Any Way the Wind Blows (23 page)

“Finish your drink.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Finish your drink and leave,” Wylie said. I could see tiny pools of tears forming in his eyes, and I wanted to take back what I had said. But I didn’t. I just grabbed my coat and bag, then left like a gush of wind, without telling my friend, my only friend, goodbye.

I
was watching Shirley MacLaine in
Sweet Charity
on The Movie Channel when the phone rang. I looked at the caller I.D. and saw it was Michel, so I picked up the phone. Michel said he was calling with more good news. Both
People
magazine and
Vibe
wanted to interview me for a possible cover story.

“That’s great!” I said.

“Yeah, it will help with the second single and the CD,” Michel said.

“When do they want to do it? Before I go to South Beach or after?”

“Most likely when you get back. The writer who proposed the story is a reporter here in New York. You’ve probably heard of her. She writes a column called ‘Lines from LaVonya’ for the
Daily Press
.” There was a long silence as my brief moment of joy turned into plummeting disappointment.

“Yancey, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here.” I felt a shiver of fear race through my body at the thought of LaVonya dipping into my life, both past and present.

“What’s the matter? This is great news.”

“But why does LaVonya have to do it? She’s a gossip columnist.”

“She is the one who got them interested. What’s the problem?”

“No problem. But I need to think about this.”

“Think about what? This is free publicity. There is nothing to think about. You have to do it.”

“Michel, let me call you back,” I said as I hung up the phone. I needed someone to talk to, so I decided to call Windsor.

When Windsor answered the phone, I said, “It’s Yancey. You feel like talking?”

“Sure. What’s going on? You sound sad,” Windsor said.

“Being a pop diva is starting to wear me down,” I said as I sat on the edge of my bed.

“But Yancey, this is what you dreamed of. I was talking to Marlana the other day, and she was so excited because her record is out and it’s doing well. You know, she really looks up to you,” Windsor said.

“She does? She doesn’t really know me,” I said.

“But she’s read about you and she’s seen you perform. Plus I talk about you all the time,” Windsor said.

“Be careful, Windsor. Marlana is competition now,” I said, and laughed. I certainly didn’t view Marlana as a threat. I hadn’t heard her song or anybody talking about her.

“I don’t think Marlana feels that way. She was saying how wonderful it was for two former Howard students to be taking on the music world.”

“I guess that’s nice. You know, Puffy Combs went to Howard also,” I said.

“Yeah, I knew him. Don’t forget I was Miss Howard,” Windsor said proudly. There were many times when I wished I had a personality like Windsor’s. Everybody that met her fell in love with her, and I was happy I had her for my first real friend.

I told Windsor about LaVonya wanting to do a story on me, but I didn’t tell her what she had asked me. I tried not to think about Madison, so I never talked about her.

“Yancey, you can handle this woman. Whenever she asks you something you don’t want to answer, just say, ‘That’s not something I’m willing to discuss.’”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’ve got to leave town for a few days. I’m shooting another video,” I said.

“That’s wonderful.”

“Windsor, are you getting nervous?”

“About what?”

“About having the baby?”

“I’ll be fine,” Windsor said.

“Well, childbearing is no joke,” I said.

Windsor was silent for a moment, and then she asked, “Do you ever think about Madison?”

“Why would you ask that?” I asked as I moved quickly from my bed. My body suddenly felt warm.

“Yancey, I’m sorry. I was just thinking, with you becoming so famous, it’s bound to make you think about her. I mean, how old is she now? She might be a fan of yours,” Windsor said.

“I need to go and call Michel and talk about travel plans. Thanks for listening, Windsor,” I said as I hung up, suddenly feeling like I didn’t know whom I could trust.

I
rang the doorbell of Ava’s suite the next day. I had decided not to call Basil’s family, and I thought it was only fair I told Ava in person. I don’t know if it was the fear of losing Wylie’s friendship or holding out a small hope that Basil might give me another chance at being with him that made me back out of Ava’s grand plan for revenge.

After a few moments, one of the double doors swung open and Ava greeted me with a wide smile and tousled, almost messy hair. She looked like the lost black Gabor sister in her strawberry-red nightgown covered with a matching robe with dyed fur trim. The air in the room was filled with a strange scent; it was hard to tell if it was expensive or cheap perfume mixed with a man’s cologne.

“Bart, darling, come on in,” Ava said as she waved her long cranberry-colored fingernails in the air.

“How are you doing?” I asked as I followed Ava into the living area of her large one-bedroom suite.

“I’m doing fine, darling. Are you ready for our big day?” Ava asked as she sat on one of the two matching sofas. I sat
on the sofa opposite her and stared at the roaring fireplace I hadn’t noticed on my previous visits.

“Bart, are you ready?” Ava asked again.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking how nice it would be to have a fireplace in my apartment,” I said as I smiled weakly.

“Baby, after we finish doing what we have to do this afternoon, you can have anything you want, including a fireplace in Harlem,” Ava said.

There was no use holding back, so I said quickly, “I’m not going to make the phone calls. But since you’ve been so nice to me, I wanted to tell you in person.” Ava raised her eyebrows as if she was totally shocked by my decision.

“Do you mind telling me why? I mean, we’ve made plans, and I know you need the money,” Ava said.

“Yeah, I could use the money, but I do have to live with myself. Why don’t you give that money to some charity up in Harlem?” I suggested, trying to soften my refusal.

“Give my money to somebody up in Harlem? Are you kidding? From what I’ve heard, with Disney and Magic Johnson putting money up there, Harlem don’t need my money. Besides, my husband gives enough to the downtrodden. I’m only concerned with the uptrodden,” Ava said with an artificial laugh.

“Don’t worry, Ava, Basil will get his one day. He can’t just go around hurting people forever,” I said.

“I hope you’re right,” Ava said as she got up and walked over to the bar. She walked like she owned not only the suite, but the entire Plaza Hotel. She pulled out a bottle of champagne and popped the cork, then poured herself a glass.

She quickly emptied her champagne in one gulp and then turned toward me and asked if I wanted a drink.

“You got any brandy?”

“Of course, and if I don’t, I’ll call room service and we’ll get some up here right away,”Ava said.

While Ava was looking for the brandy, I walked over toward the windows overlooking Central Park. I gazed quietly at a winter blue sky without a cloud, as faint sunlight bounced through a large bay window. When I turned to walk back over to the seating area, I glanced toward the open door to the bedroom and the large canopy bed, layered with pillows and silk linens. My eyes moved toward the pale green carpet and I noticed a pair of men’s boxers on the floor. I figured either Ava’s husband was in town or she had gotten lucky.

“So is your husband coming to New York soon?” I asked.

“What?”

“Your husband. Does he ever come to New York to see you?”

“Naw, he doesn’t like New York. What made you ask about him?”

“Nothing, really. I just figured he probably missed you or you missed him,” I said as I sat back down on the sofa.

“Of course he misses me. There is only one problem, and that’s the fact that I don’t miss him. I mean, New York’s got a lot of fine young men willing to spend the evening with a beautiful and rich woman,” Ava said as she placed the brandy in front of me and took a small sip of her champagne.

“I’m so glad you’re not really upset with me, and I’ll start paying you back the ten thousand dollars in installments as
soon as I get another full-time job,” I said, not looking at Ava directly but at the arrangement of white orchids sitting on a beautiful rosewood desk.

“And when might that be?” Ava asked.

“Hopefully very soon. I just finished a video for a young diva that’s going to be big, but they don’t pay much no matter how popular the singer. I’m going to start checking with some friends of mine about catering, and lately my agent has been sending me out on a lot of calls for film work,” I said. “It’s only extra work, but one day I might get lucky.”

“In starring roles, I hope,” Ava said, her voice rich with sarcasm.

“Yeah, right,” I said as I took a long sip of the wonderful-tasting brandy. The doorbell rang, and Ava hopped up from the sofa. As she rushed toward the door, she said, “Oh, I’d forgotten I had ordered more champagne and some caviar to celebrate.”

While Ava dealt with the good-looking Italian room-service waiter wearing tight-tight black pants, I was thinking how long it was going to take me to pay Ava back. How many nights would I have to work on my feet serving ungrateful assholes who
might
leave me a decent tip? I thought about how many times I was going to have to raise my sweater and have greasy-looking clients admire my chest and how many times I would have to drop my pants and show my ass like I was a jail inmate. Was I being realistic thinking Basil might one day call me, or was it just one of my crazy, convoluted dreams?

After the waiter left, Ava swooped back over to the sitting area and poured me some more brandy. I took a sip and
felt it tingling my nostrils and going straight to my head. I couldn’t believe I was sitting in an expensive hotel suite sipping brandy and getting ready to eat caviar, something I didn’t even really like. Ava prepared the caviar on toast points like she had been doing it her entire life. When she looked at me and blinked, I noticed the first signs of crow’s-feet at the corner of her eyes and wondered if she worried about aging gracefully.

“So Bart, are you sure you don’t want to get back at that bastard? I would hate to spend time finding somebody else Basil has fucked over, and I’ve already invested a great deal of time and money in you,” Ava said in a soft voice that sounded both seductive and menacing.

“I’m sure,” I said as I took another sip of the brandy.

“Is there anything else I could offer you?”

“What else could you give me besides money?” I asked. I hoped this dragon diva didn’t think I wanted sex from her.

Ava took another sip of her drink and pursed her lips, then took a deep breath. “What if I helped you find your parents?” she asked flatly, without emotion and with a slight tightness in her voice. How did Ava know about my parents? As far as I was concerned, they were dead. There was a long silence, and my heart was beating with a bulletlike quickness.

“You look like you’re surprised that I know you were given up for adoption,” Ava said.

“I wasn’t given up for adoption. I was abandoned,” I said. “Who told you about that?” I demanded. I knew Ava was dangerous if she had been snooping around my family tree. But how much did she know, and did she really know where my parents, and I use the term lightly, were?

“Now, Bart, baby, honey, sweetheart. You’re talking to Ava. I know everything there is to know about you, baby. Well, almost everything. My sources told me you were adopted.”

“I was almost adopted,” I said mournfully.

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said firmly.

“I understand, baby. But haven’t you ever wondered about your biological parents? I mean, they were young. Maybe now they’ve come to their senses and would welcome you back into their life with open arms. I could find out for you,” Ava said.

“You could do that?” I asked. What was I thinking? I didn’t want to meet two people I didn’t remember. Maybe Ava didn’t know as much as she thought. She obviously didn’t know my parents. Two people who had dropped me off at day care, never to return. Two people who had left me to grow up in a foster care system most of my adolescent life. When I was eight, a couple teased me with adoption plans, only to return me when I was eleven because they caught me with their thirteen-year-old son in a questionable position and thought I was a bad influence. Why in the fuck would I want to meet my parents now? I didn’t give a shit how young they were. Nobody asked them to bring me into the world.

“You’ve talked about your sister, but do you have any children of your own?”

“Honey, look at me. Does this body look like one that belongs to a mother?” Ava asked as she stood up and posed with her hands on her hips.

“I guess not. So you really think you could find my parents? I mean, if they’re still alive?”

“Darling Bart, Ava can do almost anything,” she said confidently.

“Then why don’t you get even with Basil without me?” I asked.

“Because he would come after me, and then my sister. Lord knows she’s been through enough. I’ll be honest with you, he’s holding some information he has on me. I know this might surprise you, but Ava hasn’t always been a good diva. Have you thought about what you’re going to say to the people on our list?”

“I was just going to say whatever you thought I should say.”

“What if I make a call, maybe to one of his clients? You listen to me and see how easy it is, and then you give it a try,” she said softly. She made it sound so easy, but when I still hesitated, she added toughly, “Basil doesn’t give a shit about you, and if you think he’s going to brand that beautiful ass of yours, then it’s just wishful thinking. He’s probably fucking some great-looking man right now.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right, or some stank-ass female,” I said. My anger toward Basil and his partner was returning, aided by Ava and the alcohol.