Just As I Am

by E. Lynn Harris

  Basil gave me directions to his townhouse which, it turned out, was close to my place, just a bit further north, near Lennox Mall. He told me it was a place he’d leased for the summer from one of the Atlanta Falcons who lived in California during the off-season.

  A minor traffic jam caused me to get to Basil’s place a little later than I expected. I stood in front of the red brick two-story townhouse and looked at my watch as I rang the bell. I would call Jared when I got inside and tell him I was running late. Making sure everything was in order had taken longer than I expected. The day had gone so swiftly.

  Basil opened the door with a glass in his hand and a big smile on his face. “Ray, come on in. I’m glad to see you,” he smiled.

  “Basil. You gave great directions,” I said as I walked through the sparsely furnished living room noticing a bone-colored leather sofa and a red ten-speed bike lying against the wall. Basil was wearing a white tank top and lime green neon shorts. They looked great against his bronze body.

  “Let’s go out by the pool and look over this agreement. I talked to my insurance agent and he told me everything will be taken care of when I sign this,” Basil said as he stopped at the bar and grabbed a beer stein.

  “Yeah, that’s right, but I can leave this and you can look it over,” I said hurriedly.

  “What’s the rush? I may never get you over here again before I leave,” Basil said.

  “Now you’re aware that the contribution must come from your personal account. You decide between the two charities,” I said.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll have my accountant take care of it,” Basil said.

  “Do you have Marshall’s number to arrange the apology?”

  “Yes, your secretary gave it to me.”

  “Basil, please handle him with kid gloves. The apology is important to him. Leave your arrogance home,” I instructed.

  “Don’t worry, Ray. I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” Basil said.

  “Basil, are you really sorry about hitting him?”

  “How many times are you going to ask me that?”

  “Until I get an answer.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me.”

  “Well, I still don’t think it was right for him to confront me like that. But I know you’re right about black folks beating on each other.”

  “I hope you mean that.”

  “I do.”

  I followed Basil through a set of french doors off the small kitchen and into the backyard that included a small pool and a brilliant landscape scorched by the heat of the June sun. Basil offered me a seat at a wrought-iron table with beach chairs. He walked back into the kitchen and returned with a six-pack of Rolling Rock beer.

  “Here, let me pour you a brew,” Basil offered.

  “Well, I don’t think I should. You are a client and this is business,” I protested.

  “Not after I sign this. As soon as I do, you’re fired.” He smiled.

  Basil walked back into his townhouse and emerged minutes later with a ballpoint pen. While inside he’d activated his sound system and the mellow sounds of Oleta Adams surrounded the backyard.

  He skimmed over the document and was getting ready to sign, when I stopped him.

  “Basil, you should really read that,” I said.

  “You think it’s right, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but …” Before I could finish my sentence Basil quickly signed the document, handed it to me, and said, “You’re now officially out of my employ.” He smiled. “Drink up.”

  I smiled back at him and was about to take a sip of the beer when Basil reached over and stopped me.

  “Wait a minute. Toast,” he said.

  “Toast. How did you know it was my birthday?”

  “It’s your birthday? I didn’t know that. I was going to toast to your being such a great lawyer. Now I’ll have to break out the good stuff.”

  “Basil, don’t, I have to meet someone,” I said.

  “Oh, come on, Ray. Just one,” Basil pleaded.

  I didn’t object. The beautiful scenery was having a seductive effect on me and the pool looked inviting.

  Basil returned with two long-stemmed glasses and a bottle that looked like Dom Pérignon.

  “Loosen up your tie. Call your friend and tell him or her you’re running a little late,” Basil said.

  “Yeah, I’ll do that. But just one glass and I’m history. Can I use your phone?”

  “What, you got to call your boyfriend?”

  “What?”

  “I’m just messing with you. There is a phone on the kitchen wall. Knock yourself out,” Basil smiled.

  “Thanks,” I said as I walked toward the kitchen. Once inside I dialed Jared’s number, pausing to watch Basil bending over and dipping his hands in the pool. My God, was this boy fine! I reached up and loosened my tie as Jared’s answering machine prompted me to turn around and face the dining room. At the end of the recording, the automated voice announced the machine was full and no longer accepting messages. I hung up the phone and walked back to the patio. Basil smiled and handed me a glass of champagne.

  While we drank the wonderful-tasting champagne, Basil volunteered information about his background. He’d grown up in Jacksonville, Florida. His mother had died when he was young, and he was extremely close to his father. I was surprised to find out he had a Chemistry degree from the University of Miami. He said as a kid he’d wanted to be a mortician and he always dreamed of one day having a chain of funeral homes. How strange, I thought.

  Our conversation somehow ventured off into our sexuality, well, at least my sexuality. Basil stood by his story of being seduced by a rich alumni and he still didn’t consider himself gay or bi. When I asked him what he and Kyle did, he replied, “We just jacked off. Kyle might be a sissy but he has a beautiful body.”

  I asked Basil why he used those terms and he softly said, “I don’t know. I just do. I’m trying to change.”

  “Why did you feel you had to pay for sex while you were in New York? You’re a nice-looking brother but, of course, you know that.”

  Basil smiled and said, “Well, to protect myself and maybe because of guilt.”

  “Guilt?”

  “Yeah. I earned a lot of money while I was in college by having sex with men. Maybe it’s a way of paying back. But I also didn’t want my business out in the streets and New York has many big streets.”

  “I guess I understand your logic. I don’t agree, but I understand.”

  Basil must have owned a CD player with an automatic changer, because instead of Oleta I now heard Anita Baker’s sweet voice fill the air. We had finished the bottle of Dom and I was feeling its effects.

  I realized that the chair I was sitting in was a recliner so I leaned back and noticed that dusk had arrived; a full moon was forming as immense and orange as the sun it replaced. It was also quite humid and I pulled off my tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of my white cotton shirt.

  I closed my eyes and suddenly, I heard a loud splash and felt drops of water on my face and neck. Basil had removed his tank top and had dived into the pool. With clean, rhythmic strokes, he swam the length of the pool, touched the railing, and then pulled himself up and out of the pool. It was when he stood up straight that I realized trouble was close at hand. So much for the big body-small penis theory.

  His neon green shorts were actually swimming trunks and now that they were soaking wet I could see right through them and even though Basil was wearing a jockstrap, it hardly proved up to its task.

  Basil wiped his face with a multicolored towel and smiled. “You should come in, Ray. The water will cool you off.”

  “Who said I was hot?” I muttered.

  Basil jumped back into the pool and started splashing water up on the deck and me. I leaped from the chair but my gray suit pants were already damp. I unbuttoned my shirt and removed it and my pants quickly, stripping down to my boxers with the jockey fly front. The peacock bl
ue water in the pool looked inviting and I could smell the scent of chlorine in the night air. Basil came up to the railing again but I could now see his green shorts floating around the pool alone. I found myself captivated by the evening and various lights that streamed over the pool with a splendid luminosity and Basil’s superb body swimming naked in all that gorgeous water. I had to feel the water and Basil—I had to feel his touch. Maybe being so close to Basil’s body would give me something for my masturbation memory. I immediately jumped into the water and was surprised at its coolness.

  “Come here. I want to show you something,” Basil said with something provocative in his voice, his beautiful eyes challenging me.

  I swam slowly toward Basil, using my hands as oars to control my motion.

  Seconds later we were face to face. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “What do you want to show me?”

  Basil put his hands under the water and came closer to me, taking my hands and placing them on his long and hard sex. I quickly pulled back, determined that this time I would do the seducing. I removed my underwear and threw it to the wooden deck, smiled at Basil and then quickly pulled him toward me. He looked faintly surprised. Maybe he thought he had lost control of his planned seduction. I leaned forward and gently kissed his hard neck and then playfully bit it as he lifted his head toward the star-filled sky. I swayed back and forth against him, feeling the solidness of his body along mine, the warmth of his arms folding around me, the sensation of his lips exploring my neck, the sensual warmth of the water.

  Basil started to kiss my body, from the neck down to my chest and then softly kissing my arms and even my elbows. In fact he kissed almost every part of my body except my lips. When he got close to them he would kiss my nose instead or my forehead. Everywhere but my lips—and while his tongue was sending me into ecstasy I wondered why he was avoiding my lips. When I tried to force my lips on his he would quickly jerk his head. Did I have bad breath or something? Maybe the combination of the beer and the champagne created a sour taste, but he had been drinking the same thing.

  “What’s the matter, Basil?” I asked.

  “What? Everything is fine. Your body feels so good,” Basil moaned.

  “Then kiss me,” I demanded.

  “I don’t kiss men,” he said with his usual attractive arrogance.

  I instantly pulled back and felt my sex go down, my face grow hot. Basil’s warm smile faded and he gazed at me in astonishment. His expression softened.

  “I’m sorry, Basil—if you can’t kiss these, then you can’t kiss that,” I said pointing first to my lips and then downward toward the water.

  “Okay, Ray, if that’s the way it is,” Basil said as he waded toward the pool edge and went up the steps to the deck. His nude backside was facing me as I stood in the water alone. I looked around the pool area for a towel or my underwear. I then followed Basil up the steps and suddenly I was standing inches away from him, both of us nude, and I could feel my adrenaline and sex race. I was furious at myself for allowing this raging asshole to get me so worked up. Abruptly Basil enveloped me, putting his brawny arms around me and pulling me against him as if there was something in me that he needed, something that only I could provide. I could feel his erection pulsating against my navel. My body began to sway against him in a subtle motion. He took my hands and made soft circular strokes on my palm and then brought my hands to his lips and kissed my fingertips. And then he kissed me.

  The first thing I saw the morning after my birthday was navy blue and white. Navy blue sheets and pillowcases in which I found my head buried and white jockey underwear that Basil wore as he walked into the bedroom with a glass of juice in his hand.

  “I hope you like cranberry juice,” Basil said softly. “It’s usually good for hangovers.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. What time is it?”

  “Six-thirty.”

  “Wow, my head is hurting a little bit,” I said as I looked around the large bedroom for my clothes.

  “Your clothes are downstairs,” Basil said, noticing my silent search.

  “Okay. Do you have a robe I can put on?”

  “Sure,” Basil said. He walked into a large closet and returned with a light blue striped robe. Basil threw the robe at me without a smile. His face had a look that was hard to read. He was drinking something from a mug that he set down on his dresser. He put on a pair of bleached jeans and a cotton T-shirt.

  “I’ll get you a couple of towels in case you want to take a shower before you leave,” Basil said dryly.

  “Sure, I’d like that,” I said, wondering what the deal was with Basil’s tone.

  I slowly removed myself from the king-sized bed and walked toward the adjacent bathroom. While taking a warm shower, I thought back on the night before. Had I done something that I would live to regret? Not only was Basil a client, even though technically he wasn’t, he was someone whom I wasn’t even certain I liked. The sex was stupendous, but a deep sense of guilt shrouded me. Guilt because I’d given up my vow of celibacy for lust and in a strange way I felt I had betrayed Jared. It was as though I had committed adultery.

  My feelings were familiar. This was usually the way I felt after sex with men. After all these years the uncomfortable feeling always managed to creep in. Even if it was somebody I was really interested in, it didn’t matter. I always felt dirty and empty. With women, lovemaking, not sex, was always filled with a lot of warmth and caressing before and after the actual sexual act. Maybe it was because of the extra caring that it didn’t leave me with an empty feeling. I wondered if all guys felt this way after sex with each other and if so, why? Maybe it was just me not dealing with my reality, though Basil’s cool reception wasn’t helping matters. The night before he had been so warm, so giving of himself. After he’d kissed me the first time, he’d kissed me over and over again, as if he was experiencing something for the first time. His lips were surprising and strong.

  The lovemaking, or sex, had been feverish and substantial. Basil had screamed out obscenities as we both reached a climax, seconds apart from each other. The last thing I remembered was Basil positioning himself so that he could lay his head on my chest; he’d taken his hands and gently rubbed them through my hair. His body smelled like a combination of masculine funk and scented roll-on deodorant. I woke up in the middle of the night and just gazed at his wonderful body. I studied the contrast of Basil’s hairy chest and his baby smooth legs and butt and the tiny strings of black and blond hair coming from his toes. Basil suddenly changed his sleeping position without opening his eyes, avoiding my hypnotic gaze at his body. He now lay flat on his stomach and I rested my head on his beautiful ass and gently rubbed the back of his thighs until I fell asleep.

  When I walked back into Basil’s bedroom from my shower he threw me a pair of black boxers.

  “I think we’re about the same size,” he said.

  “Thanks. I’ll get these back to you,” I said.

  “No hurry. I put your underwear in a bag downstairs,” Basil said.

  As I put on the underwear I realized that it was new and I gently tore off the tag. I noticed the gold condom wrappers on Basil’s nightstand and another two on the ivory-colored carpet below. How many condoms had we used? There was an empty champagne bottle and a potato chip bag sitting alongside the lamp and digital clock that now displayed seven o’clock.

  “Well, I guess I better get outta here before your neighbors leave,” I offered.

  “Okay,” Basil said without looking in my direction.

  “Basil?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is there a problem? Are you sorry about last night?” I asked.

  “Naw, no, Ray. It was great, but …” Basil paused. “Well, you know I’m not gay … right? I have a girlfriend.”

  “Sure, I know you’re not gay,” I lied.

  “You know I love pussy. In fact I’ve had so much pussy I could give you some,” he laughed.

  “I know.” What was this fool
talking about?

  “And this will be just between you and me. No strings.”

  “Who am I going to tell? Of course no strings.”

  Basil walked downstairs with me and led me through the dining room, out the back french doors, past the pool area, pointing out a shortcut to my car. Absent was the warmth of the night before, the warmth of the pool’s water, and Basil’s constant flirting. There was a definite chill in the air and it was the middle of June.

  Sixteen

  June 20th turned out to be a red-letter day. I met Delaney and her mother at the Lincoln Center Café for lunch after Delaney’s second doctor’s appointment. The preceding days had been tension-filled for me so I could just imagine what they were like for Delaney and her mother, who had packed their days with shopping trips to New Jersey and the Pier area.

  Delaney followed her mother’s advice and got a complete physical examination to make sure her attacker hadn’t given her some STD. She still hadn’t made a police report. Today was the day she would get her test results.

  When I walked in and saw the look on Delaney’s face I knew she had good news. She and her mother were engaged in happy conversation, clicking champagne flutes together. Delaney told me about her complete physical exam including an HIV test and how she had gotten a clean bill of health, with a small warning to gain a little weight. Maybe it was the worry that had caused Delaney to drop below her normal hundred and five pounds.

  When I met Dellanor Morris, Delaney’s mom, I quickly recognized where Delaney got her zest for life and all-around wackiness. Although she was over sixty-five, Dellanor, as she insisted we call her, was a spitfire, taking on New York as if she had lived here all her life. Small-boned with beautiful, gray hair streaked with black, Delaney’s mom was into reading tarot cards and had predicted that Delaney would be just fine. One night she told me I was going to be very big in the recording industry, which took us all a bit by surprise, since I had just mentioned weeks before that my secret dream was to have a successful recording career and family life similar to Vanessa Williams’s. Kyle had looked at me and then at Dellanor and said, “Quick, Miss Mother, read my cards. Miss Dellanor here can put Ms. Dionne Warwick and her psychic friends out of business,” he joked.