I walked through the door carrying two bags of groceries, smiling from ear to ear. There was nothing like coming home to a clean house, and mine was so clean I could still smell the Pine-Sol. I’d hired this Latino couple, Roxanna and Carlos, after Egypt recommended them, and they did the damn thing. That woman had her husband moving furniture, going up on ladders to clean my ceiling fans…all kinds of work I would have never done myself. I don’t think my house had even been this clean when I bought the place brand-new.
Now all I had to do was cook, and, boy, did I have one hell of a meal planned. The main course would be bourbon brine–roasted turkey legs with honey barbecue sauce, a recipe I’d gotten out of Essence magazine. Side dishes of collard greens and glazed autumn root vegetables would complete the feast. Once I finished preparing the meal and setting the table, I would lower the lamps and light vanilla-scented candles throughout the room.
I used to cook like this at least once a month. I’d prepare all of Big Poppa’s favorites and then present them on a perfectly decorated, candlelit table. I was like Martha Stewart in the body of a gay black man. It was my way of showing Big Poppa how much he meant to me. After a while, though, I started doing it less often. His reaction was never as grateful as I’d imagined it should be, and I started feeling taken for granted. If he was getting this type of service in my house, there would never be a reason for him to take me out to a nice, romantic restaurant. I was making it too easy for him to keep me in the compartment he seemed to want me in: occasional fuck buddy, definitely not someone he’d proudly take out in public.
I shook my head as if it would erase the unhappy memories I was focusing on. I had more important things to do, like prepare this fabulous meal for my friend Hannah and the special guest she was bringing. Hannah was a friend I knew from my old job. We weren’t best friends by any means, but after everything that had happened, I needed someone to talk to. Even more so, I needed someone who could make me laugh, and Hannah used to be able to do that when we occasionally hung out at a happy hour after work. So, I called her and asked her to meet me at a local bar.
It was good to see her and talk about old times—happier times. We stayed away from difficult subjects, especially her boss, who happened to be my ex–best friend Loraine. I still missed her terribly. Hannah didn’t know the details behind why Loraine fired me, but she knew enough not to bring her up now. I also didn’t tell her about Ron’s death. Like Big Poppa, she might have read about it in the papers, but if she did, she was classy enough not to mention it.
I did, however, share with her the news that I had finally broken up with Big Poppa. He was still calling me on the regular, telling me how much he loved me, but I’d stood my ground. I missed the hell out of him, but I made it clear that we were never getting back together as long as he was still with his wife.
Hannah tried to hide a smile when I told her, but I knew she wasn’t sorry about the breakup. She didn’t necessarily have a problem with me being gay, but she definitely didn’t like that I was sleeping with married men. Once she heard that Big Poppa was no longer in the picture, she started jabbering away about this friend she wanted me to meet. His name was Jake, and from her description, he sounded like my physical type. The one thing about him that would be new and different for me? He was a gay man who was out of the closet.
Somehow, the timing seemed right. For the longest time, I had only liked men who were in the closet, especially married men. I don’t know; I guess it was the whole “thrill of the chase” thing, like it proved I was the bomb if I could turn out all these supposedly straight dudes. A shrink would have a field day with me, no doubt.
Now I was realizing that my thing for straight guys was more than just a game; it had hurt a lot of people. Freddie got his ass kicked by his wife because of it. Big Poppa was living in this kind of limbo, and he never really seemed happy with who he was. Peter had gone off the deep end and turned into a psycho stalker. And of course there was Ron, who had paid the ultimate price. Yeah, maybe it was time to give openly gay men a try.
While the turkey was in the oven, I went to my bedroom to put on my best suit. I sure hoped this guy Jake was worth all the effort I was making.
My phone rang, and I smiled when I looked down and saw Egypt’s number on the caller ID. She worked with Hannah, so no doubt the two of them had been gossiping all day about my blind date. Egypt was probably calling to tease me.
“Hey, girl,” I said when I answered the call. “Those cleaning people you recommended were incredible.”
“Jerome,” she said in a voice that was definitely not lighthearted. “You need to get down to MCV right now.”
“MCV? As in the hospital? For what?”
“Loraine needs you.”
I swear to God it felt like my heart screeched to a halt. “Oh my God. Is she all right?” We hadn’t spoken in such a long time, but I still had much love for Loraine, and I always would.
“It’s not Loraine; it’s her husband. He’s been shot.”
I almost dropped the phone. “Leon got shot?”
“Three times in the chest.”
“You lying. That shit ain’t funny, Egypt.” Maybe that sounds like a strange thing for me to say, but if you knew Egypt, you’d understand. When Loraine and I first had our falling out, Egypt had tried everything she knew to get us back together. Now, because I didn’t want to believe yet another tragedy had occurred, I convinced myself this was just another ploy to get me to call Loraine.
“I wouldn’t lie about something like this, Jerome. You need to get down here. Loraine needs you. She needs all the real friends she can get. I know y’all ain’t been speaking since she fired you, but a real friend is always there in a time of need—no matter what.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I said before disconnecting the call.
I found Egypt and Loraine sitting in the surgical waiting room at MCV. Loraine looked like hell. Her eyes were red and puffy, and black trails of mascara ran down her cheeks. She stood up when she saw me approaching, and I grabbed her and hugged her with all my strength. It was as if all the drama between us had never happened. She had been my best friend for years, and no matter what we had been through, it felt so right to have my arms around her.
“I’m sorry, girl. I’m so sorry,” I said. These are the same words most people speak when comforting someone during a tragedy, but for me, there were so many layers of meaning. Maybe someday we would repair our friendship and I could truly apologize for everything; but for now, we could deal with only the awful situation at hand. “Is Leon all right?”
“He’s in surgery.”
I could see the tears glistening in her eyes, and that just made my eyes begin to water. We stared at each other for a moment. I was left speechless by the surreal situation, not only because her husband had been shot, but also because I was standing in front of the friend I thought I had lost forever.
“They shot him, Jerome. They shot my husband.” I pulled her into another tight embrace and held her as she cried. “I can’t believe they shot my husband.”
I kept my arms around Loraine but turned my attention to Egypt to try to get a grasp of the situation. “What happened?”
“I don’t really know,” Egypt answered. “Loraine told me that she came home and found him on the bedroom floor. The police are over there now trying to gather evidence.”
“There was so much blood,” Loraine sobbed.
I felt my body tensing with anger. I hoped like hell that the police would find whoever did this in a hurry, and make them pay.