Abide with Me (10 page)

The “Cuts” part belonged to Enoch Kitchens, master barber, and owner of the two-chair barbershop that was in the rear of the store.
Enoch had been in the haircutting business in the same location for more than twenty-five years. His shop was one of the few in Harlem that refused to go unisex. Enoch wouldn’t even hire female barbers.

Enoch, a widower for almost ten years, was from Church Point, Louisiana, but considered Harlem home for over thirty years. Enoch had moved there after leaving the army with his new bride. He wasn’t looking for a storemate when Peaches walked in some four years ago, but with a lot of men now getting their hair styled instead of cut, business was slacking off. Besides, he was instantly smitten by the fasttalking, take-no-mess Peaches Gant. While he was still thinking,
I don’t know about this
, Peaches slipped some peach cobbler in his mouth, and the deal was done. “Listen, ole man, you got all this space and it’s just wastin’. Who knows, I might bring you some new customers,” Peaches told Enoch.

“Neither one of you ladies don’t happen to have a Sunday
Post
, do ya?” Peaches asked as she looked around to see if anybody had left one.

“I don’t,” Yancey said. “You want me to run and get you one?”

“Naw, that’s all right. I can find out if I’m a millionairess later on,” Peaches said.

“Peaches, I feel so bad. I could have sworn you said you were serving dinner,” Nicole said as she looked at her watch.

“We were really looking forward to helping,” Yancey interjected.

“I might have said dinner. You know this ole girl is getting old. But not to worry. The group will be back next week, just like today,” Peaches said as she took a seat at one of the card tables that were set up for the brunch.

“Can we wash dishes or do something?” Nicole asked.

“Not in them pretty dresses. Washing dishes is Enoch’s job,” Peaches said. “I tell him all the time everybody got to do their part.”

“Is that the man who answered the phone when I called? Where is he? He sounded so nice on the phone,” Nicole said.

“He’s upstairs, probably watchin’ baseball or sumthin’ like that. Let him stay up there for now. Why don’t you ladies just sit down? I’ll get some punch or sumthin’ and we’ll just have girl talk,” Peaches said.

“That would be nice,” Nicole said. There were only two chairs at the table, but Yancey noticed others leaning against the wall. She quickly grabbed one, unfolded it, and took a seat. Peaches noticed this and said, “I like this girl. She got some git-up-and-go. Don’t have to tell her nuthin’. Where you from, darling?”

“I’m from Tennessee,” Yancey replied.

“Oh, you a Southern gal, just like our Miss Nicole. Nicole, where is that fine husband of yours?”

“He’s at the office.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes. As soon as church services were over he headed for the subway and his office. But he told me to give you a big hug and a kiss and tell you he promises to be here next Sunday.”

“Aw, ain’t that sweet. Tell him I’ll wait and git that hug and kiss from him. Just make sure he does it in front of Enoch. Let ’em know he got some comp,” Peaches said.

“So this Enoch is more than a business partner … huh? Now, don’t tell me Miz Peaches got a man,” Nicole teased.

“Mind your own business, Miss Nicole. I swear. You ain’t changed a bit,” Peaches smiled. “Not one damn bit.”

“Campbell is getting kinda weird,” Basil said.

“What do you mean?”

“The other day we went out to lunch and she brought up my mother again. All she wanted to talk about was a mother I didn’t know.”

“And that makes her weird?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird? I mean, asking me if I ever saw a picture of her and did I know what she looked like.”

“Have you ever seen a picture of your mother?”

“Naw. My pops said he had one, but he lost it during a move. Said he had one taped to a truck he was driving and someone stole it. From what I can tell, I mean from the way he talks about her, she must have been really good looking. I know I got my eyes from her, ’cause ain’t nobody on my pops’s side got gray eyes.”

“Does it make you miss your mother?”

“That’s a dumb-ass question,” Basil said angrily.

“What’s that response about?”

“How in the fuck can you miss something you never had?” Basil said. “I asked you that the last time. Explain that to me!”

“Has Campbell said anything about her own mother?”

“She said her mother was dead.”

“Maybe that’s why she keeps asking you about your mother.”

“I don’t see why.”

“You don’t? Did she say how long her mother has been dead?”

“I didn’t ask. Look, I don’t want to talk about Campbell. I ain’t gonna hit the guts, so why should I be wasting my time?”

“So you’re not interested in relationships with women unless they are sexual in nature?”

“You got it, Doc!”

“What about with men?”

“You know, I got my dogs … my boys. The ones who ain’t interested in riding my jock. I certainly don’t consider those gay mofos who want the beef friends and no way I’m going to be hanging out in public with them. When I say my dogs, I’m talking about some of the guys I used to play ball with and some I’ve met since I’ve been working at ESPN. But I don’t want to talk about them either.”

“Then what would you like to talk about?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about your father?”

“Don’t want to talk about my pops.”

“Your uncle?”

“Hell the fuck no!”

“How’s work?”

“Work is cool. They love me over at the network, but I got bigger fish to fry. ESPN was cool for a starting job, but CBS just signed an exclusive deal with the Southeastern Conference and the Big Ten, which means they will be doing more games and they’ll need some new talent,” Basil said.

“So you like what you’re doing?”

“Yeah, it’s a cool gig. I study a little the Friday night before the game. Talk to the coaches and some players. Get up the next morning, put on a sports jacket they provide, and make a few intelligent comments and I pick up a nice paycheck. What’s not to like?”

“Then what part of your life makes you unhappy?”

There was a long silence and then Basil said, “The dumb shit I let my jimmie get me into.”

“Your jimmie?”

“You know, my dick,” Basil said with a smirk. His hands were folded over his lap and he hunched it upward for emphasis. “Now, Doc, I’ve told you once before what a jimmie is. Now, if you gonna hang with me you’ve got to keep up.”

“And how does your jimmie cause you problems?”

“Takes me places I don’t wanna go.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Makes me deal with mofos I have no bizness having in my life.”

“Are you talking about men?”

“I’m talking about one man,” Basil said sternly.

“Raymond?”

“Naw, that mofo Monty,” Basil said with a grimace.

“Refresh my memory. Who is Monty?”

“Monty is the wanna-be pop singer who I was hittin’ when Yolanda walked in on us. The mofo who ruined my one chance at happiness. Remember I told you he threatened to go public about being gay and was going to tell some reporter that he and I were kicking it.”

“So you’ve been seeing him again?”

“Yeah, somewhat. I mean not like dating or any shit like that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why. I mean I don’t go out looking for guys and I still have these urges to kick it with a dude and I can get Monty anytime I want. And since his career didn’t take off like he thought, he’s not
much of a threat to my privacy. Ain’t nobody interested in what some mofo who’s singing in the subway station got to say about shit.”

“So it’s only about sex?”

“Damn straight. If I was going to settle down with a dude, it wouldn’t be with a crazy, punk-ass mofo like Monty,” Basil said.

“Then why do you see him?”

“ ’Cause he’s convenient.” Basil stopped for a moment as if he wasn’t sure what he wanted to go on between Monty and him. He cupped his chin for a few seconds and then continued. “But sometimes I just want to bust him upside his head, and sometimes I just try to drill him like I’m drilling for gold. I love making that mofo scream like a bitch,” Basil said.

“But how does that make you feel?”

“Real good. Like I’m making his ass pay for being so damn tempting.”

“But you said it made you feel bad.”

“I’m just talking shit. I like putting that mofo in pain and then telling his ass to get up and get the fuck out of my sight,” Basil said.

“And he does that?”

“You got that right. Just like the bitch he is.”

“Well, I think we should stop here.”

“Whatever.”

Not accustomed to being home in the middle of the day, Raymond treated himself to a salami and cheese sandwich for lunch, with a few potato chips on the side. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he had come straight home after an interview with FBI agents.

The interview had gone well, Raymond thought. The red-faced man with the short hair of a military officer had spent the first few minutes talking about the upcoming football season. Asking Raymond what kind of team his brother’s Northwestern Wildcats were going to have and what would happen if Northwestern ever played Raymond’s alma mater, Alabama. He told him his father would sit on the Northwestern side while his mother would split her time equally.

“Sounds like you have a very supportive family,” the agent said.

“I do,” Raymond said quietly.

The only tension occurred when the agent said, “I understand you live an alternative lifestyle.” There was that word again, he thought. “Lifestyle.”

“If you mean I’m gay, then I guess the answer is yes.”

The agent came back quickly with a question. “You guess?”

“I’m gay,” Raymond said. Never in a million years did he envision a day when he would be telling an FBI agent that he
did
men. The agent asked for the correct spelling of Trent’s name and date of birth and that was that.

Sitting at the table in the airy skylit kitchen, Raymond assumed the interview was going to be like a police interrogation. Two men in tight gray suits of impressive girth, spouting off question after question about his life. “Where were you, Mr. Tyler, when Waco went up in flames?” “Did you ever cheat on a college exam or your taxes?” “Have you ever cheated on your lifetime partner.” But it turned out to be nothing like that. Just two guys talking about football.

Raymond had taken the last bite of his sandwich when the phone rang. He swallowed his fruit punch and grabbed the wall phone. He thought it might be his father or Trent. Both men had been more nervous than Raymond about the interview. His father had called him the night before and even called him on the car phone this morning advising Raymond to just look them in the eyes and tell the truth or “your version of the truth.” Raymond thought his father’s advice came from spending many years defending people whose version of events was their only defense.

“Hello.”

“I got a call ’bout you,” the voice said. Raymond knew the voice. Couldn’t forget it if he wanted to.

“Basil Henderson,” he said.

“Raymond Tyler. Whassup?”

“You, Mr. Henderson. Who called you about me?”

“Said they were from the FBI. Asked me what kind of lawyer you were,” Basil said.

“And what did you tell them?”

“Told them you kept me out of jail. Told ’em it cost me a lot of money.”

“Anything else?”

“Naw, then they wanted to talk about football. Asked me if I was the former pro player. I told them, you the FBI—don’t cha know who you talking to?”

Basil Henderson wasn’t exactly what Raymond would call a friend. He was more like an associate. Raymond met the unforgivingly handsome Basil while living in New York under some strange circumstances. Basil was paying Raymond’s best friend, Kyle, for sex. Basil’s closet door was tighter than the doors at Fort Knox; one of those people who depend on their own version of the truth regarding everything. Raymond and Basil would reunite some years later in Atlanta when Raymond represented Basil after he beat up a gay guy making a pass at him. It didn’t matter that Basil was in the wrong and was gay or bi himself. Basil would never refer to himself by either of those terms.