“I thought about writing her a letter,” I said.
“What are you going to do if she sends you one back filled with scriptures highlighting the errors of your ways?” Kai said.
“I can accept that. Now that we’ve been to her church, at least we know Justine is not in some cult,” I said.
“Suit yourself. I say she comes back to her senses on her wedding night. You know how Justine likes to get down. Deacon doesn’t look like he’s up to the task,” Kai said.
“Sweetheart, I hate to run you out, but I’ve got to get back to work,” I said as I looked at my watch.
“What do you have to do? Can I help?”
“You got any good, juicy story ideas that haven’t been in other magazines?”
“If I come up with one, will you go out and have at least one drink with me?”
I quickly said yes, knowing full well Kai wouldn’t be able to deliver.
Kai moved the chair closer to my desk and said, “I met this guy and I think he might have an interesting story.”
“Kai, I’m not running a story about your sex life,” I said.
“But maybe you would like to write one about his,” Kai said with a twinkle in her eye.
Kai told me a story of a great-looking guy she had met named Parson, who made his living by pretending to be gay. He sought out gay men by joining a support group for men who had recently lost lovers.
Kai said he tells his potential victims that he lost his lover either to AIDS or to 9/11 and he would go on dates but refuse to have sex because he was still in mourning, and looking for true love.
“He goes all over the country doing the same thing. I’ve been to his apartment here in New York, and Parson is doing quite well.”
“How do you know he’s telling the truth? I bet he’s gay,” I said.
“No, Zola, he’s not gay or bi. Trust me, sister.”
“Kai, you need to get out more. Because he slept with you doesn’t mean he isn’t.”
“Zola, just talk with him. He’s already talked to a couple of publishers about his story and they were interested. It would be great if you got the story first.”
I thought for a moment and decided maybe I should look into this guy. I already had the title for the story if it checks out: The Great Pretender.
“Come on, Kai, let’s go get a drink,” I said as I scribbled the title on my writing pad.
16
__________________
I called Chris Thomas, the lawyer I’d met at Davis’s apartment, and invited him to dinner. I told him I had a project I wanted to talk with him about and he quickly agreed to get together. When I asked Chris where we should meet, he suggested the Gotham Bar and Grill, a restaurant on Twelfth near Fifth Avenue.
I wanted to meet Chris for a couple of reasons. During our brief meeting at Davis’s party I liked him and thought he might offer direction to something I had been thinking about for a couple of days. After September 11, I, like a lot of people, took a closer look at my life. I felt as though I should be doing more for other people. Normally for me, the fall was my favorite time of the year, but now it was a sad yet still lovely time, when I was reminded of the fragility of human life, how it could all end suddenly.
The first time I had come face-to-face with that fact was during the late eighties and early nineties, when the AIDS epidemic was in full force. Almost every day word spread of someone else dying or being inflicted with the disease. Most times it was people whom I knew in passing from the bars or Sunday walks through the Village, but when it finally hit home with the death of my best friend, Kyle, I was devastated with grief and loss. I promised to do something about it, and after Kyle’s death I did by starting a foundation in his memory. Still, 9/11 reminded me that there was so much more to do.
Even though it was the beginning of November, I felt the soft air of summer when I got out of the taxi and walked into the dimly lit restaurant. Chris was already sitting at a table close to the bar and door. I walked into the large dining room with polished teak floors and large, tasteful bouquets of flowers strategically placed throughout.
Chris spotted me and got up from his chair and greeted me with a firm handshake and smile. He looked taller and broader than I remembered from our first meeting at Davis’s apartment.
“Chris, great seeing you again,” I said as I shook his hand and patted him on his left shoulder.
“Good seeing you as well. Have a seat,” Chris said. It was early evening and the restaurant was almost empty. It felt like I was meeting Chris in his own private dining room. Several waiters dressed in white shirts, black pants and long white aprons loomed around the empty tables.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” I said.
“I was glad to hear from you. How have you been? You didn’t lose anyone in the World Trade Center tragedy, did you?”
“I’ve been okay. And no, I didn’t lose anyone that I knew personally. What about yourself?”
“Thank God, Debi and I were blessed and didn’t lose anyone we knew. But I tell you, man, when I read some of the stories in the newspapers and watched some of the news programs, I felt like I knew some of those people, or at the very least wanted to know them. It was such a sad thing for our country, but I tell you, it woke up a lot of people and reminded us what’s important,” Chris said.
“I hear you. How is your wife and when will I get a chance to meet her?”
“Oh, Debi’s fine. I hope you’ll meet her soon. I told her about you after our meeting. My wife, God love her, but she is so dang busy. I mean, she is a wonderful mother to my son, Luc, and wife to me, but I just don’t feel like I spend as much time with her as I’d like to. We’re both so busy with our careers. One of the things we both talked about after 9/11 was spending more quality time with each other.”
“You know you’ve got to make time for that, don’t you?”
“I’m going to,” Chris said as he picked up a menu the size of a legal pad. I looked to my left and spotted another menu and picked it up as I saw a waiter approaching us from the corner of my eye.
“What do you recommend?” I asked Chris without looking up.
“Everything is great here, especially the beef dishes. They cook up an awesome piece of beef,” Chris said.
A bespectacled waiter asked if he could offer us a drink. I ordered a glass of Merlot and Chris a draft beer. A few seconds later Chris laid down his menu and asked me if I was married.
“No. I just got out of a long-term relationship,” I said. I wondered for a moment if it was important to tell Chris that I was gay but decided another opportunity would present itself soon. I thought maybe people in New York were able to read between the lines with terms like “partner” and “long-term relationship,” but maybe not.
“Are you happy about it?”
“Breakups are never easy and it’s still rather new for me. I don’t have anything against relationships. They’re fine, but right now I’m concentrating on getting used to my new city and job,” I said.
“How do you like working for Davis?”
“It’s cool,” I said quickly. I didn’t know the extent of Chris’s relationship with Davis and wasn’t going to go into detail about my boss with a virtual stranger.
“Davis is an interesting man. Very complex and at times very mysterious,” Chris said.
“How so?”
“I can’t put my finger on it. Davis was like that when I first met him at Harvard. He’s a brilliant businessman and he gives a lot of his money to charities. I just get the feeling he’s hiding something. I can be wrong. I have been on numerous occasions. Just ask my wife,” Chris said, laughing.
“How long have you been married?”
“More than ten years.”
“Did you meet at Harvard?” I asked.
“No. We met in an airport of all places. Debi did attend Harvard, and I knew who she was because she had the reputation of being one of the most beautiful women on campus and one of the smartest
. But we didn’t meet until a snowstorm closed down Logan Airport in Boston and we ended up spending the entire night talking as we sat on a hard, cold floor. People always look at me strangely when I say I spent the night with my wife the first time we met,” Chris said.
“Sounds like a wonderful love story,” I said.
“I think so,” Chris said as a broad yet private smile crossed his face. The waiter brought our drinks and we ordered dinner. Chris continued to talk about his wife and son. There was a boundless pride and love in his voice, and I thought this man had everything, success and love in his life. Maybe white men were the only ones who could have it all. I thought about Davis and all that he had in terms of material things but figured his marriage must not be perfect because he was sleeping with Zola.
“So what can I do for you?” Chris asked as he looked at his watch. Maybe talking about his wife had him eager to get home, and I thought I needed to get down to business.
“I wanted to bounce a few things off you,” I said.
“I’m listening,” Chris said.
“Remember when we met, you mentioned that you and Debi contribute to a lot of AIDS charities?” I asked.
“Yes, I do. You mentioned you had a foundation,” Chris said.
“More Than Friends,” I said.
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” Chris asked.
“Yeah. I’m beginning to think I should be doing more with my life and for other people. I think expanding the foundation might be a start,” I said.
“Tell me a little more about the foundation,” Chris said.
I told him how some of Kyle’s close friends and I had set up the foundation to aid patients with cards, gifts and little tokens to let them know that people they didn’t know cared about them during difficult times.
“That sounds like a great idea,” Chris said.
“I want to do more. I read all the statistics in the paper about new AIDS cases, how young black men and women still disproportionately represent new cases, and I feel like maybe the message still isn’t getting out,” I said.
“Do you have some more plans?”
“Right now More Than Friends is very small. We don’t have a lot of money because I have mostly bankrolled the foundation. I think we could do more if we had a full-time administrator and a staff to put on fund-raisers,” I said.
“So how can I help besides writing a check?” Chris asked.
“A check would help, but if you could show me how to go to the next level or maybe merge with another organization committed to helping people with AIDS, that would be great,” I said.
“I could do that. I tell you what. Let me talk with Debi and Lillian, the young lady who heads my foundation. Maybe we should set up a meeting with the four of us and see what the best solution is,” Chris said.
“Thanks, Chris. That would be great. Any help you can offer,” I said.
“We’re all in this together,” Chris said.
The waiter placed our meals down in front of us, and I said, “Now more than ever.”
17
__________________
It was Wednesday and a springlike rain had cleansed the city, even though it was still autumn. Wednesday was usually my evening for eating fattening food like nachos and chicken fingers while watching Soul Food on Showtime with Justine and Kai, but I hadn’t talked to Justine since our aborted lunch date.
I thought about catching a cab over to Sylvia’s, the soul-food restaurant, for some smothered chicken and then walking back home so I wouldn’t feel so guilty. I pulled out a bright yellow warm-up suit and put my hair in a ponytail. Maybe I would jog instead of walking. Just as I put on the bottoms over a light blue unitard, the doorbell rang. My heart started beating rapidly, because I was hoping that it was Justine and Kai coming to surprise me with food and hugs.
I was puzzled when I saw Jabar standing at the door with a black plastic shopping bag and a large smile. I realized I hadn’t seen him since the night before 9/11.
“Jabar, what are you doing here?” I asked.
“Are you going to let me in?” Jabar asked.
I unlocked the glass door that protected the oak door and Jabar walked in slowly. He wasn’t dressed in his usual warm-up suit but was wearing a beige turtleneck sweater and billowy khakis with Timberland boots.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked.
“I brought you a little surprise,” Jabar said as he headed toward the kitchen, and I followed.
“You still haven’t told me what’s going on,” I said. Jabar put the bag on the table and then looked at me and said, “Yo, Z, I just wanted to see you. Is that cool?”
I looked at Jabar suspiciously. He was hard to resist, and the rich scent of his masculinity was inviting. When he smiled at me, I couldn’t help but notice his deep dimples, and his captivating eyes had the warm glow of brandy.
“What are you doing, just dropping over? What if I had company? You know the rules,” I said.
“Then yo, somebody would have to leave early, and I don’t think it would be me,” Jabar said as he leaned over and kissed me. The kiss was longer than usual and his tongue felt like it was dancing a tango in my mouth. When he finally pulled his tongue out, I had to catch my breath.
“So I guess me and my food can stay?” Jabar asked.
“Food, you brought food?”
“Sure did.”
“Did you cook it?”
“I could lie and say yeah, but naw, I can cook breakfast dishes but I leave the suppertime grub for my moms,” Jabar said.
“So your mother is a good cook?” I asked.
“She betta be, since that’s the way ole girl makes a living,” Jabar said as he pulled an aluminum pan from the bag.
“So your mother’s a cook?” I asked, embarrassed by how little I knew about Jabar’s family.
“Moms is a caterer. She have people who cook for her. Moms only cooks for the men in her life,” Jabar said as he walked over to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out two plates.
“So what did your mother cook?”
“Some of the stuff I love, fried chicken, tomato and cucumber salad, fried corn and homemade biscuits plumper than that azz of yours,” Jabar said as he looked at my behind with a mischievous gaze. I felt self-conscious and so I put my hands on one cheek like I was protecting it from viewing.
Jabar and I spent the next hour at the kitchen table, eating and talking. I learned that he had two younger sisters and that both his mother and father owned businesses in Newark. His mother had a catering business and his father a car detailing company, where Jabar still worked on weekends.
“So you plan to be a trainer the rest of your life?” I asked as I enjoyed the crustiness of a golden brown chicken leg.
“Yo, I’m always gonna keep the body type and I really dig helping people change the shape of the bodies, but lately I’ve been thinking about making a change. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you today,” Jabar said. He took the last bite of a biscuit that he had lathered with butter and grape jelly.
“I thought I knew why you came to see me,” I said as I took my leg and playfully placed it between Jabar’s thighs. I figured something more than my stomach could be satisfied tonight.
Jabar gently pushed my leg away and said, “Z, you know I love the punanny anytime I get within the sniffing zone, but tonight I just want to get in your bed and hold you.”
Was I hearing Jabar correctly? Was he trying to change our fuck-buddy status? I knew that if I became involved in Jabar’s life for anything other than sex, then he would start to chip away at the dark and guarded corner of my heart. I didn’t want to admit it, but ever since 9/11 I found myself emotionally vulnerable, crying at the mention of both sadness and hope. I had stopped reading The New York Times because they were running a special section with profiles of victims.
It seemed all the people killed that day had such full lives, love, family and successful careers. The first couple of days the article
s had become addictive. I would find myself reading the stories next to black faces first but wouldn’t stop reading until I had finished every story on the tear-stained pages. Some days I really thought I was going to damage my tear ducts.
“So what do you want to talk to me about?” I asked Jabar.
“I’m thinking about joining the police force or becoming a firefighter. I haven’t decided which one,” Jabar said. I noticed he sounded serious, and the street lingo he always used was absent.
“Don’t you know you have to take a civil service exam for those jobs?”
“Yeah, and I test well,” Jabar said.
“You do?”
“You think muscles everywhere takes away from the brain?”
“Did you finish high school?”
“Better than that. I guess I didn’t tell you I have an associate’s degree from Trenton Junior College,” Jabar said.
“You do?”
“Don’t sound so surprised, Z. I got skills you don’t have a clue ’bout,” Jabar said.
“I guess so. Do you know how dangerous those jobs are?”
Jabar grabbed my hands and looked at me and said, “Don’t worry. I will be careful. Always.”
I felt myself losing control, so I stood and said, “Let’s talk about this in the morning. I’m tired. You still want to spend the night?”
“Yeah, but I left my raincoats at home on purpose.”
“Then you really are going to have to hold me all night.”
“That’s what’s up.”
18
__________________
Basil made it to my apartment in record time. Fifteen minutes after I called him and told him I had some great news for him, he was knocking on my door, sweating like he had just finished a grueling workout.
“Come on in, Basil,” I said as I opened the door.
“Ray, what’s going on? Did you find my baby girl?”
“Calm down, Basil. I just wanted to give you the information in person. Davis located Rosa and Talley in Atlanta. They’re both fine from the looks of the pictures,” I said as I walked over to my desk and picked up the envelope Davis had sent to my office.
A Love of My Own Page 20
