Any Way the Wind Blows (18 page)

“That’s nice,” I muttered as I looked at my watch and wondered where my driver was.

“So tell me. Have you heard from that sick ex-boyfriend of yours?”

“Who?” I asked. I knew she was talking about Basil. Ava gave me an
are you stupid?
look and said, “Yancey, don’t play with me. You know I’m talking about Basil.”

“He called, but I haven’t spoken to him,” I lied.

“What did he want?”

“I guess he called to congratulate me on my success. My song is the talk of the country,” I said proudly.

“Child, you better get the getting while the getting is good, ’cause there ain’t no real singers out there. I mean, Britney Spears and that group Destiny’s Dolls. Those girls are something else! I mean, what kind of parents are raising these children?” Ava asked as she looked around my apartment.

“I think it’s great that Destiny’s Child has parents who are so involved in their careers. And if record sales are any indication, they’re doing a pretty good job,” I said. Ava rolled her eyes at me and then glanced around the room. I could tell from the
look on her face that her next topic of conversation would include a few body blows to my budding recording career. To avoid that, I got up from the sofa and went over to my desk and pulled out one of my early reviews from
Entertainment Weekly
.

I stood near my dining table and said, “Listen to this,” as I began to read the review. “Motown’s Yancey B has a hit on her hands the first time out. With great lyrics matched with lovely melodies, the results are exquisitely brilliant. An album that tells a story with each song. Yancey B’s Broadway-trained voice, with a little bit of soul and pop, shines on the first single, ‘Any Way the Wind Blows,’ and with this beautiful voice Yancey B is going only one way. Straight to number one. Grade: A+.”

“Did you write that?” Ava asked coldly.

“No, I didn’t. That’s from
Entertainment Weekly
,” I said proudly.

“Do you have anything to drink? My throat is parched,” Ava said as she gently touched her neck.

“What would you like?”

“Water or wine. I don’t imagine you have any snacks around,” Ava said. I walked into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of water and silently congratulated myself on my self-restraint. I wanted to tell Ava to get her ass out, but I was not going to let her ruin my day. I walked back into the living and placed the bottle of water on a coaster.

“What, no glass? Who do you think I am?” I turned toward the kitchen to get a glass when she said, “That’s all right. I can drink it out of the bottle.”

Ava drank almost half of the water and set it back on the table. Suddenly her voice changed, taking on the dramatic
manner she used to describe her latest schemes. “Yancey darling, I have figured out a plan to make you even bigger than most limited-talent girls ever get. We might have to eliminate a few with
Enquirer-like
scandals.”

“I’m not interested,” I said firmly.

“What! Are you crazy? One hit doesn’t make a star.”

Just as I was getting ready to tell Ava where she could go, the doorbell rang. I rushed to the door and looked out the peephole. An older white man stood there holding a sign with my name on it. I quickly opened the door like I was trying to escape from prison.

“I’m here for Miss Yancey Braxton,” he said.

“I’m Miss Braxton. I’ll be with you in a few seconds. Come on in,” I said. I usually didn’t invite drivers into my home, but I figured it would be one way to get Ava out of my house, since I knew she didn’t associate with hired help.

“So I guess you’re kicking me out?” Ava said as she got up from the sofa. I reached in the hall closet and grabbed my leather jacket. I grabbed my bag and gave Ava one of the fake smiles I’d learned from her, then said, “Good seeing you. I’m off to shoot my video.”

“I’ll have my driver follow you. Maybe I can give you a few pointers. You know what, maybe we should consider being a duo like the Junes. I mean the Judds. No, scratch that, it means I would have to admit to being a mother,” Ava said wistfully. “But I can still help with your first video.”

“Sorry, the director insists on a closed set. Make sure you lock the door when you leave.” As I followed the driver out the door, I heard Ava say, “Call me when you change your mind. I’ll be at the Plaza.”

M
iss Yancey B walked into the studio looking fabulous. If I were into women, then Yancey would be the kinda bitch I’d date. Beautiful, talented and in control. I bet she had all kinds of good-looking men sniffing behind her for just a little taste of her sugar.

“Bart, how are you, sweetheart?” Yancey said as she gave me a peck on the cheek like we had known each other for years. I was glad I had worn my suede pants and a form-fitting beige turtleneck. I wanted to show her I knew how to dress for success.

“I’m fine, Yancey. You look great,” I said.

“Thank you. Where is everybody?” she asked as she took off her short leather jacket and looked around the studio.

“The director is back there,” I said as I pointed to a small room with light pouring out into the large, dark studio.

“Oh, Desmond’s here,” Yancey said as her eyes lit up with an
I want to know you better
look.

“
Yep, he’s here. Doesn’t talk much, though,” I said.

“Do you think he’s on your team or mine?” Yancey asked.

“Depends which team you’re on, Miss Yancey,” I said. “Do you like boys or girls?”

“Oh, I guess you could say we’re on the same team. I like men. I don’t care how good a girl is, she ain’t getting near this,” Yancey said as she outlined her chest and hip area.

“I think he’s for you,” I said.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, the old gaydar didn’t pick up any signals, but he is a cutie,” I said.

“I like you, Bart,” Yancey said as she put her hands softly on my shoulders. “You keep me feeling like this and I might have to take you on tour with me.”

“Cool! So you’re touring?”

“Yeah, I think we’re going to wait until we drop the second single. They tried to hook me up with a male singer to tour with. But they want me to audition. And I am over that,” Yancey said.

“I heard that. Do you miss Los Angeles?”

“Child, pleeze, with all those fake-ass people? No, I don’t miss it a bit,” Yancey said.

“But I know movies have to be in your future,” I said.

“Yeah, but a lot of films are shot here in New York and in Toronto. Los Angeles has become so expensive,” Yancey said.

“What kind of roles do you want? I see you as the Sanaa Lathan/Nia Long type,” I said.

“They should see themselves as
my
type.” Yancey laughed. “I want the kind of roles Jennifer Lopez is getting. I hear that
heifer is getting nine million dollars a film. If they want to give away that kinda money, I wish they’d give it to somebody who can act, like Angela Bassett or me.”

“Ain’t that some shit. I mean, how many awards, nominations has she gotten? When Miss Angela, Vivica, Lela and all them
Waiting to Exhale
girls have to beg for roles, you
know
the business world ain’t fair,” I said.

“I hear you. Doesn’t it just drive you crazy when everyone talks about J-Lo as a woman of color? Do you think if the studio’d considered her a woman of color she’d be doing love scenes with George Clooney?” Yancey asked.

“I feel you! Even though I think he has a little case of jungle fever,” I said with a grin.

“I’m not a bit surprised.” Yancey smiled.

“Don’t you think it’s funny that Hollywood is supposed to be so liberal, yet there ain’t never gonna be a superstar black woman actress, much less a black gay male actor?”

“I hadn’t thought about that. I guess if you’re black and gay and you’re an actor, then you better keep your mouth shut,” Yancey said.

“And trust me, there are plenty of black gay male actors. They act when they’re on the screen and when they’re off. Showing up with their fake girlfriends and wives,” I said. I was getting my dandruff up. It happened every time I thought about all the black men who were afraid to tell the truth about who they really were.

“You got any names?” Yancey said as she rubbed her hands with glee.

“I might drop a few when I get to know you better. I
don’t know, though, you might be working undercover for the
Enquirer
or something,” I said, and laughed.

“I probably know more names than you,” Yancey said. Just as I was getting ready to see if I could pump any information out of her, my cell phone rang.

“Excuse me,” I said as I flipped open my phone and moved a few yards from Yancey.

“Hello,” I said.

“Bart, this is LaVonya. I just wanted to make sure you read my column tomorrow. There will be something on you and Basil.”

“I can’t talk right now. I am working,” I said.

“When will you be finished?”

“I don’t know. What’s it going to say?”

“Wait and see.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. Just as I was getting ready to hang up, my other line beeped. “I’ll call you back.”

“No need, darling,” LaVonya said.

I clicked over to the other line and said, “Hello.”

“Bart, this is Gail Dennis. I’ve decided to take your case and will be filing the lawsuit in a couple of days,” Gail said.

“Thank you. That’s great news. How much money do you think we can get?”

“Let’s just file the suit and see how he responds. One other thing: If I’m going to handle your case, I’m going to insist that you deal only with me. I don’t want to try this case in the media. Which means no ‘Lines from LaVonya.’ Do you understand?”

“I understand. Look, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you back later this afternoon,” I said.

“Fine. If I’m not in, have my assistant track me down,” Gail said.

“I will,” I said as I clicked my cell phone closed.

I walked back to the center of the studio, where Yancey was now chatting with Desmond and another very attractive man. He was light-skinned, with hazel eyes and perfect white teeth. He had a lean, muscular build and a nice bulge I couldn’t help but notice in his tight-fitting jeans.

“Bart, good seeing you. This is Evanston, your love interest in the video,” Desmond said.

“Nice meeting you,” I said as I shook Evanston’s hand. He had a firm handshake. Yancey looked at the two of us and smiled to herself.

“Same here,” Evanston said.

“Okay, let’s get started,” Desmond said as he and Yancey started walking toward the set. Evanston followed them, and I trailed behind, thinking, Maybe I won’t miss Basil so much, after all.

I
t was Monday or, as it was better known, BPN (Black People’s Night) on the UPN (U People’s Network). The only night of the week when you see brothers and sisters making fools of themselves like the white boys and girls do each and every night. I was drinking an orange soda and waiting for dinner from my favorite Italian restaurant in my neighborhood. When the doorman buzzed, I told him to send the delivery up.

A few minutes later, when I opened the door, I saw a tall, square black woman with unfriendly eyes. Before I could say hello or figure out why she was standing at my door without my food, she said, “John Basil Henderson,” in a very firm and authoritative voice.

“Yes.”

“You have now been served,” she said as she placed an official-looking document in my hand and disappeared before I could say “What the fuck?” I quickly opened the envelope, although I knew full well that punk-ass Bart had followed through with his threats.

As I read the document, a wave of anger welled up in me, especially when I read the words “sexual harassment and assault.” Every muscle in my body became tense, and I felt a slow explosion coming on.

My first reaction was to call Bart, or better yet, to head up to Harlem and kick his ass. Then I remembered Raymond’s offer to help, so I picked up the phone and hit the speed dial. After a few rings, a dude, not Raymond, answered the phone.

“Hello.”

“Is attorney Raymond Tyler in?” I asked, letting whoever had answered his line know that this was a business call.

“Can I tell him who’s calling?”

“Basil Henderson,” I said firmly. A few seconds later, Raymond picked up the phone.

“Basil, what’s going on?”

“Can you talk?” I asked. I wondered if his partner, or whoever that was, was standing near him, hovering over and listening to one side of our conversation.

“Sure.”

“That mofo sued me,” I said.

“Who?”

“Bart, the guy we talked about. I was just served with a lawsuit,” I said.

“What is he suing you for?”

“I haven’t read the entire document, but it says something about harassment and assault,” I said.

“Do you have a fax machine?” Raymond asked.

“Not at home, but we have several at the office,” I said.

“Then I need you to go up to your office and send me the
entire document tonight. I’ll look it over and give you a call later tomorrow. I’ll also contact his lawyer,” Raymond said.

“You know, this shit pisses me off. All I want to do is haul my ass up to his apartment and cram this document down his throat,” I said.

“Basil, I know you’re upset, but you need to chill. Listen to me. If you want me to help you with this, then just take the document and send it to me. I’ll take care of this, but I’m not going to handle any criminal assault cases because you lost your temper. Don’t think that every time your sex gets you in trouble, your fists can get you out.”

I thought about what Raymond was saying, and after a few moments, I said, “I feel you. Give me your fax number, and you’ll have the papers in an hour.”

• • •

T
hree days had passed and I still hadn’t heard from Raymond, and I was getting nervous, so I asked Kendra to get him on the phone. A few minutes later, she knocked on the door and said, “I have Mr. Tyler on the phone.” I wondered for a few seconds why Kendra had knocked on my door instead of using the intercom, but I couldn’t spend a lot of time thinking about that with Raymond on the line. “Raymond. Why haven’t I heard from you?” “Sorry, but I’ve been real busy working on this case. I had to look up the New York employment law, because Bart’s basically saying he didn’t get the job because he wouldn’t continue to sleep with you,” Raymond said.