A Love of My Own by E. Lynn Harris

fluorescent lights and a warm smile from a man who I knew would never disappoint me: Hayden.
    â€œHey, Miss Zola. What are you drinking today?” Hayden asked as he took a swig from a green beer bottle.
    â€œThe usual,” I said.
    â€œBartender, a white wine for the beautiful sistah in green,” Hayden yelled as I scooted into a booth near the bar. I leaned over the table, gave Hayden a kiss on the cheek and said, “Good seeing you, baby boy.”
    â€œYou, too. You smell good. What are you wearing?” Hayden asked.
    â€œAfter eight hours? I guess it would be funk mixed with a little Angel,” I said.
    â€œOh, I love that scent. You know they make that for men, too,” Hayden said.
    â€œI know. Which one do you wear, the funk or the Angel?” I teased.
    â€œIt’s too early in the evening to come for me. My reading skills are sharp since I’ve had only one beer,” Hayden said, laughing.
    Thursdays were reserved for my best male friend. Right after I leave the office, Hayden and I would usually meet at our favorite hangout, Joe’s Pub, in the village on Lafayette and Astor Place. We’ll have a couple of drinks, then head uptown to my place or over to Brooklyn, where Hayden lives. We watch
Survivor
and
Will & Grace.
Most times we fall asleep and wake up in the middle of night and talk about life and the perfect relationships neither one of us have but secretly dream of.
    Joe’s Pub was a cute little spot that featured live entertainment of up-and-coming R&B groups and poetry slams. It was also a place where both Hayden and I felt special because of the attention we received from the male patrons.
    Hayden was from Pittsburgh and had moved to New York to perform with the Dance Theatre of Harlem and was later a principal dancer for a new group called Evidence. He had injured his knee and was now concentrating on acting and Broadway. He was tall, almost 6'5" with a well-proportioned dancer’s body and sculpted biceps. He had an angular face with unusual gold-flecked dark brown eyes.
    â€œSo what did you do today?” I asked as the bartender brought over a glass of white wine for me and another beer for Hayden.
    â€œNothing special. Went to the gym after all the gym bunnies left. Dropped my pictures off at a couple of casting agents and then I did a little broke shopping, looking in the windows, since I don’t have any money to buy anything,” Hayden said.
    â€œAnything look promising?”
    â€œAre you kidding? Child, if I don’t get a callback for
The
Lion King,
then I can forget about Broadway,” Hayden said.
    â€œDidn’t you say something about auditioning for
Oklahoma!
?”
    â€œYep, but it didn’t go that well. I must admit that ole Hayden can’t high kick like he used to. I’m getting old.”
    â€œPlease, you’re not even thirty,” I said.
    â€œFor a dancer I might as well be fifty. Besides, I don’t care what the doctor said about making me as good as new, I still feel a little pain after I’ve danced for more than thirty minutes. That won’t cut it on the Great White Way.”
    â€œBut you’re not going to give up, are you?” I asked as I squeezed Hayden’s hand.
    â€œNaw, I’m not going to do that, but you might have to fire that assistant of yours and let me come work for you,” Hayden said, smiling.
    â€œBut you can’t even type,” I said.
    â€œYeah, but I’d look good trying,” he said, laughing.
    â€œYou got enough money?”
    â€œI’m okay. I’ll let you know before I head to the soup kitchen.”
    â€œSo how’s your love life?”
    â€œYou mean my lust life?”
    â€œWhatever.”
    â€œI’ve hit a dry spell. I was hoping there would be more prospects in here than this,” Hayden said as he surveyed the room with one scope. His eyes suddenly lit up when a handsome, brown-suited UPS man