A Love of My Own (12 page)

17
__________________

A ringing phone woke me from a deep sleep. I rubbed my eyes and looked at my caller ID and saw Justine's number. I fumbled to pick up my cordless phone.

“Hello,” I said in a voice still filled with sleep.

“Zola? Have you heard?”

“Have I heard what?” I asked as I sat up in my bed.

“Girl, Aaliyah is dead,” Justine said. “Can you believe that shit?”

“Aaliyah who?”

“Aaliyah the singer. Didn't you have her on the cover once? Remember, you told me how pissed off you were that she was so sweet, beautiful and nice.”

“Justine, don't believe everything you hear. There are rumors all the time about famous people being dead. Remember the Luther Vandross death lies,” I said.

“If you don't believe me, then you need to turn on your television, because all the major networks are running the story. If it's a joke, then it's a sick motherfucking one,” Justine said.

I grabbed my remote control and clicked on the television, which was already on CNBC. There on the television was a photograph of Aaliyah and then a shot of plane wreckage.

“Justine, let me call you back,” I said as I turned up the volume on the television. I sat with my back against my pillows in a stunned silence as I learned of Aaliyah's demise on a small plane in the Bahamas.

My thoughts went back to a few months before, when I sat in the suite at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Washington, D.C., and interviewed Aaliyah. I went in expecting another over-hyped diva. I left wishing I had a little sister with the inner peace and beauty of Aaliyah. I recalled her quiet confidence as she talked about her dreams to be a multitalented performer. She had plans to not only make hit albums but to do movies and Broadway as well. When I left my interview, I was convinced that nothing could get in the way of Aaliyah achieving all her dreams.

I hopped out of bed and got down on my knees and prayed for Aaliyah's safe passage to the next life.

Then I jumped into the shower, put on some jeans and an oversize shirt, and grabbed my bag. I had to get to my office fast.

Two days after Aaliyah died, I experienced one of the longest days of my life. It was Tuesday, and one of those heavy summer days when the sun looked as though it had found a permanent spot in a blue blue sky. I still couldn't believe someone so beautiful, kind and talented was no longer with us.

My staff and I spent most of Sunday and all of Monday trying to pull together a tribute issue for the young singer. This meant a new cover and moving some stories to the December issue. Miraculously, we pulled it off and put the issue to bed. Now came the fun part, informing our cover girl Yancey B. that we had to change plans. I was hoping she and her publicist would understand, but if the photo shoot was any indication, I knew the phone call wasn't going to be easy. But it had to be made.

I located Lena's phone number in my Palm and quickly dialed the number.

“Lena Ford Agency,” a cheery female voice said.

“Is she in?”

“Who may I say is calling?”

“Zola Norwood of
Bling Bling
,” I said.

“Hold on. I'll see if she's available.”

A few moments later I heard Lena's voice. “Zola. How you doing, girl?”

“Fine, considering everything that's happened,” I said softly.

“What happened?” Lena asked.

For a moment I wondered what rock Lena had been hiding under. The story of Aaliyah's plane crash had been on all the news programs and on the front page of several New York newspapers.

“Didn't you hear about Aaliyah?” I asked.

“Oh, that. Yeah, that was real sad,” Lena said causally. “Did you like the pictures of Yancey B.?”

“They're beautiful,” I said, slightly annoyed that all this lady could think about was her client.

“I told you Anthony was just fabulous. I know you're happy we insisted on using him instead of whoever you were planning to use. When is the issue hitting the stands?”

“That's why I'm calling. We had to make a change,” I said calmly.

“What kind of change?” Lena asked. I could hear impatience in her voice.

“Well, I—I hate to tell you,” I said. It was as though the words were jammed in my throat.

“You hate to tell me what?” Lena demanded.

There was an uncomfortable silence. I grabbed a bottle of water that was sitting on the edge of my desk, took a long swallow, and then said, “We're putting Aaliyah on the cover.”

“What?”

“We're going to have to move the Yancey B. cover story back a month. We've decided to do an Aaliyah tribute issue,” I said.

“Tell me you're joking,” Lena demanded.

“No, I'm sorry. We'll put Yancey B. on the next cover,” I said.

“You need to stop trippin'! Yancey B. is going to be on the cover of the December issue. Need I remind you that we gave up a chance to be on
Vanity Fair
to do the cover of your little magazine? I bet they aren't going to do some morbid tribute issue. So whatever plans you've made, change them. Dead singers don't need publicity,” Lena said coldly.

My body began to feel warm, and I was thankful that I was in my office and not with Lena face-to-face, because I would have slapped her silly. I couldn't believe how cruel she was.

“Lena, I understand why you're angry, but my decision is final. I suggest you call Yancey B. and tell her that she will be on the cover in December,” I said.

“I'm not telling her shit. If she isn't on the cover as planned, then she won't ever be on the cover of your magazine.”

“Suit yourself. But I can put her on the cover whenever I please. Have a nice evening,” I said. As I was preparing to hang up the phone, Lena started screaming and swearing.

“Bitch, don't hang up on me. Change that cover! We spent all day doing that shoot. Do you know how valuable Yancey B.'s time is? You can't do this. I'll ruin you
and
your magazine.”

This woman had cracked my last good nerve. I had had enough! “Lena, you need to check yourself. At least you and Yancey B. are alive. She'll have plenty of cover stories in the future, including
Bling Bling.
You need to look in the mirror and check yourself,” I said, and slammed down the phone. I was surprised by the tears flowing down my face.

18
__________________

I was getting ready to go and pick up a pizza before calling it a day, when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw the 858 area code and figured it was Kirby.

“What's up, li'l bro?” I asked as I laid my keys down on the kitchen counter just in case I was getting ready to settle in to one of those long conversations about life.

“'What's poppin', playa? How's the new job?”

“I'm getting into the groove of being in the world of publishing,” I said. “How are you doing?”

“Everything is cool. We lost again this week, but I guess you saw that. I've been talking to my coach about getting me involved in more plays. The head coach thinks since he got a first-rounder in the backfield he needs to get their money's worth, but they're paying a brotha like me a bunch of benjamins too. I want to feel like I'm earning my keep,” Kirby said.

“I hear you. I've got to get me one of those DirecTV packages so I can see your games. They don't ever play them here in New York 'cause you guys start so late,” I said.

“I know. Pops was saying the same thing, but he went out and got one of those satellite dishes because he didn't want to miss nothing. He's come to three games already, and Mama told him if he was going to get on a plane every week to come out here then she was going to start looking for a home out here,” Kirby said.

“How would you feel about that?” I asked, laughing.

“I don't have to worry about that. Mama isn't moving again,” Kirby said.

“I know that's right,” I said.

“Besides, she would be treating me like a baby.”

“You're always going to be her baby. She worries about you just like me. Which, by the way, are you sure everything is all right?”

“Yeah . . . yeah. I'm fine. Dating a different honey every other night. Not about to leave my heart with anyone just yet. I called because one of my buddies is coming your way, and I wanted you to meet him and see if you can help him out,” Kirby said.

“What's up?”

“His name is Sebastian Lewis. Cool dude, played backup to me during the exhibition season and he crashed with me during training camp. Dude busted his knee, so his season is over and most likely his career. He's dating this honey from Jersey, so he's going to shack up with her for a minute until he gets on his feet,” Kirby said.

“What does he want to do?” I asked.

“Sebastian is going to do the trainer thing, and he's interested in becoming an agent. I thought you might hook him up with your dawg Basil to see if he can help out. You know, just look out for him, make sure he keeps his head on straight and doesn't get in trouble in the big city.”

“Where's he from?”

“Pensacola, Florida. Seb played ball at Florida State and he was giving your li'l bro a run for the starting position until his knee problems cropped up. He's got his degree in business and was really interested in meeting you when I told him you were working for that McClinton dude,” Kirby said.

“Hey, what do you know—a football player with a college degree? Sounds like somebody I need to meet,” I said, joking.

“Don't come down so hard. Man, now I realize how lucky I was that Pops stayed on my ass about hitting the books. If I hadn't graduated like I promised, I would have to hear about that shit every day of my life,” Kirby said, laughing.

“Yeah, from both Pops and me,” I said.

“So can I give him your digits?”

“Yeah. Give him my office number and the one here at the crib. I'll take him to dinner and introduce him to Basil. Who knows, Basil's firm might be looking for some young blood,” I said.

“Thanks, bro. I appreciate that and you. Sebastian is becoming like a little brother to me, like family, so I was hoping you'd look out for him.”

“Like he's family. When's he coming East?” I asked.

“I think in a couple of days, but I'll holla back when I get the exact day,” Kirby said.

“That's cool.”

“Ray, can you believe the sad news about Aaliyah? Man, you don't ever know from one minute to the next what the universe has in store for you,” Kirby said.

“Man, that was really sad. I remember playing that Isley Brothers remake she did, “For the Love of You.” That song was tight,” I said.

“That song was the bomb. My big brother is more in the know than I figured,” Kirby said.

“Dude, good music is just good music. It has no age limit,” I said.

“I hear ya. Let me get off this phone. I love ya and miss ya,” Kirby said.

“I love you too, Kirby. I hope you make it to the East Coast real soon.”

“Me too. Holla!”

I was running about fifteen minutes late for my meeting with Kirby's friend Sebastian Lewis. He'd called me the night before and we'd agreed to meet at B. Smith's restaurant in the theater district. I'd made the mistake of going to the old location on Eighth at West Forty-seventh and had to call my assistant to get the correct address, almost two blocks away on West Forty-sixth.

I walked into the spacious restaurant that had the feel of an upscale art gallery. I rushed past the hostess and headed toward the bar, where I saw a handsome peanut-butter-brown man standing at the bar alone with an apple-red sweater and some nice-fitting straight-leg jeans. Sebastian had told me he would be wearing a red sweater.

“Sebastian?”

“Raymond,” he said.

“Yes, I'm Raymond. Nice meeting you,” I said as I extended my hand to shake his. I was startled when Sebastian reached for me and pulled me close to his broad chest in a brotha-man hug complete with the two pats with closed fists on my back. Once he released me, I moved back a few inches and smiled weakly.

“What're you drinking?” I asked.

“Just a brew,” Sebastian said.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” I asked.

“I had something to eat before I came into the city,” Sebastian said.

“Where're you staying?”

“Over in East Orange with my girl, but that won't be for long,” Sebastian said. “I want to find me a small place in the city, but I got to make sure I get a gig before I start spending my money,” Sebastian continued with a slight smile. He had near-perfect teeth and a diamond stud in his left ear. His was wearing his hair in cornrows, but the lines between each braid looked like a perfectly manicured lawn, not scraggly like I had seen on some brothers wearing the seventies hairstyle that was making a comeback with the younger crowd.

“Kirby told me you were thinking about being a trainer,” I said.

“Yeah, but I got to get certified and find a good gym,” Sebastian said as he looked at a beautiful Latina woman who had walked into the restaurant and captured the attention of a couple of other male patrons. I let Sebastian finish checking her out, and when he looked back in my direction, I said, “How much are you going to charge?”

“For what?”

“Training.”

“I don't know. This ain't Pensacola, where folks used to bitch and moan over twenty-five dollars an hour,” Sebastian said.

“I think you can get a little more up here,” I said as I turned toward the mirrored bar to get the attention of the bartender.

“Man, I hope so. Kirby tells me you work for Davis McClinton,” Sebastian said.

“Yeah, I do.”

“What's he like?” Sebastian asked.

“Hold on a second,” I said. The bartender came over and I ordered a glass of Merlot and then continued. “Working for Davis has been a new experience, and most days I like working for one of the world's most powerful black men,” I said. The waiter placed my glass of wine on top of a white linen napkin and then went over to the cash register.

“Does he need a trainer?”

“Who, Davis? I'm sure he's probably got about three or four working for him already,” I said.

“So he got it like that, huh?”

“Davis is a true example of living large. Why are you so interested in Davis?” I asked. Sebastian slightly shook his head and rolled his large brown eyes and said, “I just read an article about him in
Black Enterprise
and wondered if rich and famous black folks were different from the rest of us,” Sebastian said.

“Would you like to meet him?” I asked.

“I don't think Davis McClinton wants to meet me,” Sebastian said as he took a long swig of his beer.

“Kirby mentioned that you might be interested in becoming an agent. Is that true?”

“True dat. He told me you're tight with Basil Henderson, who actually tried to get me to sign when I left Florida State,” Sebastian said.

“So you've met him?”

“Yeah. He was a cool brother. I almost signed with him.”

“Why didn't you?” I asked.

“You know that mentality we youngbloods sometimes have. I thought the white boys could get me a better deal. You know there ain't any black men in management positions in the NFL signing checks, but I must say I was impressed with Basil Henderson. He tried to sell me on how important it was to get with somebody who was interested in making sure I was taken care of once my playing days were over. I had no clue I'd get to spend only a couple of seasons in the league,” Sebastian said.

“So what round did San Diego draft you?”

“They didn't. I was drafted by Dallas in the second round and then traded to San Diego after the first season. I was like cool, because Troy Aikman wasn't slinging the ball like he used to and the Cowboys were stocked with wide receivers, so I figured I'd have a better chance with the Chargers.”

“So what do you need me to do?”

“Whatever. I mean, you could introduce me to some of your peeps like Basil, and if you hear of any cheap apartments, that would be cool,” Sebastian said. He lifted an empty beer bottle in the air toward the bartender.

“What about your lady friend?”

“Dude, I'm cutting her loose as soon as I get on my feet. It's not like she's somebody I'm going to marry. We dated for a little while when I was in school, broke up, then I moved to Dallas and we just reconnected lately. It's just a little something to do while I need a place to lay my head,” Sebastian said.

“How are you going to advertise your training services?”

“I need to get some pictures taken. You know, let the people see what I got. Nobody wants a trainer who can't keep his own shit together,” Sebastian said.

“I feel you,” I said, thinking how old I was when I tried to use the catchphrases of the youngbloods.

“Do you know any photographers?”

“Not personally, but I'm sure the editor of
Bling
can recommend someone,” I said as I took a sip of my wine.

“
Bling Bling
has some nice-looking honeys in there, especially their swimsuit issue. I look through it to see what the hardheads are wearing and what the honeys aren't,” Sebastian said, laughing. “It doesn't matter that I can't afford half that shit.”

“Who's your favorite designer?” I asked. I could tell from Sebastian's well-groomed appearance that clothes were important to him and most likely one of the reasons he and my clothes-crazy little brother had hit it off.

“I like me some Sean John, FUBU, and Phat Farm. Yeah, that's what's up,” Sebastian said.

“You know, I've been thinking about hiring a trainer. Maybe we should give it a shot and see how it works out,” I said.

“You look like you're holding your shit tight for an older dude, but I could put some more muscle on you,” Sebastian said as he reached over and squeezed the top of my arm. He had a powerful grip, and I felt like I needed a trainer just to protect myself from Sebastian's masculine way of showing affection.

“I haven't joined a gym yet, but there's a pretty nice workout area at the apartment I'm living. I've been waiting to join one until I decide where I'm going to finally settle down,” I said as I looked at my watch. It wasn't that I had to go anywhere, but my stomach was growling and I wanted to eat.

Sebastian saw me look at my watch and put down his beer and said, “I'm sorry, Raymond. I'm holding you. I 'preciate you taking the time to see me. Good lookin' out.”

“No problem. Kirby said you were like a brother to him, so I want to do what I can to help you. Let's talk in the next day or two and set up a time to get together,” I said as I took out a card from my wallet and pulled the pen from my suit jacket. I wrote down my address and my cell number and handed it to Sebastian.

“Here are all my numbers. Somehow you'll be able to get me,” I said.

“Cool,” Sebastian said as he inspected the card closely.

“So, are you heading to the train station?” I asked as I grabbed my briefcase.

“Naw, naw. I'm going to hang out here for a minute and see what might come through,” Sebastian said as he looked around the restaurant.