Forgivable Blackness: On Broadway

It’s the summer of 1995, and I’m strutting confidently down Broadway on a muggy New York afternoon; a lifetime of small town living behind me.

No longer awed and intimidated by the sheer size of the city or its activity, I didn’t stare up in amazement as Jamal and I passed the massive awning for The Late Show with David Letterman that juts out from The Ed Sullivan Theater to cast a huge shadow over the sidewalk below. I’d seen it too many times before.

Moments later, we passed a petite, unassuming woman with dirty blonde hair leaning against the brick wall of an office building. When Jamal and I would later recount what was about to happen to us, I would tell him that I noticed her because she wasn’t doing anything. She didn’t appear to be waiting for anyone. She wasn’t smoking a cigarette. She was just standing there watching the city go by. She sidled up to Jamal and began speaking to us in a friendly, conversational tone. Her soft voice was no match for the sounds of mid-day Manhattan, and I was only able to catch a few random words of her conversation.

“My friends...married...very beautiful...hotel...interested.”

Jamal, walking between, heard every word.

Channeling Don Knotts, Jamal’s face stretched into the same look of amazement that the comic actor used to mug his way to movie star status with films like The Ghost and Mr. Chicken, The Shakiest Gun in the West and The Reluctant Astronaut.

“I can’t believe what she just asked us,” he said.

“This has to be good,” I thought.

I asked her to repeat herself. Again, the street noise drowned her out. I asked her to repeat herself again. She explained that a married couple she knew was very interested in having the wife share the affections of two attractive black men while the husband watched.

She went on to describe the wife — attractive, blue eyes, blonde hair — and how they were a really sweet couple. She assured us that it wasn’t a prank or a set up or anything like that. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just doing another man’s wife while he watches you.

Oh, and your buddy is doing her at the same time. She asked us if we were interested.

While Jamal shook his head in disbelief, I laughed loud and long. I was exhilarated by the idea. And not just by the prospect of an effortless, anonymous sexual encounter. No, I was excited by the potential validation that this could bring to me as a Black man.

Out of a sea of dreadlocks, shaven heads and nouveau-Afros, I had been chosen to service a white woman while her husband looked on. Rarely does one get the opportunity for that kind of ante-bellum confirmation of one’s own Negritude. Never again could any person question my authenticity, regardless of how gentrified my neighborhood was, how much Steely Dan I listened to, or my utter disgust with watermelon (which is not based on the rejection of racial stereotypes: I simply find it repulsive).

If Jamal and I were able to pull this off, our credentials would be unassailable. Memo to streed-cred seeking gangster rappers: Instead of getting shot, simply find a cuckold!

So, yeah, I was kind of interested. As we walked to their hotel, I was impressed at how easily our new acquaintance shifted from talk of sexual solicitation to cocktail party chit chat.

“Where are you guys from? Are you guys in school?”

Given the circumstances, I was struck by her ability to remain completely un-creepy. She was the kind of person who, if you wound up talking to her at a party where you didn’t know a soul, you’d consider yourself lucky.

We ended up at a slightly seedy hotel straight out of a Tarantino movie. I couldn’t help but think, “What if this was actually a Tarantino movie? What aging, B-list actress would Quentin rescue from career oblivion to play the part of the aging, B-list actress who has a threesome with two black guys? Please let it be Suzanne Somers!”

Our madame on the street knocked on a door and an Indian man answered. He indicated that he wanted to speak to her in private and she excused herself and disappeared inside, returning moments later. Apparently, while she had been out combing the streets of Manhattan, the happy couple had somehow wrangled two other young bucks to take care of business. She told us that the wife was currently resting up and asked what we were doing later that night.

Jamal and I looked at each other briefly and shared a moment of unspoken communication.

“This is too weird.”

Although we were both impressed by the wife’s appetite and work ethic, we told our new friend that we had plans for the evening that didn’t involve a spur of the moment threesome with a complete stranger, and said good day. We never got to see the wife, who remains cast as Suzanne Somers, for better or worse — probably for the better — in the Tarantino movie of my mind.

I seriously doubt that this kind of thing is what George Benson had in mind.

Nick Adams is a comedian and author who has recently written about why Barack Obama's election would be horrible for Black people. For more semi-interesting content, check out NickAdamsWeb.com and read his column here every other Monday.

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