A Love of My Own Read online

  Contents

  _____________

  Title Page

  Acclaim for E. Lynn Harris

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Zola Denise Norwood

  Raymond Winston Tyler Jr.

  Book One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Book Two

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Book Three

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by E. Lynn Harris

  Copyright Page

  Acclaim for E. Lynn Harris and

  A Love of My Own

  “Harris is a great storyteller who knows how to tug on the heartstrings with wit and sensitivity.”

  —USA Today

  “Harris is a wonderful writer. His romantic scenes, whether between men and women, or men and men, are always touching.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle

  “Harris’s talent as writer has increased with each of his books. His stories have become the toast of bookstores, reading groups, men, women, and gay and straight people.”

  —Atlanta Journal-Constitution

  “[E. Lynn Harris] tucks in plot twists bound to keep his readers turning pages late at night.”

  —The Washington Post

  “This book is loaded with sensational goings-on and characters, both old and new, who will keep readers returning for more of the same.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “What’s got audiences hooked? Harris’s unique spin on the ever-fascinating topics of identity, class, intimacy, sexuality, and friendship.”

  —Vibe

  In celebration of this being my eighth novel, this book is dedicated to eight amazing women whose love and friendship I treasure.

  Charlotte “Cindy” Barnes

  Regina Brown Daniels

  Garbo Watson Hearne

  Yolanda Starks

  Robin Walters

  Sybil Wilkes

  Dyanna Williams

  Brenda Braxton Van Putten

  In Memory

  Victims of 9/11

  Gerald Douglas

  Calvin Gooding

  Aaliyah Haughton

  Orville Henry

  Jon Richardson

  Arletha Stapleton

  Lorraine Haynes Wilson

  Acknowledgments

  __________________________

  My, how time flies when you’re having fun. It has been ten years since I entered the world of writing, and I’m just as grateful today as I was when I was selling copies of Invisible Life out of the back of my rented car.

  I’m grateful to God for allowing me to enjoy a successful career with the support of my family and friends. I have mentioned a lot of these people before in past acknowledgments, but I must mention them again because I realize now more than ever that nothing can be taken for granted. Faith, family and friends are so important to me.

  So here goes. My mother, Etta W. Harris, and my aunt, Jessie L. Phillips, for always supporting and loving me unconditionally all my life. I’m thankful to Rodrick L. Smith for his love and support for creating a place I can call home. Thanks also to Rodrick and Stephanie for sharing your daughter, Desiree, with me. I must thank all of my family: my sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins and my new godson, Sean Harrison Gilmore.

  I have the best friends in the world. People I’ve known for twenty-plus years and have loved me before I became “E. Lynn, the author.” These friends understand when I can’t come out and play and are always sending encouraging words of support and prayer. They include the amazing eight ladies mentioned in the dedication and Vanessa Gilmore (known from now on not as Judge Gilmore, but Sean’s mom), Lencola Sullivan, Troy Donato, Sean James, Blanche Richardson, Carlton Brown, Rose Crater Hamilton, David and Tracey Huntley, Debra Martin Chase, Lloyd Boston, Derrick Thompson, Brian Chandler, Keith Boykin, Anderson Phillips, Reggie Van Lee, Ken Hatten, Brent Zachery, Tavis Smiley, Steve Barnes and Hugh Watson.

  I’ve made some new friends lately—some of whom had a big part in helping with this novel. Thanks to Chris Bequette, Derrick Gragg and Sanya Whittaker Gragg, who make me proud to be a fan and graduate of the University of Arkansas-Fayetteville.

  The year 2002 also marks my ten-year anniversary with my publisher, Doubleday/Anchor. This is something I’m most proud of. I look forward to spending my entire career with the best in the business. I realize how lucky I am to be published by a company who treated me from the beginning like I was a best-selling author. I extend my heartfelt thanks to: Stephen (the great) Rubin, Michael Palgon, Bill Thomas, Jackie Everly, Linda Steinman, Suzanne Herz, Jenny Frost, Pauline James, Laura Wilson, Ari Jones, Emma Bolton, John Fontana, Ann Messitte, Luann Walther, Jen Marshall, Meredith McGinnis, Carol Lazare, Judy Jacoby, Gerry Triano, Dorothy Boyajy and Rebecca “Still the Magician” Holland.

  As always, I offer special thanks to my publicist extraordinaire, Alison Rich, a wonderful woman I’m proud to also call my friend. Thanks for all your hard work and always going the extra mile for me.

  Although not a part of Doubleday, I give special thanks to Chris Fortunato and his staff.

  They say good friends don’t make for a great staff. For me nothing could be further from the truth. I am grateful to the following people for being special friends and helping me hold my life together: my assistants, Anthony Bell and Laura Gilmore; my agents, John Hawkins, Moses Cardona and Irv Schwartz; my attorney and friend, Amy Goldson as well as my Atlanta attorney Joe Beck and accountant Bob Braunschweig. Special thanks and much love and respect to Tony Hillery of TZR. I must also thank Shannon Jones, Janis Murray, Taurus Sorrells, Matthew Jordan Smith, Patrik Henry Bass, Smith & Polk Public Relations, Bobby Daye, Roy Johnson, and Amy DuBois Barnett of Honey magazine for schooling me in the magazine industry.

  Thanks to the entire staff at my home away from home, the Trump International Hotel and Tower, with special thanks to Elizabeth, Rose Marie, Carlos, Dennis and Suzy. Thanks to Dr. Ian Smith for the medical information.

  There are also several people and organizations that have supported me with e
ach and every book. I realize they don’t have to, and I’m extremely grateful. My thanks to Stanley Bennett Clay, David Star, and Essence, Ebony and Savoy magazines. Black Radio has been a big boost to my career. I wouldn’t be here without The Tom Joyner Morning Show, Doug Banks and DeDe McGuire, The Steve Harvey Show, Frank Ski, Ryan Cameron, Donnie Simpson, Wendy Williams, Skip Murphy and his wonderful, crazy team, and Cliff and Jeanine on the West Coast. Special thanks to the CBS Early Show for giving me national exposure.

  There are also several organizations that support me with a great deal of love: booksellers (a special shout-out to the black booksellers, since it all started with you), librarians, and book clubs the world over; Carol Mackey and the Black Expressions Book Club; Sigma Gamma Rho, Alpha Kappa Alpha, Zeta Phi Beta, Delta Sigma Theta, Kappa Alpha Psi, Alpha Phi Alpha, NAACP and the Links. Thank you all very much.

  I have two wonderful outside editors whose friendships and talents I treasure. Charles Flowers and Chandra Taylor made writing this book fun, and I couldn’t have done it without them. I will miss our Saturday get-togethers.

  Thanks to all my writer friends, published and unpublished, for your friendship and support. I’m so proud to be a part of this community.

  I must also thank the cast of Dreamgirls; The 20th Anniversary Benefit and The Actors’ Fund of America for my Broadway debut. You were all so warm and loving and made the dreams of a little boy from Little Rock, Arkansas, come true. Special thanks to the directors, Brenda Braxton and Danny Herman, and the musical director, Seth Rudetsky.

  I’ve saved the best for last. I have the best editor in the world, who happens to be a wonderful woman and great friend to all fortunate enough to know her. Janet Hill takes my words and stories and molds them into best-sellers. She is the one person I depend on for making my career so special. I couldn’t do it without her. I wish all my writer friends have the same experience. Thanks, Janet.

  In closing, I want to thank the fans who have supported me with each and every novel. I don’t take you for granted. We’ve been through a challenging year as a country and as human beings living in a world that’s constantly changing. Still, just the thought of all you marvelous fans makes me deliriously happy to turn on my computer every day and ponder, “What can I write today?” Thank you for that pleasure and privilege. I wish you all love, all the time.

  e. lynn harris

  New York City

  June 2002

  Prologue

  __________________

  That’s the Way Love Goes

  JANET JACKSON

  Sometimes the beginning of a story starts at the end.

  It was December 2001, a few days before Christmas.

  Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Tyler Sr. had just come from the mall loaded down with presents and decorations. This was going to be the first Christmas they would share with their adult sons, Raymond Jr. and Kirby, in their new home in Naples, Florida, which they had built to enjoy their retirement.

  It would be different from the cold-weather holidays they’d spent in Birmingham, Alabama. In Florida, Christmas Day wouldn’t be spent in front of a roaring fireplace but maybe on the beach where they could watch the sun descend slowly in spectacular shades of orange and pink. Christmas would end with a twilight swim under the stars.

  While Marlee was placing gifts under the tree, Raymond Sr. was at the bar preparing cocktails. Once he finished mixing the drinks, Raymond placed a drink on a sterling-silver tray for his wife of forty-plus years as the phone rang.

  “You want me to get that, baby?” he asked.

  Marlee loved that her husband still called her baby and smiled and said, “Sure, Papa.”

  She opened a box of Christmas cards and gazed lovingly at her husband as he answered the phone.

  “Yes, this is Raymond Tyler. Slow down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  Marlee took a pen and started to write special messages to her sons when she heard the tone of her husband’s voice change.

  “You said your name is Zola. Oh God, no! What hospital?” Raymond Sr. asked. His wife looked at him and noticed that the pleasant expression on his face had changed; a mask of joy had been replaced with one of horror. Marlee dropped the cards and pen to the floor and rushed to her husband’s side.

  “Raymond, honey, what’s the matter?”

  He removed the phone from his ear and placed it against his heart and cried, “Baby, our son Raymond’s in ICU, we’ve got to get on a plane right away.”

  What had happened to Raymond Jr.?

  Zola Denise Norwood

  __________________

  I finally discovered the formula for having love in my life. I call it the power of three. Let me explain: find three different men and together you’ll have the perfect man.

  Every year I would review the list of things I found important in a man. I wanted someone who would be my best male friend and even appreciate my hobbies like playing classical music on the piano, watching my favorite television shows, going for drinks and having tea. I wanted a man who was comfortable in his own skin, and making a difference in the world. A powerful man. And I wanted someone who’d make my toes curl every time he touched me. A man who knew how to make love to a woman’s body completely.

  But after being a part of the dating scene for more than three years in New York, I realized my perfect man was going to be hard to find. Besides, love had already tricked me—and once is always enough.

  I know love is like the lottery; you take a chance and at most there are only a few winners. I don’t like to gamble, especially with my heart. I’m like Janet Jackson; I’ve got to have “control.”

  I love men, but they wear me out with all their confusing issues. One day they say they love you and the next they see someone with a bigger ass, bigger breasts and a prettier face and suddenly they forget about love—or at least loving you. I’ve had enough, and I’m not having that kind of madness in my life anymore. I got places to go and things to do without love keeping me down like a set of weights. Finding real love was more difficult than catching stars.

  When I meet a man who has a powerful and dazzling bank account, he is usually boring and consumed with obtaining more power, which means he doesn’t have a lot of time for me or my needs. On those occasions when I find a guy who makes my body rock, he usually has the ambition of a determined picnic ant—he is interested in one thing only, in getting into my goody basket.

  When I meet a guy who listens to me and I trust as a friend, he usually turns out to be gay or bi-curious at the very least.

  So I’ve finally accepted the power of three, and let me tell you, Zola Denise Norwood is one happy lady. Most times.

  First, I have Hayden (no last name, like Cher and Madonna). He’s an unemployed Broadway dancer and just one of the best friends I’ve ever had. We met in a yoga class when I first got to New York and we’ve been close friends ever since. He’s cool for when I want to go dancing, see a play, or go to an independent movie that I can’t convince my girlfriends to watch. Hayden is a handsome escort when I have events and I don’t want to go alone. He’s a Gemini and he can be very masculine one moment and soft and caring the next. He’s also very funny, and a sense of humor is important. I can also trust Hayden with my secrets, something, I hate to admit, I can’t always count on with my good, good girlfriends. It’s my belief that if your girlfriends promise you they won’t tell anybody, they usually mean that they won’t tell anybody after the first three people they’ve blabbed to.

  As my number-two man, I have Davis Vincent McClinton. He is not only the man who made my dream of heading a major magazine come true, he’s also an invaluable source of information. You see, Davis owns the largest African American media company in the world and he’s always passing on useful tidbits about investments and generously provides leads on inside stories of what’s happening with the black elite, not only in New York but in the entire world, be it South Africa or Paris. He’s smart and well respected and powerful
with a big “P.” He’s only five eight in his Gucci loafers, but Davis McClinton commands attention everywhere he goes, whether he’s in the boardroom or the barber shop. He uses his money and influence to help people of color—not just if you have a dream, but if you have a viable business plan as well.

  A lot of women would think Davis is the perfect catch for a husband, and I’m sure his wife, Veronica, would agree every time she lays her American Express black credit card down on the counter and says, “Charge it.” Now, even though I wasn’t raised to date married men, it doesn’t bother me a bit that Davis is married. Besides, he really doesn’t seem that sexual to me. On those nights when he can escape from home, he likes spending time in bed with me, but he also spends a great deal of time reading The Wall Street Journal and business magazines.

  I’ve gotten use to the lack of quality time I spend with Davis, just like I’ve gotten used to his generous nature. I’ve received so many exquisite gifts that I could loan out more jewelry than Harry Winston on Oscar night.

  Last, but certainly not least—what does Vanessa say in her song? “Save the best for last?”—there’s guy number three, Jabar Taylor, my one-man wrecking crew who has a body God created just to cause havoc here on earth. I met Jabar at a gym I go to every once in a while. When he would walk onto the floor, the room would get as silent as a library during finals. Women would start sweating, and not because of the workouts. Jabar’s a beautiful milky brown, with short hair that looks like peach fuzz on his perfectly round head. He’s tall and muscular and is so popular as a personal trainer that it’s a year’s wait before he considers taking on a new client. But with Davis’s help, he made sure I was moved to the top of the list. What’s that saying? Money talks and bullshit walks. But a girl’s got to keep a secret or two for herself, so I didn’t think Davis needed to know that Jabar provided training in other areas as well. The boy is both blessed and gifted, with body but not brains. Aside from being a trainer, Jabar doesn’t have much ambition. Once when I asked him about his dream job, I was hoping he would at least say he wanted to be a policeman or something. He quickly replied, “To be Jennifer Lopez’s personal trainer and valet.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him women didn’t employ valets. But who am I to take away someone’s dreams? I just wish Jabar knew the difference between dreams and fantasy.