A Love of My Own (3 page)

I studied piano and ballet and was president of Jack and Jill. I won several piano competitions and won the only pageant I ever entered, Little Miss Black Nashville.

My parents always told my sister, Pamela, and me that we could do anything we dreamed and encouraged us to dream big. I listened. My sister, Pamela, didn't because she was too busy whoring around and doing drugs.

Bling Bling
is going into its third year of publication with a circulation of more than 250,000 a month, and despite the competition has been growing at a rate of over 20 percent a year.

I just love my job! I get to go to movie premieres, fabulous parties, and meet interesting characters almost every day. So what if some of them are ill-informed rappers, BPWTTR (Black People Who Think They're Rich) and DWDs (divas with drama)?

Raymond
Winston Tyler Jr.
_________________

Children should be the only ones allowed to believe in dreams with happy endings. It sure would save a lot of grown-ups so many sleepless nights.

I don't remember when I gave up on happy endings and can't really explain the sadness I felt for months when life dealt me my latest disappointment.

Just when I was thinking my love life was going to end up in the happily ever after way I'd dreamed it would, I was once again reminded how cruel life and love can be. If I'd just hung up the phone a moment earlier, maybe my life and my love for my partner, Trent could have gone on the way it had for more than seven years. If only I hadn't had a craving for a pepperoni pizza.

I was in the family room, looking over some contracts I was reviewing on a freelance basis for a firm in Seattle. I don't think Trent realized I was home. Why else would he risk having a phone conversation that would cause our relationship to end?

When I picked up the phone to satisfy my pizza jones, I heard a female voice screaming, “When are you going to tell him? I can't and won't wait forever.” She was shouting so loud that they didn't notice I'd picked up the phone. I started to hang up but thought they would hear the click, so I just held the phone close to my ear. I then heard Trent say “Okay, baby. Okay. I'll tell him.” I knew I shouldn't be listening, but I was intrigued . . . Tell who what?

“Well, if you don't tell Raymond, then I will, 'cause I am not doing this alone,” the female voice said. Well, now I knew who “him” was. But I couldn't help wondering what she wouldn't do “alone.”

“Michelle, you can't do that! I told you I would tell him. Give me a couple of days. I've got to go,” Trent said.

“You've got twenty-four hours. If you don't tell him by then . . . I'll file my paternity suit,” Michelle said.

“I told you, don't worry! I'll take care of it,” Trent said before he hung up the phone.

For a few moments I just held the phone close to my chest, hoping I was in a crazy dream. Had I heard what I thought I heard? I just hung up the phone and stood silently, deciding what I should do next.

I could hear Trent moving around in our bedroom and thought maybe I should march upstairs and demand to know what was going on though a part of me didn't want to know.

But when I heard Trent coming down to the family room I decided I needed an explanation. Immediately.

Trent bounced into the room with his usual wide grin. There was nothing unusual about that. Trent was one of those people who always seemed to have a smile on his face and made anyone who saw him wonder what he was so happy about. It was one of the things I loved about him, even though right now I hated to admit it. But when he came toward me with his lips puckered, I felt a sharp pain, like someone was driving a dagger through my heart, and then jiggling it around for good measure. I pushed him back and said, “Trent, we need to talk.”

“Don't I get a kiss?” he asked playfully.

“Trent, who is Michelle?”

“Michelle? Are you talking about Michelle Adams?”

“I don't know her last name. Who is Michelle Adams?”

“She works with me. Remember? We worked together on the new ballpark. She joined the firm about two years ago. She's from Miami,” Trent said with a puzzled look.

“Was that who you were just talking to on the phone?”

For a few long sounds Trent didn't respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was accusatory. “So, you're listening to my phone calls?”

I started to defend myself, but instead I screamed, “Why is she talking about a paternity suit?”

“Michelle is pregnant,” Trent said calmly.

“Yes, and what would that have to do with you?”

“I'm the father.”

“What?”

“Michelle and I are going to have a baby,” Trent said as he glanced around the room to avoid looking at me.

I was telling myself not to give him drama, to remain calm even though I felt my life disintegrating before my eyes. I remained silent, but my eyes looked at Trent and said, “Mutherfucker, you have
got
to be kidding me.”

“Raymond, talk to me. Let's talk about this,” Trent pleaded. I still didn't say anything, and Trent got nervous and started talking so fast he erupted like a geyser letting loose for the first time in years.

“You know this is just as much your fault as it is mine. If you'd been here at home with me instead of running back and forth to Alabama and San Diego, this wouldn't have happened. I needed somebody. I didn't want to hurt you, but I was lonely. Michelle and I didn't plan to have a child.”

While he was talking I was thinking about returning to my undergrad alma mater, the University of Alabama, to teach at the law school for a semester. Was this the same man who told me what an honor it was for me to be asked to return and teach there and that I'd be a powerful role model for minority students? Was this the same man who told me I should get on a plane to go and comfort my baby brother while his marriage was crumbling?

I suddenly felt like Trent was sucking all the air out of the room and that if I stayed there listening to him, he was going to suck the life out of me, too.

I walked toward the stairs, and suddenly Trent grabbed me and shouted, “You've got to listen to me. Let me explain. This doesn't have to end our relationship!”

I could no longer remain silent. As I pulled away I said, “Trent, what relationship?”

I walked slowly up the stairs, praying he wouldn't come after me, but hoping somewhere in my heart he would.

He didn't.

I spent the night in a hotel, where I had cold pizza and warm beer. I couldn't sleep, so I watched a lot of Nick at Nite and ESPN. I started to call Trent several times to ask him to explain himself. How could he have done that to me? To us? Infidelity is infidelity, so at first I didn't focus on the fact that he'd been unfaithful with a woman, but I now wondered if his infidelity had included men as well.

I wanted to call my baby brother, Kirby, and tell him what had happened, but he was still nursing his wounds from his own divorce. I thought of calling my mother, who I knew would make me feel better, but she would tell my father and he would tell her, and maybe me, “I told you so.” Calling my best friend, Jared, was an option, but I knew after he'd let me have my say, he'd start talking about the kids and how wonderful married life is, and I would be cursing the day I accepted the fact that I was gay, that I would never really experience the joy I heard in Jared's voice when he talked about Nicole and the kids. Besides, they were in the throes of moving from New York to Atlanta.

Maybe Trent believed he could risk taking a chance since he knew about my “three strikes you're out” theory when it came to relationships. As far as I knew, he only had one strike against him. Several years ago his transgression with an undercover cop had cost me a chance to be on the federal bench. But now, it was time for me to move on and not risk being shocked by what strike three could be.

A few days later Trent and I finally got together. I was still angry, but I had invested too much in the relationship to at least leave with Trent as a friend, and he'd been a great friend for as long as I'd known him when we were fraternity brothers at Bama.

We didn't talk a lot about what had happened as we sat around the round glass table where we often shared dinner. He kept telling me how sorry he was. Since I'd been away so much, Trent had started to feel sorry for himself and used the rationale that he didn't want to be with another man, because he didn't want to jeopardize our relationship. He didn't think that being with a woman would harm the relationship, especially if I never found out. The baby had been a huge surprise to both him and Michelle. When I quizzed him about safe sex, he said the condom broke.

“So what are you going do?” I asked.

“I want to work this out with you because I still love you,” he said.

“What about Michelle?”

“Michelle said she loves me and wants to marry me.”

“What are you going to do?” I repeated.

“I want to do what's right,” Trent said, looking away.

“So you want to take a wrong and make it right. Sounds like there is no place for me in that solution.”

When Trent remained silent and didn't reassure me there was room for me in his
situation,
I knew my so-called good thing had come to an end.

We decided to put the house on the market, and agreed to let some time pass before we resumed our friendship. When he asked me if I was going to stay in Seattle, I really didn't know the answer. Seattle held so many memories for me. Trent and I had moved there because we thought it was such a beautiful city. It was. Still, I knew that every restaurant, shopping mall or gym would remind me of Trent. Seattle meant Raymond and Trent, and since we were no longer a couple, I thought I should move on.

A week later Trent moved out. I don't know where. I assume with Michelle. I contacted a headhunter, Heather Sparks, whom I had met while teaching law school at the University of Washington. When Heather asked me what city I wanted to live in, I told her anywhere but Seattle. I was thinking about San Diego and even Los Angeles. Anywhere but here.

A couple of days later Heather called me and said, “I think I have a wonderful opportunity for you.”

“I'm listening.”

“Have you ever heard of a magazine called
Bling Bling
?”

I thought for a moment and said, “I don't think so.”

“Have you heard of a man named Davis McClinton?”

“Sure everyone has heard of him,” I said. “We studied him in business school.”

“Well, he owns a publication called
Bling Bling.
It's a hot, up-and-coming Hip Hop magazine. He also owns more than one hundred radio stations across the country and a couple of television stations in South Africa. A real media mogul,” Heather said.

“I think he's one of the richest men in the country,” I said.

“And he's African American,” Heather added.

“No, stop!” I said, kidding Heather. I remembered how proud I was when we studied Davis McClinton when I attended the University of Washington executive MBA program. I was the only African American male in the class and I loved hearing how Davis had bought several radio stations on the brink of bankruptcy and turned them into huge moneymakers. He took his company public and made millions. Later, in a shrewd move, Davis McClinton purchased the stock and turned it back into a private company, bigger and more powerful than before. I thought it would be great even if I got the chance only to meet Davis McClinton. Now, the prospect of working with him was just as exciting.

“So, what's the job?” I asked.

“CEO of the publishing arm of his business. I've already talked with the search firm in New York, and they love your background. They were really impressed that you had both a law degree and a MBA,” Heather said.

“What's the next step?”

“I thought this would be perfect for you, so I've already set up the initial interview.”

“Where is the job?” Since Davis McClinton owned a media company, I assumed it would be based in either New York or L.A. I was hoping for the Big Apple.

“New York,” Heather said.

“New York,” I repeated. When the words came out of my mouth I felt like somebody had told me I had a chance to go to heaven. I felt a sense of relief. I knew there was only one place I wanted to be: New York City. I needed the city with the big arms and heart. I hoped it needed me.

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Confidential . . . the private website with observations and information on characters in
A Love of My Own
too busy causing havoc to speak for themselves.