A Private Affair (21 page)

Crossin' the Line

“M
s. Ingram, I want you to take a look at something and tell me what you think. Honestly.” Nikita handed her the photocopies of Quinn's poetry.

Lillian pushed her glasses up the bridge of her narrow nose and sat down to read.

Nikita anxiously tapped her foot and crossed her fingers while she waited for the verdict. Her tummy turned every time Ms. Ingram made a sound or her usually stoic face changed expression.

Twenty minutes later, Lillian put the pages on her cluttered desk. She looked across at Nikita, who was twirling her lock of hair with the shell on the end.

“They're good. Actually, better than good. Crude but moving. Are they yours?”

Nikita popped up out of her seat. “No. They belong to a friend,” she said, finally breathing easy. “You really think they're good?”

“I wouldn't have said so if I didn't.” She handed the papers back to Nikita. “Your friend has a lot of potential. They could use a little polish, but the foundation and the passion are definitely there.”

Nikita beamed with delight. She'd been right. It wasn't just her blind love that made her think Quinn's work was good.

“What would you say if I asked to have one of them published in the magazine?”

Lillian frowned, looking long and hard at her protégé. “You want to take on an awful lot, little miss. You know that once you open the door to something like this we'll be deluged with all sorts of would-be poets. Don't you think you already have your hands full?”

That meant yes! She just knew it. All she had to do was convince her that she could handle it.

“I can handle it, Ms. Ingram. You see how the entertainment section is taking off. I don't even have to hunt down leads anymore. The calls from publicists are coming in every day, wanting their clients to be featured.”

“I'll have to think about it. And you know I'll have to have permission from the writer. Who is it, by the way? Have they been published before?”

“His name is Quinn Parker. And you would be his first publisher.”

Lillian thought about it for a minute and was pushed into her answer by the eagerness on Nikita's face. She'd been just like her when she was Nikita's age, always striving for more, wanting to outdo her last effort. Nikita had come a long way in the months she'd worked for the magazine. Sales were up. Her own job was easier. And Nikita was turning into one darned good editor and businesswoman. She would go a long way in this business.

Lillian took off her glasses and placed them on the desk. “You get permission from the writer, as always, and we'll try it for six months and see how it works.” She wagged her finger at Nikita. “This is your baby. You handle it, and all the fallout.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She scooted around Lillian's desk and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. “You won't regret it. I promise.”

Now all she had to do was convince Quinn.

 

Quinn knew he was taking a chance, just rolling up on Maxine without calling first, but hey, they were friends. It was cool. What if her man was up there? Too bad.

He found a parking space about two doors away from Maxine's apartment building. As usual, the front door was open, so he just trotted up to the third floor and rang the bell.

Standing there, he realized he was nervous. He felt jumpy, and didn't know why.

“Who?”

“It's me, Quinn.”

Maxine's heart knocked one good time in her chest. She pulled the door open and it hit her again. There he was, in the flesh, looking cool and in control as usual.

“Quinn. Whatsup? Come on in.” Did she sound as shaky as she suddenly felt?

Quinn dipped his head as he stepped in, wondering why all of a sudden he felt like fifteen instead of twenty-seven. He stopped halfway into the hall, while Maxine squeezed by him and headed for the living room. He caught a whiff of her soft scent, and had she brushed just a little closer…

Her stomach was doing a real number on her and she
re-ally
wanted a piece of gum.

“Rest yourself. Want something to drink? I was making some tea. It's getting kinda chilly.”

She smiled and that toothpick gap peeked at him. That made him smile, too, and he slowly began to relax.
No sign of whatshisname.

“Naw. Nothin' for me. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” She sat down in the beige-and-brown-striped armchair that matched the couch and tucked her bare feet beneath her. “Is it about the case?”

“Naw. It's about me.”

Lord, please don't tell me this man is marrying that woman. She's nice and all, but….
“I'm all ears.” She smiled.

“I'm takin' some music classes.”

“Get out!” She sat up and her bare feet hit the floor. “Come on, come on. What's the 411?”

Quinn started to laugh. “Take it easy.”

“No. You takin' it easy enough for the both of us. Let's go. I wanna hear every minute detail. And don't leave nothing out,” she warned, pointing a finger at him.

Quinn told her about the classes at ASCAP and his extra night at the club, and all the while that he spoke his spirits lifted higher and higher, with her “You go, boy's,” “Ain't you something's” and squeals of delight.

“Q, I'm so happy for you. You're going places, baby. Nothin' can stop you now but you.”

“I feel like it, Max, ya know. But it's strange, almost like it's happenin' to somebody else. I mean, in the year since Lacy died my whole life has changed. At least, some of it.” He grinned, giving Max a “you know the deal” look. “There's still that big part of me tied to my life uptown, the runnin', the hustlin', the brothers. Then there's this other part, a small part, that's startin' to break out.”

“I know exactly how you feel, Q. It's happening to me, too. I know I can be more than just an account supervisor. And I can't let where I live, the color of my skin, or the fact that I'm a woman stop me from anything. We've been set up to fail. All the odds are stacked against us from the jump. It's up to us what we do with what we've got. Life's too short to let it pass you by 'cause somebody says that's the way it is.”

“No doubt.” He looked around for a minute. “How's André doing? Ya'll still hangin' tough?”

“He's doing good.” She didn't want to tell him that her man was out of work. “What about Nikita? How's the living together life?”

He shrugged just a little. “It's pretty cool. Takes some gettin' used to.”

“Hmm.” She didn't want to think about them spending nights together, waking up together, sharing things together. “Lemme go get my tea. Sure you don't want any?”

Quinn got up. “Naw. I'm gonna roll. Just, ya know, wanted to tell you what was happenin'.”

She walked him to the door. He turned and looked down at her in her peach sweat suit and bare feet.
Yeah. Real regular.

“Talk to ya.”

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him to her.

Shock waves ricocheted all over his body when he felt hers against his. A sudden, powerful erection startled him. For a minute his mind was scrambled eggs, and before he knew it he was hugging her back. Hard. Like he couldn't let her go.

“Good luck, Q,” she whispered against his neck.

“Thanks, babe.” He kissed her hair and slowly released her, looked down into her upturned smiling face, then walked away.

Maxine closed the door, shaking all over.
You shouldn't have done that, fool. Nearly lost it.

She walked into her bedroom and threw herself across her bed. Several minutes later she dialed Dre's number.

 

That night Quinn made love with Nikita as if his life depended on it, as if with each descent and ascent of his body, he could push aside the visions, the feel of Maxine.

Finally he did.

 

Nikita had been debating with herself for an entire week about how to approach Quinn about publishing his work.

First on her agenda was trying to figure out how to tell him she knew. She got up from the couch and walked over to the thermostat. The temperature outside had dropped considerably. She adjusted the temperature to seventy degrees. With the large, airy rooms and high ceilings, it took a while to warm up when a chill got in. She tugged on her tube socks and sat back down.

Maybe she should just be honest and tell him the truth. She was going through his things and found his notebooks. What other choice did she have, except to lie? She couldn't put it off much longer.

She grabbed the remote control and aimed it at the large-screen TV.
Seinfeld
was just going off.
Eleven-thirty.
It would be at least two more hours before Quinn came back home.

Tonight. She'd talk to him tonight.

 

Quinn was beat. His night had run longer than he'd figured on, and T.C. had talked his ear off nonstop.
Boy act like I'm his father or big brother or somethin'. Always askin' questions, needin' advice.
Now he wanted to know how to deal with some girl from the neighborhood who wouldn't seem to give him a play.

“Ignore her,” he'd said. “Works every time.”

Quinn laughed as he pulled onto his block. As much as he might pretend to be annoyed, he really got a kick out of talking with T.C. It felt good to try to steer him in the right direction. But T.C. was a hardhead. Had to tell him things a million times. Humph. Him all over again.

He found a space across the street, and pure skill was the only thing that got his 750i into the small space.

Putting his key in the lock, he knew Nikita would be halfway awake, trying to wait up for him, even though she had to be up and out early. He liked that. It reminded him that someone cared.

Lacy used to do that.

He closed the door with just enough noise to let Mrs. Finch know that he was home. She'd said on too many occasions, “Can't understand why a good-looking boy like you has to be out in the street till all hours of the night. Keeps me up nights—worrying.” She'd looked him straight in the eye. “Understand?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He'd grinned, and she'd popped him on the back of the head for being fresh.

Ever since that day nearly six months ago, he'd made it a point to make some noise when he came in.
No sense in worrying the poor woman.

He smiled as he trotted lightly up the stairs. Mother downstairs, and my woman upstairs. Not half bad.

The light by the bed was still on, and Nikita was propped up with pillows and all of her schoolbooks spread out around her.

She was knocked out.

Quinn collected her books and stacked them on the floor near the bed. Cradling her like a baby, he eased her under the down comforter and pulled it up to her chin.

He took a quick shower, crawled in beside her and switched
off the light. He put his arm across her waist and pillowed his head on those breasts that he loved.

She moaned softly in her sleep.

He snuggled closer.
Damn, this felt good.
His body began to uncoil. His thoughts smoothed out and began to recede to that hazy phase just before slipping off to dreamland.

The sound of his name being called tugged him back like a fish on a hook.

“Quinn.” Her voice sounded soft and fluffy, cushioning him back to sleep.

“Quinn.”

His eyes flew open. “What? Whatsthematter, baby?”

She thought she'd had it planned, but the words just tumbled out, like an overstuffed closet whose door had been pulled open. “I want to publish some of your poetry.”

“Say what?” He was definitely awake now. He sat up in the bed and turned on the three-stage light full blast. “You wanna run that by me again?”

Nikita blinked at the look of fury that blazed in his dark eyes, the deep furrows that creased his brow and lowered the timbre in his voice to a growl.

“I…found some of your writing…and it's really good, Quinn. Really. I want to get some of it published in the magazine.” She held her breath.

Quinn got up out of the bed, cut his eyes at her over his shoulder and walked out of the room.

He tried to clear his head as he went down the stairs, but his thoughts wouldn't stay focused.

One, she'd gone through his things. Two, she'd read his work. He'd never let anyone besides his sister read his work. Why did she do that?
How
could she do that? What next?

He flipped on the lights in the living room and went to the bar. He poured a glass of Jack Daniels, no ice, and tossed it down his throat.