I Say a Little Prayer (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“W
hat’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 sprayed 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?”