Who Am I

By John D. McCray

Brent Edward Miles is a thirty-two year old confused male who is trying to discover his true identity. Brent transitions from Augusta, Georgia to Brooklyn, New York, to work in a new position for a striving company. He meets two people in his life, Michael Davis and Renee Jones, whom he takes an interest in, along with people who he thought he could trust. Can Brent look deep in his heart to see what God is showing him or will he continue to see what he wants to see and continue down the same road to destruction, and lose focus of the real reason why he moved to New York in the first place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477122204

John D. McCray

John D. McCray is a 43-year old African American born and raised in Alcolu, South Carolina. He now resides in North Carolina, and works with adults with disabilities and special needs. John has been writing for over thirty years and is the author of “Who Am I,” “When the Mask Comes Off,” and “My Winning Season.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A Whole New Path

My name is Brent Edward Miles, and I’m a thirty-two-year-old gay black male. I’m six feet, 170 pounds, with a nice muscular body and a firm thirty-two-inch waist. I have light, smooth, caramel-brown skin and honey nut dark-brown eyes. I have a low haircut with thick black wavy hair, and I’m a very well-dressed professional brother. I’m the only child of the late Dr. Earl Winston Miles, former head cardiologist of Augusta Saint Hospital, and the late Mrs. Barbara Timmons Miles, a wonderful mother and homemaker. I turn heads of both men and women, but men are all I’m after, since I’m a gay man trying to find my true identity of who I am.

It was along two-hour flight to New York from Augusta, Georgia, and I was beginning to get very bored. I’m leaving my life behind to find out who I really am. My life has been really hard for me after having three people, whom I loved, being snatched away by death’s ugly hands. I wondered how life could be so cruel and evil, to try and love someone for death to take control, and you end up losing them all anyway.

My father, Dr. Earl Winston Miles, was a man that I never really cared for at all, but he was my father, and I tried hard to love him anyway, despite his hateful ways. I remember the nasty hateful words and things he used to do and say to me when he thought I wasn’t walking like a boy or doing things he thought little boys should be doing. If I wasn’t outside playing with insects, playing football, or baseball with the neighborhood boys, or watching some type of sports on television, then I was trying to be a little girl, or what he would say a faggot. My father called me that word so much until I actually thought that was a part of my name that no one had shared with me. Oh yes, Dr. Earl Winston Miles was definitely a terrible man and father—come to think of it, husband too. My father treated my mother like shit—sleeping with other women and going out of town constantly, trying to act like it was business when he was actually fucking some little sluttish nurse that tiptoed around him at work, trying to keep everything on the down low. Yeah, my father was a male whore. I guess he loved my mother and I the best he knew how to love, which wasn’t much but was enough for him.

Three years ago, when I was in Hollywood, California, my mother called and told me I needed to come home right away, that my father had taken ill. There I was on my way back home to Augusta, Georgia, a place I promised myself I would never live in again, but my mom always told me, Never say never. A broad smile came across my face as I remembered my mother’s voice speaking those same words to me. I smiled to myself and looked around on the plane to make sure no one saw me, which no one did.

Arriving back to Augusta was the most shocking surprise to learn that my father had just suffered a massive heart attack and couldn’t do anything for himself. It was hard for me to watch my father like that; a man who bullied me my entire life was going to have to depend on me for a change. Yes, that was going to take a lot of getting used to for all three of us.

After three days of my father’s condition worsened, my mother decided to take him off life support so he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Standing over my father and listening to my mother telling the doctors to pull the plug made an evil side come over me. I wanted to keep him on life support so he could actually suffer, so I could watch it every day—the way he made me suffer as he ridiculed me growing up as a little boy; the way he made me feel like I couldn’t do anything right, as though if he could ask God himself for a son, he wouldn’t have picked me. I wanted him to suffer for the way he treated my mom and the love of my life, Gregg, all these years. He called my mom names, like stupid bitch, weak, and dumb ass. I hated him for that, and I wanted him to feel the pain that we both had to endure off his ass all these years. Yes, pulling the plug was too easy for him; he needed to suffer the way he made us suffered.

The stewardess asked if I wanted the steak or the grilled chicken for my lunch. She said both came with a baked potato and tossed salad. The stewardess was a slim black lady with a short Afro, wearing a white shirt, black pants, and a blue vest that said Delta Airlines, and her name tag read Lisa H, on it. I told the stewardess that steak would be fine, and I wanted it medium well, with a bowl of melted cheese, sour cream, and bacon bits for my potato, and the tossed salad with ranch dressing, a glass of red wine, with two packs of crackers, and two packs of salt and pepper. The stewardess smiled and wrote my order down and nodded her head. She then tried to wake up the older, heavyset white gentleman beside me, who was snoring quite loudly. The stewardess was unsuccessful waking him up, and she told me my order should be ready in about fifteen minutes. That was one of the best advantages I liked about flying first class—that the meals they provide you with is something you get in a restaurant that was usually pretty good, and they even serve you alcohol also. Well, if the plane goes down, at least I’ll have a stomach full of food and alcohol to make it a little less painful.

I adjusted my pillow as I looked out the window and thought about Gregg—the love of my life, Greggory Devon Moore, who died in a car accident two years ago. The police did an investigation and found out that his front brake line on his Mercedes was cut—that caused his brakes not to work, causing him to crash into a tree. The police said, by the tire marks that led off the highway, they could tell Gregg’s Mercedes was going over a hundred miles an hour and that he split the tree in half when he hit it. When the police came and knocked on the door and told me the news, I burst out in tears. The police called Gregg’s parents and informed them of the tragic news because I knew I couldn’t do it. I waited for Judge Harold and Mrs. Marlene Moore, Gregg’s parents, to arrive to California so we could all identify Gregg’s body, which was the hardest thing I ever had to do. When we arrived at the morgue and viewed Gregg’s body, his skull was caved in, and I felt my knees weakened, before I fell to the floor in tears, yelling and crying hysterically. Judge and Mrs. Marlene Moore came over and picked me up off the floor, and we all held each other as we mourned the death of their son and my beloved long-life partner that I’ve known ever since I was six years old.

I quickly dried the single tear that fell down my cheek as I thought about Gregg and how wonderful he was. I remember when Gregg’s family first moved into our neighborhood, we both were six years old. My birthday is June 18, and Gregg’s is July 25. We played in the same sandbox together and spent nights at each other’s house. Gregg was a very handsome, light-skinned man, with a stocky built, as though he played football all his life. He had thick wavy hair that was dark, as though you were looking in a black ocean, and he had beautiful light-brown hazel eyes that changed colors in the summertime.

Gregg and I went through school together and were in most of the same classes. We both went to Duke University in North Carolina. I graduated in mass communication, and Gregg graduated in computer technology, and we maintained a 3.9 GPA and graduated in the top ten of our class. After graduating from Duke University, we decided to further our education and attended Yale University in Connecticut and both graduated with our master’s degree in business.

Gregg and I had a very special bond that two people could ever have, physically and mentally. He was the only man I ever knew and the only man that knew me, inside and out. We realize that we were more than friends at the early age of sixteen. I remember when our parents found out about our relationship, they were crushed when they realized the real reason why we spent so much time together. When Gregg wasn’t spending the night at my house, then I was at his.

My father tried to separate us and forbid me from seeing Gregg, or he would take away my inheritance, but I didn’t care because I was in love with Gregg, and Gregg was in love with me. Both our parents were really good friends until they found out about our relationship with each other, and we were banned from coming over to each other’s house or hanging out anymore. If it wasn’t for school, we would have never seen each other.

I remember when our parents first found out about us was when I was visiting Gregg, and I was lying next to him on his bed, when Gregg decided to climb on top of me and started kissing me heavily. We were going at it pretty hard, when Mrs. Moore walked in on us and saw us engaged in our sinister act. She started cursing us both out, and she yelled at me and told me to get my faggot ass out of her house. I grabbed my stuff off from Gregg’s second bed in his room and walked out back home across the street. I was so embarrassed for our actions, and I knew we should have been more careful and private about our relationship.

I didn’t know what I was more afraid of—the fact Mrs. Moore telling her husband and my parents, or the fact that I know my bastard of a father was going to try everything in his power to keep me away from Gregg. Mrs. Moore called my mother that same night and informed her of what she witnessed in her house and that was why she sent me home. My mother sat me down and had a long talk with me about my immature behavior and the embarrassment I caused on myself and the family.

I shared with my mom that I was sorry for my childish act, but I was somewhat glad that our little secret relationship was revealed. I was so tired of sneaking around doing this and doing that, and now we can both live our lives together. The tears began rushing down my mother’s face, as she began shaking her head saying no to me over and over again. She informed me that my father would never allow it, that it was no telling what he would do if we even tried to pursue our relationship.

Our image and reputation was the most important thing to my parents. As long as everything looked good on the outside, that was all that mattered to them. It didn’t matter how broken up or destroyed things were on the inside, as long as a smile was put on our faces at all times, nothing else mattered, and it didn’t matter how depressed or hurt anyone else might be. My mother expressed to me how hard my father worked to be the head cardiologist at the hospital and live the luxury and extravagant life that we lived—living in our five-hundred-thousand-dollar house and having six of the best vehicles in the driveway, in one of the richest neighborhoods in Augusta.

My mother was absolutely right. There was no telling what my father would do when and if he ever found out about my little episode. She agreed not to tell him but couldn’t assure me that Judge Harold and Mrs. Moore wouldn’t tell him, whenever Mrs. Moore decided to tell Judge Moore about what Gregg and I had done.

The stewardess tapped me on my shoulder and handed me my food on a tray and gave me a wineglass. I held it while she poured the wine in the glass for me, and I took a quick sip to sample the wine.

Good, I said to the stewardess as I nodded my head in appreciation. She smiled and told me she would check on me later to make sure I was okay. I nodded and quickly blessed my food.

I cut into the steak and took a bite when the older white gentleman beside me woke up. I guess he couldn’t sleep through the aroma of the food or the sound of my greedy self was making as I tore into my well-done steak. I was quite hungry, since I didn’t eat anything since earlier this morning around eight o’clock, and it’s now after three thirty.

Man, why you didn’t wake me up and ask if I wanted something to eat? the man asked me as he positioned himself up in the seat.

Sir, you were snoring quite loudly, and I didn’t want to wake you up, and besides that, that’s not my job to do that anyway, I said, going back to work on my steak.

I know the gentleman beside me was cursing me out to himself, but I was right—that wasn’t my job to wake him up. I continued eating my food, and the man didn’t say anything else to me, which was just fine by me. The steak was very juicy, and the potato was really hot, with all that melted cheese, butter on it that looked delicious when she first brought it out to me. I took a sip of my red wine, and it had a nice mellow smooth taste to it. It wasn’t too strong or nasty or anything; the wine was just perfect.

After dinner, I reclined back in my seat a little, as my thoughts and memories of Gregg were interrupted by the stewardess with my dinner, which I didn’t mind, especially how good the food was. I started back thinking about how wonderful Gregg was and how much I missed him, and if I could bring him back just for five minutes to see his face, that would be the best present ever. When Judge Harold Moore told my father about Gregg and my relationship, that’s when the shit hit the ceiling. My father called me every name he could think of, but it wasn’t like I haven’t heard it before. He told me if I wanted to stay down here in Augusta with the family, I had to keep my distances from Gregg unless he would ship me off to boarding school.

As much as it hurt me to stay away from Gregg, I had to do what my father said because he would definitely make that happen, and he would make sure I would never see Gregg again. If my father didn’t die before Gregg, I would have sworn he had something to do with Gregg’s death. Gregg’s death will always be a mystery that no one will ever know the truth about. When he died, a part of me died with him; he meant everything to me.

I quickly turned my head toward the window when the stewardess walked by us and asked if we were okay. I didn’t say a word as the tears returned from earlier, which I tried to quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand. The stewardess must have known that I was having a little moment, and she said she would be back later. I realized I have to pick my life back up and move on. Gregg is dead and gone, and he would want me to move on and not cry over him like this; but the more I think about our wonderful memories, the more I start crying all over again. It’s been two years since Gregg’s death, but it seems like it was just yesterday that Judge Harold and Mrs. Moore and I went to identify Gregg’s body in the morgue. It was hard on me, but I know it was devastating for his parents; Gregg was their only child.

The Moores were very sympathetic to my needs and concerns. They included me in everything, to the color of his suit even down to the flowers on his grave. They even had me as his best friend and long-life partner since the age of six years old in his obituary. They never once left me out with anything, and that made dealing with Gregg’s death a little easier, to know that his parents were supporting me as well. I was so surprised to know that they weren’t trying to protest against the accidental life insurance policy that Gregg left to me as his beneficiary that left me over a half a million dollars richer, not to mention the other policies he left for me as well. I’m sure they had a life insurance policy on Gregg and didn’t have a need to protest the one he left me.

Gregg’s parents agreed that it would be best to bury Gregg in Augusta, at their family church, than in California, and I told them I didn’t have any objection to that. It was extremely hard going back to California without the man I love—a man that always took that trip with me from Augusta back to California, but now I was faced to take it alone.

Gregg’s parents gave me a big hug and told me to come visit them sometimes and to never hesitate picking up the phone and calling them, no matter what time it was, and that made me feel so good on the inside. They were so against our relationship when we were younger, I figured they just didn’t want to accept the fact that their son was gay. As we got older, Gregg told them I was the man in his life, and either they were going to love me like they once did or lose him as their son because his heart was with me. They came around and accepted our relationship, or should I say tolerated it, at least for Gregg’s sake. They knew Gregg was dead serious with the ultimatum he gave them, and he was definitely in love with me, and they would lose him if they didn’t get with the program.

Life was all I had when I lost my father and lost Gregg, but I wanted to kill myself when I lost my mother, Mrs. Barbara Timmons Miles, age fifty-eight, to breast cancer, two months ago in January. My mother first found out she had a lump in her breast about five years ago, and they surgically removed it and sent it to the lab and told her that they were able to remove the lump cancer tissue, and she was going to be fine; but I knew differently, and from the look on my mother’s face, I knew she did as well. My mother lost her mother and sister to breast cancer, so she knew it was a common disease that was a family trait with the women in her family. I knew it would be scary for my mom, and I tried to be there as much as I could while she was going through the chemotherapy, so I was traveling back and forth from California every Friday afternoon to go home to Augusta.

I watched a perfectly healthy woman’s body just went down as the chemotherapy consumed her body and took over her life, a woman who had so much energy to eventually not even able to get up out of bed. My mother was my heart; if it wasn’t for her, I don’t know what would become of my father and I. She was there to take up the slack from my father when he made me feel bad and low about who I am. She would talk to me and give me encouraging words to make me feel better about myself. My mother was my hero, my idol.

She came and stayed a month with me, after Gregg died, and I went into a major depression. She cooked, cleaned up after me, and just doing motherly things, but it meant the world to me to have her around.

Two weeks before my mother passed away, she told me some disturbing news, which made me despise her for a short while. It was a lie that I lived with all my life, based on what she and my father told me. My mother shared with me that she wasn’t my biological mother, but my father was my biological father. I asked her how that could be. Mom told me that before I was born, my father had an affair with a seventeen-year-old girl, and she was my biological mother. I asked mom why my birth mother gave me up for an adoption, and my mom shook her head and said she didn’t give me up. I asked her what happened, and she said my father stole me away from her when I was four years old.

My thoughts were interrupted when the stewardess asked me if I wanted some more wine. I reached my glass out while she poured it a little over midway, and I quickly took a sip. My mother told me that my father was about twenty-seven at the time, and he was ten years older than my biological mother. She told me she and my father were having problems after she had just miscarried her baby, and that’s when the affair started. She told me that picture of me in my room with a lady holding me in her arms was my real mother. I was always told that the lady in the picture was my father’s youngest sister, Aunt Gayle, who died from cancer when I was about four years old, and she wanted to take some pictures with me before she died. The woman was very beautiful with long black hair and olive brown skin, a slim black woman from how the picture looked.

My mother said when she heard about me from someone, she was about to leave my father until she met me herself. Mom told me my father would get me every weekend, every holiday, and summer. She said she fell in love with me the first time she saw me and how she wished I was her son. My father told my mother they both would raise me as their own son because my mother was about to finish college and didn’t want to be a mother anymore, but she didn’t believe him. Mom said she couldn’t believe that someone would just give up a beautiful child like me. Mom told me that summer I came to visit them and they decided to take me and move away from Little Rock, Arkansas, where I was born, and move away where no one will ever find out the truth, that they had really kidnapped me from my birth mother.

I saw the stewardess walked by, and I signaled with my right hand to get her attention for another glass of wine. She held up one finger to tell me one minute. A few minutes later, the stewardess brought the wine back with her and poured my glass.

I asked my mother why my birth mother didn’t hire an investigator to try and find me. She told me my father gave my mother a fake name; she never knew his real name or any important information about him. He lied telling her where he was originally from. He did tell her he was a cardiologist at a hospital in Arkansas, but he never told her which hospital, so she basically had me from a stranger.

I was so furious with my mother for keeping this from me. I know how evil my father was, that he would’ve never told me the truth about my mother. My mother and I had such a special bond, and it was never consisted of lies and deceit. My mother was a wonderful woman, but after that bombshell she dropped on me, I didn’t know how to handle that. I stormed out of her hospital room with tears in my eyes, totally disappointed in my parents but especially with my mother for lying to me all these years.

After two days had past, I had to put my anger away with my mother because she was going to need me more than anything during the last stages of her cancer. The doctor had already informed me that there was nothing else they could do for her, that her body was rejecting the medication, and my mom was content without taking it. He told me she probably wouldn’t make it through the end of the month. I told my boss at AT&T, back in California, Mr. Woods, about my mother’s situation and that I would need some time off from work for a while, and he totally understood. He was really a good supervisor; he allowed me some time off after Gregg’s death to. It was hard for me to forgive my mom for lying to me all these years, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if my mother died, with me holding a grudge and hating her for the terrible lies she told me and had me believing all my life.

I had a lot of questions that I drilled my mother about when I was younger and about my birth mother, every detail I could think of. She told me my birth name was Thomas Lamont Hayes and that my father decided to change my name so no one would have any trace of who I was, and he wanted my name not to sound so black so I would have a chance in life if he made it sound somewhat like a white child’s name. That’s why he named me Brent Edward Miles, and the intentions he had worked because a lot of job interviews I went on, they just assumed I was a white guy because of my name and how well I communicated until they saw me in person. My father felt my name would allow them to give me a chance, and then I was on my own, by convincing them why I would be a better candidate for the job.

Mom told me that my mother’s name is Victoria Hayes Blair, but people called her Vicki Blair. That name sounded so familiar to me when my mother said it. I knew I heard it before, but I couldn’t remember where. My mother told me to pick up the magazine off the end table by the bed. I reached for the magazine and saw a beautiful black woman on the front page; the title said One of the Most Beautiful and Richest Black Ladies in the United States. My birth mother owned a modeling, fashion, and music recording studio in downtown Brooklyn, New York. I heard she discovered Naomi Campbell’s and Tyra Banks’s modeling careers and made them what they are today. I knew right then that I was going to make Ms. Victoria Hayes Blair a part of my life, and I was going to be a part of hers.

When Mom told me who my birth mother was, I took the magazine home with me to read up on everything I could about Ms. Vicki H. Blair and what kind of a person she is. The article said she was a fifty-year-old widow that lived in Manhattan, New York, and first started her business, Blair Modeling Entertainment Records, in March of 1991, in downtown Brooklyn, in a small one-story building. She first started off with only fifteen employees, and today, her building has over twenty floors, and the width is over two football fields and has over one thousand employees. Ms. Vicki Blair is doing extremely well for herself, and I couldn’t wait to meet her.

I wanted to know everything about her, and I thought what better way to do that other than working in her company as an employee. I looked up Blair Modeling Entertainment Records up on the Internet and viewed their Web site. I looked under the job listing and saw about twenty positions listed, and I saw about three that I was interested in, but one stood out to me in particular. The position was head designer director of a new clothing line. The job description was asking for a master’s degree in Management and three to five years experience. I worked at AT&T as a sales coordinator manager for five years in California.

I filled out the online application and sent in my resume, and after three weeks of submitting my little packet by e-mail to the Human Resource management, a Ms. Danah Fulton called to schedule an interview. I told her I was still interested in the job, but I was in the process of moving there in the next month or so. Ms. Fulton, who had a very warm and friendly voice, told me she understood and to call her once I got myself settled in New York and that she wouldn’t interview anyone else until she interviewed me first. She gave me her personal cell phone number and told me to call her on that phone if I couldn’t reach her at her office. I thanked Ms. Fulton and assured her I would call as soon as I was able to move and get things settled.

After my mother died, January 18, 2006, I sold both of the family houses a month later—the one in Augusta that I grew up in and our second home in Orlando, Florida. From selling both houses, my inheritance from both my mother and father, and Gregg’s life insurance policies, I ended up with over four million dollars. I sold all the family vehicles and kept my dark blue ’06 Lincoln Navigator until I was ready to move to New York City permanently. I would just rely on all the many public transportations that were available there, instead of driving in all that mad traffic that New York has. I invested my money in a one-year CD; that way, I’ll be able to live off the interest of my money for the rest of my life without touching my invested four million dollars. I was making sure that everything was secured and a done deal before leaving California and Georgia to move to New York.

I glanced out the window of the plane over the houses and buildings that were on the ground and was so relieved to be leaving Augusta and was about to start a whole new life in Brooklyn, New York. I lost everything that meant anything to me in Augusta and California, and I sold everything there, so there was nothing obligating me to anything or anybody. I would check on Gregg’s parents every once in a while and inform them on how I’m doing, and that would be the end of Augusta, Georgia for me.

Chapter 2

Arriving in New York

The pilot landed the plane at Laquadia Airport in New York City. I was thrilled to get off that plane, which was only supposed to be a two-hour flight, which seemed like about a five-hour flight to me. When I got off the plane with my bags, I went to the lobby and saw Kenny there waiting on me.

Kenny is Gregg’s distant cousin that lives in Brooklyn, New York. Kenny is pretty cool, but he’s a drag queen that lives his life as a woman by night and a man in the day—well, a so-called man because there wasn’t anything manly about Kenny. Kenny is about five feet six inches tall and about 210 pounds, very light skinned with freckles on his face. Kenny was quite chubby, and he could stand a few hours in the gym to work the weight off. In Kenny’s eyes, he was the finest thing that walked the face of the earth. Kenny had a head filled with the thickest, black, curliest hair.

When I first told Kenny I was moving to New York, he got so excited and was clapping his hands so loudly on the phone that I thought he was going to bust my eardrums. He screamed to me, It’s about time, bitch! This bitch is moving up here! Kenny insisted I moved in with him until I get settled and get my own place, or I could stay with him. I knew the kind of lifestyle Kenny lived, so I knew I wouldn’t take him up on his offer of being his roommate permanently.

Gregg’s mother and Kenny’s mother were third cousins, so by the time it got down to Kenny and Gregg, they would have been like fifth or sixth cousins, which I always said after fourth cousins, it didn’t count. Gregg told me he first met Kenny when he was thirteen, and Kenny was about fifteen, at their family reunion in Atlanta, Georgia. Kenny was raised in Charleston, South Carolina, with his mother, Pauline, and stepfather, Ricky. Gregg told me Kenny was sitting on one end of the picnic table at the park, looking very sad and lonely, while the rest of the children were running around, and the guys their age were playing basketball and enjoying themselves. Gregg went over and started talking to Kenny about their family members that they weren’t claiming. Gregg was the type that didn’t like to see anyone sitting alone or by themselves, as though they were lonely.

Since the family reunion, Gregg and Kenny kept in touch with each other. Kenny later moved to New York, after he went off to College, and that’s when he started performing in drag shows. Gregg and I came to visit with Kenny twice in New York, and Kenny always showed us a good time. He took us to all the hot spots and the off-the-chain clubs that New York had to offer. Gregg knew Kenny was an old lady, but he loved his cousin and didn’t care who said things about him; he stood up to them, as though he saw nothing wrong with how Kenny lived his life.

Kenny works as a hairstylist and a fashion consultant in Manhattan. When I shared with Kenny about my biological mother and who she is, he hit the roof and made me promise if I got in good with her and the company, that I would bring him in on the action. I promised him as he started clapping his hands on the phone, like he was a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.

When Kenny and I saw each other around the corner of the airport, he ran up to me and gave me a big bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. I hugged him back tightly and told him I don’t do the kisses on the cheek. He told me to hush up as he grabbed two of my bags, and I grabbed the other two and my garment bag and walked to his car.

I couldn’t believe that I was finally in New York, the city that never sleeps; but as for now, I definitely needed a nap.

You know it’s good to have you here, Brent, Kenny said, putting my bags down on the ground next to the trunk and grabbing me around my waist.

Thanks, Kenny. I needed to leave California and Augusta for good, too many painful memories there, I said, waiting for Kenny to open up the trunk, so I could put my bags in.

So how have you been, man? I know you been through a lot lately, Kenny asked, putting the last two bags in his trunk.

Not too good, Kenny. Things had really been hard on me lately. After Gregg’s death and my mom dying two months ago and she dropping that bomb on me about my biological mother, if I didn’t come up here, Kenny, when I did, I think I would actually lose my mind, I said, quickly walking off to the passenger door of Kenny’s black ’02 Toyota Camry to wipe the single tear that fell down my cheek.

Well, anyway, Brent, I’m glad you’re here now, Kenny said, unlocking the door from the driver’s side panel.

When I sat in Kenny’s car, I noticed a box of Kleenex on the floor of the passenger side, and I quickly grabbed one. Kenny looked at me and told me everything was going to be all right, that I was going to learn how to love again, and then he stopped talking. I guess Kenny saw that I needed a moment to pull myself together. He reached behind his seat and gave me a twenty-ounce bottle of water. I smiled and took a sip then reclined back in the seat.

I looked out the window of Kenny’s car at the buildings of downtown New York. I saw the homeless people pushing their buggies with cans and what looked to be junk to us, but they were their most prized possessions. Every day I’m sure they roamed the streets of New York, looking for something new to add to their treasures. I realized that’s what I have to do—pick my life up from off the streets and find something new to add to my life and leave the old things in my past behind me and move on.

We pulled up to Kenny’s apartment on 117 Dekalb Street, and I looked at the style and texture of the building and wondered how I would do in a big city like this. New York was never a place I wanted to live growing up. I guess hearing about the crime rate, the cost of living, and how fast paced it is, I knew I could never live here. My mom always said, Never say never. I continued observing the building that Kenny lives and wondered how he could live in a place like this. I was hoping inside his apartment looked much better than how it did on the outside.

Kenny opened up the trunk of his black Camry and took out all four of my suitcases and my suit garment bag as well. He grabbed two, and I grabbed the other two, and I took my suit garment bag and threw it over my shoulder.

Brent, are you ready to start your new life in the Big Apple? Kenny asked, before I slammed down his trunk.

I guess, Kenny. As ready as I’m going to be, I replied, walking up the steps behind Kenny to get on the elevator. Kenny lived on the sixth floor of the building.

When I walked in Kenny’s apartment, I was really impressed. I sat my suitcase down on the floor in the living room, and laid my suit bag across the black couch. I walked through Kenny’s apartment and was really impressed with what I saw. Kenny had dark-brown hardwood floors with a black living-room set and a black and gold spotted carpet under his black three-piece coffee-table set, nice African portraits on the wall and black and gold border at the top and bottom of the baseboard of his walls. His dining-room table was cherry oak, with gold and black candles as a centerpiece, with gold fruit trimmed in green and black leaves.

I came back in the living room where Kenny was sitting.

Kenny, you really have a nice place, man. Judging by the way the apartment building looked on the outside, I thought your place was hideous on the inside. I guess you should never judge a book by its cover, huh? I said to Kenny, picking up my suitcases to take them to Kenny’s room.

Guess not, man, especially when you’re so used to living in four- and five-hundred-thousand-dollar houses and having butlers and maids waiting on you, hand and foot. No, some of us weren’t born with a silver damn spoon in our mouths. We had to bust our asses to get what we have! Kenny replied sarcastically.

I could tell that I might have offended Kenny by the remark I made about the apartment.

I’m sorry, Kenny. That came out the wrong way. Please forgive me. I only meant that you have really nice taste, that’s all. I tried to sugarcoat it a little after I realized how it must have sounded when I said it.

You good, Brent, so tell me what you want to do first, man? The night is young, and remember, you’re in the city that never sleeps, Kenny said as he carried my other two bags in his room.

Well, I am a little tired from what seemed like a five-hour flight, but whatever you want to do is fine with me. I just don’t want to be out too late. I want to try and see if I can go look for some jobs tomorrow morning, I replied, remembering I needed to call Ms. Fulton back. She told me to call her once I arrive in New York about interviewing me for Blair Modeling Entertainment Records. I hope she can set up an interview with me sometime this week. It would be excellent if she could interview me tomorrow.

I went into Kenny’s bedroom to make my phone call to Ms. Fulton. She gave me her office and cell number, in case I couldn’t reach her at the office. Kenny had about six manikins’ heads on a long table with six different hairstyles on them. I guess these are Kenny’s wigs he puts on when he’s on stage doing his drag shows. I laughed to myself and shook my head.

I took out my cell phone and called Ms. Fulton’s number that I had programmed in my phone.

Hello, Ms. Fulton? I said.

Yes, this is she, she said, as I sat down on Kenny’s bed.

This is Brent Miles, calling back about the job you called me about a month and a half ago. I told you I was in the process of moving to New York in about three weeks. Well, today, I just arrived here, and I was wondering whether or not the job is still available? I asked, hoping she would say yes.Oh yes, Mr. Miles. I remember, sir. I hope you had a good flight, and yes, the job is still available. I didn’t hire anyone for the position or interviewed anyone else since I talked with you last. I have a noon meeting tomorrow, so if you can come by my office about 10:00 a.m., that would be excellent, Ms. Fulton said.

Ten in the morning sounds good, Ms. Fulton. I’ll see you then, I responded, about to yell with excitement.

Sounds good, Mr. Miles. Look, write down this number in case you need directions, 718-255-4137. My receptionist will be able to help with that. Mr. Miles, I’ll see you tomorrow at ten. Well, enjoy your first day in the Big Apple. Take care, Mr. Miles, Ms. Fulton responded.

Thanks, Ms. Fulton, I said.

No problem, sir. Good-bye, Ms. Fulton responded before hanging up.

Yes! I yelled out as loud as I could. Kenny came in the room.

Brent, is everything okay? Kenny asked, looking at me all crazy.

I got an interview tomorrow morning at Blair Modeling Entertainment Records, at ten o’clock. You know that’s the place my birth mother owns, I responded, smiling all over the place.

Oh damn, man, that’s wonderful, and the ironic thing about that is I’m doing this lady’s hair tomorrow morning at ten, and that’s right around the corner from Blair Entertainment, so I’ll give you a ride tomorrow morning, man, Kenny said.

That will be excellent, Kenny. Thanks, I responded.

Now let’s go to the sports bar and have a few drinks, all right? Kenny said.

That’s cool, Kenny. I just don’t want to be out too late. I want to give a good impression in the morning on my interview, I responded back, standing my ground with him.

Okay, that’s cool. I won’t keep you out too long, especially now that I know you have a big interview tomorrow. I’m not that bad and inconsiderate, Brent, Kenny said. We both laughed as we got freshened up to go out.

Chapter 3

My First Night Out

We were heading out to Rascals, some sports bar that Kenny goes to. It was about 9:30 p.m. when we left, and I needed to get out for a change. I had on some black jeans, a burgundy turtleneck sweater, and my black Timberland boots. Kenny had on dark blue jeans, a red turtleneck sweater, and black casual shoes. It’s been so long since I went out and had a good time, so this was well deserved. The building looked like it was pretty long and wide from the outside, which it would be if it was a sports bar.

When Kenny and I were getting out the car, he grabbed a big duffel bag from the backseat, as though he was taking it inside with us.

Kenny, what’s in the duffel bag? And why are you bringing it inside the sports bar? I asked.

Oh, Brent, I won two big large trophy’s last time in the pool tournament, and I told them the next time I came, I would bring something to put my trophies in and take it back with me, Kenny responded, like he was ready for that question.

Why does it look so full, man? I asked, looking at him like he was up to something. I know Kenny was like, damn you ask a lot of questions.

Damn, Brent! Your ass asks a lot of damn questions! Kenny responded as he hit the automatic lock button on the driver side of his Camry, telling me to come on. I smiled to myself because I do ask a lot of questions. Gregg would tell me the same thing and touch my nose and say, It’s good to have a nose, but keep it at that and don’t make it, damn it, nosey. I would laugh at him for his comment as he would lean over and kiss me on my nose.

When Kenny and I went to the front of the sports bar, a big ass light-skinned muscle-bound security guard was standing by the door. A brown-skinned heavyset lady, who had on tons of makeup and big ass hair, asked for my ID and then ten dollars but didn’t charged Kenny anything. I was about to question that, but I figured Kenny was a regular, so they stopped charging him. Kenny paid the lady ten dollars for me, and the security guard just finished checking the couple that went before us. I guess he was checking for drugs or any weapons. When the guard walked toward Kenny, I saw the big broad smile that came across his face.

Frisk me, Mr. Security Guard man, Kenny said, bending over as the guard was finishing up with him and was about to check me.

I laughed at Kenny, especially when the security guard didn’t look in Kenny’s direction or entertained his little comment.

You gentleman have a good time, the muscle-bound guard said, in a powerful baritone voice, and then opened up the door that led to the lobby of the bar.

When we walked in and grabbed a table on the floor, Kenny told me he was going back to get his trophies and that he would be right back. He told me to smile and stop looking so mean. I smiled and told him that I always look this way in a strange place for the first time. Kenny went over to the bar and returned with a drink and handed it to me.

What is this? I asked, picking up the glass before sipping on the straw.

Absolute and cranberry juice. It will help you loosen up a little, ’cuz your ass is stiff as a damn board, Kenny said, playfully shoving my shoulder.

Yeah, you’re right, Kenny. This will help, I responded, taking a sip of my drink.

I’ll be right back, Brent, Kenny said, taking his duffel bag to the back.

The bar was pretty nice actually; the lights were dimmed with black and red candles lit with red table cloths. There was a little runway aisle. There was a big bar in the middle of the floor and about sixty tables and booths. I noticed about five or eight pool tables and video games by the lobby of the bar as we first came in. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was 10:15 p.m. I sure hope we don’t stay out too late. I want to be well rested tomorrow for my interview.

I looked around the bar at the people mingling and engaging in conversation. There were about seventy people here. About fifteen white women were sitting on the bottom floor, laughing out loudly and enjoying themselves. Both white and black men were sitting around the bar, having drinks, and looking at the football game on the nineteen-inch TVs that were mounted in the corners of the bar. Some of the men were yelling for their teams when they made a touchdown or intercepted the ball. I was never really into football like that, but I knew the game. My father tried to persuade me to play, but my mother didn’t want me to. I figured my father thought that would make a man out of me with all the tackling and getting the hell knocked out of me. I was glad my mother won that fight.

About two feet away from me was about twenty young black guys yelling out, laughing at each other, and one was almost on the floor laughing so hard. The guys seemed to be very feminine. I felt someone tap me on my shoulder from behind. I turned around, and it was the big muscular security guard.

Can I help you, sir? I asked, leaning to the right, so I could hear what the guard was saying over the loud music.

Are you having fun, man? the guard asked.

Well, I’ve only been here about ten minutes, so I guess it’s going to get better throughout the night, I said, with a smirk on my face.

The guard extended his large-frame right hand to me. I shook his hand.

I’m Mike Harris, and you are? the guard asked as he pulled up a chair and sat closely by me.

I’m Brent Miles, Mike, and it’s nice to meet you, sir, I said.

You must be new here. I’ve never seen you here before, Mike said, pulling his seat up a little closer to me.

Yes, I am. I just moved up here today. My homeboy Kenny was going to take me out, so I could see the city a little, I responded, taking a sip of my drink.

Yeah, Kenny is definitely a regular here. He comes faithfully on Saturday and Sunday nights to do his shows, Mike said.

His shows! What shows? I asked, putting my drink down on the table.

For the drag show that’s starting in about five minutes, Mike responded.

"Damn! Kenny said we were going to a sports bar, not a drag-queen show.