I Say a Little Prayer Read online

  Pastor Kenneth opened his desk drawer and pulled out a business card and then walked over to me.

  “Give this young lady a call. Lucy used to be our children’s nanny, but now she’s a television producer. She was at the service when you sang, and she talked about you for days. She might be able to help you. I’ll give her a call also and tell her to look out for you.”

  I looked at the card: Lucy Quinn, Executive Producer, Starting Over. I pulled out my wallet and tucked it inside.

  “Thank you, Pastor Kenneth. Good lookin’ out,” I said.

  “No problem, Brother Chauncey. I hope it works out. I’ll send up a little prayer for you this evening.”

  “Thanks, Pastor. It doesn’t hurt when you got somebody working for God holding your name up in prayer.”

  Pastor Kenneth nodded his head. “No truer words have been spoken.”

  When I got home from church, Reggie, the evening concierge at my building, asked me if I’d been expecting anyone.

  “No,” I said as I pulled my keys out of my pants pocket and searched the ring for my mailbox key.

  “A lady with a big guy, one of those bodybuilder types, was here earlier looking for you. When I asked her for a name and if she wanted to wait, well, she just kinda huffed out of here.”

  “She didn’t leave a name or a message or anything?” I asked, thinking this sounded like the pair Ms. Gladys had seen in the office.

  “No, sir. I asked her at least three times. I didn’t know what I was going to do if you had been here. What was I going to say when I called you up? ‘You have a lady and a goon waiting for you’?”

  “That’s strange,” I said, frowning. “You sure it wasn’t Celia, the young lady who works with me?”

  “No, I remember Celia.”

  “I guess if it’s important she’ll be back,” I said, and headed toward the mailroom right off the lobby.

  “I hope I’m not here. That lady’s attitude was scary,” Reggie said.

  I paused, remembering my final conversation with Griffin, but then I shook my head and said, “Nah,” telling myself to stop trippin’, because I didn’t have money for a bodyguard.

  I grabbed my mail, rang for the elevator, and before I stepped inside, thoughts of the mystery lady, her goon, and Griffin were gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “What’s good, son?” spilled from my answering machine in a voice so deep and smooth it felt like I was being wrapped in silk. It was the voice of the one man I would have given more than three dates if only he’d let me.

  “This is J. B., and I’m in your city and was calling to see if you wanted to hook up. Maybe we can meet at the ESPN Zone. I’m staying at the new Intercontinental on Peachtree. Call me there or on my cell. You got the number,” he continued.

  I picked up the phone and immediately called J. B., or John Basil Henderson, an ex–pro football player who was one of the most handsome men I’d ever kicked it with. He had the kind of good looks that would freeze my eyes, a chiseled body with skin the color of butterscotch and luminous slate-gray eyes that once you looked into, you’d never forget him. Throw in the fact that he was packing over ten inches and, well, I started to sweat just thinking about him.

  I dialed his cell phone and got the voice mail after one ring. He was either on the other line or his phone was turned off. I didn’t leave a message, but I quickly dialed the hotel and asked for Basil Henderson. Again, no answer, so I called his cell phone again and left a message telling him how I would love to see him. “Why not let me cook dinner for you?” I added that I had plans but would gladly cancel them. I guess I sounded eager, but I didn’t care. Not only was Basil unbelievable in bed, but I enjoyed our conversations and just hanging with him. He was, Damien included, one of the most remarkable men I had met. But he was also the classic bisexual man, and the only thing I could hope for was that when he called me back tonight, he was the Basil I’d enjoyed the last time.

  I called Celia. We’d planned to go to the bar at the Ritz-Carlton in Buckhead to drink champagne and eat a nice dinner to celebrate the big deal with Wal-Mart. Thanks to Celia’s hard work, the retail giant had ordered 50,000 units a month for the next year, with an option to extend the deal to three years. Maybe my dream could come true and I could retire and concentrate on my music before I turned forty. Celia had mentioned that one of the VPs at Wal-Mart suggested I give them a call if I ever thought about selling my company. The interest from the largest retailer in the world was flattering.

  This was my evening for answering machines. When I called Celia, I got her voice mail and was a bit relieved. I didn’t want to hear the disappointment in her voice when I canceled our plans.

  “Hey, Ms. Executive Salesperson of the Year, this is your boss. A real good friend of mine came into town unexpectedly and I need to take a rain check on the champagne and dinner. Maybe we can get together on Sunday after church and go back to the Ritz-Carlton? But if you got somebody else you want to take tonight, then go ahead and just put it on your expense account. Hey, why don’t you just do a nice dinner at Bluepoint or Morton’s Steakhouse? It’s on me. See you tomorrow.”

  I walked into my closet to find something to wear for the evening. I didn’t want to look like I was dressed up, but I didn’t want to wear something too baggy. I wanted Basil to know that the body he hadn’t seen in over five years was still tight.

  I decided on some white linen drawstring pants that weren’t too formal, and if I wore the right type of underwear and shirt, Basil would get the message.

  I laid the pants on my bed and picked out white Lycra boxer briefs and a matching T-shirt styled like the classic wife-beater. I went into the dining room and pulled out three vanilla-scented candles and placed them in the window of my bedroom.

  Just as I was getting ready to take a long, relaxing bath, the phone rang; my heart raced with the hope that it was Basil. I looked at the caller ID and saw it was the concierge of my building. Did Basil get my message and just come over without calling?

  “Hello.”

  “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Greer, but there’s a Miss Cunningham and a gentleman here to see you,” Reggie said in a whispered tone.

  “Who?”

  “The lady…I mean, Miss Cunningham and a gentlemen.”

  “Reggie, I’m not expecting her. Would you please tell her to leave a number and I will get in contact with her later. I have other plans,” I said. Whoever Miss Cunningham is, she can wait, I decided as I grabbed my clothes and headed to the bathroom. I lit the candles that were on my vanity and put in my Isley Brothers Greatest Hits CD in the small stereo I kept in my bathroom. The only thing missing was something to sip on in the bathroom while I soaked the tension of the day out of my body and prepared for what I hoped for and needed: an evening of uninterrupted passion.

  I had removed the last piece of the flaky, pink salmon from the grill and placed it next to a medium-well-cooked steak when the phone rang. I rushed with the platter from the patio to the kitchen. Since I didn’t know what Basil’s taste buds were leaning toward, I prepared both surf and turf.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Mr. Greer. This is Reggie again. I have a Basil Henderson down here to see you. Should I send him up?”

  “Yes, Reggie, do that.”

  “Will do. Oh, yeah, I should tell you that creepy lady and the Rock look-alike weren’t too happy when I wouldn’t let them up. Be sure to watch your back, ’cause those two are strange,” Reggie said.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Reggie, but I ain’t scared.” It wasn’t that I was taking their visit lightly, but right now I was only worried about getting the salad made and the twice-baked potatoes golden brown.

  “Mr. Henderson is on his way up.”

  “Thank you.”

  I quickly uncorked a bottle of red and then another bottle of white wine and pulled down four wineglasses from the cabinet. Just as I placed the white wine in the fridge, the doorbell rang. I raced to the bathroom and spr
ayed some of my Burberry cologne on my chest and behind my ears. I moved quickly to the front, took a deep breath, and then swung the door open.

  “What’s up, dude?” I said as I reached toward Basil and gave him the traditional brotherman hug.

  “What’s shaking, fam?” Basil hugged me back, and my body began to warm when I pressed against his well-muscled chest. Basil did not disappoint. He looked even better than I had remembered.

  “Come on in. I’m so glad you took me up on my offer,” I said.

  “It smells damn good in here. You got the place looking nice. I should look in this building before I decide on a place,” he said.

  “You’re moving here?” I wondered if I sounded as anxious as I felt. It would be great to have Basil in Atlanta. My three-date rule would be history.

  “Thinking about getting a little place here but haven’t quite decided. You know, I have a lot of clients down here, and there are lots of prospects here, with Georgia Tech and University of Georgia at Athens,” Basil said.

  “Come on into the dining room,” I said.

  “I’m following you, son.”

  “What would you like to drink?”

  “Got any Chardonnay?”

  “I just opened a bottle,” I said. “Dude, I was so glad to hear from you. How long has it been?”

  “I’m sorry. You know I’ve been busy. But I haven’t forgotten about you. How’s the card business?”

  “Business is good. My assistant just closed a big deal with Wal-Mart. Maybe now I can roll like you,” I said.

  “And you know it,” Basil said as he gave me a slap on the hand in support.

  “So you’re still in the sports management game?”

  “Yeah,—son, you know, right now it pays the bills. But I’m always looking out for the next opportunity. I’m still thinking about giving acting a shot,” Basil said.

  “You know how long I’ve been wanting to put you and that beautiful body on a card or calendar? Either one. Now that we’re all over the world, I could make you a big star,” I said.

  “Man, if niggas and bitches see this body on a card, they would run out of trees trying to keep up with the paper demand,” Basil said. I noticed he hadn’t lost an ounce of his macho bravado.

  “So why don’t we see if we can make that happen?”

  “Now, Chauncey, you ain’t got enough money to make that happen, son. The world needs to see this body on a big screen.” Basil laughed.

  I laughed with him. “So how many clients do you have?”

  “I got six and I hope to sign a couple this year,” Basil said.

  “Any big ones, like Michael Vick or Kobe Bryant?”

  “I would take Vick in a heartbeat, but you couldn’t pay me enough to rep Kobe ‘The King’ Bryant.”

  “Are you ready to eat?” I asked as I took another good look at him over my wineglass. He was dressed like a model. The navy blue pleated slacks fit just right. Not so tight where you could see everything, but not so baggy either, so you could still tell there was a pair of powerful thighs underneath. The pink polo highlighted his arms so they looked like baseball bats stuffed with grapefruits.

  “You know it. Starvin’ like Marvin, son,” Basil said.

  Over dinner, Basil told me how he really loved being a father. He told me his little girl, Talley, was almost six years old and that was another reason he was looking to move to Atlanta, where the girl’s mother was relocating. I didn’t ask if he was still seeing her, but I got the distinct feeling that he was seeing someone, because a couple of times when he mentioned his travels, he slipped and said “we.” It didn’t matter to me, and secretly I hoped he was involved with a woman, because it made my chances better. Whoever she was, she couldn’t do what I could do, and both Basil and I knew that.

  After our third glass of wine we finished dinner, and as Brandy’s new CD played in the background I showed Basil some of the latest cards and calendars we’d done. As our conversation continued and as the evening wore on, I felt my linen pants slipping down like the material had a mind of its own. Maybe my pants were trying to tell me it was time to make my move, or to put something else on.

  “Basil, just hang out here for a moment. I don’t know why I decided to wear these pants tonight. They pick up everything,” I said as I brushed off some invisible lint, “I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said.

  Did that mean he was looking forward to my return?

  I went into my bedroom and pulled off not only the linen pants but my underwear as well. It was getting late, and if I was going to get the night of passion I needed, it had to start soon.

  I kept on my T-shirt and put on a pair of cobalt-blue and gray cashmere sweatpants I’d bought at Saks. They cost almost $500, but when I put them on against my naked ass, it felt like money well spent. I loved the way they hung on my body. Surely, this outfit would remind Basil of what he was missing.

  When I walked back into my office, Basil was looking at a Vanity Fair I had on the coffee table. Then he found some information I’d printed off the computer about Damien and Grayson.

  “What are you reading?” I asked.

  “About this preacher dude in Denver,” Basil said.

  “Oh, don’t waste your time,” I said as I sat on the sofa.

  “Dude sounds like one of them crazy white politicians, and his wife looks oddly familiar.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “It’s hard to tell from this picture. Do you know her?”

  “I know him,” I said bitterly.

  “Oh, it’s like that,” Basil said.

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “What happened?”

  I gave Basil the brief TV Guide version of my relationship with Damien and was relieved when he changed the subject.

  “So you never told me you were a singer.”

  “When I met you, I was trying to forget that I was. But lately I realize it’s a God-given talent and I’m trying to get back in the game,” I said.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Slow motion, but I won’t give up.”

  “That’s wassup.”

  “So what have you been doing with your life?”

  “Well, there have been a lot of changes in my life.”

  “Like what?”

  “Chauncey, I know you and me don’t see each other that often, but you cool peoples. I knew that when I first met you. It’s also the reason I didn’t kick it that much with you, because I liked you so much. You know, back in the day, I think I fucked dudes hard because I was trying to get the desire out of my system. I didn’t like any of the dudes or the chicks that I got down with, so when I had sex I tried to knock the bottom out. I know better now. For me it’s about making love to someone you love,” Basil said.

  My knees weakened. Was he talking about me? Was he going to put it to me? Were my prayers going to be answered? What had I done in my life to be so lucky? I started to move toward him, ready to give him a kiss, when I remembered he didn’t really like to kiss. Still, I was hopeful that had changed as well, and decided to wait a few minutes and see if he would make a move.

  “So have you ever been in love with a woman?”

  “Yes,” I said quickly. I told him about Giselle, whom I had met in a bank when I was trying to get a loan for my company. I told him how not only did she make sure I got the loan but she directed me to seminars in Atlanta and Athens on how to conduct a small business, and she also convinced me to start attending church again. I told Basil how she was so kind and made me feel comfortable around her. And how I came close to slipping just once while I was dating her until I ran into old boy at the gym. I explained that I thought she was some angel on earth who offered me a magic potion to get over my desires. Ever since Damien had left me, I had prayed for God to take away my carnal desires for men. I thought Giselle was the answer.

  “So what happened to her?”

  “She wanted to get married. I wanted
to marry her, but before I allowed her to accept my proposal, I was honest with her about my relationship with Damien and that I continued to have affairs with men after him.”

  “I bet old girl couldn’t deal with that, huh.”

  “She was devastated. I kept telling her that I was changed and I hadn’t cheated on her, but that wasn’t really the truth. You know how we men view one-night stands.”

  “And that’s how it should be. Women be tripping. They all say they want the truth, but when you give it to them straight up, they either don’t hear you or they run for cover. Never tell a female everywhere you been and everybody you done. Feel me?” Basil had a serious look on his face, like he was giving me information I needed to survive.

  “I hear you, Basil.” Now was the time to jump him. He was feeling thoughtful and vulnerable.

  As I moved toward him, I started to loosen the drawstring on my sweatpants so that by the time I reached him they would be around my ankles.

  “So do you think you’ll ever hear from dude?” Basil asked. He wanted to talk more, so I tightened the drawstring again. I looked at the clock on my desk and saw that it was 11:45. I would give it fifteen more minutes before I made my move.

  “I’ve called him, but he hasn’t returned my calls,” I said.

  “But you could blow old boy out the water if you came forward and told your story. The Democrats would show you much love,” Basil said.

  “You think I should do that?” I asked, wondering if Basil’s position on outing people had changed.

  “Naw, dude. I know you not that type of nigga. That’s why I could hang with you and talk with you. I’m just saying old boy should be careful when he’s running for office. No offense, but you probably ain’t the only heart he’s broke. Today niggas going all Catholic and shit. Confessing everything in books and magazines. Every time you turn on the television, there is some brother telling his business on how he’s kicking it with the hardheads. I still keep my shit on the low, even if I’m dealing with someone I trust completely,” Basil said.