tinted hair, usually styled in a Dutch boy cut, which always seemed to be perfect. It was as though she went to the beauty shop every morning before coming to the office. She was the type of woman who as a young girl probably wouldn’t have captured my attention but who developed into a beauty as an adult—the type who at a high school reunion got a lot o
f “You were in my high school class?” from incredulous male classmates.
Gilliam took a seat in her black leather chair and held up an index finger toward me as she leaned back and let out a brilliant laugh. I enjoyed working for Gilliam; she was a powerful and respected lawyer in Atlanta. A graduate of Hampton Institute and Tulane Law School, she’d started the firm more than a decade ago with a college sorority sister and a white male classmate. Her sorority sister had died of breast cancer about two years ago and the other partner had decided to sell his share of the firm and move to the Caribbean so he could sail every day. Gilliam employed eight lawyers, including myself, and often talked about adding a senior partner very soon. This was one of the reasons I’d jumped at the offer of a position with her firm in spite of some reservations. I’d heard the horror stories about black men working for black women. But the job market was tight in large cities and most big law firms were laying off instead of hiring.
I didn’t know what Gilliam would think if she found out about the secret I was harboring. Black women in the South held pretty strong feelings about gay men, not all of them positive. I thought this was because a lot of black Southern women didn’t realize how many gay men they already knew. The majority of black gay and bisexual men lived their lives in the closet. Present company included.
To Gilliam’s credit she did have Mico as her legal assistant and close confidant and I could tell Mico was gay from day one. Mico really ran the office and protected Gilliam like a hawk. If he knew my secret, he never let on and treated me with the utmost respect. I didn’t know if he would have treated me differently if he’d guessed I was a member of the silent frat, although not an active card-carrying member. Most black gay men were not subscribers of “outing.”
“Ray, welcome back,” Gilliam said as she extended her fine-boned hands with tastefully polished fingernails.
“Glad to be back. How was your weekend?”
Just As I Am Page 4