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whassup? I haven’t heard from you in a while,” I said.
    “I know. I was doing a show over in London for a couple of years. I just got back in town a couple of days ago and you and that big ole dick of yours came across my mind,” he said.
    I was thinking I should have gotten all my numbers changed after I met Yancey, but I said, “Yo, dude, I hate to disappoint you and that magic tongue of yours, but I don’t roll like that no more.”
    “What?”
    “Yeah, I met a young lady and I’m keeping things real.”
    “I got the impression you liked what I could do. I’m not looking for romance. You don’t even have to look at me. Just close your eyes and imagine my sweet lips are those of your lady. I know she probably don’t get down like that. Before you open your eyes I will be gone and you can go to sleep with a smile on your face,” Bradford promised.
    For a moment I started thinking about Bradford’s perfect bow lips, and as it had been a no-draws day I could feel my jimmie make his presence known by standing at attention and pressing against my suit pants at the mere memory of Bradford’s last visit. I started to think maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to give Bradford a go, and since Yancey was probably asleep, it would be kind of a no harm, no foul situation. So I was a little bit surprised at myself when I said, “You can’t even compete with my lady, so I think I’m gonna have to pass. Welcome back home,” I said and hung up the phone.
    I stood silently for a minute and unbuckled my pants and let them drop, my jimmie not waving freely, but more like half-mast. I thought about getting it at full attention and then calling Yancey, but my thoughts went back to the phone call. Years ago, I wouldn’t have been so polite with Bradford. When men were forward with me, it pissed me the fuck off. Still does. Sometimes I call them all kinda faggots, sissies, and other times I just let it pass. Damn, I hope I’m not becoming one of those good guys like Raymond.

6
    YANCEY WAS standing silently in her dance studio, the nearly empty room where Yancey would often read scripts out loud and sometimes would do full song-and-dance routines in front of a mirrored wall that made the space seem almost as large as a rehearsal hall.
    She was wearing a black leotard with a beige wrap-around short skirt and toe shoes. While Yancey was trying to decide if she wanted to dance or look at some of the television scripts Lois had messengered over, the telephone rang. Yancey ignored the ring and went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. She had drunk almost half of the bottle when the phone rang again. Again, she didn’t answer it. After finishing the water, Yancey decided she felt like dancing and went to the bedroom to get a classical dance CD. Just as she pulled the CD from the wall unit, the phone rang again. Yancey looked at the answering machine and saw that whoever had called before didn’t leave a message, so she decided to answer.
Maybe
it’s Lois with some big news she doesn’t want to leave on the
machine,
Yancey thought.
    The minute Yancey picked up the receiver and heard the voice on the other end, she sighed deeply.
    “Ms. Yancey Braxton, please.”
    “Speaking,” Yancey said as she sat down on the bed.
    “This is Mimi Evans from Diners Club,” she said in the urgent voice all bill collectors possessed.
    “What can I do for you?”
    “Ms. Braxton, we just got a $9,800.00 charge resubmitted by a merchant. It seems we gave you a credit last month because we were told the item had been returned.”
    “What store?” Yancey asked even though she knew exactly who the merchant was. It was D’Anita, an exclusive dress shop on the Upper East Side. Yancey had purchased a beautiful evening gown when she decided to crash a record company party in the hope of slipping her demo tape to Sylvia Rhone of Elektra Records. The formfitting sheer black gown with tiny diamonds around the neck and sleeves and a thigh-high