I Say a Little Prayer (16 page)

Her eyes thinned to slits. “The bishop doesn’t have time for people like you from his past. He is busy doing the Lord’s work, helping our community, and being the head of our household. When he wins the seat in the Senate, it will only be a matter of time before we’ll be residing on Pennsylvania Avenue. All this talk about Bayrock Obba and his wife being next in line for the presidency is bullcrap.” Obba? I knew Grayson Upchurch was much too intelligent not to know the correct name of one of the fastest-rising black politicians, Barack Obama. She had to be just dissing the man. But I said nothing, allowing her rampage to continue. “I told Damien people from his past would start to pop up and halt our…I mean his dreams.”

I glanced at her for a long time and wondered if she was for real. Frustration began to boil inside of me, and I wondered why I was even having a conversation with this crazy bitch. After a few moments of disorienting silence, I finally spoke.

“The Damien I knew was never interested in politics,” I said. I started to say women also, but I resisted.

“The Damien you knew is dead. Bishop Upchurch was called by the Lord to spread his word and to let people know that we must band together against the homosexual agenda—that sick agenda of asking for special rights against discrimination and getting married. I mean, how crazy is that?” Grayson said in a crisp voice that was both elegant and commanding. “Finally, the Republicans have an issue black folks can understand. We don’t believe in that gay crap.”

I took a moment before I said, “Can you answer something for me?”

“Maybe,” she said coolly.

“Why the bodyguard with the gun? Are you trying to scare me?”

“There is no need for that.” She shook her head. “I just wanted to find out what you want. Is it money, or are you delusional and think that Damien might still be interested in someone like you?”

I smiled. “Sounds like you’re worried, and I don’t need a dime from you or Damien.”

Grayson looked around my office. “Well, it looks like you’re doing okay, but you could do better, I’m sure.” She directed her glance back at me. “The bishop and I have some supporters who might be willing to make a donation to you, your business, or to whomever, if we can get a signed document from you stating that you will never talk about Damien in public or private.”

I laughed at her. Even if I’d been willing to go along with her pitiful scheme, that would never work. “In case you didn’t know, Damien and I grew up in a very small town. If you do make it to the White House, or wherever, I’m going to show up in any investigation. They will definitely do background checks. Everyone in Greenwood knows that Damien and I were good friends.”

“But they don’t know about the sick relationship you talked him into,” she sneered.

“I guess Damien didn’t tell you everything,” I said sarcastically.

“Damien didn’t have to tell me. I’ve seen everything in the box he kept. All your letters and cards. I mean, if it wasn’t so against God’s will, I might even have reason to be a bit jealous.” Grayson pulled out a checkbook and an aqua-blue pen. “Now, how much will it take to make you disappear again?”

My eyes widened at her audacity. “There is nothing about me that’s for sale, so if that’s what you came for, then I think this conversation is over.”

She sighed as if she couldn’t believe my words, “You really need to think about what I’m offering you.”

“This conversation is over,” I said as I stood and moved toward the door.

Grayson stared at me for a moment, put the checkbook and pen back into her purse, and stood. She straightened her skirt. Creases formed in her forehead as she frowned and said, “This conversation may be over, but we’re not. If I were you, I’d be careful about where I went and who I talked to.”

“So I should watch my back?” I said, remembering Griffin’s words.

“You said it, not me.”

And then Grayson walked out of my office, slipping past me like she was the Queen of Sheba.

Later that evening, I stood on my patio and listened to the soft sound of rain as it dropped down on Atlanta. The rain always made me reflective and today was no different. I was thinking about how Damien and I used to enjoy not only watching and listening to the rain but walking in it as well. I wondered how Damien wound up marrying a woman like Grayson. Didn’t he realize how manipulative and conniving she was? I thought of something I’d felt when Damien exited my life: maybe true love was too much to ever expect as a black gay man.

The raindrops started to fall more heavily and I decided to go back into the house. When I stepped inside I heard the phone ring. I walked over and looked at the caller identification and saw
private caller
displayed. I started not to pick it up but thought it might be Damien calling to apologize for his wife’s actions.

“Hello.”

“Chauncey.”

For a moment I was startled but surprised by the sound of his voice.

“Basil, what’s going on? I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you so soon,” I said.

“I discovered some information that you might find interesting,” he said.

“About what?”

“Your preacher and his wife. I thought she looked familiar and so I called a couple of my boyz from college. Grayson was a student, or at least she was enrolled at Miami when I went to school,” Basil said.

“So did you know her?”

“Naw, not really, but a bunch of my boyz—you know, my teammates—knew her in how shall we say, the biblical sense. She was a real football groupie and used to have a reputation for being able to roll a perfect joint. That’s why I said she was ‘enrolled’ in school. One of my boyz told me she stayed on her back most of the time and higher than the friendly skies,” Basil said.

“That’s interesting,” I said, suddenly hoping “The Queen” would make another visit to my office and I could drop some of my newfound knowledge on her.

“So if you want old boy back then maybe you should share that information with him,” Basil suggested.

I started laughing and said, “That’s what you thought, Basil? That I want Damien back? No way.”

“Well, you didn’t see the look in your eyes that I saw when you were talking about him. I know niggas like him—and me, for that matter. We never really change.”

“If we’re talking about looks, what about the one I saw in your eyes when you were talking about being in love? Which, by the way, you didn’t say if it was a man or a female.”

There was silence over the phone.

“Basil, are you still there?”

“Yeah, you got me on that one. Is it important whether or not it’s a male or female?”

“Not really, but I do want to know. I miss our sessions, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was bothered by you not tryin’ to hit this when we saw each other,” I said.

“I feel you and I kinda got that. It’s hard trying to change your ways when you an old dog like me. But it’s a dude. Somebody I’ve known for a long time. He almost died about three years ago, and it woke me up and made me realize how much I loved him.”

“I’m happy for you and it gives me a little hope,” I said.

“Now don’t be going picking out china for us. I ain’t about that gay marriage thing. And this is the hardest thing I’ve done because Raymond, that’s his name, told me when we hooked up it had to just be him or nothing at all. I get tempted sometimes, and I want to kick it with another woman or a dude, but I don’t want to fuck this up,” Basil said.

“I’m happy for you, Basil. Thanks for sharing that.”

“Thanks, man, and I’m hopeful that you’ll find love soon as well.”

“Thank you,” I said as tears welled up in my eyes. Maybe hopeful wasn’t a bad thing to be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Y
ou
know, these women are getting out of control. I can’t believe Damien’s wife came looking for you,” Skylar said.

“Yeah, it’s been a few days, and I’m still not over the shock,” I said, wishing that I’d never brought up the topic.

I was over at Skylar’s house grilling some steaks. My hope was to hear some more of his Tank story and not talk about Grayson and Damien Upchurch.

“I need to send you to Skylar’s School of How to Deal with Crazy Bitches—the crash course,” Skylar said, pointing at me. “So you won’t have to put up with that stuff. One time my man’s baby mama came to my house, and I guarantee you it’s the last visit she paid.”

Knowing there was a story there, and that it would change the subject, I asked him what had happened. Skylar made martinis for the both of us and sat at the bar while I seasoned the steaks.

“I was seeing this guy—Thurston, I think was his name. Anyway, he used to always come to my house late at night and then leave early in the morning. He came at least twice a week. He was a cop, and I actually met him when he was giving me a ticket. You think blondes are the only ones who can flirt their way out of a ticket?” Skylar laughed as he took a sip of his drink.

“Anyhow, he told me he had a baby’s mama, but that didn’t bother me. It wasn’t like I was trying to fall in love.” Skylar paused, then added, “Although he was fine. Lean, but muscular, and he was packing over ten inches thick. Why is it that skinny boys have the biggest dicks?”

“That’s just a myth,” I said as I covered the steaks with aluminum foil and suddenly wished I had cooked at my house. It was an unusually warm evening for early October, and I bet I could have gotten away with cooking outside.

“Yeah, he was tight,” Skylar said in between sips of his martini. “Sometimes he would wear his uniform and bring his gun so I could play with it.”

I shook my head. “You’re one sick puppy.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. This was when I first moved to the ATL and I was just staying in a regular working-girl-type apartment over in midtown where all the kids lived. It was right off Peachtree, near the MARTA and where that Margaret house is.”

“Margaret house? What are you talking about?”

“Who is the bitch that wrote
Gone with the Wind
? Never read the book, but loved, loved, loved the movie,” Skylar said.

“Her name was Margaret Mitchell.” I placed some sliced mushrooms in a skillet of sizzling olive oil.

“The point I’m trying to make is that it was easy to just walk up and knock on my door. So one day I hear a knock and I open the door without looking out, and there’s this two-tone-hair, bad-dye-job, big-earring, gum-chewing sister standing in front of me with her eyes going in different directions, looking like that female character Jamie Foxx used to play on
In Living Color.
”

“Ugly Wanda?”

“Yeah, her. Maybe not that ugly. So I thought she must be selling human hair from China, the way she was looking. I asked her how I could help her. She looked at me like dog shit, then had the nerve to ask me who I was. I told her my name, and I asked who she was, while she stood there trying to look over my shoulder and see inside my starter palace. The bitch might have been trying to rob me, so while I was looking at her, I was trying to remember where I put my gun.”

“You had a gun?”

“Child, I keep a gun. Ain’t nobody gonna try and punk me because of the way I look and act. I will beat a bitch or a nigga down and then shoot their ass,” Skylar said.

“So what did she say?”

“Told me her name was Tamieka or LaSheika. You know the names. I asked her again how I could help her, and she said she wanted to know why Thurston had been seen leaving my apartment several times.”

My face stretched with surprise. “Did you tell her?”

“I asked her who she was, and she told me she was Thurston’s baby’s mama. Then she got up in my face and asked me again what he was doing at my house. I didn’t like her stance, so I told her he was coming to my place because I suck dick better than she did. Then I asked her if she had any more questions.”

“You are a fool,” I said, shaking my head, “What did she say?”

“Her eyes bucked out like she was shocked. She asked me if I was a cake boy. I asked her what was that, and she said a low-life faggot. I told her she should ask her alleged boyfriend,” Skylar said, laughing.

I scooped up the mushrooms, whose aroma was overwhelming the area near the stove, and poured them into a bowl. My back was to Skylar, and when I turned around and saw him fixing himself another drink, I finally took the first sip of mine.

“I bet she was mad at you,” I said.

Skylar waved his hand in the air. “The bitch told me she should smack the shit out of me, and I told her to bring it but if she put her grimy hands on my face she better kill me, ’cause I didn’t mind slashing a bitch like her.”

“You wouldn’t have hit a woman, Skylar, would you?” I asked, wondering why I was surprised. I didn’t put one thing past my best friend when something came between him and a man.

“Why the fuck not? If any bitch comes for me, I’m going to treat them like a dude. I tell you, if Damien’s wife had come in my space trying to get in my business, she would have been with me about ten seconds before she would be in the corner licking her wounds.”

“What did the girl do?” I asked, bringing the story back. I still didn’t want to talk about Damien or his wife.

“She could tell by the look in my eyes that I wasn’t playing, and the bitch scurried from my door. I never heard from her again.”

“What happened to Thurston?”

“I guess the bitch learned how to suck dick, ’cause I didn’t hear from him, either.” Skylar laughed as he took a sip from martini number two.

One too many cocktails caused Skylar to crawl up on his sofa and fall asleep right after dinner, so I didn’t get my Tank story. I came home, took a bath, watched
Will & Grace
and my favorite Atlanta newscaster, Monica Kaufman, and prepared for bed.

Just as I was getting ready to turn off the light, the phone rang.
Private
scrolled across the display, and since several people I loved, like Skylar, had private numbers, I picked it up. After I said “Hello,” I knew I’d made a mistake.

“What kind of stunt are you pulling?” the familiar female voice demanded.

“What?”

“This is Mrs. Upchurch, and I want to know why you didn’t tell me you were singing at Damien’s sermon. You’re up to something, and I won’t stand for it. Is that why you’ve been trying to get in touch with my husband? Did I not make it clear that he’s not on your team anymore? My husband is on God’s team,” she said, her voice tight. I started to say, “Like you were on the University of Miami’s team,” but I thought I would save that little piece of information for later.

“Then there shouldn’t be any problems. Good night,” I said. I hung up the phone before she could utter another threat.

I turned out the light and clicked off the television. Just as I was starting my nightly prayer, the phone rang again. But this time I turned the ringer off by pressing the Do Not Disturb button on my phone. When I got into bed, I sighed and enjoyed a smile of satisfaction. I knew I would sleep well. Just as I knew that Grayson Upchurch wouldn’t—women with secrets like hers probably don’t sleep much at all.