Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [68]
“Is that all?” I said. I was thinking after taxes and legal fees I wouldn’t have shit. At least Ava’s money might be tax-free if I could convince her to pay me in cash.
“I think it’s a fair offer,” Gail said.
“You obviously don’t have bills to pay. And if I accept this offer, then that means he just walks away without anyone knowing what he did,” I said.
“That’s right. His lawyer has inserted a clause in your acceptance that you can’t talk about the suit or your relationship with Mr. Henderson. Ever!”
“Then fuck that. I want people to know about him,” I said. I thought I had lost enough men to women and Jesus. I was thinking about Brandon and this bumpkin named Dale I’d dated for a minute until he started trying to save me after fucking. He was so weird with his scripture-quoting ass. I let him stick around for a couple months longer than I should have because he had one of those “amaze-a-grow” dicks. The kind that on first sight looked like a link sausage but grew into a foot-long hot dog.
“Mr. Dunbar, as your attorney, I am strongly advising that you accept this offer,” Gail said firmly. I started to remind her that I was running this show and I didn’t want to be forced to tell LaVonya that she was being uncooperative.
“I don’t think so. I either want to go to trial or get more money.” I needed a trial if I was going to get enough attention to maybe write a book or at the very least be interviewed by Montel Williams—or maybe even Oprah if I played the game right. I could imagine myself putting Oprah on hold while I took calls from Bryant Gumbel and Barbara Walters.
“Then I think you’re going to have to find other representation. Plus you didn’t follow my instructions about not talking to the press. Good day,” Gail said as she hung up the phone. I muttered “arrogant bitch” to myself as I switched the television back to Judge Judy.
Then it occurred to me. Why did I need another lawyer when I had Ava?
Show Me Love … Please
It was a little past midnight. I was lying naked on my bed, sprawled out like a billboard hovering over Times Square. I’d spent the evening having drinks with Brison and Nico at Nell’s on Fourteenth Street, discussing a more lucrative offer from PMK. I was starting to think maybe we should sell the firm and I could move back to Florida or maybe even California. My youth was running out, and if I was ever going to live in LaLa Land, I needed to do it while I was still able to enjoy all the hunnies.
February had been a jacked-up month for me. Yancey’s song was everywhere. And everyone was trying to figure out who she was singing about. Nico told me females were now asking brothers, “Are you a Yancey B Boy?” when you tried to pick them up at bars. Brison told us how his wife had seen something in a gossip column about a model suing an ex-football star, and I acted as shocked as Nico. Throw in Bart’s dumb-ass lawsuit and February was anything but the month of love for me. The only good thing was that the Internet asshole had stopped sending me messages.
I got out of the bed to put on my Faith Evans CD, when I noticed that I had five messages on my answering machine. Before I’d left the office I’d checked and I didn’t have any.
The first message was from my nephew Cade, telling me how much he loved me. Next was my Pops, asking about his autographs from the Williams sisters and the Vegas trip. Then a call from Tiffany. I guess she hadn’t realized yet she was a one-night stand. The fourth call freaked me. It was from Rosa, saying she needed to speak to me immediately. What did she want? I wondered. I hope not to tell me how happy she was being pregnant, or maybe she had dropped her load and thought I needed to know if she had a boy or girl. I didn’t need to hear that shit. The last message was from Raymond, asking me to call him because he had great news. Since it was three hours earlier in Seattle, I picked up the phone. But before I could punch one button, I heard Raymond’s voice on the other end.
“Basil. Did you get my message?” Raymond asked.
“Dude,