Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [53]
The house was quiet, and I missed Windsor. After the wedding, she and Wardell had moved to Columbia, South Carolina, and we had talked a couple of times on the phone. We made plans for me to visit a couple of months after the baby was born if my schedule permitted. I didn’t tell Windsor I was somewhat nervous about being around a newborn.
Things were going okay for me. No more pictures or phone calls from that mystery wacko, and my song moved up the charts to number twenty-three and the album debuted at thirty-one. Motown was putting together final plans for me to begin touring as soon as they found a suitable big-name male singer I could open up for.
I took the final sip of port and was on my way to the bar to pour another glass when the doorbell rang. I was listening to Erykah Badu’s new album, Mama’s Gun, because I wanted to see what the competition was doing, but I put Miss Badu on mute as I went to the door and looked out the peephole.
I saw a man with his back turned toward me, but with one glance I knew who it was. It was my ex-fiancé, John Basil Henderson. My body suddenly knotted up bone by bone. Why was I nervous? Should I open the door? I thought a few minutes, and when the doorbell rang again, I took a quick look at myself in the mirror and cracked open the door, keeping the chain lock on.
“Yancey,” Basil said as he turned and faced me.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“I need to talk to you,” Basil said.
“Yeah, I know you do. But everyone wants to talk to me these days. You’ll have to get in line,” I said, sounding harsher than I felt. I knew he was bound to show up at some point.
“I just took a chance you might have some time,” Basil said in a solemn and defenseless voice.
“I’m really tired. I had a long day,” I said.
“All I need is a few minutes. Are you going to let me in?” Basil asked. There was an awkward silence for a couple of moments, and then I finally said, “Come in, but I’m putting your ass on the clock.”
Basil walked in and began pulling off his cashmere jacket. He was wearing a sweater the color of ripened limes and draw-string black leather pants that fit his body like they were made for his ass and his alone. Damn, he smelled good, like he’d been lathered in soap and then glazed in a marvelous cologne. I couldn’t help but notice the hard roundness of his biceps testing the strength of the sweater’s fabric, and I wanted to push him out the door before I ripped off his clothing. Basil was the last great sex I had enjoyed, and I missed it badly.
There he was, standing in the foyer of my home with a hopeful smile on his face. A wave of mixed feelings took over my body. First was the powerful memory of our love affair and some of my own tender recollections. There were times I felt like the world was standing still and we were the only two people alive, when Basil would look into my eyes and tell me how much he loved me. Most times I believed him. I thought about how he used to shower me with flowers and beautiful gifts. But mostly I remembered our love-making and how we spent most nights sleeping like two Tiffany spoons. Yeah, Basil loved a beautiful ass; the only problem I had with that was it didn’t seem to matter if it belonged to a girl or a boy. Then I started to remember the morning of our wedding, when his eyes looked so cold and he told me he could never marry someone like me. When I tried to hold him that day, his body felt like a block of ice. Now, just as my life had calmed down, and the wounds of rejection had healed, I’d allowed Basil to walk into my home like he belonged here.
“You look great,” Basil said.
“Of course I look great. Did you expect me to turn into a broke-down stank ho ’cause you can’t decide which side of the bread you like buttered?” I said while thinking, Give it to him, girl. Let him