Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [71]
She pushed the small recorder up to my mouth and asked, “What do you think of the song ‘Any Way the Wind Blows’?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Your ex-girlfriend’s hit song. Do you love it? Is it about you?”
“Who are you?”
“You know me. When are you going to tell the truth about yourself?” she shouted. I noticed people staring at me, including Ananda, and I was feeling uneasy.
“Tell me who you are,” I said firmly as I used my body to block this woman from view. At times like this it paid to have a big body.
“I’m LaVonya Young. Your neighborhood diva undercover and I’m not going to stop asking my questions,” she said boldly.
I looked at her like I was Satan’s newest soldier and whispered, “Bitch, if you don’t get that recorder out of my face, you’re going to have even more weight in that fat ass of yours. Leave me the fuck alone!”
Movin’ On Up
I did something a diva should never do. I invited Desmond on a date and paid for everything. But I didn’t really call it a date, because I didn’t want him to think I was hard up for male company. Plus lots of men freak out when a woman takes charge, and I didn’t know Desmond well enough to know how he’d react. I just gave him the lame excuse that I felt obligated to take him out and celebrate the news that “Any Way the Wind Blows” had reached number five on the Billboard pop charts. Desmond seemed only mildly impressed with my news.
I knew he’d appreciate my talents even more after seeing a Broadway musical. I told him I’d been given the tickets to Aïda, when in fact I had paid a broker top dollar to make sure we would get fabulous seats. At a time like this, I wished I’d done a better job of being nice to my Broadway associates so I could have gotten house seats or comp tickets.
Desmond and I both loved Aïda, even though I think he loved it more. He raved about the star, Heather Headley, and couldn’t believe I thought she was just okay. “Trust me,” I said, “I would have worn that role out.”
When he kept talking about her elegance, I wanted to set him straight about one thing. I didn’t want him to think for one minute I was cutting my hair “boy short” to compete with that lanky beauty. Why should I, as a black woman, have to cut my hair when black men seem to be holding on to their hair for dear life with their cornrows, dreads and retro Afros?
For the most part, the evening was pleasant. Desmond looked handsome with his dreads pulled back in a ponytail exposing his face in full view. He was wearing jeans, but they were tight and he was wearing them well. I must admit that I was a little disappointed when Desmond ended the night with the gentle kiss of a new friend, and not someone hoping to become my new lover or a casual fling. I knew I would have to enjoy my rose petal bath alone.
• • •
After I finished my bath, I was having some herbal tea when the phone rang. Who is calling me this late? Maybe it was Desmond or Windsor, so I picked up the phone without looking at the caller I.D.
“Hello.”
“Yancey, this is LaVonya. I need to confirm a little item I heard.”
“Please contact Motown and schedule an interview,” I suggested.
“Oh, this will only take a minute. When are you going to talk about your child?”
“Good night, LaVonya,” I said as I hung up the phone. So it was LaVonya who was trying to rattle me. Could she be getting her information from Ava? And if so, how could I stop her?
I picked the phone back up and dialed the Plaza Hotel. An operator came on the line and I asked for Ava Middle-brooks. After a few rings, she picked up the phone.
“Hello.”
“Ava, this is Yancey,” I said.
“I know your voice,” she said calmly.
“You got to stop this mess,” I said.
“Stop what?”
“Stop sending me the pictures of the little girls,” I demanded.
“What are you talking about? I’ve been busy trying to get my management business off the ground, and I don’t plan to represent little girls. Are you going crazy? Maybe