Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [78]
“I guess not. So you really think you could find my parents? I mean, if they’re still alive?”
“Darling Bart, Ava can do almost anything,” she said confidently.
“Then why don’t you get even with Basil without me?” I asked.
“Because he would come after me, and then my sister. Lord knows she’s been through enough. I’ll be honest with you, he’s holding some information he has on me. I know this might surprise you, but Ava hasn’t always been a good diva. Have you thought about what you’re going to say to the people on our list?”
“I was just going to say whatever you thought I should say.”
“What if I make a call, maybe to one of his clients? You listen to me and see how easy it is, and then you give it a try,” she said softly. She made it sound so easy, but when I still hesitated, she added toughly, “Basil doesn’t give a shit about you, and if you think he’s going to brand that beautiful ass of yours, then it’s just wishful thinking. He’s probably fucking some great-looking man right now.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right, or some stank-ass female,” I said. My anger toward Basil and his partner was returning, aided by Ava and the alcohol.
“This is what I would do,” Ava said. “I would just call—say, for example, this new client of his, Daschle Thompson. I would say, ‘Do you know that your agent is a faggot?’ Don’t say ‘bisexual,’ because those dumb-ass jocks might not know what you’re saying. You need to use terms like ‘dick-suckers’ and ‘butt-fuckers.’ Don’t mention women, ’cause that might turn their sick asses on. Same thing with his father. He’s from the old school and won’t know what words like ‘bisexual’ and ‘gay’ mean. You have to talk on their level and use terms like ‘sissy’ or ‘punk,’” Ava continued. She was drinking, and I continued drinking, and all of a sudden Ava’s plan sounded like a lot of fun. I took another gulp of my brandy, and with glassy eyes and slurred speech I looked at Ava and said, “Give me the numbers and pass the phone.”
• • •
I woke up with a throbbing hangover, but I couldn’t let that stop me. Bart, old boy, you got some serious shopping to do. I took a quick shower and put on my leather pants and off-white turtleneck sweater. I called Wylie and left him a message asking if he could meet me at my apartment later that evening. I had some apologizing to do.
I walked down to Sylvia’s soul food restaurant even though the winter wind was blowing without mercy and I had left my skullcap at home. I reached Sylvia’s and was warmed by the packed restaurant and the rich scents coming from the open kitchen. I ordered chicken livers, scrambled eggs, grits and toast. I drank two cups of black coffee and then reached for my wallet and pulled out my little gift from Ava. A check for one hundred thousand dollars made out to Bartholomew Dunbar. I felt a little bad about what I had done to Basil, but I also felt I had earned every penny Ava had given.
I whipped out a little notebook and wrote down a “to do” list. I wrote down: Go to bank and deposit check; shop; pay rent for two months in advance; shop; go to gym and get haircut; shop some more. Just as I finished my list, the waitress placed a piping-hot plate of food in front of me and I began to chow down.
When I finished eating, I pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill and gave it to my waitress and told her to keep the change. My kindness caused an unexpected reaction. She started crying and said, “I’ve just got to hug you. I need some extra money so I can get my son some Jordans for his birthday. Thank you … thank you,” she said as she hugged me tight.
“Glad to do it. I’m a waiter too, and I know how hard you work,” I said.
“You wait tables somewhere up here in Harlem?” she asked.
“Naw, I worked downtown. But I don’t have to wait tables anymore,” I said cheerfully.
“What happened? Did you hit the lottery?”
“I guess you could say that.” I grinned as I put my jacket on and walked out of the bustling restaurant.
I stopped at the bank and deposited my