A Private Affair (25 page)

Looking outward, with the city wrapped in purity, the bleakness, grit and grime were temporarily camouflaged, turning what looked like a war zone most of the time into a Hallmark card.

The windshield wipers swished hypnotically back and forth, pulling him under their spell, tossing his thoughts back…and forth.

He was glad for her. Really. Maxine deserved all the happiness. André seemed like a nice enough brother.

Then why did it feel like he'd lost another something special in his life that mattered? First his mother, then his sister, now Maxine. All in different ways, but the end result was the same.

How long would it be before Nikita was gone, too?

Where was he with that? Part of him wanted to grab on to everything he could from his relationship with her, not take for granted that it would always be there. The way he had in the past.

Then there was that other part, the part that had taken the full force of his hurts. That part told him, “Keep it close to your chest. Don't let go, 'cause when you do, you lose.”

Yeah, that was the unwritten rule of the street, the code of survival, what had kept him safe. And every time he strayed away from that clear, cool, irrefutable logic, he paid the price.

He went home that night and buried his confusion, his fears and his pain deep within Nikita, for those moments washing them all away.

And Nikita knew he loved her with every movement of his powerful body, every moan, every utterance of her name. Even if he never said the words.

 

They never spoke of that night again. Because everything was going to be all right.

Just Like That

T
he club was quiet after rehearsal. Everyone was packing up to leave. Nick pulled up a chair, sat next to Quinn and plopped the cassette tape in his hand.

“You did some fantastic work, man. We'll be going into the studio in about two weeks. I want this as part of the album.”

Quinn looked at the tape in his hand and then at Nick. “You sure?”

“Hey, listen, I told you in the beginning you had talent. All you've done is used what you knew and blown it up. So, yeah, I'm sure.” He smiled.

Quinn looked at Nick, the moment of disbelief slowly dissolving into acceptance. His work was actually gonna be on an album. He grinned. “Thanks, Nick. For everything, man. Really.”

“You did it.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “We'll work out all the financial details to something that we're all comfortable with. I'll have my attorney draw up the agreement papers for you to take a look at.”

Quinn nodded.

“In the meantime, I'll be working out the recording schedule.
I should know something definite by next week, so you'll have time to adjust what you have to do.”

“No problem. Whenever. I'll be there.”

Nick stood. “This could be the start of something big for you, brother. Just hang in.”

“Yeah. I will.”

“Later. I have to run. See you Wednesday night.”

Quinn sat, immobile, digesting what had just happened. Sure, Nick had said he wanted to use his work, but a little twinge of doubt had had him thinking otherwise. Maybe the doubt didn't have anything to do with Nick coming through, but with doubt in himself.

Hey, this was real. His music—the music he'd only heard in his head—was going to be heard by millions of people. Him. Quinten Parker. He wanted to jump up and shout. He'd done it. He'd actually done it.

He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair and headed for the door.

Some celebrating was in order.

 

Nikita tried to keep her mouth from gaping open as she listened to Lillian.

“I'm planning to retire at the end of the year, Nikita.”

“But why? What are you going to do about the magazine?”

Lillian sat down, took off her glasses and put them on top of a stack of papers on her desk. “I've been thinking about that, too. And I'd like to make you an offer.”

Nikita's stomach started to jump. “Me? What offer?”

“I'd like you to buy the business from me.”

Nikita blinked. “Buy the business—”

“I know you can handle it, Nikita. You've done a remarkable job during the past year and a half. Sales are up. Circulation has expanded. You've hired an excellent assistant. The issues look wonderful. The entire business is running more smoothly because of you. You have vision, Nikita, a strong will, and determination that is rarely seen in someone so young. I have no doubt that you'll continue to do a fantastic job. And most of all, I trust you. If you don't buy it, I'll just let it go.”

She swallowed down the knot in her throat. “That means a great deal to me, Ms. Ingram. I wanted to do a good job.” She sucked on her bottom lip, slowly shaking her head. “But I don't have the kind of money to buy your business from you.” She looked at Lillian with sad eyes, the brief moment of elation vaporizing.

Lillian smiled. “I'll sell the business to you for a hundred thousand dollars.” She stood up, crossed the semi-carpeted floor and took her wool coat from the brass coatrack by the door. She turned to Nikita. “You're a resourceful young woman, Nikita. You'll think of something.”

Nikita tapped her ankle-booted foot against the wood floor, while her recently French-manicured nails tapped out a beat on her desktop.

Her thoughts raced around in her head, keeping a steady pace with her heart. One minute her spirits soared when she envisioned herself as a publisher. A real live publisher! She looked toward the wide plate-glass window. This was her dream. She was here. She'd made all the right moves, all the right choices, and she'd gotten what she'd desired.

But in the next breath, reality took a choke hold, squeezing and squeezing the dream until it burst. Where would she ever get the money? If she borrowed it from a bank, she'd be paying it back for the rest of her life.

But she had to have it. No matter what it took. An opportunity of a lifetime had been handed to her on a platter. She wouldn't blow it.

Yes. She would find a way. Whatever it took.

 

Dre had set up shop in his apartment to cut down on overhead. The small business loan that Maxine had helped him get through the bank had financed the purchase of three video cameras, a stockpile of tapes, an enviable computer system and his business license.

He'd drafted tons of introduction letters to all of the major insurance companies and corporations in the tri-state area of New York, New Jersey and Connecticut.

In less than four months after Systemwide Investigations had
officially opened for business, he had more cases than he could handle. Two of his former coworkers helped him out part-time, but if business kept up at this pace he'd have to start looking for some more help.

He was feeling good. Back in charge of his life. Again. The only thing missing was his wife at his side.

He pushed out a breath and turned off the computer. Every time he talked to Maxine about setting a date, she always came up with “Not now,” “We have time,” “What's the rush?” answers.

He was beginning to think that, maybe, she really didn't want to get married at all.

Naw. Maxine had always been straight with him. If it wasn't what she wanted, she would have said so.

Wouldn't she?

 

Val pedaled on the stationary bike in the gym, building up a sheen of sweat. “So, when are you going to set a date, girl? I'm dying to go wedding shopping.”

Maxine put down the five-pound weights and wiped her face with a light blue towel. She draped it around her neck.

“I don't know, Val.” She looked away.

Val stopped pedaling. “What's up, Maxie?”

Maxine heaved a sigh. “I don't know, Val. I…just…I'm just not sure.”

“Sure about what…when to set the date, how you feel about Dre, or if you should get married at all?”

“If that was a multiple-choice question, you forgot ‘All of the above.'”

Val hopped down off the bike and took a seat next to Maxine on a wooden bench. “You want to talk about it?”

“I just don't know if I'm doing the right thing. If Dre is even the right one.” She dropped her hands between her thighs. “I just got caught up in all the fantasy, ya know. The white dress, church full of people, organ music, the whole nine. But…I'm just not sure if it's what I want.”

“Don't you mean
who
you want?” Val put her hand on top of Maxine's knee. “You gotta let go, Maxie. Maybe Dre isn't the one,
but let that reason stand on its own. Not because you have some notion that Quinten Parker is gonna come ridin' in on his white horse and sweep you away. It only works like that in romance novels and on television. This is the real deal, girlfriend.”

Maxine covered her face with her hands. “I don't know what to do, Val. I care about, Dre…a lot. I don't want to hurt him. I could probably make him very happy.”

“But would you be happy? Let it go, Maxie…and you know what I mean. For your own sake. And one way or the other you have to be straight with Dre, before you
do
hurt him.”

 

Quinn made a quick trip uptown. He felt like massaging himself with the essence of the neighborhood. Inhale the aromas, move to the pulse, drink in the camaraderie.

Driving along Malcolm X Boulevard, he caught a glimpse of all the familiar hangouts, all the regulars in their regular spots.

It had been a while since he'd been to the old haunts. His trips were limited to just working for Remy, and even that had been cut back. T.C. had his own area to run, and from what he'd heard he was doing a damned good job.

He parked in front of B.J.'s and got out. He could already hear the music coming from the beat-up jukebox every time somebody swung through the blacked-out door.

A knot of young brothers were standing near the entrance when he approached, whiffs of smoke hanging over their heads like stagnant cumulus clouds.

One of them, with a red-and-white bandanna tied around his head, pants hanging low on his young, narrow hips, seemed to be the leader, as the others hung on his every word and mimicked his “don't give a damn” stance.

New crop.

Quinn looked them over, instinctively adjusting his body, the rhythm of his stride, the angle of his head, realigning himself with the cool, controlled melody of the street, becoming one with the unheard sounds.

They all gave him a look as he approached the door, his eyes cutting across all five brown, yellow, black and in-
between faces at once, and they seemed to almost imperceptibly step back.

“Whatsup?” he acknowledged in a low mumble, not waiting for but expecting the same in return.

“Whatsup,” they each rejoined out of sync.

Respect.
He hadn't lost it.

Quinn pushed through the doors and immediately felt at home, as if he'd been sent away and had finally returned to familiar surroundings.

Smoke, stale liquor, cheap perfume and burnt onion rings greeted him like old friends. The semi-darkness, still hiding the stains, scratches, nicks and peeling paint, welcomed him into its warmth.

Home.

“Hey, brotherman. Long time,” Turk greeted, still wearing the same stained undershirt.

Quinn smiled and slid into a vacant seat at the bar. “How's it goin', man?”

“All good. The usual?”

“Yeah, and make it a double.”

Turk's bushy brows rose. “What's the occasion? Never seen you take down more than one Jack at a time.” He chuckled, pouring the drink with the deftness of experience.

“Feel like celebratin' tonight, Turk. Things are changin'. Know what I mean?”

“So long as they good changes, brotherman. Here ya go.” He placed the glass in front of Quinn. “Hear anything else about what happened wit yo sista?”

“We got the lawyers workin' on it.” Turk didn't need to know that the police department was trying to settle out of court to avoid a trial and yet another police cover-up scandal. So far they'd kept it out of the papers, but Nikita kept saying that the fastest way to get results was to go to the press. He was beginning to believe her. But the fact was, he didn't want Lacy's memory spread all over the place for people to be eyeballing, because then the questions would start again and the dam that he'd been working on sealing shut would burst open again.

“Remy in the back?”

“Last I saw, yeah.”

Quinn placed a ten spot on the table. “Later, man.”

“Take it easy. Don't be no stranger. You know yo money's good 'round here.” He laughed.

 

“You gon be on an album? No shit.”

Quinn chuckled. “Yeah, for real, man.”

Remy shook his head and smiled. “Who woulda thought it?” He looked at Quinn through the smoke of his cigarette. “Didn't know you had it in ya.” He tapped a long ash into a cutoff can that he used for an ashtray. “Knew you was gon be 'bout somethin', just didn't know what.” He coughed a smoker's cough. “Don't forget yo friends now, when you get big and famous. Just mention old B.J.'s when you get yo Oscar or whatever they called.”

Quinn laughed. “Yeah, I will. Listen—” he pushed up from the lopsided wooden stool “—I gotta roll.”

“See you Friday night, right?”

“No doubt.”

Riding down 135th Street, he glanced at Maxine's building. He wanted to stop, but didn't. Her fiancé might be there, and he didn't feel like trying to be nice to the brother.

He hadn't seen or spoken to Max since Christmas. He kind of missed her, and knew that she would have all the right things to say. She'd be thrilled for him, and make his special moment even more special.

He kept driving.

Nikita could make it special, too.

 

Nikita felt as if she was walking on hot coals as she paced the length of the hardwood floors of the living room. Somehow, she'd have to convince Quinn to help her, and maybe, if all else failed, her parents. She couldn't let this chance slip through her fingers.

She checked her watch. It was already eleven and no sign of Quinn. She hoped this wasn't going to be one of those nights where he stayed out until the sun came up.