Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [14]
“You know that’s what I do when I wake up every morning. Think of ways I can be like my guy, Basil Henderson,” Raymond said.
“True dat,” I said.
“True,” Raymond said.
“Who did he marry?”
“A young lady he met on his first day in San Diego. She’s the real estate agent who sold him his house,” Raymond said.
“What happened to the Asian chick he was dating?”
“They broke up a couple of years ago. I can’t tell you how happy my Pops is that he married a beautiful black woman. I keep telling my Pops he’s a racist, but he tells me black people can’t be racist.” Raymond laughed.
“I know a lot of black racists. But most of them hate their own,” I said as I smiled to myself when I heard Raymond refer to his father as “Pops.” Raymond and I were alike in more ways than I wanted to admit to myself.
“I hear you. I hope I hang around long enough to see all these isms gone for good,” Raymond said.
The conversation was getting a little deep for me, so I tried to change the tone and asked, “So how ya doing? It’s been almost a year since we got to hang out in ATL at the Super Bowl.” I had taken Raymond to the Super Bowl last year, and despite an ice-covered Atlanta, we had a good time. Just as friends, two men who enjoyed each other’s company. Raymond had insisted on paying for his own and separate hotel room, even though I had a nine-hundred-square-foot suite at the Ritz-Carlton in Buckhead. I guess he didn’t want to tempt himself, since I loved being butt-ass naked and did it every chance I got.
“All is cool on the home front,” Raymond said. I guess he was trying to tell me that he and old boy were still going strong.
“That’s cool.”
“How about you? I know you got somebody up there to help console you,” Raymond said.
“Naw, I just broke up with this honey I was seeing. You remember the flight attendant, Rosa? The one who backed out of the Super Bowl trip at the last minute? She’s the reason you got to go,” I laughed.
“Oh yeah, Rosa. Make sure you thank her again, but I know you got some pretty boy on the side,” Raymond teased.
“You’re the only pretty boy I would keep on the side, and you’ve made it perfectly clear I can’t have you.”
“So how is your father?” Raymond asked. I guess he wasn’t going to respond to my flirting.
“He’s cool, though I think he already had his suit picked out for the ceremony, so I feel bad not making it into the Hall.”
“That’s okay, next year he’ll get the chance to wear it,” Raymond said reassuringly. His support made not making the Hall a little easier to take. At least for tonight, I thought as I thanked Raymond and said good night.
• • •
I was unable to sleep, so I got up and went online. I was secretly hoping there was some late-breaking news and that by some fluke I’d actually made the Hall of Fame. I logged on and checked a few sports sites. Nothing.
I checked my messages and saw there was a new one from SWALZ. I opened it and began to read: Don’t you know they don’t let closeted bisexuals into the Pro Football Hall of Fame? Not on the first time. Not anytime soon.
I started to write back a nasty response but still felt it was best just to ignore this asshole, so I clicked off the Net and climbed into bed and tried to give sleep another shot.
• • •
This is a real nice building,” Sallye said as I opened the door.
“It’s all right,” I said as I handed my keys to the doorman and asked him to take my car to the garage.
While we rode the elevator Sallye Morgan, a young lady I had just met a few hours before, looked around like a little girl riding an elevator for the first time.
“I must say, Basil, you got it going on. Nice car and great building. What did you say you did for a living?”
“I didn’t say, but I have my own business.”
The elevator reached my floor, and I held my hand out so Sallye could walk out first and I could get another view of this tall and beautiful brown-skinned sister I had met at Lola’s having drinks with some of her girlfriends. Sallye had saved me in a way. I was there checking out the new