18

“So you think they think we punks,” Trent teased.

“That was an educated crowd, they figured it out,” Raymond said.

“Madam chairwoman sure did have a nice house,” Trent said. “I really loved the way she had the buffet set up.”

“It was nice, wasn’t it?” Raymond agreed.

“And the food was off the hook.”

“Yeah, sister laid it out,” Raymond said, speaking of the elaborate buffet of cold tiger shrimp, pastas, chicken, salads, and roast beef.

“Didn’t you think it was funny that most of the wait staff was white or Asian?” Trent asked.

“I guess like they say, we’ve come a long way, baby.”

The two were sitting at the kitchen table late Saturday evening. They had just returned from a dinner given in Raymond’s honor by the local NAACP chapter. Lisa had warned Raymond they would be checking him out, even though many of the members already knew him from his work in the community.

“What did you think of Charles Pope?” Raymond asked. He was another one of the lawyers being considered for the bench. He was a partner with one of the larger firms in Seattle making big bank. A native of Washington, Charles had graduated from the University of Washington and Yale Law School. He had also clerked for Supreme Court Justice Marshall. Rumor was he was a big womanizer and had far too many skeletons in his closet, including a child out of wedlock with his law clerk. He seemed particularly interested in Raymond and Trent’s relationship, but something prevented him from asking them point-blank if they were more than roommates.

“He seemed like a nice guy. But his wife didn’t match,” Trent said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she seemed so shy, almost matronly, but she was certainly gulping down those vodka gimlets. There is an awful lot of pain going on there,” Trent said about the woman who had sat next to him at dinner.

“I didn’t talk to her that long,” Raymond said.

“Yeah, that’s why I think they knew what the deal was. You know with the seating arrangements. They sat me next to Mrs. Pope and you next to the hostess’s husband. Something right out of B. Smith’s book on entertaining,” Trent said.

“Yeah, I did notice that,” Raymond said.

“Charles asked where we met,” Trent said.

“Did you tell him?”

“Yeah, you know he’s a frat.”

“I didn’t know that. I’ve never seen him at any meetings.”

“He ain’t true. He pledged in the grad chapter in one of those walk-right-up-and-sign-in things.”

“I guess that explains why I didn’t know he was a brother.”

The last two weeks had been busy for Raymond. Not only was his calendar filled with sudden social obligations like dinners and drinks, but he was also spending a great deal of time with Lisa preparing for his hearing. When he wasn’t in meetings with Lisa, Raymond was boning up on recent court rulings and scheduling appointments with members of Washington’s congressional staff members. All of this time spent shoring up support for his nomination was causing a little concern around his office. Their small size made a billing lawyer a valuable commodity. Feeling the subtle concern, Raymond had decided to resign. The partners wouldn’t hear of that, but felt maybe a leave of absence might be better. Besides, they knew it would be an honor for them to have a former partner on the bench, one who felt supported by his firm. They never knew when a lawyer from the firm might end up trying a case before Judge Raymond Tyler, Jr.

There wasn’t a major concern about Raymond neglecting his clients or his workload. Most of his clients on retainer weren’t experiencing any major legal problems. But now every time a new case was presented at staff meetings, Raymond had to decline it because of his impending hearing. Because the firm wasn’t large enough to have a partner doing very limited billing, Raymond understood perfectly that a leave of absence was in order.

“So you sure you can take care of me in the lifestyle I’ve become accustomed to?” Raymond asked Trent. He really didn’t need Trent to support him. He had a nice savings account, and his investments were paying off. It just felt nice knowing that if he needed help, Trent had his back.

“Of course, but you’ve got to turn over all your credit cards and develop a taste for fried baloney and egg sandwiches,” he teased. “What do you want to drink?”

“I know I shouldn’t, but let me have a little wine. I don’t have to get up early in the morning,” Raymond said.

“What did your father say about you taking the leave?”

“He thought it was a good plan. Said I need to use all my energy getting ready for those fools in D.C.”

“You’re not going to have a problem,” Trent said as he handed Raymond a glass of white wine.

“Cheers,” Raymond said as he tapped his wineglass against Trent’s beer bottle and smiled.

“I had a nice time and I was real proud of you,” Trent said.

“Thanks for going. It felt good having you near. I know how much you hate those type of things,” Raymond said. Usually Trent only accompanied Raymond to the annual office Christmas party and sporting events. When Raymond needed an escort, he would invite his paralegal, Sara. Recently Sara had met her future husband while escorting Raymond to a client dinner party.

“I don’t hate them. And you know I’ll do anything you need,” Trent smiled.

“I know and I appreciate you,” Raymond said as he sipped some of the cold wine.

About an hour later Raymond was listening to Maxwell’s mellow voice, blending with Trent’s soulful snore, when the phone rang. It was late and Raymond figured it was his father asking about the dinner. He had talked with his father more in the last two months than in the entire previous year. And now when they spoke it wasn’t about Kirby’s football career.

“Hello,” Raymond whispered. He didn’t want to wake Trent. There was no response. Just silence. “Hello,” he whispered again. Suddenly Raymond heard a deep, male voice. “Watch out, my brother. They’re out to get you.” The voice was both frightening and familiar.

And then Raymond heard a dial tone.

Raymond didn’t tell Trent about either of his phone calls. Not the call he received from Basil, who, Trent knew, had rocked Raymond’s world at one point. And Raymond was feeling some guilt because the sound of Basil’s voice made him sweat in places it shouldn’t. Raymond didn’t mention the strange late-night warning call because he didn’t want to talk about it, he wanted it to go away. Besides, Raymond had convinced himself he was dreaming.

But it didn’t take him long to discover which was the more ominous. A couple of days later Raymond got a call from Lisa Lanier.

“Looks like we’ve got a problem,” she said.

“What type of problem?” Raymond asked.

“The NAACP is going to oppose your nomination,” Lisa said calmly.

Raymond felt a sudden chill and then a cold sweat.

“Are you serious?” Raymond asked. He couldn’t believe that the organization he had been a member of since he was nine was against him. His birthday gift. Not the organization where his father, mother, and brother were also lifetime members. This couldn’t be, he thought.

“Yeah, but we’re going to find out what’s going on,” Lisa assured him. “And besides it’s just the local chapter. It’s not like it’s the national office opposing you. This happens all the time.”

“Did they say why?”

“No, I think it’s because they want Attorney Pope since he is a local boy.”

“Are you sure?” Raymond asked. What he really wanted to know was could the NAACP be opposing him because he’s gay?

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it. They wouldn’t dare do it because of anything else. But nothing is final. They’re holding a press conference in about an hour. I just didn’t want you to turn on the television and find out about it that way,” Lisa said.

“Thanks for warning me.”

“And I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but the FBI discovered something they want to talk with you about,” Lisa said.

“Did they say what?”

“No, but I’m sure they will get in contact with you. Now, Raymond, don’t worry, everything will be fine. If it was something major or something that would prevent the nomination, they would have informed the senator. Instead they want to speak with you directly. It’s probably something about a date or some school you attended.”

“Maybe it’s my leave of absence,” Raymond said.

“Don’t worry, this is all part of the confirmation process. Before you know it, I will be calling you Judge Tyler.”

“I hope you’re right, Lisa. I hope you’re right.”

About an hour later Raymond watched as his hostess from the NAACP dinner read from a sheet of paper. Several black men were surrounding her like bodyguards. A television graphic identified them as CCS, Concerned Clergy of Seattle. He noticed the Reverend Willie Mack, Trent’s minister from Mount Zion.

“It’s not that we don’t feel Mr. Tyler is qualified. He’s a fine lawyer and has been a wonderful addition to the Seattle area. We simply feel Attorney Charles Pope is a better candidate and understands the needs of our community, especially on issues regarding the survival of the African-American family.”

With his arms folded across his chest, Raymond watched as Mrs. Ethel Mae Ware refused to answer the reporters’ questions. He suddenly wished he had taped the press conference so he could replay her statement and try to understand the organization’s opposition. Even though he felt he already knew. Because he was gay, they didn’t feel he was a part of the African-American family.