Gotham Diaries Page 4

  Tandy maneuvered through the crowd, stopping every couple of feet to say a few words to an acquaintance. She always smiled, always wore a pleasant expression. She could be on her last dime, but she’d sooner move into the YWCA than let the people here know about her predicament. The room was filled with a sea of African-American art patrons, some of them old guard, some of them new, and some of them plain nouveau riche. And tacky, she thought, careful not to let the distaste show on her face. Times are a-changing, she thought as she watched Coffee and Darryl Raye, the most outrageous new-money couple in New York City, saunter through the crowd with an entourage big enough to make up a football team—people who had no business at an affair such as the Museum of Harlem gala. The Rayes could bend the rules because they were entertainment types, but they were a disgrace, walking in with their posse, as loud and boisterous as if at the racetrack. And Coffee had the audacity to be dressed in a white leather strapless dress with a matching collar resembling something more appropriate for a dog. Darryl was even worse, with his plaid sport coat, T-shirt, and Bermuda shorts. They were scandalous. Tandy stared at them in disbelief, unable to understand how anyone had even invited them, but then she remembered that they had given fifty thousand dollars to the museum. There had been a time when money alone couldn’t gain entry to events such as these.

  Yes, regretfully, a new day had come. Most of the women were accompanied by spouses, partners, fiancés, and boyfriends. Many of the married women looked at Tandy differently now. She knew that look well; she had given it in the past when an attractive woman became suddenly single and turned up on the social scene without an eligible man at her side. Now Tandy was a threat to many of these ladies. They seemed to hold on to their husbands a little tighter when she came around. Even her Links sister, Lena James, grabbed her short, balding husband’s hand as he approached Tandy with a warm greeting. Despite the subtlety of her so-called friends’ reactions, her reception had been very different a year ago.

  This time last September, Tandy and Phil had breezed in together, on top of the world, the toast of New York. The evening had been a total success, from the moment she slipped into her silver-gray Richard Tyler gown and borrowed Cartier diamond necklace. They glided through the night, cavorting, Phil fawning over her as he always did, checking with her every few moments to see if she needed anything, touching her hand, the small of her back, her elbow. He had always been so attentive. Tandy had been the envy of all her friends. Her husband was well educated, wealthy, did not have a mistress, was passably attractive, and adored her. Phil also never told her no. That alone would make most women jealous.

  After the gala, they returned home and began their nightly ritual of preparing for bed. A warm glow carried over from the fabulous evening. Tandy sat at her vanity, removing the thirty-carat diamond necklace, while Phil took off his tie in front of his dresser. He smiled at her from across the bedroom before closing the space between them and standing behind her. They both gazed at Tandy’s reflection in the mirror.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said, and ran his clammy hands across her shoulders. Tandy returned his compliment with a smile. She would let him make love to her tonight. The evening had been a success, and they had gotten through the night without him significantly getting on her nerves. So under the circumstances, she would allow him to touch her. She might even attempt to enjoy herself.

  Phil leaned down and began kissing Tandy’s neck with wet, slurping sounds. He was taking things a bit far.

  “Dear, why don’t you freshen up,” she suggested. “And I’ll meet you in the bed.” Phil knew what that meant—take a shower first. She would not have him touching her with that musk his body secreted. Cleanliness was very important to Tandy. Phil happily obliged. He was in a good mood. Whenever Tandy found the will to be kind to him, his spirits were high.

  Only slightly dreading the task before her, Tandy carefully slid off her gown and gingerly placed it on the silk hanger. She heard the water running in the bathroom and pushed the thought of Phil’s pear-shaped body out of her mind. She was glad she had secretly drunk that third Scotch at the gala, pretending it was club soda. Her senses needed to be dulled whenever Phil smashed his doughy body against hers. She also needed to turn off all the lights. She didn’t want to take the chance of opening her eyes and seeing him grimacing like a toad above her.

  Then Tandy heard a shattering noise from the bathroom. “What are you doing in there?” Tandy hollered. Phil didn’t answer. “What’d you break this time?” Tandy asked irritatedly, envisioning her clumsy husband breaking the crystal mouthwash decanter. “Phil? Phil?” she called out to him, with no response except the running shower. “Are you all right?”

  • • •

  “Tandy? Tandy? You okay?” Manny said.

  Tandy looked at Manny, momentarily forgetting where she was. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

  “I got our table assignments for us.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you,” Tandy began, shaking off the thoughts of that night.

  “Would you like a cocktail?”

  Tandy glanced around the crowded room. People were intertwined like an overgrown forest, all of them competing for social and alcoholic nourishment. The most densely populated area was the bar. It would take twenty minutes just to get a drink. How had this party gotten so out of control? There was no way it could be held here next year. The board would have to find a new location or cut the guest list in half. Could the times really have changed that much in only twelve months? The number of invitations had swelled to include a growing group of possible patrons. The African-American philanthropic crowd loved showering attention—and, most importantly, money—on the Museum of Harlem. Tandy no longer felt like socializing. She realized that, like the gala crowd, her life had spiraled out of control.

  “Let’s go to the table, I’ll have a drink there,” Tandy told Manny, ignoring the disappointment on his face. She knew he wouldn’t want to miss out on the hobnobbing. Tough for him. She’d be damned if she walked to her seat without an escort.

  “Uh, do you mind if I say hello to the Rayes first? They’re my clients.”

  “Oh, Manny, where has your taste gone?” Tandy asked, doubting her decision to bring him tonight. Apparently, her referrals were not enough. He had to go and attach himself to the lewdest, wealthiest people he could find. Manny could be such a fly, flitting about, landing on any available scrap of food. “Just go on,” Tandy told him, and turned toward the ballroom. She no longer felt like dealing with Manny.

  “I’ll be right behind you, Tandy. Oh, and we’re at table twelve.”

  Tandy froze in her tracks. Things were worse than she’d thought. But maybe Manny had made a mistake. “What was that table number again?” It was supposed to be two. Tandy had made sure of that herself earlier in the day, when she came by the Metropolitan Club to check on the final arrangements.

  Manny glanced down at the small square linen card and said, “Twelve. I’ll see you in a moment.”

  Now her head throbbed. Twelve was not where she had put herself. She and her guest were supposed to be at table two, front and center. True, she had not bought a whole table this year, but twenty-five thousand dollars was more than she could afford. Still, Tandy never imagined someone would move her without the common courtesy of notifying her. The table was still respectable, but it was not her normal spot. Sadly, nothing was normal anymore.

  FIVE

  BLACK Label oozed from Manny’s pores by the time he made it home from the gala at midnight, but he could hold his liquor. He easily could have stayed at the event until the last person left, but Tandy insisted they leave just as the dancing was about to begin, and he dared not risk angering her by suggesting they remain any longer. It was well enough, though, he thought, anticipating getting a little lovin’ at home. But as Manny opened the door to his renovated brownstone on Striver’s Row, the prospect of getting his groove on quickly changed to annoyance. The first floor of his house looked like a gang
of teenagers had had a block party there.

  The impeccably decorated narrow living room was a mess. Copies of Vibe, SLAM, and The Source were thrown across his camel Ultrasuede sofa, and his pony-hair pillows were flattened and tossed on the floor like discarded newspaper. A Lucky Charms cereal box was turned on its side atop his leather coffee table, along with a half-empty bowl of milk, not a marshmallow charm left in sight. Empty Now and Later candy wrappers were strewn in his Hermés ashtray. And the worst part was that his entertainment center had been tampered with. A damn Play Station was connected to his Sony flat-screen television, with so many wires protruding it looked like a black-and-gray tarantula had landed on his Aubusson rug. To top it all off, every light in the house was turned on.

  Irritated beyond words, Manny began tidying before he even removed his tuxedo jacket. He thought about leaving the room like he’d found it, but realized Trenton wouldn’t straighten up the mess, either. Manny had created a monster. If Manny did not do the work himself, his house would look like a tornado had hit it until the housekeeper arrived on Wednesday. After a quick cleanup, he headed upstairs. Getting laid was now the last thing on his mind; a hot shower and Egyptian-cotton pajamas and sheets seemed the better option. But the second Manny entered the bedroom, that calming thought left his mind. He stared at the empty Dolce & Gabbana and Gucci shopping bags thrown across the bed. No Trenton in sight. Manny was pissed! Not only had that basic Negro fucked up his house and run up the credit cards that Manny paid for, but he had the nerve to be out, probably at a damn club. This was not the homecoming Manny had envisioned.

  Manny started picking up the bags, cursing under his breath. He put up with so much shit from Trenton. Yes, he was fine as a motherfucker, and he was the best lover Manny had ever had, but he couldn’t help getting the feeling that Trenton was starting to take him for granted. As he folded up the last bag, Manny glanced up at the black-and-white Calvin Klein underwear shots of Trenton Duncan framed above the dresser. His twenty-four-year-old body was a work of art, and his sculpted ebony features resembled those of an African prince. Every morning they lay in bed together, Manny marveled at Trenton’s beauty and considered himself a lucky man to have someone so gorgeous to share a life and home with. Manny also had to admit to himself, he loved parading Trenton around on his arm at the appropriate functions. Trenton never would have fit in at the event tonight, nor would he have had any desire to attend a ball. But on those occasions when Manny convinced Trenton to go to the gay bars in the Village, Manny may as well have been Don Corleone. Not only was Trenton better-looking than most men, but he had a bit of celebrity, a lethal combination in a city like New York.

  Walking into the black granite and stainless-steel master bath, Manny wondered where Trenton was shaking his ass tonight. He was undoubtedly at a hip-hop party that some rapper or baller was throwing. Trenton didn’t like the typical gay clubs and went only when Manny bribed him. He preferred the trade in straight clubs. After all, that was how they had met: Manny had accompanied Lauren to a party thrown by a promoter friend of hers. Trenton had been shaking his tight butt with some of his male and female model friends in the VIP area. And even though he had been dressed rather butch, Manny knew by the look in his eyes that he was in the family. Manny immediately sent over a magnum of Cristal for Trenton and his group.

  That had been enough of a calling card for the studly brother from Albany, New York. When he approached Manny to personally thank him, the deal was done. Manny was smitten. He had to have him, at whatever price. And the price had been steadily increasing, since Trenton had not worked in the past six months on anything other than his abs. He had been a fairly successful model—a few runway shows but mostly print work, catalog, in fact. That is, until he started showing up late all the time, and his booker stopped sending him out for jobs. Manny partly blamed himself for Trenton’s tardiness. They had been in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, and things were hot and heavy. Manny had been eager to keep his new man and was playing the big-shot older-boyfriend role. He basically told Trenton he didn’t need to work, that he could be a kept man. Once Manny gave him the gold American Express, Trenton was only too happy to comply.

  Manny ripped off his custom-made white tuxedo shirt and quickly washed his face, too pissed to do his exfoliation. His skin would be angry with him in the morning. But even as mad and drunk as he was, he wouldn’t skip his teeth-whitening treatment. He flung open the medicine cabinet and pulled out his silicone tooth moldings and began searching for the last tube of whitening gel but couldn’t find it. “Dammit! Where the hell are you?” Manny hollered into the cabinet.

  “Is that any way to greet your boo?”

  Manny turned. Trenton filled the whole bathroom doorway with his solid six-four frame. Manny’s breath caught. Even after two years, every time Manny saw Trenton, he was taken with how gorgeous he was. But he gathered himself, determined not to let Trenton talk his way out of the latest mess.

  “Do you know where my teeth-whitening gel is?”

  “Why the attitude? I was only kickin’ it, too, while you were out.”

  “No attitude, do you know where my gel is?”

  “I think it’s in the garbage.”

  “Why would it be in the garbage, Trenton?”

  “ ’Cause I used it.”

  “But you don’t even have any trays. What, did you just rub the shit straight on your teeth?” Manny couldn’t believe this boy.

  “Yeah.” Trenton smiled, walking into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. “Don’t my teeth look whiter?” He leaned over the sink, closer to the mirror, so Manny could get a good look.

  Manny wanted to say, “No, but your ass sure looks good in those leather pants.” But he stopped himself and just stared at Trenton in disbelief.

  “Come on, man, why you trippin’? I was all geeked to get home and see you tonight.”

  “So that’s how you show me you want to see me, leave the house a wreck and go out shopping and then go to some club and come home smelling like smoke and cheap wine?”

  Manny pushed past him and went through the bedroom to the walk-in closet. Trenton was on his heels.

  “You the one always going to some high-class somethin’-or-other and don’t never invite me. You act like you ashamed to bring me around your uppity-ass friends.”

  “Oh, so now you’re trying to turn this around on me.”

  “It’s true,” Trenton said, sounding like a child.

  “Trenton, please. Even if I did ask you to go to some of these events, you wouldn’t. Don’t even try to act like you wanna be bothered with my friends. You should hang out with us sometime. They would love for you to be around,” Manny said, looking Trenton dead in the eye. He even had to crack a smile. Trenton would no sooner want to be bothered by Tandy Brooks and Lauren Thomas than Manny would want to go to one of Trenton’s hard-core hip-hop basement parties in Brooklyn. Besides, Trenton didn’t think the people Manny hung around were real. He viewed them as snobby, pretentious folks he’d rather not be bothered with. Of course, Trenton never complained about any of Tandy or Lauren’s referrals if they translated into a higher limit on Manny’s credit card.

  Manny slipped out of his pants and felt some of the anger subside. It was amazing how that happened, just having his man at home. Suddenly, despite their differences, he was grateful to have a man in his life whom he loved. He felt himself getting aroused and decided to skip the pajamas. Still, he wanted Trenton to grovel. Manny left him in the closet and headed straight for the bed, wearing only his boxers. If nothing else, they had an amazing sex life. Manny knew Trenton felt the same way.

  Trenton stood at the foot of the bed. Manny placed his hands behind his head and stared up at him before saying, “So, are you ready to make it up to me?”

  “Make it up to you? You the one jumping down my throat.”

  “You ready to get back on my good side?”

  “On your good side?”

  Manny nodd
ed, pleased that Trenton was ready to play, removing his shirt, revealing rock-hard pecs and an eight-pack stomach.

  “That’s a start,” Manny nearly groaned as Trenton unbuttoned his pants and turned around to peel them down to his ankles. Manny was in agony now, but that would soon turn to ecstasy as Trenton crawled to the head of the bed and sat on Manny’s face.

  SIX

  TANDY had been coming to the J. Sisters salon at least ten years for her bimonthly Brazilian bikini waxes from Renata. She loved Renata’s quality wax and mother wit, which was why she continued patronizing the salon, despite the fact that she inevitably ran into people she knew on the way to one of the most private of her personal services. But it was one of the premier spas in the city, and she couldn’t expect to have the whole place to herself.