A few weeks later I was over at his hotel and we were having a drink before we went out to run the women. We were drinking beer and I had to go to the bathroom a lot. On my third quick trip to the can I left the door open, and just as I was shaking my stuff, I looked up in the mirror and saw Monty coming in the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, and the next thing I know, old boy was on his knees sucking my stuff like he was a milking machine. I started to push him away, but my stuff was harder than Chinese algebra. I closed my eyes, and all I could hear was Monty’s slurping sound and his head banging against the bathroom door.
When he finished, Monty didn’t say a word. Just reached in his medicine cabinet, pulled out some mouthwash, and turned the bottle up like it was a carton of milk. He swished, spit, and walked back out of the bathroom. I stood there tripping, with my shit still hanging. He didn’t say anything and neither did I. I was cool with that.
Later that night, after we got back to his place, I asked him how he knew I wouldn’t go crazy on his ass. I wanted to make sure he hadn’t heard any rumors. “I knew you’d be down,” he said. Monty told me that when the two of us were out, he’d watch my eyes. Even when I was wearing sunglasses, he said, he could see my eyes following women and men. Ain’t that some shit? Said our eyes were going the same places, so he knew I was game. I didn’t say shit. Monty musta been checking me out all along. So we started kickin’ it every now and then. It was cool. No pressure. We both still ran the women and we never talked about what happened at night. Like I said, he had as much to lose as I did. His picture was on the cover of Right On, The Source, and Vibe, on the walls of thousands of teenage girls and probably under the beds of a couple of teenage boys. Monty was kind of a sex symbol, so he had to keep his mouth shut.
But I’m not calling his ass back. If he calls me again, he’ll get answering machine 24-7. I’m into women exclusively now. I got a good thing going with Yolanda and I ain’t about to fuck it up. This is a woman who can change my life. So it’s later for the dudes. And that includes Raymond Tyler, Jr. Believe that.
I’m gonna call Yolanda and find out when she’s going to be back in New York. If it’s not in the next couple of days, I’m going to get on a plane and carry my ass back to Chicago to close the deal. It’s time for Ms. Yolanda Williams to hook up with a real man.
I wonder what it would feel like to make love to John. I thought we would have done the do on Saturday night, but it didn’t happen. I could sit and fantasize about John Basil Henderson all day, but I’m worried about my baby-boy, Leland. He’s been on my mind all day. I was sitting in a meeting with the Park West people and all I could think of was him. Even when I met my play little sister, Jazmine, after school, I was thinking of Leland. Jazmine asked if everything was all right and I told her I was fine, just worried about a good friend. It seems like he’s still living in the past. How I wish someone like Donald would enter his life again. Too bad John’s friend, Raymond, is attached. If he wasn’t, I’d put Leland on the first thing jetting to Seattle. I know that’s not realistic, but I want him to be happy. I want him to have someone in his life besides me and the group and Uncle Doc. Maybe I’ll ask John just how serious Raymond is with this partner of his. Who knows, it may be just a casual relationship, and Raymond could be interested in knowing another gay man when he comes to visit his brother. What if his brother is gay? No, that wouldn’t work, he’s too young. Leland and I both have a rule of never dating anyone under the age of twenty-five.
I don’t know what going to New York and visiting the places Leland and Donald used to frequent will do. Maybe he’ll finally be able to say good-bye or maybe his trip will simply make those memories stronger. I’m going to go with him because I promised. But I think I’ll talk to him and try and determine what he hopes to accomplish on this trip.
It’s not like Leland talks about Donald constantly. But sometimes when he’s quiet and has this far-off look in his eyes, I know he’s thinking about him. I remember when Donald died. Leland and I weren’t as close then as we are now. All I said was that I was sorry to hear his friend had died. I didn’t say spouse or lover, but I knew they were closer than friends. My other gay friends who died were usually alone at the end. When my girlfriends have lost a husband or significant other, I’ve made a big deal out of it. I’ve sent over flowers, or fruit baskets, or even baked a cake. I didn’t even send Leland a card. From what Leland told me, and from what I’ve gathered from Uncle Doc, Leland never left Donald’s side. He even took a leave of absence from his residency program to spend every second with Donald during his first bout of pneumonia Now, that’s love. Lifelong love. I can tell from the pictures of them together that they were in love, that secure look in their eyes. I guess memories like those are hard to forget.
Riley splashed her face with lukewarm water and patted it dry with a cotton towel. Then she rubbed some aloe vera lotion into her hands and moisturized her face and neck. Riley had just finished a productive workout with her newly hired personal trainer, Jack. Riley hired him after interviewing two other candidates, including a beautiful, well-toned Black woman, Janice, who Riley thought was just a little too perky. She had also passed on Willie, a super-buffed Black guy who Riley thought was a bit arrogant. She settled on the muscular brown-eyed, blond Jack when he convinced her she could shed fifteen pounds in less than a month if she went along with his exercise and diet plan.
Jack had brought a scrapbook full of before-and-after pictures, as well as his certification as a personal trainer, something neither Janice nor Willie produced. If she was ever going to get down to a weight where she could wear one of her Barbara Bates evening gowns, Riley needed someone who meant business.
With the addition of her daily workouts, and her preparations for her opening at Park West, Riley had little time for her computer romance. She was still excited when she received messages, and early that morning she had completed the final draft of a poem she had written especially for Lonelyboy. Before sending the poem to him, she read her words aloud in front of the full-length bathroom mirror:
“ ‘Blue,’ by Riley Denise Woodson,” she said with a dramatic tone.
“I stood in the sunlight
Watching the sky change
From blue to gray to rain
Then back to blue
I was surrounded by blue
So I bathed in it
I let it seep deep into my pores
And I found peace there
I decided I’d never leave
Then out of nowhere
You appeared
And like a voyeur
You watched as I caressed my own skin
Massaging in more blue
Rubbing blue across my lips
Washing my hair
With Blue”
Riley paused like there was some serious music playing in the background and pursed her lips. She took the first sheet of yellow paper and moved it beneath the second sheet and continued:
“You were a vision
Dressed in white
Flaunting places I’d never seen
Or been before
And you opened up your arms to me
But you left one hand
On a rainbow
With the other hand
You extended
A pot of shiny new gold
And you said
‘Don’t rush, gold lasts forever’
So I withdrew my hand
Now I wait
For you to give me your gold
With both hands
Free”
Just as Riley was walking toward her office to send the poem, her private line in her bedroom rang. She picked up the phone and said, “Hello.”
“Have you talked to Ryan?” her mother asked.
“Hello to you too, Mother. I talked to her a couple of days ago. Why?”
“Well, you should get on that phone right now and give her a call. How can you go a couple of weeks without talking to your children?” she
asked in a voice full of judgment. Riley suddenly felt like she was in high school and her mother was scolding her for not calling when she was running late from school or twirling practice.
“I’ve been busy, Mother. What’s going on with Ryan?” Riley asked, realizing it had been more than a couple of days since she had talked with either of her children. She had been busy and was trying to give them time to get adjusted to being away from home.
“Busy, my butt. I’m not telling you. That’s your child. Call her and see. I’m through raising your children, Riley.”
“Mama, what’s the matter? Why are you giving me all this grief? Is my child all right?” Riley asked anxiously.
“Don’t mama me. Call her and see,” her mother said. Riley suddenly heard the dial tone.
She rushed to her office and located Ryan’s dorm number. It was about two o’clock in Virginia and she knew Ryan had a biology lab in the afternoon, but she decided to call and leave a message with her roommate or on the answering machine. She was surprised when a deep voice answered the phone.
“I’m sorry. I must have the wrong number,” she said.
“Who ya lookin’ for?”
“Oh, I have the wrong number,” Riley repeated.
“Are you lookin’ for Ryan or Darcey?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Ryan Woodson.”
“Hold on a minute,” he said. Riley could hear the man say “I think it’s yo moms.”
“Hello,” Ryan said.
“Ryan? Are you all right? Who was that answering your phone?” Riley asked.
“Hello to you too, Mother. Of course I’m all right. Whatsup?”
“Whatsup? Whatsup? Who is that answering your phone?”
“Oh, that’s my boyfriend, Perry,” Ryan said casually.
“Your boyfriend, Perry? Ryan, you haven’t been up there two months. And why aren’t you in class?”
“I didn’t feel well, so I skipped. But don’t worry, it’s nothing. Perry’s taking good care of me,” Ryan said.
“Taking care of you? Then why is your grandmother calling me sounding all worried,” Riley asked.
“I don’t know. I talked to her a couple of times, but I told her everything was fine,” Ryan said.
“Obviously, she doesn’t think you’re fine and I’m beginning to have my doubts also. Do I need to come up there?”
“Naw, Mama, please, everything is cool. Grandma’s just tripping. I’m cool. I’ll be back in class tomorrow. How’s Daddy? Is he still coming up here this month? Are you coming with him?”
“He’s all right and I think he’s still coming. I don’t know about myself. How’s your brother?”
“He was fine the last time I saw him. Same old Reggie smile—basketball and books in hand,” Ryan said.
“The last time you saw him? When was that?” Riley asked.
“A week ago. He was on his way to the library.”
“A week ago? That’s not like you, not seeing your brother every day. Ryan, are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m busy, Reggie’s busy, and I guess you’ve been busy too. We’re only twins, not joined at the hip. Chill, Mama. Gotta go. Love ya,” Ryan said. Again Riley heard the dial tone.
I wanted to pick up the phone and call Yolanda and say girl, ask this guy again if he’s gay or bisexual. Ask him if he’s been tested for HIV. But how can I do that without breaking my patient’s confidence? I’m still hoping that Taylor is wrong. That there is some mistake. That we’re talking about two different people. I’ve been thinking a lot about my brief meeting with John. He seemed like a nice guy. I didn’t really have my gaydar on, because Yolanda’s usually pretty good about picking up signals. Most times when guys are undercover, I can still tell by their actions. But John just seemed confident, at ease, like he wasn’t hiding a thing.
Maybe he’s one of those guys from the early eighties, before AIDS, who didn’t think nothing about letting a guy go down on him or go a little further if he could benefit from it. They never identified themselves as gay or bisexual. And when AIDS came out, a lot of these men disappeared from the scene. Back to the arms of their wives and girlfriends. Over the years I’ve had more patients like him than I can count. But if Taylor’s correct, then John has been dipping recently, and from Taylor’s description of their affair … often. I do recall Taylor telling me he had tested negative for HIV, but I don’t remember if he’s clear about practicing safe sex. I hope he calls for another emergency appointment. I need to know more.
Chapter 15
I was glad to be back in Chicago for longer than a couple of days. It was Thursday. It was a little after six, and I was headed home for an evening of takeout and television. It had been a busy day with me playing catch-up with some of my local clients and ending with an unpleasant meeting with my accountant, who informed me I was spending too much money on New York hotels. He suggested I look for a tiny studio if I was going to spend as much time there as I had the previous two months. I hadn’t decided if I was ready to make such a commitment.
Thursday was my favorite night to climb in bed and watch Living Single and then switch over and watch Seinfeld and ER. But just as I was about to grab my bag and briefcase, my phone started ringing. Monica had already left for the evening, so I grabbed the phone after a couple of rings.
“Media Magic, Yolanda speaking.”
“Yolanda, hey girl. This is Lajoyce.”
“Lajoyce, how are you doing? I was going to call you first thing in the morning. What can I do for you,” I asked.
“Just want to finalize the showcase we’re doing. Have you booked an opening act?”
“No, not quite. I have a few people and a couple of groups in mind,” I said.
“Great. As soon as you get some tapes on the acts you’re considering, please overnight them to my office. I wanted to let you know that the guys would prefer a female opening act. It can be a solo artist or a group,” she said.
“Any particular reasons why?” I asked.
“Think about it, darling. They’re young, heterosexual men in a new city,” Lajoyce laughed.
“You don’t have to say another word,” I said. “I’ll have some tapes in your office early next week.”
“I might have another project I want you to work on. When are you coming back to New York?”
“I can come anytime. What’s the project?”
“It’s top secret right now. But I think you’d be perfect!”
“Thank you for thinking of me. Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, let me know. I can be in your office in a heartbeat,” I said.
“Okay, Yolanda. Thanks a lot. I know you’re going to do a super job,” Lajoyce said.
“I’ll do my best,” I said. As soon as I hung up the phone, it rang again. It was Riley. It was as though she was sitting in the outer office listening to my conversation with Lajoyce.
“Yolanda, I haven’t talked to you in a couple of days. I wanted to know what the people in New York thought of my tape. I’ve been practicing, working out, and I got some fierce gowns I’ve thinking about wearing. When do you think you can let me know something definite?” Riley asked. I started to say I can let you know now, but I was a chickenshit and said, “Riley, I’m still waiting to hear something. As soon as I do, you’ll be the first one I call. But I want to warn you. I think they want a group.”
“Why?”
“That I can’t answer. Oops, I’m sorry, there’s someone at my door and I’m here by myself. I’ll talk with you later,” I lied. Or at least I assumed I was telling a little tale, then I heard someone knock at my door. This late in the evening it was usually a courier picking up a package, but I remember Monica telling me she would take our overnight packages and drop them off on her way out. I went to the door and looked through the peephole and saw a white guy in a black suit, white shirt, and a hat.
“Can I help you?” I asked without opening the door. I looked at the lock to make sure it was turned south.
“Is there a Miss Yolanda Williams here?” he asked.
“Yes, who’s asking?”
“Ma’am, my name is David, and I’m with the Desire Limo company. I have a pickup scheduled,” he said.
“A pickup? I didn’t order a limo,” I said.
“I know, Miss Williams. There is a gentleman waiting on you downstairs in my car. A Mr. John Henderson,” he said.
A smile broke out over my face a mile long. No wonder John wanted to know what time I was leaving the office. I opened the door and greeted the limo driver with a smile and a question, “He’s downstairs?”
“Yes, Miss Williams, he is.”
“Let me get my jacket,” I said. I rushed back to my office to grab my jacket and bags and stuff, when the phone rang again. “What’s going on,” I shouted in exasperation. The phone wouldn’t stop.
“Yolanda here,” I answered.
“Yogi, what are you doing?”
“Leland! Hey, baby-boy. I’m on my way out. What’s going on?”
“Do you have plans for dinner? I need to talk with you,” he said quietly.
“I think I do. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I just need to talk with you about something,” he said.
“Can it wait until tomorrow? You know it’s Friday. Our regular date night,” I said.
“Oh, yeah. I guess so. You sound like you’re in a hurry.”
If This World Were Mine Page 14
