“Let’s put it this way, Livonia,” I said. “Straight women, especially those of color, need to develop a gaydar first of all. Or at least should be comfortable acknowledging there are gay men out there.”
“Amen,” Livonia replied. “The naïve ‘I don’t know any gay men’ attitude is so 1950s chic.”
“You ain’t never lied,” I said. I felt a little too comfortable onstage and on camera with Livonia Birmingham. “When gay men live in a world where they feel comfortable being themselves, without fear of being judged, they’ll feel safe to be out, and won’t spring those gay surprises on anyone. Then you straight women won’t have to play the guessing games about your potential partners and fiancés. We’re all allies in this together, playing that guessing game.”
As for the four who played games with my life and career, I cared, but didn’t really care, about what happened to Tommie, Hamilton, Deacon, or Lamont.
Three lost their careers. Hamilton, Deacon, and Lamont faced criminal and civil charges, ranging from contributing to the delinquency of minors, to prostitution rings, to money laundering, to attempted murder, to distributing underage porn online, to violating my privacy and unlawful use of images for public use without permission. I pushed the last charge, due to those videos that I made, but didn’t really make, ending up online because of Deacon. Tommie made yet another comeback, reconciled with his former singing group Renaissance Phoenix, and began touring with other 1990s and 2000s R&B male groups. He remained in the closet, still.
All I cared that I was appointed to lead LADS again. I cared that I would be able to lead the young men and the organization back to the original reason I started it—that being smart, culturally empowered, and sexually empowered led to mental and physical health and well-being.
Chapter 45
Tyrell held a press conference soon after my Livonia Birmingham Show appearance and told his truth, with my best friend Kyle by his side fielding any legal questions.
Though he mentioned that he and Tommie Jordan had a complicated friendship and business partnership at one point, he said he’d allow Tommie to tell his own truth on his time. On Kyle’s advice, and to my relief, Tyrell made no announcement about his newest romantic interest—me. It wasn’t needed. I was ready for life out of the spotlight.
The day after his press conference, Tyrell resigned from his contract playing professional basketball. He wouldn’t tell me if he was pressured to resign, resigned on his own, or if he was straight-out fired.
But one sign that he didn’t just resign was the eight-figure check he received from the league immediately after submitting his resignation, along with a contract agreeing never to talk about anyone other than himself when speaking of his career in professional basketball. I guess his former bosses and owners worried that Tyrell would out other gay ball players, thus harming the reputation (in their minds) of the league. In my view, if they were smart, they’d have catered to the gay audience a whole lot more—all those fine, dark, sweaty men running around in basketball shorts always kept the gays talking. There was an audience. A loyal one. Plenty of money to be made, if they marketed right.
“But I’m relieved, so don’t press it, Malcolm,” Tyrell said as he propped his head on my lap. I rubbed the side of his face. “As long as I got you, I’m cool.”
He was as down-to-earth as when we first met, still visiting me at my little Silver Lake apartment. The only difference now was my security guard team watching the apartment building. Death threats from the FCNs—the Fake Christian Nice crew, as I now called them—after what LADS and I “did” to Reverend Lamont Murphy. How about what they did to me or the guys at LADS?
“You say that now,” I said, and realized again I was doubting Tyrell’s attraction to me. I would have to stop that. Tyrell Kincaid, former pro basketball player, was in love with me. “And I hope you say that forever.”
“Believe me babe, I will,” he said, staring up at me. “And you know what else?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
What more could I want? I was living every gay guy’s fantasy by dating a famous athlete. That he was nice, intelligent, and concerned about my dreams and wants was icing on the cake.
“Once you get settled into your LADS work again and I start these speaking engagements all over the place, I want to move us into a nice little house,” he said. “Nothing too extravagant, but a place where I know you’re safe, babe.”
“We won’t need security forever,” I said. “But yes, I love that you want to keep me safe.”
“And then I want to hire Blake and DeMarco to manage my schedule and office,” he said. “And if you want your sister Marlena and your mom close, for Blake’s sake, I will have a little guest house built on the property behind our house.”
“That’s all?” I said and smiled. I didn’t want to start out our new relationship with him managing all the shots. I still valued being independent, empowered, and in control of my life.
“I’m sorry, Malcolm,” Tyrell said. “Those are all my wants. What are yours?”
I leaned down closer to Tyrell’s face and kissed him.
“Hiring Blake and DeMarco is fine,” I said and smiled. “They will appreciate the opportunity, I’m sure. Blake doesn’t want to move back to Indiana after all the excitement he’s experienced here in L.A. I don’t know about Marlena and my mom living that close to me. We’ll talk.”
“Good deal,” he said. “I’m all for keeping it drama free.”
“Well, about the house,” I said. I didn’t know how to put this without sounding like a gold digger. “It’s your money, so make it as extravagant or simple as you want. I happen to like gyms and exercise equipment, now that you’ve hired us personal trainers, so a home gym would be nice. But I have another request…no, two.”
“Whatever you want, Malcolm.”
Tyrell was nothing like Deacon, thank God.
But I just wanted to put it out there so there was no mistaking what my don’t-cross lines were. Years from now, I would be grateful for having this conversation with Tyrell. Not only would our friendship and romantic relationship continue to thrive, thanks to being open about our likes, dislikes, and what were non-negotiables, but our wedding after the Prop. 8 court decision finally came in would be a dream come true, and a major lesson in negotiating and planning, for both of us and our families. I would agree to sign a pre-nup, not because we anticipated a breakup (which would never come, by the way), but because I didn’t feel entitled to anything Tyrell had earned before we got together—and he’d earned a lot.
After our wedding, we’d see a level of fortune and success beyond our wildest dreams. Our romantic partnership would soon add a business component, the Mal&Ty Group, with my best friend Kyle as chief business officer, which would focus on representing queer people of color entertainers, actors, athletes, musicians, writers, and keynote speakers.
It would also include representing my nephew, Blake, who would eventually succeed as an openly gay, award-winning, multi-platinum hip-hop star and songwriter, including a reality show, which would air on BET and LOGO, winning over the hearts and minds of his generation, which parlayed into work on a national platform with a newly created Presidential Task Force on Queer Youth of Color, and later marrying the love of his life, DeMarco Jennings, my office manager at LADS, who would finish undergraduate degrees in Pan-African Studies and Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies at Cal State L.A. and a master’s degree in Social Work at University of Southern California, and who I’d eventually groom to lead the next and new generation of LADS coming through the organization on Crenshaw in South L.A.—we’d never forget our roots. Marlena would be proud and eat her words that there was no such thing as a gay rapper, since Blake would find success just as he was, and would eventually make her a grandmother after he and DeMarco utilized technology to have their own biological children via a surrogate.
Indeed, years from now, when Hillary Clinton actually did consider another se
rious run to become President of the United States (I’d make the Food Network’s new star Bernard, Kyle’s man—they’d stay together forever—eat his words about my 2008 primary vote for Hillary), and after Barack Obama continued to make history for all the communities that deserved advocacy, I’d look back and realize that the key to Tyrell’s and my successful life together was our communication…and also me getting over my nervousness over Tyrell’s celebrity status. At the end of the day, he was just another man who loved coming home to his man. Me.
“All right, Tyrell, you asked for it,” I said. “One, this mature relationship thing is new territory for me. So let’s just play it forward day by day, make each day better than yesterday.”
“It’s handled, babe.”
“Next, leave the computers, laptops, all that jazz in our respective offices. Maybe we can keep our tablets in our room.”
“I can handle that,” he said. “What else?”
“I know you’re eight years younger than me and into all those technology and gadgets,” I said. “But I don’t want any cameras inside our bedroom. Security cameras outside the house, yes. Inside, not so much. Blame it on being out of touch with my youth.”
We laughed.
“Agreed,” he said. “That’s all?”
“What do you mean, that’s all?” I asked. “You see what computers and cameras did to us this summer. And I don’t want any repeats of what my ex did to me.”
Tyrell cupped my butt in his hands and pulled me into him. I felt excitement coming on down there. Both of us.
“I love it when you’re giving orders, boss,” Tyrell said and winked. “But I should be worried about you exposing me…I’m the famous one in the relationship.”
“Ha, you’re funny,” I said.
“Just kidding, babe,” he said and kissed me. “Can I make another request? Since we’re stating our needs and all right now.”
“Whatever you want, big daddy,” I said.
“Since we’re doing away with the computers and cameras in our bedroom, can we keep doing it like we’re making GayClick videos?”
The magic of membership in the PBC.
“Tyrell, that’s a given,” I said and gave him the eye that said I was ready to take care of both our needs. “You don’t even have to worry about that.”
About the Author
Originally from Detroit, Michigan, Frederick Smith (FrederickLSmith.com) is a graduate of the University of Missouri School of Journalism and Loyola University Chicago. A finalist for the PEN Center Emerging Voices Fellowship and an alum of the VONA (Voices of Our Nations Arts Foundation) Writers Workshop, Fred is a social justice advocate. He lives in Los Angeles and works with college students to help them find their voices and develop pride in their cultural and gender identities. He is the author of Down for Whatever and Right Side of the Wrong Bed, a Lambda Literary Award finalist.
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Play It Forward Page 17
