Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [60]
“I can’t talk right now. I am working,” I said.
“When will you be finished?”
“I don’t know. What’s it going to say?”
“Wait and see.”
“I’ll do that,” I said. Just as I was getting ready to hang up, my other line beeped. “I’ll call you back.”
“No need, darling,” LaVonya said.
I clicked over to the other line and said, “Hello.”
“Bart, this is Gail Dennis. I’ve decided to take your case and will be filing the lawsuit in a couple of days,” Gail said.
“Thank you. That’s great news. How much money do you think we can get?”
“Let’s just file the suit and see how he responds. One other thing: If I’m going to handle your case, I’m going to insist that you deal only with me. I don’t want to try this case in the media. Which means no ‘Lines from LaVonya.’ Do you understand?”
“I understand. Look, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you back later this afternoon,” I said.
“Fine. If I’m not in, have my assistant track me down,” Gail said.
“I will,” I said as I clicked my cell phone closed.
I walked back to the center of the studio, where Yancey was now chatting with Desmond and another very attractive man. He was light-skinned, with hazel eyes and perfect white teeth. He had a lean, muscular build and a nice bulge I couldn’t help but notice in his tight-fitting jeans.
“Bart, good seeing you. This is Evanston, your love interest in the video,” Desmond said.
“Nice meeting you,” I said as I shook Evanston’s hand. He had a firm handshake. Yancey looked at the two of us and smiled to herself.
“Same here,” Evanston said.
“Okay, let’s get started,” Desmond said as he and Yancey started walking toward the set. Evanston followed them, and I trailed behind, thinking, Maybe I won’t miss Basil so much, after all.
May I Serve You?
It was Monday or, as it was better known, BPN (Black People’s Night) on the UPN (U People’s Network). The only night of the week when you see brothers and sisters making fools of themselves like the white boys and girls do each and every night. I was drinking an orange soda and waiting for dinner from my favorite Italian restaurant in my neighborhood. When the doorman buzzed, I told him to send the delivery up.
A few minutes later, when I opened the door, I saw a tall, square black woman with unfriendly eyes. Before I could say hello or figure out why she was standing at my door without my food, she said, “John Basil Henderson,” in a very firm and authoritative voice.
“Yes.”
“You have now been served,” she said as she placed an official-looking document in my hand and disappeared before I could say “What the fuck?” I quickly opened the envelope, although I knew full well that punk-ass Bart had followed through with his threats.
As I read the document, a wave of anger welled up in me, especially when I read the words “sexual harassment and assault.” Every muscle in my body became tense, and I felt a slow explosion coming on.
My first reaction was to call Bart, or better yet, to head up to Harlem and kick his ass. Then I remembered Raymond’s offer to help, so I picked up the phone and hit the speed dial. After a few rings, a dude, not Raymond, answered the phone.
“Hello.”
“Is attorney Raymond Tyler in?” I asked, letting whoever had answered his line know that this was a business call.
“Can I tell him who’s calling?”
“Basil Henderson,” I said firmly. A few seconds later, Raymond picked up the phone.
“Basil, what’s going on?”
“Can you talk?” I asked. I wondered if his partner, or whoever that was, was standing near him, hovering over and listening to one side of our conversation.
“Sure.”
“That mofo sued me,” I said.
“Who?”
“Bart, the guy we talked about. I was just served with a lawsuit,” I said.
“What is he suing you for?”
“I haven’t read the entire document, but it says something about harassment and assault,” I said.
“Do you have a fax machine?” Raymond asked.
“Not at home, but we have several at the office,” I said.
“Then I need you to go up to your office and send me the entire document tonight. I’ll look it over and give you a call later tomorrow. I’ll