“Nah. I’m sittin’ here memorizin’ my lines.”
“Congrats, brutha! What’s it about?”
“Glenn Burke. He was a baseball player.”
“Ah. What was he, another Jackie Robinson or somethin’?”
“Uh . . . in a way.”
“Cool. You deserve it, man. You done paid your dues, overtime. We gotta celebrate. And I just happen to have comps tonight for that spot I was tellin’ you about the other day.”
“Nah. I just wanna chill tonight.”
“You just wanna chill every night.”
“I got a jood reason. I’m gonna be carryin’ a film. I gotta prepare.”
“I know you don’t start filmin’ on Monday.”
“No, but I can’t take any chances. I also gotta rest up for the party tomorrow.”
“All you gotta do is be there, yo.”
“Dealin’ with a house full of teenagers? I’m gonna need all the rest I can get.”
“You need to get outta that house.” He sounds like Raheim’s father. They’ve both been on him about holding himself prisoner in the apartment. “Come on. We can have a victory dinner before. My treat.”
He ate not too long ago but never turns down free food. “A’ight. Where you wanna meet?”
“You gonna drive into the city?”
“Yeah. It’ll be a hassle findin’ a parkin’ space, but I don’t wanna be bothered with public trans.”
“A’ight. You can come by the job to pick me up. I’m gonna be in the office for another hour.” After graduating from Baruch in 1999 with a degree in business administration, Angel won an internship at Nickelodeon that turned into a full-time gig as a production assistant. Last November, he became an assistant producer on The Brothers Garcia.
“I’ll be there around nine.”
“Jood. See ya in a bit.”
“A’ight.”
“One.”
“One.”
Chapter 7
“Well it’s about time, Mommie Queerest!”
“Gene greeted Mitchell as they embraced at the bar in Dayo’s, a Caribbean/soul-food restaurant on the outskirts of the Vill that the Children have claimed as their own on Friday nights. Mitchell was meeting Gene and his other best friends, Babyface and B.D., there for dinner. Now that all their lives had become so much more busy, they always set aside one night on the weekend each month to get together.
“If I’m Mommie Queerest, you’re Auntie Mame,” Mitchell shot back.
“Indeed. But the Rosalind Russell version, not Lucille Ball. We all hated Lucy in that. You don’t have the kiddies this eve, so why are you late?”
“Just because the kiddies are away doesn’t mean there isn’t work to be done around the house.”
“And just because you’re a housemaker with two-point-five children does not mean you become a hermit.”
“Point-five?”
“Yes. Goldie.”
“Of course.” Gene had purchased a goldfish for Destiny for her fifth birthday.
“And how is my Baby?” That’s how Gene refers to Destiny; he’s one of her four godfathers (Babyface, B.D., and Raheim being the others), but knows he’s number one.
“She’s jood. Are Babyface and B.D. here?”
He turned to the left. “Over there.” They were seated at a booth. “I had to get my drink.”
“Where’s the waiter?”
“We’ve been waiting for him to come back for ten minutes.”
A buffed Latino gent sauntered by, grinning at Mitchell. Mitchell nodded at him. “Well, food and drink aren’t what’s really on the menu up in here.”
“It sho’ nuff ain’t. But our waiter is not a smart cookie: I asked for a cranberry and orange juice and the boy brought me a glass of orange juice and a glass of cranberry juice.” This is the strongest thing Gene’ll drink: he gave up the hard stuff when 2000 rolled in. “You want somethin’?”
“Yeah. I’ll have the same.”
“Now, don’t not drink on my account.”
“I want to keep it light tonight. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
Gene ordered. “And how are things shaping up for Errol’s birthday bash?”
“Fine.”
“As soon as the weekend’s over, we have to start planning Destiny’s.”
“Her birthday isn’t for another six months.”
“So? You, Mr. Planning Parenthood, should talk. You’ve got that house running on such a tight schedule those children probably have to make an appointment to go to the bathroom. Besides, she is not having another soiree at that House of Horror.” That would be Chuck E. Cheese, where last year’s party was held. Everyone had enjoyed it except Gene. He didn’t feel anything—the atmosphere, the food, the service—was jood enough for his Baby.
“If you have your way, she’d have it at FAO Schwarz.”
A devilish grin formed across Gene’s face. “Hmm . . . now that’s an idea.”
Mitchell can’t get over how much mellower Gene has become in his older age—and Destiny is the reason why. All the zest and zeal he possessed was tempered by his bout with cancer in late 1996. While he beat it, he was beaten down by it—the two surgeries to remove lesions and the chemotherapy left him physically ill and spiritually spent. He didn’t have to, but he resigned as head of promotion at Simply Dope Records—and then resigned himself to spending his days and nights watching everything from old faves like The Golden Girls and Roseanne to newbies such as Judge Judy and Cybill.
But after he laid eyes on Destiny, the fire returned; he found a new reason to start living again. He’s worse than her grandmother and Aunt Ruth in the spoiling department: So she won’t have to transport clothes and toys from one place to another, Gene makes sure she has two of everything (there are some things Mitchell refused to let him double up on, such as a hot-pink Pedal Power Chevrolet Corvette and a Barbie Sport Jeep Wrangler; these items remain at Gene’s, where Destiny spends the second or fourth weekend out of every month). He’s made sure she’ll get the best education money can buy: Starting this fall, he’ll be paying her private-school tuition and has (along with her father) set up a 529 college savings program. And, while Gene’s vowed to “be around when she gives us grandchildren,” he’s made sure she’ll be well taken care of when he’s gone: She’s replaced Mitchell as the primary beneficiary of his estate, which has grown considerably in the last few years. Once Chelsea was officially christened New York’s new Caucasian queer mecca (as Gene remarked about this white flight, “The Village was gettin’ way too dark for them”), he couldn’t take all the “nordic nancies and nellies” running around. So he put his three bedroom co-op on the market in 1999 and within two weeks it was purchased by (what else?) a white gay couple for $1.25 million. Because the buyers each had seven-figure incomes (one was a theater producer, the other a VP at Viacom), they paid for the apartment with cash. Gene had the cashier’s check he received at the closing blown up, viewing it as “the greatest piece of artwork I’ve ever seen in my life.” He moved into a three-bedroom co-op in Harlem Towers; Raheim’s mother is his neighbor (Gene’s in building 702; she’s in 810). The apartment, though, is really Destiny’s domain: she has possession of two of the bedrooms (one to sleep in, the other to play in), one of the full baths (which Gene had painted pink), and two of the three walk-in closets. Gene even did something Mitchell, Babyface, and B.D. thought he’d never do: sell his prized stuffed animal collection (when Destiny turned two, the lion, tiger, and bear weren’t cute anymore, and she was afraid to step into his apartment). One of the few items he kept were the tusks from an elephant, Destiny’s favorite animal.
“Why not have the party at your place?” Mitchell remarked. “Now that your zoo has officially closed, you’ve got lots more room for kids to run and roam around in.”
Gene’s eyes narrowed. “Now, you know I’ll do anything for my Baby—but I won’t do that. I’d have to make every parent sign a contract stipulating that they’ll pay for any dama
ge done by their innocent little rug rats.”
“Like you wouldn’t want to go on Judge Judy?” She’s replaced Roseanne as the TV “character” Gene admires most.
Gene handed Mitchell his juice. “You know I would. But taking one of my Baby’s friends to court? I couldn’t put her through that; she’d probably lose a friend, and she’d lose respect for me.” Gene caressed the small locket hanging on a gold chain around his neck; it has a pic of Destiny inside (she has an identical one with his photo). As Gene paid the bartender, Mitchell shook his head in amazement: he never thought he’d see the day when Gene would care so much about how another person viewed him. Gene can still be a firecracker, but when it comes to Destiny, he’s nothing but Jell-O.
The bartender gave Gene his change; Gene left a few dollars as a tip. Then he and Mitchell made their way through the sea of brothers (not surprisingly, Gene knew many of them) to the booth.
There they found Babyface and B.D. hugged up and rubbing noses as B.D. played with Babyface’s locks, which are now past his waist. You’d think they were fourteen, not forty, the way they carry on. They’ll be celebrating ten years as a “married” couple this coming Valentine’s Day—and there aren’t many straight couples who can say that. And as their love has grown, so have their careers. In 1998, Babyface left the district attorney’s office, sick of trying to make cases against corrupt and abusive police officers and coming up against not only the blue wall of silence but the indifference of his own colleagues. So, with two other former New York DA’s, Gerardo Gomez and Dyanna Joyce, he opened a civil practice, specializing in police brutality and race/gender/sexual-orientation discrimination cases. One of their first: a suit alleging that, with the tacit support of the Board of Education, law enforcement was allowed to take Black and Latino male students out of high schools to appear in police lineups. Within a month, a settlement was reached: $7 million, to be split between twenty-nine families. Since then, they’ve literally given Johnnie Cochran and his New York City firm a run for their money, racking up an additional $35 million.
While his man worked that legalese, B.D. was steppin’ up a storm onstage. He’s had stints in Kiss of the Spider Woman, Rent, The Lion King, and Fosse, but it was his off-Broadway show, Fagnificent, a hilarious riff on sissydom, that put him on the Who’s Who in Theater map. Featuring his multiethnic, multigender, multiracial dance troupe, Imani, the show cleaned up at the box office and during awards season (three Obies, two Outer Critics Circle and Drama Desk Awards, and, when it moved to Broadway for nine months, a Tony for special event). It also received a Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation Award for best play, headlined the National Black Arts Festival, and was broadcast on both PBS and Showtime in consecutive years during Pride Month. After a year on the road, B.D. took and settled into a position teaching modern dance twice a week at City College in Harlem. His most recent public performance was on-screen, lifting both Catherine Zeta-Jones and Renée Zellweger in Chicago.
They are the Black SGL community’s power couple. And they’ve managed to juggle all of this and parenthood, too. They had no trouble adopting Korey—and it’s not because Babyface is an ace attorney who had the right connections and knew how to work the system. Truth is, there weren’t any concerns that the four-year-old boy would turn gay having two gay guardians.
After all, he came to them that way.
Whether he actually is remains to be seen; he’s only eight. But if he isn’t, it would certainly be a shock. Korey was—and, today, is even more of—a firecracker. He makes Christopher Lowell look like Clint Eastwood. This was why Claude, his father (and Babyface’s brother), didn’t want him. Babyface’s family never accepted Babyface, and he is one of the “straightest” gay men one could ever meet. So Babyface could only imagine the torture Korey must have experienced. Babyface’s great-aunt Geraldine said Eloise, Korey’s mom, defended and protected him from a lot of the abuse (the majority of it verbal, much of it from his father). Claude’s contempt for his only son, his only child, was so strong that, while his wife was in a hospital dying from ovarian cancer (which some misguided relatives felt was her “punishment” for giving birth to an “abnormal” son), Claude began the process of putting Korey up for adoption. (Geraldine would’ve volunteered but she was eighty-two.) It all brought tears to Babyface’s eyes—and B.D.’s. So when they attended his sister-in-law’s funeral, Babyface informed Claude that they’d take Korey. (He didn’t have to discuss it with B.D.; after Babyface told him about Korey, B.D. declared, “We have to go get him.”) Claude didn’t put up a fight; he probably figured that Babyface and B.D. couldn’t do any more damage to Korey (not realizing that he himself had done too much).
And seeing the instant connection B.D. made with Korey was further evidence to Claude that he could never embrace Korey in the same way. For B.D. and Korey, it was love at first sight. Babyface and B.D. arrived in St. Croix the night before the service, and from the moment he saw B.D., Korey clung to him. B.D. probably reminded Korey of his mother: light-skinned, pretty, and very maternal (he’s got a pumped-up chest, and if he could lactate, B.D. would’ve breast-fed him). Korey bawled when they were leaving to stay the night with Geraldine; without asking, B.D. packed him an overnight bag. That evening, he slept in B.D.’s arms. At his mother’s funeral, Korey sat on B.D.’s lap, not his father’s. When he kissed his mother good-bye, it was B.D. who held him over the casket, not his father. And at the burial site, Korey mourned for his mother (once again) in B.D.’s arms. Babyface and B.D. stayed an extra two days to take care of the paperwork and then brought Korey home. They had all his clothes, toys, and books shipped; the only thing Korey carried on the plane with him was a photo of himself and his mother.
While he was pleased that his life partner and nephew had bonded, Babyface was concerned about Korey’s being so flamboyant at such a young age. He and B.D. butted heads over whether and how they should discourage his overtly feminine ways. Not wanting to repress his personality, Babyface agreed that they shouldn’t restrict how Korey expressed himself, but B.D. had to promise not to go overboard in his “support”—which meant no Barbie, no Easy-Bake Oven, no pom-poms, and no jump rope (having a figure like B.D. in his life who did play with all those toys as a child meant he’d still get that kind of influence, anyway). Even if Korey identifies more with the opposite sex and turns out to be nonheterosexual, Babyface doesn’t want him to forget that he is a boy. He’s still taunted and teased by others, but at least he has a family that will stick up for and stand by him instead of joining the chorus.
He’s been with them for three years; he now calls Babyface “Daddy” (he started referring to B.D. as “Uncle” the night they met). He hasn’t asked about or for his natural father since the adoption—and, unfortunately, the same can be said for Claude when it comes to Korey. (Only Geraldine sends him birthday cards, Christmas presents, and calls twice a month.) Claude has remarried and has two more children, one of them “a real boy” (as he snickered to Geraldine). Chances are Korey will never know his half brother and sister.
The entire family has become media darlings. Last year they made it on the cover of U.S. News & World Report, under the heading THE NEW AMERICAN FAMILY. Of course, there is nothing “new” about it: Black SGL people have been assuming the roles of guardian and caretaker for generations, long before Caucasian queer men decided adoption was the new “in” thing—and Babyface and B.D. made this point on Good Morning America and The O’Reilly Factor. They also made the host of the latter program visibly uncomfortable by, as he put it, “flaunting their homosexuality” (they held hands during the broadcast; B.D. let O’Reilly know that he was uncomfortable with O’Reilly flaunting his ignorance). O’Reilly certainly would have gone to a commercial break if they’d been hugged up the way they were this evening.
Gene is disturbed by their being affectionate, but for an entirely different reason: he’s still the reigning King of the Love Don’t Live Here Anymore Club. “Will you two cut that shit
out?” he groaned.
B.D. motioned toward Gene’s drink. “There must be Haterade in that glass.”
Babyface chuckled. “Hey, Mitch.”
“Hey, you two.” Mitchell kissed and hugged them both.
“Darling, I’m used to this one being unfashionably late because he is late, but not you,” observed B.D.
“Don’t get it twisted, sister,” Gene snarled.
Mitchell settled in his seat. “Sorry. Did you two order yet?”
Babyface lifted his very empty glass. “Nope.”
Gene sucked his teeth. “That child still has not returned? He’s supposed to be waiting on us, we’re not supposed to be waiting on him.”
Babyface surveyed the room. “He’ll come back once he realizes we’re the only ones in here who want to order food.”
“Did you get the kiddies off?” B.D. asked Mitchell.
“Yes. And what about your kiddie?”
“He’s with his grandmother this weekend.”
“Ah. And how is your mom?” B.D.’s mother adores her son-in-law and is even crazier about Korey. She sold her home in Suffolk, Virginia, and bought another in Hillside, New Jersey, to be closer to them.
“She’s fine. Just”—he glanced at Babyface—“shocked by the news.”
“What news?”
B.D. snuggled closer to his man, linking his left arm through Babyface’s right and peering at him.
“We’re getting married,” Babyface announced.
“Again?” Gene snapped.
“Yes. But this time in Toronto, where it will be official in the eyes of the law.”
Gene stated the obvious. “As soon as y’all cross the border, it won’t be.”
Babyface inhaled. “We won’t be crossing the border. We’ll be staying.”
Mitchell’s eyes widened. “You mean . . . living there?”
They both nodded.
Gene stared at them, aghast. “You’re moving to Canada? Nobody moves to Canada. Didn’t y’all see South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut?”
“If they didn’t before, they are now,” argued Babyface.
A House Is Not a Home Page 6
