A Private Affair (20 page)

Tell It Like It Is

M
axine and Val stood by the watercooler in the employees lounge of the bank.

Val tossed her plastic cup in the gray trash can. “You have your things for the gym tonight?”

“Yeah. I definitely have to go tonight. I've been fallin' off big-time, but I've been working so hard trying to pull everything together for my business. It's been straight from this job to the one at home. I've been so tired, girl, my eyes are crossin'.”

“That's just why you need to go to the gym to unwind.” Val looked at her friend and missed the usual sparkle in her eyes. “When's the last time you saw Quinn?”

“Coupla weeks…I guess.” She shrugged. “Why?”

“Nothing. Just asking.” She waited a beat, then put her hand on Maxine's shoulder. “You wanna talk about it, Maxie?”

Her throat closed up. She shook her head. “Maybe some other time.”

“You know I'll listen, hon. No judgment. No ‘free' advice,” she teased, getting a half smile from Maxine.

Maxine took a deep breath. “It's just…Shit, I don't know
what it is. I guess somewhere in my stupid head I just figured Quinn would suddenly realize that I exist. Me…Maxine Sherman. I am woman.” She shook her head. “Then he winds up keepin' house with Nikita, the last person on earth anyone would ever imagine him being with. I just don't get it.”

“I know the whole thing threw you for a loop. It would have done the same thing to me. But the reality is, Quinn has made a choice. For how long, we don't know. But you have
your
life to worry about, your growing business, and your own relationship with Dre. Don't waste any precious time sweatin' something you can't do anything about.” She lowered her voice to a pseudo whisper. “Besides, man look that good, probably
ain't
that good. Know what I mean?”

Maxine laughed. “But, g-i-r-l, I just wanted to check it out for myself. One good time!”

 

It was just about quitting time. Maxine checked her appointment calendar for the next day, ticked off all the items she'd already accomplished and shut down her computer.

Hmm. 4:50. She should give Dre a call and see if he wanted to do something later.

She picked up the phone and punched in the first numbers of his pager, then hung up. There was no way she was sitting there a minute past five waiting for a return call. She dialed his office directly. Either he was there, or he wasn't.

The phone was answered on the third ring.

“Security. Tower Two.”

“André Martin, please.”

“Who?”

Are you deaf?
“André Martin.”

“Sorry, miss, he doesn't work here anymore.”

“'Scuse me?”

“He doesn't work here anymore. Gone about two months.”

She frowned. What was going on? “Uh, thanks.”

Absently, she hung up the phone.

Why didn't he tell me? Better yet, what's he been doing for the past two months? No wonder he started tellin' me to just beep him, said management was cracking down on personal calls.

Yeah, right. Lyin'…Humph.

Now she was ticked. He could have told her. She felt like a fool calling his job like that.

She slammed her desk drawer shut and locked it, dropping the tiny gold key into her empty “You're the Greatest” coffee mug.
I'd really like to hear your story, my brother.

She snatched up her purse and her gym bag, practically stomping down the main corridor to Val's office. She was locking up as Maxine stormed in.

“What in the world is wrong with you?”

Val picked up her gym bag and slung it over her shoulder, giving Maxine the once-over.

“Guess what?” Maxine planted her hand on her hip, daring Val to guess.

“I'm stumped.” She closed her office door and they walked back down the hall.

“Dre doesn't have a job.”

“What are you talking about? He
never
had a job, or he doesn't have one now?”

“He doesn't have one now, and hasn't for two damned months! Man's been lyin' to me through his teeth. And for what?”

Val was silent until they'd been checked by security and let out of the bank. “Why do you think he didn't tell you?” she asked, in her patient, soon-to-be-lawyer voice.

Maxine twisted her lips as they trekked down Chambers Street, bumping into and dodging the after-work mélange of human traffic.

“I…don't…know.”

“Of course you do. But you're so intent on being the one put upon that you aren't looking beyond your feelings. I'm sure he didn't lose his job for the express purpose of tickin' you off.”

Maxine switched her gym bag from her left shoulder to her right. “I guess he was embarrassed.”

“Of course he is. Look at you…Beginning businesswoman, secure in your position at the bank—”

She released a long sigh. “Yeah, and there he is trying to make things work between us and bam, he loses his job. He just let his male ego get in between. I would have understood.”

“He doesn't know that, Max. He's probably figuring you're gonna see him as just another brother out of work, looking to cash in on you.”

Maxine looked at Val. “Yeah, and he's probably feelin' even worse because I'm doing so well. He's been so helpful and thoughtful. Never said a word about his own troubles. It musta been killin' him.”

“Exactly.”

“I'm calling him as soon as I get to the gym. We have to talk, work out a plan. If we're gonna have a relationship, we have to be honest with each other. Good times with the bad, and all that.”

“Now you're talking.”

Maxine grinned. All they needed was a plan.

 

Dre drove up to his neighborhood bank, found a parking space that was meter-free and got out. He needed gas, his light bill was due and rent was coming up in another two weeks.

He pulled out his thin brown leather wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket, took out his ATM card and slid it into the opening until the little red light flashed and the door clicked open.

Standing behind an obviously pregnant woman who wore one of those finger-wave hairdos that he hated, he concentrated on the flakes of dried gel in her hair instead of how much money he probably didn't have in his account.

It was his turn. He stepped up to the window, selected English as his chosen language and dipped his card in the slot. He pressed Withdraw, then $100.00.

The machine's humming and whining made his stomach churn until he saw the money slide through the little door. He threw up a silent “Thank you” and pressed No when the machine asked about further transactions.

He knew all he had left was about two hundred dollars, minus the monthly service fees. The World Trade Center had denied him unemployment, saying that he was fired for insubordination.

He was out of cash and out of options.

Returning to his car he headed back home. Maybe there was
a message on his answering machine in response to the dozens he'd left about job possibilities.

When he got home and checked, there were no messages about job offers, but there was one from Maxine, who'd called from the gym. She wanted to talk. Tonight.

His stomach seesawed.

 

Maxine took a good long shower, letting the steamy hot water massage her overworked muscles. Otherwise, she knew, she'd be one big knot in the morning.

Wrapping herself in a thick towel, she hurried to her room, dried off and rubbed some generic baby oil all over her skin. She did some quick maintenance on her toes, then slipped into her favorite pink panties and matching push-up bra. She dabbed some Eternity behind her ears, at her wrists and between her breasts, then put on her sea green silk sweater and matching pants. She untied her head scarf and brushed her short hair back into its precision cut.

Ready.

Now she just had to wait for Dre.

Bing.
The timer on the oven sounded and her stuffed chicken breasts had come out mouthwatering perfect. The steamed veggies were ready and the yellow rice had about another five minutes to go. She'd bought a bottle of wine on her way home from the gym which she'd stuck in the fridge to chill.

As she took a quick survey of the small but neat apartment, everything seemed to be in order. She wanted Dre to feel comfortable, full and relaxed when she talked with him.

The bell rang. She took a breath, repeated her mantra—Be cool—and opened the door.

“Hi.”

“Hey, babe.” She kissed Dre lightly on the lips. “Come on in.” She took his hand and looked over her shoulder as they walked down the hall. “I fixed up a phat dinner, got some wine and the night is still young.”

“What's the special occasion?”

“Does there have to be an occasion?” She turned off the pot
of rice, then faced him. “Maybe I just wanted to do something nice for you. You've been so good to me, Dre, hangin' in there with me tryin' to get my business together. I figured it was my turn. Ya know.”

He stuck his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks, lowered his head, then looked up. “Uh, listen, Max, there's something I need to talk with you about.”

She leaned against the light green kitchen counter. “I'm listening, Dre.”

He took a breath. “I lost my job, Max. I been outta work for two months.”

She kept a serene expression on her face. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I couldn't.” He looked at the floor, the stove, the table, everywhere but her face, her eyes. He didn't want to see that look—the look that his mother gave to his father. He couldn't handle that. Not from Maxine. “I felt like you would lose respect for me—as a man. Ya know?”

“No. I don't know, Dre. Why would I think any less of you? Folks lose jobs every day. It's what you do about it that matters.” She pulled out a chair from beneath the kitchen table and sat down. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

Dre blew out a breath of relief and began telling Maxine how he and his supervisor got into a confrontation over Dre's handling of checking passes of all employees and visitors to the Tower.

“It was the same dude I've been seeing for months. He was late for a meeting and forgot his pass. I let him up on the floor and my boss found out and went ballistic. He wasn't tryin' to hear nothin' I had to say. Told me it was a breach in security policy, whether I knew him or not. Even after I told him it would never happen again, he says, ‘You bet it won't. You're fired.'” He shook his head in disgust. “Come to find out from one of the guys on my shift it was all a setup. Dude I let through has his nephew working in my old job.”

“Damn,” she whispered. “Dre, you should have told me, baby.” She reached out and took his hand. “So what are you gonna do? You been lookin'?”

“Yeah, I've been looking. Filling out applications, answering ads. No luck.”

“How are you fixed for money?”

“Oh, that. I'm good. Got everything taken care of.”

She watched his eyes dart back and forth while he talked, and knew he was lying. But she wouldn't push the issue. “If you need anything, Dre, all you gotta do is ask. Okay?”

“Sure. Okay.” He sort of grinned, showing his chipped front tooth. “Something sure smells good. What you got cookin' in that oven, girl?” He came up to her and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her waist, easing her closer. He closed his eyes, letting her nearness push aside his fears.

While she held him close, she silently prayed that Dre would find a job soon. She'd seen too many times what despair did to black men.

Lookin' Fast Forward

N
ikita and Parris were relaxing in Parris's apartment when Nikita dropped her news.

Parris put down her cup of tea on an end table. “He writes?”

“Yes. Poetry. Short stories. And they're good, Parris. Really good. I couldn't believe it myself.”

“I suppose you haven't talked to him about it because he doesn't know you were looking through his things.”

Nikita looked away. “Right. But they're too good to just sit up in his closet.”

“Maybe that's what he wants, Niki. Some people write simply for the personal pleasure of it, or to get things off their minds.”

“But that's ridiculous. He could make something of himself as a writer. I know he could. He's light-years ahead of some of the stuff I've seen come through the office.”

“Are you asking my advice?”

“Sort of.”

“Leave it alone. If he hasn't told you about it, it must be for a reason. Did it ever occur to you that Quinn is exactly who and where he wants to be?”

Nikita uncurled her legs and leaned back on the couch. “Everyone can improve himself, do more with what he has,” she insisted. “Look at us…Nick…Jewel. Come on, Parris.”

“
If
they want to.” Parris took a sip of her apple cinnamon tea. “
He
has to want to.”

Nikita pursed her lips, then ran her manicured hands down her denim-clad legs. “Maybe he just needs a little push, some encouragement. I'm sure I could convince Ms. Ingram to publish some of his work. He could get some exposure.”

“Are you listening to yourself? You can't map out that man's life.”

“I'm not trying to—just giving it some direction.”

Parris looked at her friend and shook her head.

 

Quinn checked out the clothes that he needed to take to the cleaners, tossing the selected items on the bed. The house seemed strange without Niki humming around, like something was missing. He kind of wanted her around right about now. Wasn't sure why. He just did.

Yeah, he understood her worries. Lacy was the same way, always thinking he wouldn't come home. But he knew how to take care of himself, had been doing it most of his life.

He dug into his pants pockets and pulled out some change, tossed it on the dresser. But he had a woman now. A real somebody in his life.

He piled the shirts together. Maybe it
was
time to take a new look at where his life was going. Nick had been bugging him about playing more than just the one night, and he was talking about cutting a new album.

Quinn took in a deep breath. Yeah, maybe it was time for some changes.

He picked up the last pair of pants, checked the pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was the workshop schedule for ASCAP. He looked it over. There was an orientation session set up for that afternoon to explain the programs. The one that caught his attention was about writing music.

He checked his watch. Eleven-thirty. The session started at two. If he hurried and took care of his running around right quick, he'd make it on time.

Grabbing his bundle of clothes and his keys, he shut the bedroom door and ran down the stairs.

 

Dre punched in the numbers from the ad he'd seen in the paper. This morning, just before he'd left Maxine's apartment she'd asked him if he wanted to stay with her for a while, save some money until he found a job.

And for a hot minute, he'd almost said yes. But when he looked at her, success and moving on up written all over her face, he knew shacking up with Maxine would just be the beginning of their end. She'd grow to resent him, feel she was taking care of him, just as his mother had with his father. He didn't intend to be another statistic—another black man moving in with his woman. That wasn't for him.

“Allied Systems. May I help you?”

“I'm calling about the ad for representatives.” He figured it was real estate. He could handle selling homes and showing apartments. But the last thing he expected was what he was told.

All he needed was his own video camera and a car, the woman had said. Allied would provide the client list and the one-week training. All he had to do was get clear videotapes of insurance scammers.

He hung up the phone and laughed loudly. The job was made for him, and his brother in Philly had a video camera. If he could just convince his brother to lend him his camera, he'd be in business.

Maybe things were finally beginning to look up.

 

Nikita hurried home, taking turns and whizzing around cars with the same aggressive savvy that she'd watched in Quinn. She reached their apartment in no time, parked and hopped out of her car. She didn't see Quinn's car on the block.

Good.

Running up the stairs, she went to their bedroom, pushed the nightstand over to the closet and took down his notebooks.

There was a stationery store with a copy machine around the corner. She'd copy the poems that were finished and put the books back before Quinn realized they were missing.

On Monday morning she wanted to show them to Ms. Ingram and see what she thought. If they were as good as she believed they were, she was certain she could convince Ms. Ingram to publish them in the magazine.

As she dropped in dime after dime, making the copies, she knew that Quinn would be angry at first, but he'd get over it. All he needed was a chance to show off his work. Maybe when he saw how proud she was of him and how talented he really was, he'd change his tune and take his writing more seriously. Maybe he'd even take a class with her at NYU.

Then why did she have this sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach?

 

Quinn pulled up in front of Rhythms, hoping to catch Nick. He wanted to tell him about the class he'd signed up for and get his advice.

He stopped at the bar.

“Nick around?” he asked Jimmy, the newest bartender.

“He was in his office. Didn't see him go out.”

“Thanks.” He walked to the back and knocked on the office door.

“It's open.”

Quinn stepped in. “Hey, man. Sorry to bother you. I wanted to kick somethin' with you.”

“Rest yourself and let's hear it.” He pushed aside his papers.

Quinn took a seat on the opposite side of Nick's desk, leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs.

“I went up to that place you sent me to a few weeks ago.”

Nick nodded.

“And, uh, I signed up for a class.”

“That's great. Which one?”

“Computers and Music, the one you told me about.”

Nick smiled. “You'll really dig that class. I took it and it blew me away.”

“Yeah, but ya know, like how much do you have to already know about reading music?”

Nick leaned forward. “That's just it. All you gotta have is drive, man, and a good ear. You already have both. You don't have to know anything about reading scales.”

He knew that was what was bugging him, and he had a pretty good idea that Quinn hadn't gotten very far in school—not due to lack of intelligence, but because of circumstance.

“Listen, man, I'd be happy to help you in any way I can. Just say the word.”

Quinn smiled. “Thanks.”

“Parris would help, too. She's a whiz with that stuff.”

Quinn suddenly got up from his seat. “Naw. I don't want you to say nothing to Parris. She'll wind up sayin' somethin' to Niki, and I ain't ready for her to know yet.”

“I hear ya. No problem.”

Quinn nodded. “Listen, uh, I was thinkin' about, ya know, workin' another night. If it's cool with you.”

“Sure. I've been asking you for months. Which night?”

“I was thinkin' maybe Wednesdays.”

“Sounds good. That's the after-work crowd. So we close early.”

“Yeah. Works for me.”

“Done deal. So when do you start classes?”

“Next week. Three days.”

Nick grinned. “Before you know it, you'll be producing your own music.”

“Yeah, may-be.”