The Adult Movie

The love of a free man is never safe.

—Toni Morrison

Spring, 2005: There are so many things I want to say to Richard, but the one thought that keeps going through my head is: "I hope this thing works out for you because if it doesn't you will surely be alone when you are old." I don't say it because it sounds like an aspersion, though I don't mean it as such. I mean it for real. I am hopeful for the prospect of his happiness.

The difference in him reminds me of what my friend, Jim, says about how relaxed he feels, when he is in Africa or Cuba or some other part of the Caribbean. He lets his guard down. Richard is home on holiday from six months of working as a physician in Rwanda. His eyes are wide and present, looking into mine, yet I know that mine are guarded. I already know the truth. He is preparing to tell his version of it but can only provide, after days of trying, the terse: "I'm ambivalent about you," and something about buying me an engagement ring.

No longer mi cara de angelito.

Fall, 1999: I got a call from the man named Richard Harris who my friend, Joan, said was nice. "I've known him since we were sixteen. We were in the Socialist Workers Party together. He's fine."

"Give him my number," I said. And he called. Did most of the talking, as he always does. I tried to imagine what he looked like. His voice was round and warm. He was jolly. So, I imagined him round in the middle, wearing Birkenstocks, with chubby cheeks. Light skinned, with a ponytail. And like Nature Boy, we talked of many things, fools, and kings, then out of a conversation about the Nation of Islam, he

Ventura Profana, Resplandescente (2019). Video clip (Ventura Profana, Davi de Jesus Nascimento, Rainha Favelada, Carlos Queirosi, Vedroso, Davi de Jesus, Daddy).

sang, "Hey, hey! Hey, hey! And don't you worry about a doggone thing at all … Skinny legs and all …" Then, the question, "You know Joe Tex was in the Nation?"

"Yea. I did, actually."

"You knew that? I'm impressed," he said (minutiae and ephemera are important to him), then added, "Joan told me you was a jazz singer. She told me you was on tour with Cassandra Wilson. You was?" He sometimes uses a southern accent or talks in Black English.

"I am a singer, and I was on the road with Cassandra, but not working. I just went to hang."

"Oh. You a singer for real?"

"I try to be. I gig from time to time," I said.

"What does her GRAMMY look like?'

"I don't know, I've never seen it. She's very humble. She doesn't have any of her awards on display."

He is not fine, I thought, when I saw him first. He was brilliant. I knew that from the start. His complexion is not yellow, as I imagined from his voice on the phone, but like the edges of flan. He's slim with runner's legs. Walks with a slight hunch. A bit of tension in his shoulders and arms, the way he holds his elbows. Not from being broken. From resignation. From deciding that since he's here, he may as well live in the world—all of it.

Before Falling in Love, 1999: "All I want to do is see Richard Harris," I told my friend Michael in one of our many phone conversations. Michael's been my friend for thirty years.

"Who's Richard Harris?"

"A guy I met. My friend, Joan, introduced us. All I want to see is Richard Harris. I just want to see Richard Harris. That's all. That's all I want to do." I carried on like this after experiencing Richard eight times.

Then, Cassandra.

"I've been dating this guy, Cassandra."

"Yeah? I knew you'd meet somebody."

"His name is Richard. He...