Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [83]
“Are you dating anyone now?”
“No, I broke up with someone a couple of weeks ago, and it left a pretty bad taste in my mouth. Please pardon the pun,” Bart said, and giggled.
“Why do you think so many men are gay? Or, more importantly, bisexual?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you what I think if you answer a question for me,” Bart said.
“What?”
“Have you ever dated someone who was gay or bisexual, and if the answer is yes, is that where your song came from?”
“You promise not to tell anyone?”
“I promise on the gay boy pledge of silence,” Bart said as he playfully raised his hand in the air like he was taking an oath.
“Yes,” I replied quickly.
The waiter interrupted Bart’s next question when he placed two fried-oyster salads in front of us. I had not received the kind of service Bart and I were receiving in a long time. Every minute the waiter was standing over us and checking to see if everything was fine. I told Bart he should just go ahead and give the guy his number so that we could eat in peace. When it seemed the waiter was finally giving some service to his other tables, Bart had a question.
“Was he someone famous?”
“Who?”
“The man you dated?”
“Sorta.”
“This is getting good,” Bart said as he took his fork, picked up an oyster and dipped it in the tartar sauce.
“But that’s all I’m saying about my past,” I warned Bart.
“That’s fine. Baby, your song is making the kids cry out. I mean, everybody is talking about the song and the video and wondering who you’re singing about. And the club version of ‘Any Way the Wind Blows,’ is just over the rainbow and back again,” Bart said as he snapped his hand quickly in the air.
“Do you think someone could really be bi? I mean, if a guy loves women, then what can a man do for him?” I asked.
“Bisexual men are just selfish jerks. They want everything. I think you women are partly responsible,” Bart said.
“What do you mean?”
“I think sometimes men try it because the first time they see a woman roll her eyes back and shrink with pleasure while she’s being drilled, he thinks, I want some of that,” Bart explained confidently. Now, that was something I had never thought of, but the thought of two men making love still caused a certain degree of disgust within me. Maybe it was because every time I imagined two men together, one of them was always Basil.
I was a bit surprised when Bart called me out, so to speak, by telling me that I was the kind of woman who thought gay sex was nasty.
“Why do you say that? I believe in letting people live their lives. And I couldn’t be homophobic and be in show business,” I said.
“I’m not saying you’re homophobic, but you strike me as the kind of woman who thinks dicks don’t belong anywhere but between the legs of females. And I feel just the opposite. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. I just get sick and tired of people talking about what is wrong and what’s right about sex. What God had planned, and so on and so on. I want to tell them if God thought gay sex was so nasty, then why did he create a body part that brings me so much pleasure?” Bart said. His voice was quiet and steady.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said softly. I was getting ready to ask another question when Bart’s cell phone rang.
“Excuse me for a second,” Bart said as he popped open his silver cell phone. I was thinking about how I was going to get Desmond to spend some downtime with me. I was so happy to get away for a couple of days from cold-ass New York.
I turned around to ask the waiter for more iced tea when I heard Bart’s voice change suddenly. He started yelling, and several people turned around to stare at our table.
“What do you mean I’m overdrawn? I just deposited a check for two hundred thousand dollars about five days ago. Yes, I think you better check your records,” Bart said as his eyes blinked in a very nervous fashion. I pulled out my cell phone and called Windsor, but I kept one ear on Bart’s