Just As I Am

by E. Lynn Harris

  While Basil took my bag upstairs I looked around his place. It had a sunken living room with polished parquet floors and a beautiful NFL round rug in the center. A black leather sofa and black lacquer furnishings rounded off the room. It definitely had a masculine look. There was another room located off the living room and I walked in and realized it was a study-den arrangement. It was filled with pictures and trophies with Basil’s name on them. Several pictures of Basil with beautiful women and several photos with celebrities and other famous athletes graced the walls. Just as I picked up a picture for closer inspection Basil walked in.

  “See anybody you know?” he asked.

  “Just one handsome jock,” I smiled.

  Basil took my hand and led me up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. Basil’s bedroom was huge with a big walk-in closet and a large deck right off the north wall. I looked toward the deck and thought about Basil’s rented place in Atlanta with the pool off the kitchen. A pool that had led to seduction. This place was different but just as nice. The deck looked comfortable and well used with its patio table with four chairs and an umbrella, gas grill, stereo speakers, golf clubs, and several tennis rackets lying against the wall with pairs of dirty tennis and football shoes.

  “I’m going to the store and over to the stadium. You want anything?”

  “No. You didn’t ask me if I’d like to go,” I said.

  “You can go, but I thought you’d like to take a shower or bath and get ready for dinner. I’m not going to be that long,” Basil said.

  “Okay, I’ll see you when you get back.”

  While Basil was gone I found an open bottle of wine downstairs and poured myself a glass as I walked back upstairs and drew a hot bath.

  Sitting in the tub, I thought about calling Kyle but realized if I called him now he would want me to come over to the city tonight. It would be fun but nothing was going to top the night I had planned with Basil.

  Basil returned and started a fire for the steaks. He informed me the meat had been marinating all day in anticipation of my visit.

  “What meat?” I joked.

  He gave me a sexy smile as we sipped a rich-tasting cabernet sauvignon and the scent of the steak cooking filled the air.

  Evening was approaching and the sun crested and began a downward arc; the sky was a clear blue, unbroken by clouds. A sultry September day was turning into a cool autumn night. In the distance I could see a bridge leading into an inviting neon New York City; the Statue of Liberty was just visible. It was a spectacular view.

  Basil and I sat at the patio table and ate our steaks, baked potatoes, and salads off black plates. Luther Vandross’s romantic voice filled the deck. The music vibrated through me, stirring my thoughts toward a night of passion with Basil.

  “Do you know how handsome you are?” Basil asked. “Of course, you do.”

  I felt the hair on my arms rise. “Is that a question or statement?” I smiled.

  “Both.”

  “Thank you, I think.”

  “So what do you want to do while you’re here? Besides the obvious?”

  “Oh, I don’t care. Maybe we can go to the Village,” I suggested.

  “Fuck no,” Basil said with a half-startled look. “I can’t go down there.”

  “No problem,” I said quietly.

  Basil’s abrupt response made me notice how his eyes could turn icy with displeasure as easily as they could radiate warmth and charm. He was quiet now, just slowly picking at his food.

  “Oh, I forgot something,” Basil said as he burst through the door to his bedroom. Minutes later he emerged with two lit candles in gold holders. The effect was pure elegance. “So how’s this?” Basil asked, his voice low and sexy.

  “Fine,” I said as I sipped my wine.

  The flickering candlelight played over Basil’s face like the notes in Luther’s voice.

  “You know, sometimes I don’t know what you’re doing to me,” Basil said.

  “Same here,” I said softly, looking at the candle wax slide down onto the gold holders.

  “Let’s go in,” Basil said as he stood up and blew out the candles. The bulge in his white walking shorts suggested a night of lovemaking was close by.

  He grabbed the dirty plates and I picked up the half-filled bottle and we went inside.

  “Why don’t you get more comfortable while I take these downstairs?” he suggested.

  I undressed slowly, folding my clothes into a neat stack close to my luggage. Basil walked back into the bedroom wearing only black low-cut briefs. He fell on the large bed, ending up on his back. His stomach was so flat you could put a delicate china table setting on it. I lay next to him on the bed looking up at the vaulted ceiling in the diluted darkness. I leaned over and gently kissed him on the lips; his eyes were closed but when our lips touched he quickly opened them. They glinted with something between admiration and amusement. Basil smiled and was moving closer to me when we suddenly heard a voice from downstairs.

  “Basil, honey-bunny. Where are you?” a female voice called out.

  “Oh shit,” Basil whispered urgently, “it’s Dyanna.”

  “Dyanna?” I said in a shocked low voice.

  Basil’s smile faded and he stared at me in astonishment. He jumped quickly from the bed and yelled out, “Dyanna, is that you, baby? What are you doing back in town?”

  “Does she live here?” I whispered. Basil nodded his head in the affirmative and then stopped his motion and mouthed, “Sometimes.”

  “I wanted to surprise you,” she yelled back. “I’ll be upstairs in a minute. I just want to get something to drink first.”

  “Hold on, I’m coming down,” Basil said as he scurried around the bedroom looking for his clothing. He forcibly grabbed me and my luggage and led me to the huge walk-in closet.

  “Basil, what are you doing?” I mouthed silently.

  “Please, Ray, don’t give me a hassle. I’ll get rid of her. Just sit in the closet until I do,” Basil pleaded.

  “What?”

  “Please.”

  I couldn’t believe what was happening as I was pushed into the closet in my underwear and with my garment bag. Once I was inside the closet and heard the door slam shut, I was suddenly in total darkness among Basil’s wardrobe.

  For a moment, in my shocked silence, I was convinced this was a bad dream. I just knew I would wake up any moment but then I suddenly heard Basil’s and Dyanna’s voices outside in what sounded like friendly conversation. What were they doing and why didn’t Basil get her out so I could get out of the closet? As I sat there I could just hear Kyle saying I told you so. I had never felt like such a jackass in all my life.

  I don’t remember at what point I finally fell asleep amid Basil’s suits, slacks, shirts, and shoes, but I can recall just how angry I was as I sat in the dark listening to Basil and Dyanna’s lively conversation and later their loud lovemaking.

  I woke up hunched in a corner with morning slob and sleep in the corner of my eye. I had no clue as to what time it was until I saw light come into the darkened closet. Basil, fully dressed, was standing there with a placid look on his face as he held up a hand exposing five fingers. No words just his fingers as he slowly closed the door. I assumed he meant five minutes. That was about how long I had before my bladder burst.

  I waited about ten minutes and then pulled myself up and peeked out the closet into the bedroom. No Basil or Dyanna and the bed was made up. I boldly walked out of the closet into the room and stood silently for a minute to make sure that there was no one in the house. The house was silent.

  I went into the bathroom, relieved myself, and splashed some water on my face. I couldn’t look at myself out of embarrassment. I wanted to shower but decided I wouldn’t take a chance. I was going to get my shit and get the fuck out of here.

  I located my bag, threw in the clothes that Basil had pushed in the closet, and put on my jeans and a clean white shirt. I walked swiftly down the narrow stairwell, hurried out
the front door and onto the streets of Jersey City where I hailed a taxi to Newark Airport.

  When I got to the airport I decided to head back to Atlanta instead of going to Birmingham. I needed to shower and regroup before making a final decision about going home and my family reunion. I was so mortified and angry with myself I didn’t want to face anyone. How stupid could I have been? I tried to call Kyle and while I was dialing his number I decided not to tell him, but his number had been temporarily disconnected. What was that about?

  The incident the prior night would have never happened if I hadn’t put myself in another one of those crazy relationships with a man who didn’t know which way he wanted to go. But I had to take the blame for always taking up with men who were not available to me totally. Maybe it was my way of protecting myself from a completely gay lifestyle. These types of problems never occurred with women, or at least not the women I chose to be with. Maybe it served me right for trying to be truthful and honest with men and lying to the women I was interested in. Why did I think men could deal with truth and honesty when I didn’t know how to myself? I had to face the fact that I chose good women and bad men to share my love with. I had run into the same problems with both Kelvin and later with a married man, Quinn. But Basil was not married. I was older and supposedly wiser, but still making the same dumb-assed mistakes. The saga of the tragic sexual mulatto continued.

  Twenty

  The Miss Self-Esteem Pageant was conceived to give the young ladies of Harlem a head start on a successful school year. I had talked Delaney into following up her Saturday self-esteem workshops with a pageant so the young ladies could put into practice what they’d learned. I figured they needed to be exposed to the spirit of competition at a very young age. Lord knows they would be competing for the rest of their lives.

  Twelve young ladies from the ages of ten through thirteen competed in essay writing, party dresses, poise, and personality categories. The pageant plan to give back to the community was a rousing success. Local Harlem merchants and several of Delaney’s friends chipped in to put on quite a production not only for the young girls participating but also for many members of the Harlem community, who supported the show by the bus load at matinee performances. The pageant was held at the Harlem YWCA and although we didn’t charge, we asked people to give whatever they could to a local AIDS charity.

  A Harlem beauty shop donated makeup and two makeup artists for the young ladies. Kyle had bought secondhand dresses from thrift shops and made them into beautiful party dresses for each contestant. He wasn’t able to attend because he’d been involved in a fender bender while in a taxi and his back was still giving him serious trouble. He said he had problems sitting anywhere for more than an hour. It was bothering him enough that he had to put a piece of plywood under his mattress. Of course, he was going to sue. Delaney and I had offered to come over and help sew buttons on the dresses but he said he already had friends helping out. Delaney was convinced, however, that he had a new boyfriend and that was why we hadn’t seen much of him.

  After the pageant, Sylvia’s, a popular soul food restaurant and Harlem landmark, reserved a party room and provided food for the contestants and volunteers. Pierce and I shared a table with two young ladies from the pageant, Lashondra and Darice. Lashondra was first runner-up in the pageant and was admiring her trophy when out of the blue she turned to me and asked, “Do you have any kids?”

  “No, not yet,” I answered.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Well, I’m not married, Lashondra,” I answered, catching Pierce smiling out of the corner of my eye.

  “You gon marry him?” Lashondra asked, using her spoon to point to Pierce.

  “You mean am I going to marry Dr. Gessler?” I corrected Lashondra. “Yes, I think so,” I said, smiling at Pierce.

  “Oh,” she said as she put a spoonful of sweet potatoes in her mouth.

  After Lashondra and Darice finished their dinner they politely excused themselves to go over to a table full of their friends.

  “I think so,” Pierce repeated after the girls had left the table. His eyebrows arched high.

  “Was there something wrong with my answer?”

  “I think so doesn’t sound confident,” Pierce said.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that,” I said.

  “I hope not,” Pierce said as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips.

  “Pierce, do you think when we have children that they will have problems in school?” I asked.

  “Not if they go to Hebrew school,” Pierce said.

  “Hebrew school?” I repeated.

  “Yes, Nicole. Haven’t we talked about this? I’m sure we’ve talked about this. It’s important. I want my kids to go to Hebrew school until they are old enough to say they want to go elsewhere,” Pierce said.

  “So you’re saying you don’t want your kids raised as Christians? What about what I want?” I asked.

  “Nicole, let’s talk about this later. Why don’t you continue to enjoy the wonderful program you and Delaney put on,” Pierce advised.

  Just as I was preparing to respond, Delaney came over and gave me a hug. Her face was radiating happiness.

  “Thanks, Nic! This was a great idea,” Delaney said.

  “You worked it, girl. This was wonderful,” I said.

  “I tried to call Kyle. I’m a little worried,” Delaney said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “All I get is a recording saying that the phone is disconnected. I was trying to call to tell him what a tremendous success the pageant was and to see if he needs anything,” Delaney said.

  “Maybe we should stop by his place on the way home,” I suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Delaney said. “You know how he is with people coming over unannounced.”

  “Yes, but with him having been in an accident I think we can forget about his rules. He might need us,” I said.

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll call you later this evening and we’ll go over,” Delaney said.

  “Okay, that’s a good idea.”

  After leaving the restaurant, I asked Pierce to take me home. I was so busy thinking about the Hebrew school issue that I wasn’t paying attention as Pierce made a U-turn in the middle of Amsterdam Avenue when suddenly a truck slammed into the passenger side of Pierce’s powder blue sports car.

  “What the fuck!” Pierce yelled as he stopped his car. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  An elderly black man jumped from the truck and rushed toward Pierce’s car.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “You can’t make a turn like that on this street.”

  Pierce jumped from the car. “You saw me turning. Why didn’t you stop, you old black motherfucker! Fucking moron!” he shouted.

  Suddenly, I felt a chill. Had I heard him correctly? Had Pierce called this man a black motherfucker? I looked out of the rearview mirror and could tell that Pierce and the old man were engaged in heated conversation. The man got into his truck and drove off, his wheels screeching. The next words out of Pierce’s mouth came out loud and clear as he got back into the car.

  “Can you believe that black motherfucker? He took off without giving me his insurance information,” Pierce said. “The asshole probably doesn’t have insurance.”

  “Pierce, what did you call that old man?”

  “What? An asshole?”

  “No, Pierce, before that,” I demanded.

  Suddenly, Pierce’s face turned beet red. Maybe it was the anger in my eyes that caused the color change. It dawned on me that he didn’t realize that he was up in Harlem calling a black man a black motherfucker with a black woman in his car. A disturbing silence covered the car after Pierce’s outburst.

  “I’m sorry, Nicole. I didn’t mean to call him that,” Pierce said.

  “You said it twice, Pierce. I heard you!”

  “But he hit my car. He saw me turning,” Pierce said.

&nb
sp; “But you were wrong, Pierce, and then you add insult to injury by calling him that terrible name. Trying to make a wrong a right. How could you?”

  “I’m sorry, it just slipped,” Pierce offered.

  “Slipped! Let me out of this car. I’m catching a taxi home.”

  “Come on, Nicole, let’s talk about this,” Pierce said as he reached for my arm. I pulled back.

  “Right now I’m too upset to talk about this,” I said as I got out of Pierce’s car and started to look for a taxi heading downtown.

  The wind was blowing cool, but my body was burning from anger. Pierce was calling out my name as I jumped into a rare yellow taxi in Harlem and headed home.

  When I entered my building my doorman handed me a package in a pink bag. One of my good girlfriends, Kym, had left an order of skin care products that I used in my beauty regimen. I thanked Stuart and headed upstairs. I wanted to call Kyle to check on him and tell him what happened with Pierce and to see how he was doing. Kyle would give me some advice on what to do. But when I called his phone was still disconnected. I called Delaney, and left a message on her answering machine. I started to call Sheila but decided against it. While I was pondering my next move the phone rang but I let the answering machine pick up and I heard Pierce’s voice after the beep sounded. “Nicole, I know you’re there. Please pick up. I’m sorry. Please let’s talk about this,” he pleaded. When the machine clicked off I unplugged the phone and answering machine and climbed into my bed.

  The next morning I plugged my phone back in and it rang immediately. I assumed it was Sheila, so I answered the phone with my regular praise the Lord greeting, but I heard Kyle’s voice.

  “Nicole?” Kyle said.

  “Kyle, what’s going on, darling? Your phone back on?”

  “No, not yet. That’s why I’m calling,” Kyle said with the sounds of the busy city traffic in the background.

  “Yes, what do you need, Kyle?”

  “Nicole, I need to borrow some money. This pain medication the doctor has me on is more expensive than I expected, but my lawyer said I’m going to get it all back,” Kyle assured me.