In My Father’s House

by E. Lynn Harris

“That works fine. Are you coming with him?”

  “I don’t think so, I got a big casting coming up.”

  “Okay, don’t worry,” Wilson said. “I’ll look after him and make sure he’s all right. And since we’re doing this on a small budget, he can just stay here at the studio.” Wilson laughed. “I promise to look and not touch.”

  For a second, I wondered if I were saving Jah from one shark and sending him to another. But Wilson and Seth were nothing like each other. If I had to trust one, it would be Wilson. I said, “I’ll either call you or e-mail his flight information.”

  “Good,” Wilson said. “Looking forward to meeting the young man. It would be nice to see you again soon.”

  “I’ll try and make that happen,” I said, grateful that Wilson was willing to help with Jah.

  “You promise?”

  “For sure. Bye, Wilson.”

  TWENTY

  The following morning, after my first cup of coffee, I checked my e-mails. Amid the usual spam stuff, I spotted an e-mail address that looked familiar. It was from Wilson:

  Bentley, it was good talking to you yesterday. Believe it or not, you cross my mind a lot. I guess I didn’t put it down like I needed to when I got the chance. Please rest assured that if I’m ever given another chance, I won’t have to wait so long for a call.

  Now about your young friend. Let me know his flight information and I’ll meet him at the airport.

  —Wilson

  I called Jah instead.

  After one ring, Jah answered, “What’s up, B?”

  “I got some great news!”

  “Oh, yeah? What?”

  “I just booked an underwear campaign for you. When can you go to Chicago?”

  “What! That’s great news. Who is it with? Calvin Klein?”

  “No.”

  “Papi?” Jah asked, naming a hot designer.

  “No, it’s a new designer,” I said. “I sent them your comps and some of the underwear shots I had and they just went crazy. Said you were the guy they’d been looking for. They want you to be the face and body for the company.”

  “That’s good news, but I hope it can wait for a couple of days.”

  “I’m sure it can. Are you worried about missing school?”

  “Not really,” Jah said with a nonchalant tone. “I just got to the airport and I’m about to get on a train to my flight.”

  Anger surged through me because I knew right away that the Seth travel saga was continuing at the expense of Jah’s schooling and ultimately his emotional well-being. Not to mention, the Chicago shoot with Wilson would be impossible. “Where are you going, Jah?”

  “To Denver.”

  “Denver!” I snapped. “What’s going on in Denver?”

  “Meeting Seth,” Jah said, unfazed and excited. “He’s up there scouting locations for his next movie. He called me this morning and told me he had a ticket waiting. And don’t worry, I talked to some classmates and they’ll let me borrow their notes. I only have two classes today, anyway.”

  I felt like my blood pressure spiked. My face felt hot. But I controlled my voice so he wouldn’t just hang up on me for sounding so mad.

  “Come on, Jah! This is getting ridiculous. This man calls you and you jump every time. He’s going to take advantage of you. Can’t you just tell him no, one time? This is a great opportunity for you. I made sure you were the only guy from the agency that I submitted. Now I’ll look stupid.”

  An uneasy silence came between us over the line.

  “Jah, are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” he almost whispered.

  “Are you sure you ought to be going to Denver?”

  “I don’t want to disappoint you, B, but I want to go.” His voice sounded tight and emotional, like he was about to cry. “I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  I exhaled loudly. “Only a couple of days, right?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Okay, Jah, do what you must. Call me when you get back. I can’t promise the job will still be waiting.” I hung up.

  “Damn it!” I shouted. How could this boi be so stupid? He was still very much a boi, playing an adult game. I wanted to throw my cell phone across the room, but instead I took a deep breath and dialed Wilson number.

  “So I see you got my e-mail,” Wilson said.

  “Yeah, I got it, Wilson. Thanks a lot. And trust me, you will get another chance.”

  Wilson chuckled in a semiseductive way. “That’s good to know. So when do I get to meet our new superstar?”

  “Looks like it’s not going to happen as soon as I would have liked.”

  “What happened?” Wilson sounded disappointed. “Don’t tell me he’s not interested.”

  I hated that Jah was dissing my plan and that I had to explain it all to Wilson. “Oh, he’s interested, but right now I think he’s hornier than he is hungry. You know how young bois can be.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately I do know.”

  I spent a few minutes telling Wilson about Jah and why I was worried. But I didn’t give away the identity of his suitor or how I was responsible for the meeting.

  “You need to tell him to be careful,” Wilson said with a warning tone that disturbed me. “Especially if he’s powerful like you said and has a family.” He paused, making me feel even more worried. “Black people have started to act like they’re in the mafia when it comes to protecting their secrets.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Wilson lowered his voice and said, “I have a friend, Wentworth, who’s been in a coma for more than three months. I’m convinced his married boyfriend got some goons to beat him up. I can’t prove it, but hopefully he’ll come out of it and be able to help the police.”

  My thoughts spun in all the wrong directions, thinking about Jah in a situation like that.

  “I mean,” Wilson said with emotional rawness in his voice, “my friend lives in a doorman building on the Magnificent Mile here in Chicago and they still got up to his apartment. He never told me who his boyfriend was. He just said that he was really powerful and that if he called his name, I would know.”

  This was sounding hauntingly familiar to Jah’s situation. “How did he meet him?”

  “At some private party,” Wilson said, “like your friend. He tried to get me to go and I did. But when I got there, my name wasn’t on the guest list and I wouldn’t sign some piece of paper. So they turned my ass around, out the door.”

  He could have been describing a PGC party. “Were they all black men?”

  “I don’t know,” Wilson said, “because I didn’t get in. But I’m guessing they were because that’s all my friend dates. My friend dropped a few hints and I think I know who it is. But Wentworth wouldn’t confirm it, even when he got a little high.”

  “Wilson, do you think—”

  My call waiting beeped. A 305 area code for Miami and a number that I didn’t recognize flashed across the phone.

  I clicked over. “Hello?”

  “Is this Bentley Dean?” The voice was so deep, I felt wet and weak.

  “Yeah, whom am I speaking with?”

  “DeMarco Leon.”

  “Where do I know you from?”

  “We met a couple days ago on Lincoln Road.”

  Bingo! I grinned. “Are you one of the Panthers?”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Hey, I think I’m interested in that modeling thing you were talking about. And I ain’t scared of getting naked in front of nobody. I just can’t do no film of me being naked.”

  I felt electrified at the idea of laying eyes on this gorgeous guy once again. It would be strictly professional, but this was one of the perks of my job. Thug eye candy galore, all who thought they had what it took to model. Sad thing was many of them thought a fat dick and an ass shaped like two volleyballs were all that it took to be successful in this business. “That isn’t even necessary, DeMarco. When can you come and see me?”

  It sounded like he was in a schoo
l hallway with students’ chatter behind him. “Maybe later on today. I got class this morning and then practice, but I’m free after seven.”

  “Can you meet me at my office?”

  “Sure, I’ll meet you at your office, house, or whatever.”

  “Okay. Hey, I’m on another call. Can I call you back at this number?”

  “Yeah, that’s cool, but if I don’t answer, remember I’ll be in class. You can text me. My teacher don’t like us texting in class, but I do it all the time without getting caught. You feel me?”

  “Yeah, DeMarco. I’ll call or text you. I look forward to seeing you again.”

  “Yeah, that’s what’s up. Take care, Bentley Dean.”

  “Good-bye, DeMarco.”

  I clicked back over to the other line and told Wilson I would call him when Jah returned. Then I’d know if Jah was still interested in doing the shoot.

  “That’s cool, Bentley. Don’t forget about your promise.”

  “I won’t.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  I got home after being stood up by DeMarco and was looking in the fridge for something to eat. Just as I located some cold chicken, I got a text message. At first I was excited that it was from Warren. Until I read it:

  “Hey, sexy Sheila. What time you cumin’?”

  “What?” I texted back.

  “My bad,” Warren texted me.

  That fool was so busy chasing women, he couldn’t keep his booty-call text messages straight. Before I could feel annoyed, my phone rang. It was my mother.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  She spoke in that scolding tone as if I’d been a bad boy and hadn’t done my homework. “Bentley, where are you? You said you would try and meet me and my man for dinner.”

  I stared at the empty shelves in my refrigerator, realizing I could have been dining on steak and lobster right now. “Damn. I forgot, Mother.”

  Her voice softened. “Forget your dear mother? Bentley, that’s not like you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother. Is it too late?”

  The buzz of restaurant sounds—silverware clinking on china, people talking—shot through the phone with her voice. “No, we haven’t even been seated yet. This place must be really popular. We had reservations and they’re still saying we have to wait thirty minutes.”

  I heard the beep. DEMARCO flashed across the phone.

  “Hold on, Mother. I have another call.” I clicked over. “Hello, DeMarco.”

  “Already got me locked in,” DeMarco said playfully. “That’s what’s up.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “Practice went a little long and I didn’t have my phone with me.” I hated lame-ass excuses. I didn’t care if he was a college student and fine as hell. Standing me up for a job opportunity was just plain unprofessional.

  “You couldn’t text me?”

  “Naw, man. I’m sorry. I can come now.”

  “I’m not at the office.”

  “Tell me where you live. I’ll come to you.”

  My inner voice told me not to let a stranger come to my place. Then again, I could Google DeMarco Leon and see if he was a player for Florida International University. If he wasn’t, then I wouldn’t see him. Besides, spending the evening interviewing a handsome young man sure did sound better than watching my mother make a fool of herself with her young lover.

  “Let me call you back,” I said.

  “I can be there in fifteen minutes if you let me take a shower at your place. That way you can take a look at the goods and see if I’m what you looking for.”

  My inner voice announced that DeMarco was all about a scheme. Shocked at how open and forward he was being, I snapped, “For what?” Was this boi trying to set me up? “Let me call you back.”

  “Okay, I’ll be waiting. But get back with me quick, before my girl starts ridin’ my jock.”

  “I will.”

  Clicking back over, I said, “Mother?” I started to hang up.

  “Bentley, are you back yet?”

  “Yes, Mother. Hey, look, that was one of my clients. It looks like I can’t make it. Maybe you and I can have lunch tomorrow or the next day. I have someone I want you to meet.”

  She sounded excited. “A young lady?”

  “No, Mother.”

  Her bad-boy scolding tone returned as she said, “Okay, I understand your clients are more important than your mother.”

  “I got to make some money, Mother. I’m not independently wealthy like you.” It was times like this when I really missed my father. He could get Mother to stop talking instantly without her even knowing. He was real good that way. In fact my father was good at most things without even trying.

  “Huh,” she huffed. “You could be if you tell your daddy you’re going to get married and give him some grandkids.”

  I rolled my eyes, not in the mood to hear all this again. “Have a nice dinner, Mother.”

  “Bentley! Don’t take that tone with me. I’m still the mother.”

  “Sorry, Mother. Have fun.”

  “I will, son.”

  I texted DeMarco my address, warning him to be on time. Then I went to my computer and Googled him. His name popped up immediately: DeMarco Sean Leon, Westlake High School, Atlanta, Georgia. Mr. Georgia Basketball 2005, Top Five Point Guard, Five Star on all recruiting services. Picked Florida International University over Duke, Georgia, Kentucky, and Arkansas. Son of Lucy and Kevin Leon.

  I suddenly felt safe and thought maybe I should take a shower and order some food for my guest.

  DeMarco bounced inside my condo like he’d been there before. He was wearing a navy blue on light blue sweat suit and a white T-shirt. He was the biggest of the bunch, but not the pretty one. Still, he had a casual handsomeness about him with strong teeth and full lips.

  “You give good directions. Nice place,” DeMarco said as he looked around my living room.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “You got any beer?”

  “Are you twenty-one?”

  “Yeah, you want to see some ID?”

  “I should, but I trust you.”

  I went to the kitchen and got a beer and a bottle of water and walked back into the living room, where DeMarco was inspecting my framed photographs.

  “Why no pictures of females?”

  “Maybe they’re in my bedroom,” I said, ignoring what he was implying.

  “That’s what’s up. So tell me how this modeling thing works,” DeMarco said as he gulped down the beer.

  “What do you want to know?”

  He looked at me like it was obvious. “How do I make the money? What I got to do?”

  “Well, first we’d need to get a book for you,” I said, launching into autopilot to explain something I’d said a million times to new models. “That means have you do shoots with several photographers who might be willing to shoot you for free.”

  “That’s what’s up,” DeMarco said, chugging more beer and staring intently at me.

  “Once we get your book done, then I’ll look over the requests I have for guys that fit your description. After that, you’ll be sent on what we call in the industry a go-see, which means you go see the client and they look at your book. Then they might take some shots of you or just ask to see your body.”

  DeMarco held the beer bottle close to his mouth and asked, “Will they want to see me in the nude?”

  “Most likely not,” I said, knowing there was much more on this boi’s mind than modeling. “But if it’s that kind of job, you’ll be told in advance. Otherwise I would advise you not to do it. Some of the photographers I know only do nudes. Others do catalogue shots or sports modeling, which is where I see you fitting in.”

  “Sports modeling, huh? That’s what’s up.”

  Something told me to keep my guard up with this boi.

  “So you’re a senior?”

  “No, I’m a junior. But I’m skipping my senior year and going to try out for the league.”
/>   “The NBA?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you think you’ll get drafted?”

  “Depends on what kind of season I have, but I should be a lottery pick.”

  I pretended I was confused and needed him to school me on sports. “A lottery pick? I think I know what that means?” Making him think he knew more about sports than me would make him feel more comfortable.

  He laughed, as if he were excited to explain something to me. “It means I would be one of the first players picked.”

  “Oh, I understand.”

  He set the beer bottle on my coffee table. “So you want to see what my body looks like?”

  “You think I should?” I continued to play coy. Of course I wanted to see the goods! Damn, maybe I even wanted to touch the goods.

  “I ain’t got no problem with that,” DeMarco announced. “I like my body. Which way to the shower? I want to get it all nice and clean for you.”

  “The guest bathroom is back there,” I said as I pointed to the hallway. “There are some clean towels in the cabinet.”

  He cast a seductive look at me. “You not gonna show me which way?”

  “You’re a big guy. You can find your way.”

  But he didn’t move, as if he really wanted me to head back to the shower with him. “Okay. So you trust me in your house? You don’t really know me. I might be some mass murderer or something.”

  “I get a good vibe from you. I think you’re probably good people.”

  “You think so?”

  I stepped toward the kitchen. “Yeah. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll get my digital camera and snap a few shots of you so you can see how you look on film.”

  “Okay.” DeMarco walked toward the bathroom. Before he reached the hallway, he’d removed the warm-ups to reveal a nice pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs covering a plump, muscular ass. Right as he reached the door, off came the jacket and T-shirt.

  Damn, that boi was hot and he knew it.

  While DeMarco was taking a shower, I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine and took a few sips. I figured this would give me a little more courage. I was about to return to the living room when my phone rang with an unfamiliar Miami number.