Abide with Me (2 page)

In the publishing world I am also blessed with outstanding people; Stephen Rubin, the president of Doubleday, is the type of leader writers like me would follow anywhere. Welcome back, Steve. Thanks to my publicists, Sherri Steinfield and Patricia Blythe; and to Mario Pulice, the best art director in publishing and a man who always makes me smile (thanks for another great cover!).

I couldn’t do what I do without great editors. Again, I’ve been blessed with the best: Blanche Richardson and Charles Flowers have helped me craft three bestsellers. Blanche and Charles are not only great editors but great people, and friends I know I can depend on. A special thanks to my line editor, Austin Foxxe of L.A., a talented writer whose work I hope to see soon on bookstore shelves. And to Rosalind Oliphant, for being my friend and test reader.

The last person I want to thank has been a godsend through one of
my storms. Janet Hill at Doubleday had always been a great supporter and friend. So I was excited and nervous when she agreed to be my in-house editor. Not only did she become the valuable leader of my team, but an even closer friend. How many people can say that about people they work with on a day-to-day basis? So thanks, Janet, for being, as the young kids say,
all that
.

Finally, to my fans, the
invisible
friends I don’t know who read my books and give me the best word-of-mouth support in the industry. I couldn’t do it without
you
. (I love the cards and letters.) Thank you so much. This one is for you! God bless you all.

Summer came, tucked behind a flawless spring. Raymond loved perfection, but he did not know that with perfection, sorrow would soon follow. It started with a late evening phone call. Raymond Winston Tyler and Trent Michael Walters had retired to their large, loft-style bedroom after an uneventful Friday. The two were trying to decide if they should watch the local news or one of the three videos they had rented for the weekend.

Raymond answered the phone on the nightstand after a couple of rings. He started to let the answering machine pick up, but the ring sounded unusually urgent and important. Maybe it was his younger brother, Kirby, or his best buddy, Jared.

After about ten minutes of “Yes … Yes … I can’t believe this,” Raymond walked over toward the large bay window. As he held the portable phone to his ear Raymond gazed at a burst of orange and blue lightning slice through the clouds as the sky opened up and sheets of rain began to fall. It was both beautiful and frightening.

Trent realized this call was important and went downstairs to the kitchen. A few minutes later he returned with a bowl of microwave popcorn, a box of peanut M&M’s, and two bottles of water, just as Raymond was hanging up the phone with a stunned look on his face.

“Is everything all right?” Trent asked with concern in his voice.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Raymond said as he rubbed his forehead.

“What?”

“That was the chief of staff for Senator Patricia Murray’s office,” Raymond said.

“The U.S. senator? And?” Trent quizzed.

“I’ve been nominated for a federal judgeship,” Raymond blushed.

“Get the fuck out! That’s great,” Trent said as he hugged his broad-shouldered partner.

“I still don’t believe this,” Raymond said as his lips parted into a huge smile.

“Why not? I’ve always known you’re the best lawyer in the world,” Trent said proudly.

“Do you realize the next step would be the Supreme Court? What is this … I’m getting ahead of myself. Supreme Court, my ass! My pops isn’t going to believe this,” Raymond rattled off.

“Call him,” Trent urged.

Raymond looked at the digital clock on the phone and realized it was past midnight in Birmingham, Alabama. But Raymond wanted to share the news with his parents.

“Do you think it’s too late?”

“Raymond, how often does someone get nominated for the federal bench?” Trent asked.

“You’re right,” Raymond said as he grabbed the phone and dialed his parents’ number. After three rings Raymond started to hang up when he suddenly heard his mother’s sleepy voice. A voice more familiar to him than any sound he’d ever heard.

“Ma,” Raymond said.

“Ray? Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Everything is fine. I’m sorry to call so late. Where’s Pops?”

“He’s right here. You want to talk with him?”

“Yeah, but I want you to hear this too. Put me on the speakerphone.” Raymond knew his father hated the speakerphone, but he heard a click and then his mother’s voice suddenly sounding far-off.

“Ray Jr.? Are you all right?” Raymond heard his father ask.

“I’m fine,” Raymond assured him.

“Then this better be good. Do you know how late it is?”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d like to talk with the future federal judge from the Western District Court of Washington,” Raymond said. He liked the sound of his possible new title.

“What!” Raymond heard his father exclaim. Raymond could hear his mother in the background singing, “My baby … my baby going to be a judge.” She sounded like the mother in the movie
The Nutty Professor
singing “Hercules, Hercules.”

Raymond heard some clicking in the phone and then he could hear his father’s voice more clearly. Raymond Sr. had turned off the speakerphone.

“Is Ma all right?”

“She’s fine. When did all this happen? Why is this the first I’ve heard of this?”

“I didn’t know I was even being considered. I knew there were some openings, but everybody in my office thought they were going to pick an Asian-American or this lawyer Charles Pope. I’m still in shock,” Raymond said. “I guess we can thank the Simpson trial and my taking your advice about helping out Norm Rice in his race for governor.”

“Did Norm have something to do with this?” Raymond Sr. asked.

“I have no idea,” Raymond answered. “I got the call from Senator Murray’s office. Her chief of staff said they had been trying to reach
me all evening. But I guess we should all calm down because I haven’t been put on the bench yet. There is the confirmation process,” he warned.

“Don’t worry about that. You’ll get it. I know they need some local color on that bench.”

“I hope you’re right, Pops. I hope you’re right.”

After hanging up the phone, Raymond sat on the edge of the bed silently, listening to the rain and thinking about how his life was getting ready to change. Again.

During the Simpson trial Raymond had served as a talking head for the local NBC affiliate and had become something of a local celebrity, partly because he never seemed to take sides and also because Raymond was a very good-looking man. The station had been swamped with calls, faxes, and letters from women wanting to know Raymond’s marital status. Raymond and Trent would spend some evenings reading some of the offers from viewers. Ray had his secretary send each viewer a thank-you note stating,
Mr. Tyler is very happy in his personal life
. When the station offered Raymond a permanent position, he politely declined.

His father was a retired family court judge and state senator who had always dreamed his son would follow in his political footsteps, and had suggested Raymond parlay his newfound celebrity into political prominence. It had been years since his father had encouraged him to pursue politics. His mother just wanted him to be happy.

Raymond Winston Tyler, Jr., is one of the good guys. At least most of the time. Raymond is not perfect, but he wants the world to be perfect. The kinda guy who loves Oprah and Rosie, but might not admit he likes Jerry Springer as well. You know the type: he wants to please everybody.

The firstborn of Raymond and Marlee Tyler, big brother to budding Northwestern Wildcats football star Kirby Wayne Tyler, and a great friend to many. He’s thirty-seven years old and already worried about turning forty. Ray’s a Southern boy, born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama. A graduate of the University of Alabama and Columbia Law School, Raymond has spent part of his adult life living and practicing law in New York and Atlanta.

The last three years, he and his life partner, Trent, an architect, have been living in Seattle, Washington. They have been in a committed relationship for a little over five years. A successful partner in a small law firm, Raymond has finally discovered his paradise, in Trent, his fraternity brother, after years of going back and forth between male and female lovers. He once described himself as a sexual mulatto, but now he knows the true color of love. Now, this doesn’t mean he didn’t love the women in question or the men before Trent. He did. Nor does it mean he’s totally accepted his sexuality, but he has come a long way. He still doesn’t introduce himself with “Hello, I’m Raymond and I’m gay”; he doesn’t think it is everybody’s business.

Being in a stable relationship with Trent has helped Raymond a great deal and it’s given him a sense of peace and security. With Trent, Raymond finally started to believe that true love with a man was possible. This was something Raymond thought was the impossible dream.

But this judge thing might bring back some of those doubts he had when he was moving between the gay and not-so-gay worlds. Times have changed, but is the world ready for a black, gay federal judge?

Trent is a lot different than Raymond, but like that old saying goes,
he loves Raymond’s dirty drawers
. Loved him since the first day he laid eyes on him when they were both pledging Kappa Alpha Omega at the University of Alabama. So what if it took almost fifteen years to admit it to himself or Raymond? He always considered Raymond the
unattainable pretty boy. Trent figured it wouldn’t have mattered if Raymond was gay or straight; there was no way Raymond would want to be with him.

Trent can best be described as a basic boy who turned into a basic kind of man. He works hard and enjoys the simple things in life like cheeseburgers on white bread. Trent doesn’t mind being in the background, or being a team player. Maybe that’s because he comes from a large family where there was little room for a star. A family of eight boys—Trent was the baby boy—and three girls, all whose first names start with
T
. Like Terry, Tracey, Terrell, Timothy, Tamela, Thomas, Theresa. Well, you get the picture. Trent is also a father to a preteen son, Trent Jr., who lives in Atlanta with his mother, Beverly, Trent’s college sweetheart. Like Raymond, Trent ignored his own sexual desires and went along with the norm, until he met a Raymond look-alike while he served in the U.S. Marines and finally realized who he really wanted.

Trent is a Southern boy, born and raised in Mobile, Alabama, the son of working-class parents. Like Raymond’s parents, Trent’s folks were also involved in the civil rights movement, but in a more quiet and personal way.

In 1963, Trent’s older cousin, Donald Walters, integrated Mobile’s Murphy High without the fanfare of Little Rock or New Orleans. Donald was the son of Trent’s father’s brother who lived in Pensacola, Florida. He came to Mobile to attend Murphy High when his own colored high school didn’t offer chemistry. Trent remembers how his father spent many a sleepless night standing guard in their living room with a shotgun, expecting Klansmen or other citizens of Mobile who weren’t happy that an outsider had integrated their lily-white high school.