Not a Day Goes By Read Online Free

in
Fosse
and I felt she needed me there for moral support. But after about ten times I was
Fosseed
out, so meeting her right after her performance was the next best thing.
    I went to the kitchen to get a beer when the incident at the gym popped into my head. I try not to act uptight around gay guys, but they seemed to be getting more forward than I can
ever
remember. Now some of them will just come up and ask for the beef. With Yancey being in the theater, where she is surrounded by gay men, I always have my guard up.
    One time I came close to getting busted about my past. The producers of
Fosse
threw a party for Yancey when she joined the cast. Yancey and I were front and center enjoying the attention, when who walks in but this dude I used to pump, Monty Johnson. He was a has-been R&B singer who was now doing background vocals and trying to break into Broadway. We made eye contact and while Yancey was accepting praise from her new castmates, I went over to shake Monty’s hand and say whassup to ole boy. I knew I needed to get to him before he bounced over to speak to me in front of Yancey. I didn’t need any
how do you know him
questions from Yancey. She wasn’t like a lot of sistahs who never thought of dudes kickin’ it with each other. She knew threats could come in both the male and female form.
    After saying hello, I realized Monty was acting real cool, too cool, like I was just somebody he spoke to at the gym or walking down the street. I guess he had forgotten how good the dick used to be. He quickly introduced me to his buddy, a tall and lean guy sporting a pierced tongue and his hair styled in jailhouse cornrows. They were giggling with each other like two teenage girls at the stage door of their favorite boy group. When ole boy left to get Monty a drink, Monty told me he was in love and was sorry about any misunderstanding our last visit had caused me. When I told him I was in love, and who the lucky lady was, he smiled and whispered, “You always did like the ladies more. But from what I’ve heard about Miss Diva Deluxe Yancey, you might have met your match.” Before I could ask him what he meant, I caught a glimpse of Yancey looking in my direction, so I hauled ass over toward her.
    Monty was the culprit who had ended my last serious relationship with a woman. I was dating a sister named Yolanda, who walked in on us while I had Monty ass up across my sofa. After that fiasco and a few other missteps, I came up with my own little list of rules to keep me from courting temptation.
    I call them “Basil’s Rules to Keep the Knuckleheads Away from the Family Jewels.” Some of the do’s and don’ts are obvious, like not going to gay bars, cruising parks, or smiling at male flight attendants, but those don’t apply to me since I never did any of those things. The rules are: Avoid men who try to make eye contact with you or men who can’t because they’re looking at your crotch. Don’t go to the gym during rush hour, which could mean early morning or right after work. This is hard to follow since gay men are at the gym when the door opens and when it closes. I don’t know where they come from. Sometimes it seems as though they are dropping from the ceiling butt-ass naked, shaving, pissing, and trying to strike up a conversation. Don’t let anybody spot you while lifting weights unless you’re paying them. Keep away from men who have complete sets of designer luggage. Avoid mofos with colored contacts, especially yellow boys with green contacts and dark guys with sky-blue contacts. Stay out of churches with large choirs. Avoid dudes who wear shirts that look more like maternity dresses or men with extended music (usually Diana Ross or Patti LaBelle) on their answering machines; mofos who wear their sweaters or jackets around the waist; men who, in their conversations, use the word “lover” when discussing their significant other; men with cats or small dogs, especially any type of fluffy Asian dog;