Abide with Me (5 page)

“You know you need to get that degree,” Nicole advised.

“Yeah, I know. I might do it later on. But there can’t be any better training than understudying someone like Nicole Springer,” Yancey said.

“You’re too kind. But after two years of teaching I don’t know what you could learn from me. I think I’m still in training myself.”

“Oh, Miss Springer … I mean Nicole. You don’t need any training. I’ve seen you perform. You’re the best,” Yancey said.

“Yancey, you’re just too sweet. When did you see me perform?”

“Actually, I’ve seen you in
Dreamgirls
,
Jelly’s Last Jam
, and, of course, Miss America. My parents used to bring me to New York every summer and my mother and I would just go to shows. When it came to your shows, we would often see them twice. We were so proud of you … with you being from Arkansas and all,” Yancey gushed.

“So you always wanted to be an actress?”

“It’s been my dream since I knew I could have dreams. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“How did you hear about this revival?”

“My agent sent the producers a tape and they flew me up from Washington, D.C.,” Yancey explained.

“They did? Who is your agent?”

“Some local guy down in D.C., P. J. Stencil and Associates. They were good for D.C. and regional theater, but I’ve made up my mind that I’m getting myself a major agent. Somebody like William Morris,” Yancey said.

“You want to be with a big agency like that?” Nicole quizzed.

“Honey, I heard they are one of the best and that’s what I want,” Yancey said confidently. Nicole admired her self-assurance and started to tell her she was going to need it. They continued to chat with ease, more like old friends than newly introduced castmates. Nicole told Yancey how, after two years in Atlanta teaching theater, and being the perfect wife, she had convinced her husband to move to New York, because she missed the Broadway stage. She shared how Jared, a real Southern man, supported her desire even though he was perfectly happy living in Atlanta.

“Where are you living?” Nicole asked.

“I’m subletting a friend’s loft in SoHo, but I’ll be looking for my own place once I find out how long we’re going to be on the road,” Yancey said.

“Well, I’ve heard we’re not going to be out on the road that long. Plus we’re in D.C. and Detroit for more than a week. My contract is for three months and then we’re supposed to come back to Broadway. I have a husband who doesn’t like me gone for long periods of time.”

“I hope you’re right. I want to be in New York, and not in Podunk, U.S.A.,” Yancey laughed.

“I know that’s right,” Nicole giggled.

“Do you plan on having children?”

“I hope so. Jared would have a houseful if it was up to him,” Nicole said as she looked at her watch. She decided not to mention her miscarriages and problems with conceiving.

“I can’t wait to meet your husband. I mean, if that’s all right,” Yancey said.

“Sure, I’d love for you to meet the man in my life. Maybe once we get settled we can have you over for dinner.”

“That would be just wonderful. I’ll even cook for you guys if you want. I make this wonderful shrimp pasta dish. It’s not that fattening like most of the Southern food I grew up on.”

“You won’t have to do that. And from the looks of you, fat wouldn’t know where to find you,” Nicole said as she noticed Yancey’s shape, one that would look splendid either in a beauty pageant swimsuit or the jeans and sheer sweater she was wearing.

“How sweet of you, but trust me when I say I’ve had my moments,” Yancey said.

“Haven’t we all! Look, I’ve got to go. It’s been so wonderful talking with you. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nicole said.

“Thank you so much for giving me this time,” Yancey said as she grabbed Nicole’s hands and shook them over and over. When Nicole stood up, Yancey stood also and suddenly gave Nicole a big hug as she whispered, “Thank you, thank you.”

It was Thursday afternoon, 2:00
P.M
. sharp.

“How was your week?” the doctor asked.

“It’s been all good,” Basil said.

“Tell me about it.”

“I went on a date,” Basil said.

“With a man or a woman?” the doctor asked.

Basil became visibly upset and looked sternly at the doctor. After a moment of silence, he asked, “What do you mean a man or a woman? I told you I don’t date men. I just sleep with them.” Basil felt his body become sweaty thinking about where the doctor was headed with a question like that. Once again, he thought the sessions were not helping.

“Did you have a good time?”

“It was all right. You know, dinner, a movie, and then back to my place for sex.”

“On the first date?”

“Of course.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Damn straight. I met this woman walking down Fifth Avenue near Tiffany’s. She was beautiful. I caught her eye and she smiled and stopped. You know when they stop they want some play. So that was my cue. I went over, introduced myself, and got the digits. I waited the mandatory three days, called her, and invited her out,” Basil said confidently. “But she was slick in a way … I mean making me call because she wouldn’t take my number.”

“So how did you end up in bed?”

Basil gave the doctor a faint smile of amusement and said, “It was easy. We went to this nice seafood joint and both ordered lobster, and after a couple glasses of wine she leaned over and whispered, ‘I bet you eat pussy real well,’ and I looked at her and said, ‘And you know it!’ ”

“Did you tell her you sleep with men?”

“Fuck no! She didn’t ask. That’s why I think women are so stupid and why I hate them sometimes.”

“Hate is a strong word.”

“I know, but that’s how I feel sometimes,” Basil said somberly. For a second he thought about Yolanda, the last woman he had loved.

“Why do you hate them?”

Basil balled his left fist and pressed it into his cupped right hand. As he turned it firmly, he wanted to hit something or somebody, but he controlled his anger.

“I hate them and I love them. I usually try not to make eye contact with women because when I see them and I see that smile and that ass, then I immediately want to fuck them. And after I fuck them, I hate them. You know, when I get my nut.”

“Do you think that’s hate?”

“I don’t know what you call it, but for me it’s a strong reaction. I suddenly become sick at the sight and smell of them. And you know what I really hate is when they ask, ‘Do you love me?’ I want to tell them that pussy is the best truth serum.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean women ought to ask a man if he loves them right after they’ve fucked. ’Cause if he says he loves you before you fuck and he stutters after sex, then he don’t love the woman, he loves the pussy.”

“Why do you think that’s true?”

“ ’Cause I used to date this honey once and I couldn’t stand her. But I couldn’t break up with her ’cause the pussy was so good. She had this beautiful ass and I couldn’t stand the thought of somebody else hittin’ it.”

“What didn’t you like about her?”

“She was a dumb bitch but she thought she was so smart. I mean she had gone to City College or some school like that and she thought she knew everything. But the truth of the matter was the bitch didn’t know shit. She would misuse big words all the time and that just drove me crazy.”

“Why didn’t you tell her or correct her?”

“The bitch was so stupid she wouldn’t have figured it out.”

“And how do you feel about men?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think of men?”

Basil suddenly had a picture of Raymond in his head, but quickly replaced it with Monty, a man who had threatened to announce Basil’s bisexuality to the world. Basil couldn’t stand Monty. Basil really hated his uncle.

“Aw, they’re just as bad. If they’re gay, then they fall in love with the dick. Mofos love a big dick. And the mofos who ain’t gay fall in love with the pussy and the pussy controls them.”

“And where does that put you?” the doctor asked.

“On top of any situation ’cause I know what the real deal is when it comes to sex. I understand the power of sex. And once you understand something completely, you can control it.”

“Do you feel the need to have sex with anyone right now?”

“Why not? I’m not depressed or anything like that, and when my jimmie gets up, I’ve got to feed him.”

“Do you feel like you’re addicted to sex?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said just a minute ago? I ain’t addicted to jack.”

“Do you plan to call this woman again?”

“Fuck no!”

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause I got what I wanted. If she’s lucky she might get a booty call in a couple of months.”

“A booty call?”

“Yeah, you know … well, maybe you don’t. It’s when you call somebody late at night, at least after midnight, and you ask them to come over and they know what the deal is.”

“I see.” The doctor nodded.

“I do know that right now I can’t have no honey riding my jock. Calling me every five minutes asking me what I’m doing. That’s how they try to get control.”

“So you’re okay being alone?”

“I ain’t alone.” Basil knew he had a thick phone book with plenty of numbers to call whenever he became lonely.

“Are you interested in sleeping with men?”

“Not really.”

“What does that mean?”

“Like it sounds.”

“What about Raymond?”

Basil didn’t answer. Again Raymond’s face came into his mind. He was silent for about five minutes and then he looked at the doctor and asked, “Isn’t my time up?”

“Yes. I’ll see you next week.”

“Yeah, right.”

Raymond removed his suit coat and began reviewing the mail when he suddenly noticed a large brown package with a note from Trent.
Hey babe! Hope you had a great day. This package just came for you. I’m at the gym, then off to do some work. See ya. Love, Trent
. As Raymond picked up the package he thought he should be at the gym with Trent.

The package was heavy and Raymond could tell from the handwriting that it was from his mother. But it didn’t feel like cookies, brownies, or any type of food he had been expecting. Raymond tore open the package and out spilled a black leather photo binder. Taped to the front of it was a note on frilly paper from his mother.
My Dearest Son, I hope this helps with the confirmation. I’ve been looking forward to the day when you might need this. I love you and I’m so proud of you. Your mother
.

The house was quiet and the evening sun bathed the den in a golden glow. The room was large, with hardwood floors, a beautiful
Persian rug, black leather furniture, forty-six-inch television, and an antique rolltop mahogany desk. This was the room where Raymond and Trent spent many quiet evenings enjoying each other, watching sporting events or reading while snuggled on the couch. Raymond leaned against the desk and opened the binder.

On the first page was a copy of his birth certificate and his footprints. He looked at the date, June 20, the time, 4:56
A.M.
, and his weight, 8 pounds 6 ounces. He read his father’s name and “student” listed as his occupation and his mother’s maiden name of Gaines and her occupation of “teacher.” Raymond couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen his birth certificate and the black-and-white photograph of him as a newborn. Curly hair, eyes closed tight. Only three days old.

As Raymond slowly turned page after page, he realized the treasure he was holding: a memoir of his life from his mother’s eyes. A magical binder that included photographs, report cards, teachers’ names, school names and addresses from kindergarten to high school.

There were pictures and awards from football, basketball, and tennis camps that Raymond had attended during his youth. Photos taken with Santa and other special activities like the Cubs and Boy Scouts. His first NAACP membership card, certificates from Sunday school, vacation Bible school, and articles that appeared in school and local newspapers. A tattered picture of Raymond in his high school football uniform, holding his younger brother, Kirby. Memories that had slipped from Raymond’s mind.