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“How are you, son?”

“I’m fine. Is everything all right?”

After a few moments of silence, my father asked, “Basil, are you a homosexual?” I was stunned into silence for a few seconds and then I said, “Pops, what are you asking me? Hell, no. You know me. It’s me and the ladies, and why would you ask me something like that?” I could feel thin beads of perspiration begin to form around my neck, and if Nico had started the burn in my body, my Pops’s question was about to ignite a certain explosion. Yancey and/or Bart had taken this little game of revenge too far. It was okay to mess with me, but this was my Pops. He was my heart.

“I didn’t think so, son. But a couple of nights ago, some young man called me and told me you were a homosexual. That you’d been one all your life.”

“What young man? Did he say who he was?”

“No.”

“Pops, I think it’s somebody from one of our rivals who’s upset that we won’t sell them our firm. They’ve called several of our clients, telling them the same thing. Trying to run us out of business. But it’s all bullshit,” I said as I started to unbutton my shirt. So Bart was behind these calls, but how did he get my Pops’s number? As far as I knew, he didn’t even know where my Pops lived.

“I asked him how he could say something like that about my son, but he just yelled for me to shut up and listen.”

“Why didn’t you just hang up?”

“I did. Then he called back and said something that just broke my heart. Basil, you got to be honest with me. Did my brother …” My Pops paused, and his voice sounded strained, like it was pleading for answers.

“What, Pops?”

“Did my brother, your uncle Mac, do unnatural things to you when you were a little boy? Did he make you homosexual? Tell me the truth, son.”

“No, Pops. It never happened,” I said quickly as I lowered my body to the floor in my dark and silent apartment. I couldn’t believe how my life was unraveling right before my eyes, hour by hour. As I sank to the floor, I felt shame and embarrassment wash over me like some stank body wash. I wanted to step into a steaming shower and never leave.

“You promise me? ’Cause if it did happen, I will go and dig the sick sonofabitch out of his grave and kick his ass,” Pops said. My heart began to pound at each word, and I could feel the pain in his voice.

“Pops, don’t do this to yourself. I promise it didn’t happen,” I said as I began to rock my body back and forth in anger.

“I spent all day just thinking back. I used to leave you with Mac so many times when I was on the road driving all the time. But it was the only thing I could do. I couldn’t take you with me and keep you out of school. It wouldn’t have been right. I also ’member how once your mother asked me if Mac was funny. I know he had his ways. But he was married. He was a man.”

“Yeah, he was. Don’t believe this stuff, Pops. Remember Uncle Mac the way you used to. It’s just playa-hating at the highest degree. It’s a lie,” I said in a reassuring voice.

“I believe you, son. I’m sorry,” he said, and then he added as an afterthought, “I’m supposed to go out and do a little bowling. Drink a few beers with my lady friend.”

“You do that, Pops. I’m going to come and see you soon. We still got to take our trip to Las Vegas,” I said.

“I look forward to it, son. We need to spend more time together. You ain’t gettin any younger.” He laughed nervously.

“I know that, Pops. I got to go. Roll a strike for me.”

• • •

One hour later, I was on my way to Harlem with an aluminum baseball bat in hand. As I walked the two blocks to the garage where I kept my car, I felt the coldness of the wind rushing from the dark sky, but my body was still warm with anger.

After I hung up with my Pops, I located the piece of paper with Bart’s number and his address from our first encounter. I called him a couple of times, and when I tried for a third time, an automated voice informed me the answering machine was full.

When the attendant drove my silver Porsche in front of me, I hopped in without even tipping.