Any Way the Wind Blows (12 page)

“I’m sorry to hear that. Next time you’re up for a show, give me a call and I’ll see what I can do.” I wanted to say
Diva?
Chile, please, don’t make me knock some sense into you.

“Thanks, but I won’t be doing Broadway anytime soon. I just turned down the lead in
Annie Get Your Gun,”
she said confidently.

“Why would you do that?” I asked. I bit my tongue to prevent myself from suggesting the producers would have to change the title to
Annie Get Your Switchblade
, with Marlana in the lead.

“I have a deal with Virgin Records. My single is going to drop in a couple of weeks,” she said.

“Really? Good luck. This is a tough business. You ladies have fun,” I said as I was leaving Windsor’s room.

“Oh, Yancey, there’s an envelope on the counter for you,” Windsor said. “Dionne saw it outside and brought it in.”

“Thanks.”

I walked into the dining room and over toward the bar area, where Windsor usually left my packages and mail. The brown cardboard envelope didn’t have a return address or a post mark, so I was a little bit leery about opening it.

I was sorry I did. Out fell two more photos of two little girls and another note. It read,
I’ve narrowed it down to two. Do you know which one is Madison yet?

• • •

I
opened my purse and took out a small mirror to check my makeup. I was getting frustrated. Michel and I had spent over six hours screening guys for my video. Almost fifty great-looking guys with bodies to match had responded to our casting call. But when we told them what they had to do in the video, all but one declined. You would have thought we were asking them to pierce a treasured body part. Even after we explained that viewers might not be able to see their faces, most declined. I wanted to tell them it was called “acting” for a reason. Yet most of these guys were models and probably didn’t know the difference. In one scene we wanted them to appear shirtless and embrace another man, and in the other we wanted them to wear some sexy underwear and look lovingly at another man. What was the big deal? Nobody had asked them to kiss. And the few who were interested were way too unattractive to be on the same screen with me. I mean, we’re talking bad skin, gold teeth, missing teeth and bleached blond kinky hair. One guy who had more bounce in his step than me had the nerve to decline for religious reasons. I wanted to say, “Honey, don’t you think God knows about you?’

“Michel, didn’t we tell the agents what we were looking for?”

“Sure did! But when they see a casting for a black man, they send anyone and everyone without really giving the guys the full story.”

“I certainly don’t appreciate their wasting my time.”

“I hear ya. Do you want something else to drink, Yancey?” Michel asked.

“No, I’m cool.” I said.

Michel was very attentive and always made me feel like I was a star who already had a number-one hit. When my song moved up only a few spots last week, I was concerned it’d reached its peak. Michel assured me that once we got the video in rotation on BET and VH-1, the single would shoot to the top.

Michel looked at his watch and said, “I’m going to see if this guy is waiting in the lobby. Sometimes models don’t always follow instructions.”

“Okay,” I said as I pulled out a mint and popped it into my mouth. Just as Michel reached the door, a handsome man with skin the color of the crease in a cinnamon roll walked in. The first thing I noticed was his dazzlingly white teeth and full-bodied lips. I guess the men on the West Coast weren’t the only ones bleaching their teeth.

“Is this the audition for the video?” he asked.

“It sure is. I was just coming to look for you,” Michel said. “Come on in.”

He walked confidently toward me and took a seat at the end of the table.

“Are you the singer?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m Yancey B,” I said as I extended my hand toward him.

“Nice meeting you. Are you the Yancey Braxton who was in
Dreamgirls
and
Chicago?”
he asked.

“That would be me,” I said cheerfully. I already liked this man.

“Have you ever done a video before?” Michel asked.

“Yeah, I’ve done a few, but never as a principal. This is for a principal role, right?” he asked.

“Yes, it is,” I confirmed.

“Tell me your name again,” Michel asked as he looked at the yellow legal pad on which he was making notes about the guys we interviewed.

“Bart Dunbar,” he said.

“Bart, yeah, that’s right. You had a great comp card,” Michel said.

“Thank you.”

“Bart, before we ask to see your body, I want to make sure your agent told you what the video’s about,” I said.

“He did,” Bart said quickly.

“So you don’t have a problem embracing another man?” Michel asked.

“I do it as often as I can,” Bart said as a huge smile crossed his face.

“So do you mind my asking if you’re gay?” I asked.

“No, I don’t mind, and the last time I checked I was.” Bart giggled without looking at Michel or me, like he was enjoying his own private joke. I admired his honesty, but I couldn’t help thinking, There goes another good-looking black man to the other side.

“So, Bart, do you mind standing up, taking off your shirt and dropping your pants to your knees? They did tell you to wear a swimsuit, right?” Michel inquired.

“No problem,” Bart said. He stood up and very quickly pulled his sweater over his head and dropped his pants. Bart had a great body, with a double-barreled chest, small waist and nice ass. It reminded me a lot of Basil’s body, except the skin and eyes were significantly different. Bart had serious eyes the color of warm walnuts, and he wore his hair cut
close. He had on tangerine bikini swimming trunks that looked wonderful against his skin. Michel scribbled down a few notes and then looked over at me and whispered, “What do you think?”

“He works for me,” I said.

“Great,” Michel said as he looked up at Bart and said, “The job is yours if you want it. The shoot is going to take place next Thursday at a studio in Harlem.”

“Hey, thanks a lot! I’m looking forward to it, and since I live in Harlem I won’t have far to go,” Bart said as he pulled up his pants and zipped them, then grabbed his sweater off the conference table.

“Thanks for your time, and I look forward to working with you,” I said.

“Me too. My friends who are Broadway groupies aren’t going to believe I’m working with Yancey Braxton,” he said.

“Yancey B,” I corrected.

“My bad, Miss Yancey B,” he said with that smile that must melt many a young gay man’s heart.

“I’ll contact your agent and book you right away. I’ll also have a final treatment messengered to your apartment,” Michel said.

“Cool,” Bart said as he tucked his sweater into his pants and grabbed his black leather bag from the floor. He shook Michel’s hand and then looked at me and asked, “Can I have a hug?”

“Sure,” I said as I gave my new leading man a simple embrace.

I
t was a little before midnight and I was getting ready to hit the sack, when my buzzer rang. I hit the intercom, and the doorman told me Bart Dunbar was downstairs. I had done a good job of avoiding his calls for almost a week, and even contemplated changing my digits. But I realized that wouldn’t do any good, since he still had my office number.

At first I was upset that Bart would show up uninvited, but then I remembered how hot our first session had been and decided he was as welcome as a soul food delivery after a month of eating in Russia.

I quickly brushed my teeth and put on a pair of black boxer briefs, which were sheer in the right places. No need to be shy.

A few moments later, I heard the doorbell ring. I waited almost a minute and then opened the door. I couldn’t appear like I was anxious to see him.

“Bart, whatsup?”

“Thanks for letting me up. I was in the neighborhood
and I thought I’d see what you were up to before I headed uptown.”

“I was getting ready for bed, got a long day tomorrow,” I said, trying to sound annoyed.

“Then my timing is perfect. Looks like you were expecting me.” Bart smiled as his eyes moved up and down my body with bullet speed.

“Bart, if I didn’t tell you the last time, I need to tell you: I don’t like surprises.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t keep you long. Can I use your bathroom? I hate using the public ones,” Bart said.

“Sure, in the master bedroom,” I said as I pointed down the hallway.

“Did you get my messages?”

“Yeah, I’ve been real busy at work.”

“I figured as much. I hope I haven’t been calling too much. Don’t want you to get a big head.” Bart laughed. I didn’t respond.

Bart removed his brown leather jacket and passed it to me. I draped the jacket on the back of my sofa, went into the kitchen and returned with two cans of ginger ale. Soft drinks at this time of night would prevent liquor-induced sex, and I’d be able to see just how good Bart was in bed. I had to admit Bart was looking good in tan cargo pants that were hanging off his ass with white underwear peeping over. I put on my Carl Thomas CD and took a seat on the sofa.

About five minutes later, Bart walked back into the living room and stood near the coffee table. I started to tell him to have a seat, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that the only place he wanted to sit was in my lap. I had twisted feelings
about whether or not I was going to allow Bart to seduce me twice in one month. Then I remembered how he had swallowed the jimmie in one skilled move, and it started to pump in urgent beat. My magic wand was ready to wave.

“Sorry that took so long,” he said as he looked around the living and dining area like he was seeing it for the first time.

“No problem. So how’s the modeling business?”

“Slow. But I did just book a video with a girl singer, so you’ll be seeing me on television real soon,” Bart said as he noticed the can of ginger ale on the coffee table. “You got anything stronger?”

“Some wine and beer in the fridge. Make yourself at home,” I said.

Bart walked toward the kitchen and asked, “So have you missed me?”

“Somebody missed you,” I said as I started to massage my jimmie. A few moments later, Bart walked back in the room with a glass of red wine in his hand. He was looking a little too comfortable in my home, so I made up my mind to make this an oral quickie and send him packing.

“What are you doing over there?” Bart asked with a sexy smile. I didn’t answer him, but I gave him a
let’s get busy
look, which both males
and
females understood. Bart took a sip of his wine and then placed the glass on the table.

“So you did miss me.” Bart smiled as he pulled his magenta turtleneck sweater over his head. He kicked off his light brown Timberland boots and then pulled his pants and underwear down with one quick motion. There he stood before me, butt-ass naked.

“You didn’t answer my question. Did you miss me?” Bart said.

“It’s all love,” I said.

“So I got it like that,” Bart said as he noticed his reflection in a mirror on the wall. He studied himself for a moment, touching the ripples on his stomach as he licked his lips. Then he turned back toward me and said, “Follow me.” I stood up like I was a fraternity pledge following orders and watched Bart and his naked ass walk down the hallway into my dark bedroom. I checked the double-bolt lock on my door and then followed Bart’s faint trace of cologne.

A
little before seven-thirty, I stepped out of a limo on Park Avenue into a cold winter air that had a sweetness about it. I was on my way to an interview on the nationally syndicated
Doug Banks Morning Show
. I certainly wasn’t happy about having to get up so early, but I knew the popular morning show would sell some more CDs. Before I got on the elevator, I stopped at a deli on the lobby floor and picked up a coffee and a buttered bagel.

Michel had offered to come with me, but I had convinced him that I could handle this on my own. I rode the packed elevator to the thirty-third floor without removing my dark glasses and ignored the stares of a couple of women who were either admiring my mink coat or looking at me in disgust. Either way it didn’t matter. I had paid good money for my coat and was prepared to slap into next week anyone who said anything to me.

About fifteen minutes later, I was in the studio with Doug and Dee Dee after they had played “Any Way the Wind Blows” and invited callers in to talk with me. Doug and Dee Dee
were really nice and told me how much they loved the song and how it had sparked a lot of debate with their callers.

“So is the song based on true life experience, Yancey B?” Dee Dee asked.

“I don’t know, because it certainly isn’t my life,” I laughed. I decide to make light of the questions and hoped Dee Dee would ask me about the CD and my future plans.

“So, Yancey B, I guess you’re saying that if the song is based on somebody, you’re not talking?” Doug asked.

“I’m saving a few things for my memoirs,” I joked.

“Lady, you’re much too young to be talking about any memoirs,” Doug said with a huge smile.

“Thank you, Doug.”

“So are you dating anyone?” Dee Dee asked.

“Right now I’m dating my career.”

“Have you ever dated a brother who was on the DL?” Doug asked.

“The DL? What’s that?” I asked. I knew what he was talking about but I figured if Doug took time explaining to me on what the down low was, my time would be up.

Instead of Doug explaining, Dee Dee did the talking.

“Now Yancey B, come on, girl. Where are you from?” Dee Dee asked as she pulled a sheet from my press kit and stared at it.

“I’m from Tennessee, but I’ve spent the last four years in New York. You know I did Broadway before I started my recording career,” I said.

“So you’re telling me you’ve never met one of those good-looking brothers who pretend to be straight, wining
and dining you, and then later you find out their best male friend is more than a friend?” Dee Dee asked.

I paused for a moment like I was really thinking about the question and then said, “No, I can’t say that I have.”