Any Way the Wind Blows (21 page)

“I think it’s a fair offer,” Gail said.

“You obviously don’t have bills to pay. And if I accept this offer, then that means he just walks away without anyone knowing what he did,” I said.

“That’s right. His lawyer has inserted a clause in your acceptance that you can’t talk about the suit or your relationship with Mr. Henderson. Ever!”

“Then fuck that. I want people to know about him,” I said. I thought I had lost enough men to women and Jesus. I was thinking about Brandon and this bumpkin named Dale I’d dated for a minute until he started trying to save me after fucking. He was so weird with his scripture-quoting ass. I let him stick around for a couple months longer than I should have because he had one of those “amaze-a-grow” dicks. The kind that on first sight looked like a link sausage but grew into a foot-long hot dog.

“Mr. Dunbar, as your attorney, I am strongly advising that you accept this offer,” Gail said firmly. I started to remind her that I was running this show and I didn’t want to be forced to tell LaVonya that she was being uncooperative.

“I don’t think so. I either want to go to trial or get more money.” I needed a trial if I was going to get enough attention to maybe write a book or at the very least be interviewed by Montel Williams—or maybe even Oprah if I played the game right. I could imagine myself putting Oprah on hold while I took calls from Bryant Gumbel and Barbara Walters.

“Then I think you’re going to have to find other representation. Plus you didn’t follow my instructions about not talking to the press. Good day,” Gail said as she hung up the phone. I muttered “arrogant bitch” to myself as I switched the television back to
Judge Judy
.

Then it occurred to me. Why did I need another lawyer when I had Ava?

I
t was a little past midnight. I was lying naked on my bed, sprawled out like a billboard hovering over Times Square. I’d spent the evening having drinks with Brison and Nico at Nell’s on Fourteenth Street, discussing a more lucrative offer from PMK. I was starting to think maybe we should sell the firm and I could move back to Florida or maybe even California. My youth was running out, and if I was ever going to live in LaLa Land, I needed to do it while I was still able to enjoy all the hunnies.

February had been a jacked-up month for me. Yancey’s song was everywhere. And everyone was trying to figure out who she was singing about. Nico told me females were now asking brothers, “Are you a Yancey B Boy?” when you tried to pick them up at bars. Brison told us how his wife had seen something in a gossip column about a model suing an ex-football star, and I acted as shocked as Nico. Throw in Bart’s dumb-ass lawsuit and February was anything but the month of love for me. The only good thing was that the Internet asshole had stopped sending me messages.

I got out of the bed to put on my Faith Evans CD, when I noticed that I had five messages on my answering machine. Before I’d left the office I’d checked and I didn’t have any.

The first message was from my nephew Cade, telling me how much he loved me. Next was my Pops, asking about his autographs from the Williams sisters and the Vegas trip. Then a call from Tiffany. I guess she hadn’t realized yet she was a one-night stand. The fourth call freaked me. It was from Rosa, saying she needed to speak to me immediately. What did she want? I wondered. I hope not to tell me how happy she was being pregnant, or maybe she had dropped her load and thought I needed to know if she had a boy or girl. I didn’t need to hear that shit. The last message was from Raymond, asking me to call him because he had great news. Since it was three hours earlier in Seattle, I picked up the phone. But before I could punch one button, I heard Raymond’s voice on the other end.

“Basil. Did you get my message?” Raymond asked.

“Dude, this is strange. I just picked up my phone to call you and here you are on the other line,” I said, laughing.

“Great minds think alike,” he said.

“So what’s the word?”

“Looks like you lucked out again,” he said.

“Did Bitch Boy Bart take my offer?”

“Apparently not.”

“Then how did I luck out?”

“His lawyer called me today and said she was dropping the suit,” Raymond said.

“No shit,” I said as I sat back on my bed. This definitely was good news.

“We’re not out of the woods yet. It seems Bart and his lawyer have had a parting of the ways. I gathered from our conversations that she thought the suit was groundless and when he didn’t take our offer, she dropped the case. He could get another lawyer, but I can’t imagine any lawyers taking the case.”

“Raymond, dude, I owe you big time,” I said.

“Yeah, you do. I wish I could believe you’ve learned your lesson, but I won’t even try to convince myself of that. Why don’t you just find someone and settle down? Find a woman or a man, and save yourself and the people who love you some aggravation,” Raymond said.

“It’s gonna have to be a woman,” I said.

“Basil, why are you so afraid of men?”

“I’m not afraid of men, I just don’t trust them.”

“Why?”

“Bart is a prime example. Besides, you know me, I like the thrill of the hunt. And I know the male animal all too well, ’cause I’m one of them. Whoever has the most blood in his balls wins,” I said.

“I think one day you’re going to have a life-changing moment, and then you’ll surprise yourself and you’ll be ready to settle down,” Raymond said, his voice confident as usual.

“If that happens, you’ll be among the first to know,” I said.

“Okay. If you hear from Bart or somebody representing him, give me a call quickly and I’ll try and work my magic again. Thanks for calling me to help out.”

“Why are you thanking me?” I asked.

“For reminding me for a couple of days why I chose the
law,” Raymond said. “This was fun. I mean, when I told Bart’s lawyer that I didn’t believe her client’s claim for one minute, but that my client—that would be you—was too busy to defend himself against a frivolous lawsuit, man, I was feelin’ it.”

“So you’re going back to practicing law full time?”

“I doubt it. I like the slow pace of academia. It was just nice working on your case. Sort of like visiting an old friend.”

This was the opening I was looking for with Raymond, so I said, “Now that you mention old friends, when are we going to get together for a visit?”

“Who knows? Life is full of surprises,” Raymond said before saying good night.

• • •

T
uesday was more like fall than winter, with the bright sun streaming in through the car’s slightly open windows. Daschle and I were in the backseat of a limo on our way to Jersey to pick up his new BMW X-5. I was happy about the news I’d gotten last night, and I was glad to have Bart off my back. Daschle and I were two dudes rolling toward the future.

“Are you sure the car’s going to be ready?” Daschle asked.

“I had Kendra double-check. They’ve got the tags on it. The sound system has been installed. In about thirty minutes, you’ll be rolling big-time, D,” I said as we slapped each other with open palms.

“What about the phone?”

“They told me it was installed, but you’ve got to fill out an application to get the service turned on,” I said.

“Didn’t Kendra fill out all the applications?” Daschle asked.

“Yeah, but she couldn’t do this one. It won’t take but a few minutes to fill it out,” I said.

“Maybe I’ll just get the phone turned on when I get back home,” Daschle said.

I began wondering what the big deal was about filling out a simple application. Daschle pulled out one of the magazines in the back pocket of the car and began flipping the pages. I pulled out a copy of
Ebony
with Janet Jackson on the cover. I thumbed through the magazine and came to the article on Janet. I read a few sentences and then started laughing to myself. I playfully punched Daschle on the shoulder and said, “Hey, D, read this and tell me what you think.”

“Read what?”

“Read this,” I said as I pointed to the article.

“Is it about Janet Jackson? Dude, she’s dope. One of the most beautiful women in the world,” Daschle said.

“Yeah, you right. But read this,” I insisted.

“Is it sumthin’ ’bout her being single? You think I’d stand a chance when I’m flossing in the NFL, dawg?”

“Just read it and see,” I said.

“I’ll read it later,” Daschle said as he pushed the magazine away. He leaned forward uncomfortably and placed his magazine back into the pocket.

“D, I need to ask you something,” I said nervously.

“What’s up, B?” Daschle asked as he looked out the left side of the car.

“D, uh, can you read?” I asked. Daschle turned to me and looked genuinely shocked by my question.

“What are you talking ’bout? Shit, yeah, I can read,” Daschle said.

“Then read this,” I said as I opened the
Ebony
magazine again and placed it in Daschle’s lap. He quickly knocked the magazine to the floor of the car.

“Niggah, whatsup with you? Why you trippin’?” Daschle asked.

“Daschle, I’m concerned about you. If you can’t read, then I can get you some help. I’m not the kind of agent who’s only interested in getting a huge commission from my players. If that’s what you want, then the big boys can do that. I’m concerned about you after your playing days are over. You can’t be a baller your entire life,” I said.

“You don’t need to worry ’bout me. All you need to do is get me more paper than I know what to do with.”

“But if you can’t read, all the money in the world will be gone like this,” I said as I snapped my fingers in the air. Daschle didn’t answer, and his eyes looked cold and expressionless. The silence between us was as thick and hard as bulletproof glass. About five minutes passed, and when I looked up and saw we were coming to the exit for the car dealership, I thought I’d give it one more shot.

“D, listen to me. Man, I can get you a private tutor. It’ll be just between you and me. It ain’t nobody’s business. Be honest, D. Can you read?”

“A little,” he said softly.

“Do you know what level?”

“The last time I checked, a mutherfuckin’ counselor said on a third-grade level. When they told me that shit, I just quit trying,” he said. There was deep pain in his voice. I didn’t ask him how he had gotten into college and managed to last two years. There was no need to. I knew that when someone was a gifted athlete, there were ways around anything, including entrance exams and required classes.

I touched Daschle on his knee, and he flinched like he had been pricked with a needle.

“Say, man, trust me. This is a problem we can solve,” I assured Daschle.

“It might be too late, B,” he said sadly.

“Naw, D, it’s never too late.”

• • •

D
ealing with Dashcle and his problems had almost caused me to miss an event I was looking forward to: the Sportsman of the Year Awards, being held at Radio City Music Hall.

It was a cool winter evening as I walked down the red carpet frantic with sports stars like Derek Jeter, Alan Henderson, Jason Seahorn and movie stars like Samuel Jackson, Halle Berry, Angie Harmon and groups of fans smiling and waving as they walked into the auditorium.

I was looking mighty fly if I do say so myself in a midnight-black suit tailored to perfection by Everett Hall out of Washington, D.C., and a snow-white French-cuffed
shirt, no tie. I was enjoying being out with my peers and I smiled proudly for the pool of photographers. The only thing missing was a beautiful lady on my arm.

I was halfway down the red carpet when I spotted one of the most startling bodies I’d seen in a long time. The young lady was wearing a body-fitting floral silk dress and was posing like a fashion model for the photographers. I stopped to just look at her. Her ass was calling my attention in one direction, and her robust breasts were calling me in another. When she turned around and smiled, I realized this golden brown woman with long black hair and the face of an angel was television hostess Ananda Lewis of BET and MTV fame.

Just as I was getting ready to make my move, I heard someone call my name. “Basil Henderson, can I get a few words with you?” a female voice shouted. I turned around with a huge smile for the press and saw a large black woman with a small recorder in her hand. I walked over to her and asked, “What can I do for you?”

She pushed the small recorder up to my mouth and asked, “What do you think of the song ‘Any Way the Wind Blows’?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Your ex-girlfriend’s hit song. Do you love it? Is it about you?”

“Who are you?”

“You know me. When are you going to tell the truth about yourself?” she shouted. I noticed people staring at me, including Ananda, and I was feeling uneasy.

“Tell me who you are,” I said firmly as I used my body
to block this woman from view. At times like this it paid to have a big body.

“I’m LaVonya Young. Your neighborhood diva undercover and I’m not going to stop asking my questions,” she said boldly.

I looked at her like I was Satan’s newest soldier and whispered, “Bitch, if you don’t get that recorder out of my face, you’re going to have even more weight in that fat ass of yours. Leave me the fuck alone!”

I
did something a diva should never do. I invited Desmond on a date and paid for everything. But I didn’t really call it a date, because I didn’t want him to think I was hard up for male company. Plus lots of men freak out when a woman takes charge, and I didn’t know Desmond well enough to know how he’d react. I just gave him the lame excuse that I felt obligated to take him out and celebrate the news that “Any Way the Wind Blows” had reached number five on the
Billboard
pop charts. Desmond seemed only mildly impressed with my news.

I knew he’d appreciate my talents even more after seeing a Broadway musical. I told him I’d been given the tickets to
Aïda
, when in fact I had paid a broker top dollar to make sure we would get fabulous seats. At a time like this, I wished I’d done a better job of being nice to my Broadway associates so I could have gotten house seats or comp tickets.