Secret Society (11 page)

“What are you talking about, Tariq? I mean, really, I have somebody on my other line,” I said, totally oblivious to what he said.

“I was tested positive for HIV, Celess, and it’s only fair that I make the necessary calls to the people I may have infected.” He paused. “Or may have infected me.”

I held the phone to my ear but said nothing. I didn’t click back over to Tina. I didn’t want to burden her with some bullshit while she was on her honeymoon. I didn’t even respond to Tariq. I just sat there in dead silence, holding the phone to my ear. I heard Tariq saying hello. I even heard the dial tone that phones make when they are off the hook. But I still held the phone to my ear waiting—waiting for a voice to yell, “Wake up.”

“Beverly Hill.” The nurse called out the false name I gave her.

I stood up after first hesitating and followed the nurse through the door.

“Have a seat,” she said.

I sat in the chair that was placed against a wall. I looked around the small room. There were needles, plastic gloves, containers, and charts scattered about. There were brochures and posters on the walls warning people of HIV and AIDS. Chills went up my spine just from reading the information.

“Roll up your sleeve, please,” she said as she dampened a cotton ball with alcohol.

I began to do as I was told. I took off my jean jacket and placed it in my lap. Then I proceeded to unbutton the cuff on my blouse. I looked very plain that day. I was not flashy at all. I had my reasons, though. I was feeling down for one, and for two I was trying to be as incognito as possible.

“Understand that if the results of this test come back negative, we still recommend you get another test six months from now. This test will only show results as of six months ago, which means that if you’ve come in contact with the virus within the past six months it won’t show up in this test,” the nurse said as she dabbed my arm with the cotton ball.

“Whatever,” I mumbled.

I didn’t have an attitude. It was just that I was deep in thought. I kept thinking about all of my risky behavior and how that might wind up ending my life. My only worry had been dudes finding out I was a gay man. Never did I worry about getting AIDS, even though it was common among gay guys. But all the dudes I messed with were straight—well, most of them. Plus they were all clean and getting money. They weren’t scrub-ass corner boys who put their dick in everything. But come to think about it, that damn O had bitches around every corner and it’s no telling how many men he might have had. Shit, he was bound to have one dirty dick.

“You know, AIDS is not a death sentence,” the nurse said as she tapped my arm in search of a vein. “Many people are uneducated about it and therefore they’re scared of it. They’re scared to get tested and so they spread it—not intentionally, though, but they do it unaware that they even have it. That’s why, believe it or not, you taking the first step and getting tested is a good thing. It’s the best thing.”

“Ouch,” I said as she stuck me with the needle.

I had my face frowned up from the pain as I was looking at my blood fill the needle. The nurse removed the needle, stored the blood, and wiped my arm with an alcohol pad. She then placed a cotton ball over the tiny needle mark and taped it to my arm.

The whole time I sat silently thinking about Michael. What if I’d fucked around and given him some hot shit? It’s one thing for a trifling nigga to give it to me, but it’s a whole other story for
me
to give it to somebody, especially somebody like Michael. After all he’d done for my trifling ass, I thought.

“Make an appointment to come in for your test results in two weeks, okay?” the nurse instructed me, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes.”

“Have a good one,” she said.

As I was leaving the clinic I noticed everybody looking at me with shame. It was as if they knew something I didn’t. They looked like they pitied me. The truth was I pitied them for having to live in a world with people like me.

“S
ay HO-OH! HO-OH! Say HO-HO! HO-HO!” the loud echo sounded.

Power House was the perfect place to celebrate my clearance. My test had come back negative and I wasn’t worried about that six-months shit because I hadn’t fucked Tariq within the past six months, so I figured I was cool. I was backstage getting nice off of Alizé red. I was sitting alone in a room with like a thousand groupies, some lucky fans, and a few lingering security guards. My eyes were burning from the thick weed smoke that filled the air. Rappers and members of their entourages would pass by occasionally and peep in. The groupies would go crazy, and it never failed that at least one would get gripped up by a big three-hundred-pound guard and get thrown out the door. I just kept my cool. I wasn’t after the rappers or their homies, anyway. I was after the promoters. Promoters were easier to get to and played fewer games. Tina taught me that it was the promoters who paid the entertainers, so if anybody was holding, it was them. Plus, rappers’ heads were too swelled, so they liked to take girls on joyrides, and a lot of times girls ended up fucking for nothing except bragging rights. Not me.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked the big guard at the doorway.

“Right down the hall on your left,” he said, pointing in the direction.

I went into the bathroom to check my makeup. I was okay, but I needed to reup on my lipstick courtesy of the numerous cups of Alizé. I figured I would linger in the bathroom for a while until it was time to make a move.

Close to the end of the show, right before people flooded the hall, I approached this dude who was walking past me. His eyes were glued to mine even though he walked by swiftly.

“Excuse me.” I hollered out. “Where is the exit?” I asked as if I was lost.

“This way. Why?” he said, looking back at me.

“Well, if you lead, can I follow?” I asked.

“I’m not going to the exit yet, sweetheart,” he said hurriedly.

“I didn’t say you were,” I said, walking toward him. “Go ’head,” I said. “I can keep up.”

The guy raised his eyebrows and looked at the guy who was with him. I could tell neither of them was used to somebody like me coming at them, because I took them by surprise.

“I’m not no star, sweetheart,” the guy said with a chuckle.

“I can make you one,” I said, smiling.

“As flattered as I am, I have to turn down your offer. I’m in a rush,” he said as he started to walk away.

I heard the other guy mumble, “I don’t believe you turned that away.”

So I commented, “Some people
already
have it all.”

The guy stopped walking and turned back to face me. He shook his head. “You’re hurting me, sweetheart. Got damn, you are.”

“Just tell me when and where to meet you,” I said.

“Two at Four Seasons, suite twenty sixteen.”

I smiled and watched him and the other guy continue their brisk walk to the end of the hall. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure he was a promoter, but he was somebody, and my instincts were telling me to ride.

I went to the South Street Diner to pass time. I ordered the hungry woman breakfast and pigged out. It was packed. I was alone. I was thinking about Michael and how I would much rather have been with him that night, cuddling and making love, watching a few flicks, and maybe playing a game of Scrabble. Yeah, I guess I was falling in love. But I was missing the other stuff that I had been faithful to for four years—the different ballers, the one-night stands, the money, the flash, the fun, the rush. I wanted it bad. And this was the perfect opportunity to get it back, while Michael was away working on a contract.

It was two-eleven when I knocked on suite 2016. There was no answer. At first I was thinking the dude had played me and fed me some bullshit. But I waited around for a little while, hoping he didn’t. It was two thirty-eight when I finally decided to leave. I walked toward the elevator.

“Where you goin’?”

I turned around and saw the guy placing the key in the door. I was relieved, but I had to let him know that I was pissed. I looked at my watch.

“Two o’clock was a half hour ago,” I said.

He smiled and said, “Right, so we definitely don’t have any more time to waste, do we?”

I grinned and followed him into his suite. It was big and nicely designed, but I’d seen better. Besides, he had it looking like a pigsty.

“I never did get your name,” he said as he started throwing things from the bed onto the floor.

“Ce…lina,” I said, deciding at the last minute not to give my name.

“Selena?” he asked. “Like the singer?”

“Yes, like the singer,” I said, standing in the same position as if I was on my pivot.

“Come in, have a seat. You have to excuse this mess, I was rushing for the show.”

“What’s your name?” I asked as I walked over to the bed.

“Mann,” he answered.

I sat down and he sat next to me. He was an old head, probably in his mid- to late thirties. He was short and somewhat stocky, with a cute light brown face: squinted eyes, a pointed nose, and thin lips. He had a nicely groomed mustache and goatee and a low cut that revealed a nice grade of waves. He admired me, I could tell.

“You are very attractive, you know that?” he said. “And you look good as hell in that dress. Is that a dress?” he asked, placing his hand on my thigh.

I was wearing a Missoni minidress. It was colorful, with blotches of aqua and hot pink, and it came to the middle of my thighs. It had long, loose sleeves that gathered at the wrists, giving it a balloon effect. My legs were bare and I wore a pair of Marc Jacobs leather hot pink pointy-toe pumps with a kitten heel. I wore my hair in a weave that was parted in the middle with loose curls at the tips that fell a little past my shoulders. My makeup was soft but vibrant, with one coat of hot pink on my eyelids and lips and a small amount of pink blush. I had on diamond hoops and a diamond Rolex, and I carried a small hot pink leather clutch. I wore no coat despite the fact it was the end of October.

“You look like something out of magazine,” Mann said, rubbing my thigh.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Enough about me. I want to know about you. What are you into?”

“Well, I told you earlier I’m not no star, you know. I’m just a regular cat doing regular things.” He was beating around the bush.

“A presidential suite in the Four Seasons is not regular in any sense of the word,” I said. “Come on, tell me what you do. You run the show, don’t you? You’re that man behind the scenes that nobody knows but who got the big bank, ain’t you?” I asked him in between nibbling on his ear.

He smiled. “I don’t know about the big bank, but I am behind the scenes. I’m a promoter-slash-manager. So, yes, I am the one who runs the show.”

“See, now, was that hard?” I asked, fondling him.

“And what about you? What do you do, because usually the gold diggers go after the performers, the ones who show their hands. I never in all my years in this business had one come after me. Shit, they even go after the bodyguards and the drivers. But they never come after me. So what are you into?”

I smiled at him. “Why dig for gold when diamonds play the surface? I’m a professional.”

“I see,” Mann said, as he lay on his back and closed his eyes.

“G
ood morning, yall,” I said as I walked into the salon.

I got the usual “Hey, girl, what’s up? You look tired.” I sat down at the receptionist’s desk and pulled out my bacon, egg, and cheese on a hoagie roll. I took two bites out of it and was interrupted by a phone call on my cell.

“Yes,” I answered, frustrated.

“Put that sandwich down and have brunch with me.” The voice on the other end sounded so clear, as if it were right next to me.

“Ba-by!” I squealed as I jumped out of my seat.

Michael was walking toward me from the back of the salon.

“Yall knew my baby was back and yall didn’t say nothing,” I teased.

It had been a whole month since I’d seen Michael, and I missed the hell out of him.

“Oooh maaa!” He gave me a big kiss on my forehead and squeezed me in his muscular arms.

“When did you get back?” I asked, sounding like a little girl.

“Late last night. I didn’t want to call because I figured you were asleep.”

“So, where are we doing brunch?” I asked excitedly.

“Somewhere nice,” Michael said as he tossed my keys to Kelly, the first stylist.

“Here, you lock up tonight. We won’t be back in time to close,” he told Kelly.

I grabbed my black and white graffiti Louis Vuitton bag off the counter and followed Michael out the door. We got in his white-on-white S500 and sped off. We hit 676 and I put my seat back and fell asleep. When I woke up we were on 495 south headed to Maryland.

“The harbor?” I asked in amazement.

“Yeah, there’s a nice breakfast spot down here I’ve been wanting to take you.”

Michael maneuvered the Benz S-class into a parking spot. I checked my appearance in the mirror and we hopped out. It was nice outside for a November day. The sun was shining bright and the air was thin but crisp, creating a light, comfortable breeze. I had on a pair of low-rider straight-leg jeans that were smack tight. The black cashmere leg warmers on top of them fell right over the top of my black leather pointy-toe stiletto boots. I had on a black cashmere fitted hooded sweater that revealed a little of my stomach underneath a white fitted waist-length leather jacket by Kenneth Cole. I looked cute and casual, very much dressed for the occasion, fortunately.

“Two?” the hostess asked.

“Yes, nonsmoking, please,” Michael said.

“Right this way.”

We followed the hostess through a half-empty diner. She led us to a booth, handed us two menus, and told us our waitress would be with us shortly.

“This is a nice place,” I said as I examined the decor.

“Yeah, I used to come out here every Saturday when I lived out Silver Spring,” Michael said.

“You lived everywhere.”

“Well, when I get a contract that takes one or more years, I have no choice, right?”

Michael and I ate a delicious breakfast and enjoyed each other’s company. We walked along the harbor hand in hand and he told me all about the building he just finished in Pittsburgh. He made $75,000 off that job alone. His bank account had to be O’ed up. Anytime he was able to open me a salon in Northern Liberties, pay rent on Delaware Avenue, and afford month-long hotel stays every now and then, he was paid.

Michael and I spent the whole day in Baltimore. We did some shopping while we were at the harbor. I spent like $2,000 (of Michael’s money) in Victoria’s Secret buying up just about everything from their new collection. Then we drove to a movie theater on Eastern Boulevard to see
Minority Report.
After the movie, Michael took me to this restaurant called Cactus Willies. That had to be the best buffet spot I’ve ever been to. Michael dropped me off at my car at a quarter to ten. The salon was closed up. The cold dark streets were empty. I would have spent the night with him, but he was exhausted and just needed to be alone in his own house in his own bed. I respected that.

When I walked in the door, I noticed I had messages. I plopped down on my couch and pressed the button to listen.

“Hey, Selena, what’s up? It’s Mann. Give me a call, all right? Peace.”

My man is back now, I have no need for you, I thought.

The next message was from Tina. “Celess, girl, you have to call me! You won’t believe who I saw down here!”

I picked up the phone to call her. I hadn’t spoken to her in a while, anyway, and I needed to update her, especially about Tariq giving me that AIDS scare.

“Hi, Derrek, is Tina there?”

“Hey, Celess, honey, how’ve you been, darling?”

“Oh, just fine, thanks for asking. How about yourself? I heard the honeymoon was nice,” I said.

“It was magnificent, thanks. But hold on, here she is.”

“Hello,” Tina said.

“What’s up, girl?”

“What’s up?”

“I got your message.”

“Oh, Celess!” Tina said. “I saw James yesterday!”

“For real? Where?”

“Me and Derrek had floor seats to the Lakers versus the Rockets. Why was this nigga standing right near us while he was waiting to substitute some dude? He looked me right in the eye and gave a ice grill out this world. I just smiled. Derrek was like, what was that about? I was like, I used to tease the hell out of his nerd-ass in school.”

“For real,” I said. “So, he’s still pissed off, hahn?”

“Girl,
pissed
ain’t the word. If looks could kill, yall would be planning my funeral right now.”

“Well, I’m over that. I took your advice. I slowed down a lot. I just fuck with Michael right now and I strap up with him, especially after Tariq called me with the bullshit he called me with.”

“What bullshit did Tariq call you with?”

“This nigga got HIV, Tina.”

“What? Well, what about you, are you straight?”

“I’m cool,” I said.

“You went and got tested?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, when did he tell you this? I mean, why are you just now tellin’ me? I would’ve flew up there and went to the doctors with you,” Tina insisted.

“I know, but it’s cool. You were in Italy with Derrek. Plus I wasn’t about to have you worrying about me on ya honeymoon, you know?”

Tina exhaled. “That’s crazy,” she said. “That’s why I’m glad I’m out. I’m glad I’m done. That game will swallow you up.”

“No bullshit,” I agreed.

Tina quickly changed the subject. “So, the last time we spoke, you were debating whether or not you were going to go to Power House by yourself. Did you go?”

“Yeah. And I met this guy named Mann, a promoter.”

“You fucked him?” Tina butted in.

“Tina,” I whined, “I was lonely and I needed that G.”

“A measly G? The last I checked, you had a nigga buying you hair salons. What do you mean, you needed that G?”

“I still got my other needs. Tina, come on, don’t act like you don’t know. Shit, I need more than my bills paid. I need my image maintained, and Premarin and electrolysis never been cheap. What am I supposed to do, stop taking my hormones and grow a beard? I don’t think so.”

“Celess, but you gotta stop getting those needs met like that. You’re already pressing your luck with Michael.”

“How?”

“He doesn’t know you are a man, Celess, that’s how!”

“Just like Khalil, Drake, Jahuan, et cetera, et cetera, didn’t know you were a man!”

“Right! And I could have got my ass killed!”

“So you’re telling me that if you never found Derrek and never got married, you would have still got out the game?”

“I don’t know, Celess. It was Derrek who made me even think about the shit I was doing. So, honestly, probably not. If I never met Derrek I would not have even thought about getting out the game, but I did. And everything happens for a reason.”

“Well, my reason didn’t come to me yet. What am I supposed to do?”

“Celess, tell Michael. He’s a nice guy and he loves you. He might not mind. I have ideas about him, anyway. He might be gay or he might be bi. Just tell him,” Tina pleaded. “Before it’s too late.”

What Tina said about Michael weighed heavily on my mind for days. Every time I saw him I wanted to tell him. I didn’t know if it was all in my mind or not, but it did seem like Michael could have been gay. The way he dressed was clue number one. But he wasn’t feminine. It was little things like his neatness and his emphasis on personal hygiene. I didn’t know. Maybe I just wanted him to be gay so that I could tell him about me and we could go on and have what Tina and Derrek had. That would have been the only way I would have satisfied Tina and left the game for good, even if Michael can’t give me all the things I was used to. I could learn to be content with the life he was capable of giving me.

“Damn, what did I do to deserve this?” Michael asked as he walked into my dining room.

“What haven’t you done?” I said as I pulled the chair out for him to sit down.

Michael was pleased with the surprise candlelit dinner I had prepared for him. He was smiling and didn’t look ready to stop.

I took his coat for him and laid it on the couch. He had on a pair of carpenter jeans and a white long john shirt. After all, he did just think he was coming over to dig my car out of the snow.

“For somebody who spent a whole day cooking, you sure look good,” he said, referring to my red leather Bebe pants and my red bustier-like blouse. “Are you sure you slaved over a hot stove, or is this take-out?” he teased.

“Just because you never seen a cook look as good as me does not mean it ain’t possible,” I shot back.

I served Michael his spaghetti and meatballs and his side salad. I poured him a glass of hot apple cider. I buttered his dinner rolls, and then I sat across from him. The table was set perfect and I had Sade playing softly from the stereo in the living room. The mood was just right.

“Um, this is pretty good,” Michael said, complimenting me on my meal.

“I’m glad you like it. I put my foot in this.”

“Well, it tastes like you put your butt in it too, ’cause it’s bootylicious,” Michael joked.

I just giggled and then started contemplating how I was going to tell him. I had practiced over and over. First, I planned to get on the topic of gay men and see what his reactions would be. Then, if my instincts told me to, I would come out and tell him.

“Next time I’ll be expecting you to cook for me,” I said.

“That is not a problem, ’cause I can throw down,” Michael said, stuffing a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth.

“Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Michael said with confidence.

“Well, you know what they say about men who can cook?”

“What’s that?”

“They’re usually fat or gay…and you’re not fat,” I said, lifting my eyes from my plate and onto him.

He looked up at me and said, “I’m very happy.”

I just smiled. I couldn’t do it. He didn’t give me a readable response. It was then that I knew it would never work between us. There was no way I would be able to keep my secret from him much longer, and without him knowing the truth, I would have to distance myself from him. On that note, I decided to just keep doing what I’d been doing. It was what I knew best, anyway. It was what got me all I had now. I had to withdraw some of my feelings for Michael. I had to go back to my old ways. I had to keep playing.