accepting his proposal and the seven-carat diamond, which Ava picked out herself—seven days later.
“What am I supposed to do? Just ask him for the number?” Yancey asked.
“No. The number is probably on his driver’s license. Just check his wallet when he spends the night and is in the shower. Or just wait until he falls asleep. Fix him a couple of drinks and fuck him real good and he’ll be out for the count.”
“You think that will work?”
“It should, but if that doesn’t, tell him since you guys are getting married, you want to make him the benefactor on your life insurance, and you need his Social,” Ava instructed. “I think I’ll have my guy check medical information as well.”
“Why do we need medical information?”
“Hello! You have heard of AIDS, haven’t you, darling? The gay kids aren’t the only ones getting it, and you can never be too safe when it comes to your health,” Ava said.
“Basil is as healthy as a horse. Besides, he’s not in any of the high-risk groups,” Yancey said confidently.
“I’m going to say this for the last time: You need to be safe, not sorry.”
“Ava, you are too much,” Yancey said.
“And you’ll thank me for it when I’m dead and gone. The money I plan to make off this husband will take care of me in my old age. Even though that’s a couple of decades away.” Ava laughed.
“Then I’ll try and get the information before he leaves,” Yancey said.
“Is he there now?”
“Yeah, he’s here, but he’s in the health club right . . .” Before Yancey finished her sentence she recalled Basil leaving wearing a tank top and some black spandex running pants. There was nowhere to hide a wallet in the tight-fitting garment.
“Hold on just a second, Ava. I might be able to get the information right now.”
Yancey placed the portable phone on mute, raced into her dressing area, and opened the closet door. There was the suit coat, a blue shirt, and some brown jeanlike pants. Yancey felt the back pockets of the pants and checked the inside of the jacket. No wallet. She turned and was facing the bathroom and spotted Basil’s tan leather duffel bag where he keep all his toiletries. Yancey went into the mirrored room and there, lying right on top, was a well-worn black leather wallet. She opened it and saw about five credit cards of various colors, a health club membership, and a Florida driver’s license right behind the red and white card.
What was he still carrying a Florida driver’s licensefor?
Yancey wondered as she looked over the information. Full name, date of birth, and Social Security number.
Instead of going back into the living room, she picked up the wall phone in the bathroom.
“Ava, I got the information.”
“Give it to me.”
Yancey had just finished reading the nine numbers slowly and clearly when she heard the front door open.
“I’ve got to go,” Yancey said. She hurriedly placed the license behind the health club membership card.
“I’ll get on this right away,” Ava said before Yancey hung up.
21
WHEN I got back from Las Vegas, the first person I called was my beautiful sister, Campbell, and told her about my new plans. She insisted on taking me to lunch at the newly refurbished Russian Tea Room on Fifty-seventh Street to celebrate.
“I have something for you from your nephew,” Campbell said.
“What?”
Campbell opened her bag and pulled out a stack of photos and passed them to me. The pictures were of Cade in his Halloween outfit, dressed in a pint-size replica of my New Jersey Warriors uniform.
“Oh, man, these are great! Look at him,” I said as I looked at the six photos with Cade’s smile getting bigger with each photo.
“It’s still so amazing to me how much he looks like you,” Campbell said. I took a second look at the photos. The waiter placed a bottle of sparkling water on the table and asked if we were ready to order. Without making eye contact I said, “Give us a little time. The
“What am I supposed to do? Just ask him for the number?” Yancey asked.
“No. The number is probably on his driver’s license. Just check his wallet when he spends the night and is in the shower. Or just wait until he falls asleep. Fix him a couple of drinks and fuck him real good and he’ll be out for the count.”
“You think that will work?”
“It should, but if that doesn’t, tell him since you guys are getting married, you want to make him the benefactor on your life insurance, and you need his Social,” Ava instructed. “I think I’ll have my guy check medical information as well.”
“Why do we need medical information?”
“Hello! You have heard of AIDS, haven’t you, darling? The gay kids aren’t the only ones getting it, and you can never be too safe when it comes to your health,” Ava said.
“Basil is as healthy as a horse. Besides, he’s not in any of the high-risk groups,” Yancey said confidently.
“I’m going to say this for the last time: You need to be safe, not sorry.”
“Ava, you are too much,” Yancey said.
“And you’ll thank me for it when I’m dead and gone. The money I plan to make off this husband will take care of me in my old age. Even though that’s a couple of decades away.” Ava laughed.
“Then I’ll try and get the information before he leaves,” Yancey said.
“Is he there now?”
“Yeah, he’s here, but he’s in the health club right . . .” Before Yancey finished her sentence she recalled Basil leaving wearing a tank top and some black spandex running pants. There was nowhere to hide a wallet in the tight-fitting garment.
“Hold on just a second, Ava. I might be able to get the information right now.”
Yancey placed the portable phone on mute, raced into her dressing area, and opened the closet door. There was the suit coat, a blue shirt, and some brown jeanlike pants. Yancey felt the back pockets of the pants and checked the inside of the jacket. No wallet. She turned and was facing the bathroom and spotted Basil’s tan leather duffel bag where he keep all his toiletries. Yancey went into the mirrored room and there, lying right on top, was a well-worn black leather wallet. She opened it and saw about five credit cards of various colors, a health club membership, and a Florida driver’s license right behind the red and white card.
What was he still carrying a Florida driver’s licensefor?
Yancey wondered as she looked over the information. Full name, date of birth, and Social Security number.
Instead of going back into the living room, she picked up the wall phone in the bathroom.
“Ava, I got the information.”
“Give it to me.”
Yancey had just finished reading the nine numbers slowly and clearly when she heard the front door open.
“I’ve got to go,” Yancey said. She hurriedly placed the license behind the health club membership card.
“I’ll get on this right away,” Ava said before Yancey hung up.
21
WHEN I got back from Las Vegas, the first person I called was my beautiful sister, Campbell, and told her about my new plans. She insisted on taking me to lunch at the newly refurbished Russian Tea Room on Fifty-seventh Street to celebrate.
“I have something for you from your nephew,” Campbell said.
“What?”
Campbell opened her bag and pulled out a stack of photos and passed them to me. The pictures were of Cade in his Halloween outfit, dressed in a pint-size replica of my New Jersey Warriors uniform.
“Oh, man, these are great! Look at him,” I said as I looked at the six photos with Cade’s smile getting bigger with each photo.
“It’s still so amazing to me how much he looks like you,” Campbell said. I took a second look at the photos. The waiter placed a bottle of sparkling water on the table and asked if we were ready to order. Without making eye contact I said, “Give us a little time. The
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