Free A House Is Not a Home by James Earl Hardy

stuff when 2000 rolled in. “You want somethin’?”
    â€œYeah. I’ll have the same.”
    â€œNow, don’t not drink on my account.”
    â€œI want to keep it light tonight. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
    Gene ordered. “And how are things shaping up for Errol’s birthday bash?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œAs soon as the weekend’s over, we have to start planning Destiny’s.”
    â€œHer birthday isn’t for another six months.”
    â€œSo? You, Mr. Planning Parenthood, should talk. You’ve got that house running on such a tight schedule those children probably have to make an appointment to go to the bathroom. Besides, she is not having another soiree at that House of Horror.” That would be Chuck E. Cheese, where last year’s party was held. Everyone had enjoyed it except Gene. He didn’t feel anything—the atmosphere, the food, the service—was jood enough for his Baby.
    â€œIf you have your way, she’d have it at FAO Schwarz.”
    A devilish grin formed across Gene’s face. “Hmm . . . now that’s an idea.”
    Mitchell can’t get over how much mellower Gene has become in his older age—and Destiny is the reason why. All the zest and zeal he possessed was tempered by his bout with cancer in late 1996. While he beat it, he was beaten down by it—the two surgeries to remove lesions and the chemotherapy left him physically ill and spiritually spent. He didn’t have to, but he resigned as head of promotion at Simply Dope Records—and then resigned himself to spending his days and nights watching everything from old faves like The Golden Girls and Roseanne to newbies such as Judge Judy and Cybill .
    But after he laid eyes on Destiny, the fire returned; he found a new reason to start living again. He’s worse than her grandmother and Aunt Ruth in the spoiling department: So she won’t have to transport clothes and toys from one place to another, Gene makes sure she has two of everything (there are some things Mitchell refused to let him double up on, such as a hot-pink Pedal Power Chevrolet Corvette and a Barbie Sport Jeep Wrangler; these items remain at Gene’s, where Destiny spends the second or fourth weekend out of every month). He’s made sure she’ll get the best education money can buy: Starting this fall, he’ll be paying her private-school tuition and has (along with her father) set up a 529 college savings program. And, while Gene’s vowed to “be around when she gives us grandchildren,” he’s made sure she’ll be well taken care of when he’s gone: She’s replaced Mitchell as the primary beneficiary of his estate, which has grown considerably in the last few years. Once Chelsea was officially christened New York’s new Caucasian queer mecca (as Gene remarked about this white flight, “The Village was gettin’ way too dark for them”), he couldn’t take all the “nordic nancies and nellies” running around. So he put his three bedroom co-op on the market in 1999 and within two weeks it was purchased by (what else?) a white gay couple for $1.25 million. Because the buyers each had seven-figure incomes (one was a theater producer, the other a VP at Viacom), they paid for the apartment with cash. Gene had the cashier’s check he received at the closing blown up, viewing it as “the greatest piece of artwork I’ve ever seen in my life.” He moved into a three-bedroom co-op in Harlem Towers; Raheim’s mother is his neighbor (Gene’s in building 702; she’s in 810). The apartment, though, is really Destiny’s domain: she has possession of two of the bedrooms (one to sleep in, the other to play in), one of the full baths (which Gene had painted pink), and two of the three walk-in closets. Gene even did something Mitchell, Babyface, and B.D. thought he’d never do: sell his