A Private Affair (27 page)

Your Love Is All I Know

N
ikita couldn't have been more surprised to find Quinn at home if the guys from Publisher's Clearinghouse really had paid her a visit.

He was sitting at the piano, intent on putting together what seemed to be a new song. He didn't even hear her come in.

She stood quietly in the doorway just watching him. Her heart seemed to swell in her chest. He was exquisite. From the moment she'd laid eyes on Quinten Parker, she'd thought she'd died and gone to heaven. He was like a black Messiah, with an energy that radiated from him as easy as the air he breathed.

He'd lit a fire in her soul that she couldn't deny. Nor did she want to. She loved this man to the depths of her being. Maybe she had done some things that might have been selfish, but it wasn't because she didn't care. It was because she did. Perhaps too much. And it scared her. Scared her to think that she could ever lose him. He'd been the one constant in her life that mattered. The only thing that made everything in her life seem worthwhile.

 

He sensed her presence and slowly turned around on the piano bench. When he saw her standing there in the doorway, looking all soft, tiny and vulnerable, his heart knocked in his chest, and he wondered why he'd been staying away. Maybe not physically, but in spirit. His body had been there, but his heart and soul had been adrift. He wasn't sure for how long.

She'd been good to him—good for him—and he'd been fighting it and her. Keeping that one part of himself out of her reach. Maybe if he just let go…

“Hi,” she said in that soft, sexy voice.

“Hey, baby.”

She walked toward him, sensing a change in him. Sensing his sudden need for her.

She stood in front of him looking down into his eyes, which seemed to glow with a growing intensity.

His gaze stayed fixed on her while his hands began stroking her waist, her hips, down her thighs, until they found the hem of her skirt, inching it upward.

Her eyes slid shut when his fingers found the waistband of her panty hose and panties beneath, pulling both down her thighs, her legs, until she was completely exposed to him.

She trembled, emitting a soft whimper, a sharp intake of breath when he pulled her close, the tip of his tongue tantalizing the tiny bud until she cried out his name.

And he took…

And took…

There on the hardwood floor, on the slick black leather of the couch, on the plush softness of their mating bed, until there was nothing left for either of them to give.

They slept, then. Wrapped in each other's arms.

And she pushed all thoughts of her fears to the back of her mind.

Along with her promise to Maxine.

 

Val sat next to Maxine in the waiting area of the airport, dreading the moment when her flight would be called. She'd
promised herself that she wouldn't cry and make sad matters worse. But Maxie was the last of the old gang. Her one true friend. Now she'd truly be alone.

“Flight number eight seventeen direct to San Francisco is now boarding,” the nasal-toned announcer said. “Those with small children, seniors and those needing assistance, please come to gate B.”

Val and Maxine looked at each other, both fighting back tears, trying to smile.

Maxine sniffled. “I won't start if you won't.” Her smile trembled at the edges.

“Then don't start,” she uttered in a shaky voice.

“Passengers in seats eighty through sixty-five, please begin boarding.”

Slowly Maxine stood. She picked up her carry-on bag and her pocketbook. She turned toward Val. “You promised,” she choked, seeing the tears thread down Val's high-arched cheeks.

“I lied.”

They embraced long and hard, as only true-to-the-heart friends can.

“Be happy, Max,” she said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“And you come see me. Anytime. You hear?” She wiped away her tears.

“Count on it.” Val ran a finger under her eyes.

Moving away, hands outstretched, their fingertips touching in those final moments…

Then Maxine hurried off and was soon swallowed up in the knot of boarding bodies.

As the jet soared out of JFK, Maxine looked down, as the only city she knew began to disappear beneath her.

Quinn had never called to say goodbye.

 

“Sounds good, Nikita, but it don't sound like somethin' I want to get involved in right now. I told you that before.” He stepped into his jeans, and pulled his Polo jacket from the closet and tossed it on the chair.

He moved around the bedroom, picking up discarded clothes
and putting them in a pile. Got his latest pair of Air Jordans out of the closet and put them on.

“Quinn, this symposium is something that's never been tried before. It's history in the making, baby.” She huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Just think about having black writers, editors and publishers from all over the world coming together in one place to exchange ideas and put mechanisms in place to further African-American literature.

“Besides, it's not something that's going to happen right away. It'll be at least a couple of years down the road just to get everything and everybody together.”

He angled his head in her direction, seeing the set of her smooth jaw and the determination in her light brown eyes.

It would be easier to just say
Yeah
than to spend all his time and energy debating it. She'd never let it rest, otherwise. Once Niki got her mind set on something there was no turning her around. Damn. She'd been at him about that thing for the past couple of weeks.

“I'll think about it. But I ain't makin' no promises. Got my hands full as it is. Going back in the studio to finish up the album. That's gonna take a while. Plus I got other stuff to do, ya know.” He gathered up the clothes from the floor.

She put on her best “Do this for me, Quinn” voice. “There's a planning committee meeting in three weeks.”

He cut his eyes in her direction and just grinned. He knew perfectly well what she was trying to do. He put on his jacket. “Yeah, I hear ya, Nik. Later. Okay?”

“Try not to be too late,” she called out after him.

She spun around and flopped across the bed, a big smile brightening her cinnamon-toned face. He'd do it. Of course he would. He hadn't denied her anything…yet. And since things seemed to be going her way, she'd decided to pay her parents a visit and somehow get them to give her the money for the magazine.

 

Man. If it wasn't one thing with that woman it was something else. Every time he turned around she was shoving something
else in his face. Just when he figured things were cool.
Bam!
Here she comes with more stuff.

He turned up the volume on the car stereo until the sounds of R. Kelly boomed through the speakers.

He dropped his clothes off at the cleaners, then headed uptown, figuring he'd hang out at B.J.'s, see what was happening. Then he changed his mind, as if suddenly tugged in the opposite direction, or something had whispered in his ear,
“Hey, Q.”
A sense of Maxine came to him, just as strong as if she'd been sitting right next to him.

He shook off the strange sensation and headed toward Chambers Street. Sometimes Maxine worked on Saturdays. Maybe he'd catch her at the office.

The closer he got to his destination, the better he started feeling. That tightness that had gotten a lock on his insides seemed to loosen.

It had been so long since he'd seen her, heard her voice. He knew he should have stopped by long before now, but the thought that she'd be holed up with her husband-to-be had always turned him around.

She'd stopped calling long ago and might not have much to say to him now, after the way he'd dissed her. It wasn't right. And he knew it.

He found a parking space across the street from the bank. He watched the door, seeing people come and go, and for a minute he had second thoughts.

Finally he shut off the music and got out. Darting in and out of traffic, he jogged across the street and pushed through the revolving door.

He walked past the teller to the new accounts department and spotted her desk. Someone else was sitting there.

He stopped for a moment to get his bearings. Maybe that wasn't her desk. Or maybe she'd moved to a new area. He walked toward the woman, who had her blond head down, reviewing some papers on her desk.

She looked up when Quinn's dark shadow fell over her.

“Yes. May I help you?” Sparkling blue eyes focused on him.

“Yeah. I'm lookin' for Maxine Sherman. She usually sits here.”

“Oh.” She pursed her red-painted lips. “Ms. Sherman is no longer with us.”

“No longer with you?”

“No. She left about three weeks ago. Did you open an account or a loan with her? Perhaps one of the other officers can help you.”

“Naw. Thanks.” He turned and walked out, wondering why Maxine would just up and quit her job. Maybe that traveling thing was really taking off.

He trotted around an express bus that had stopped for a red light and got back in his ride.

Since he intended to go uptown anyway, he'd just stop by her crib. And it was just too damned bad if
André
was there. He'd just have to chill a minute.

He pulled up in front of the building and got out of the car, the locks clicking into place with the tiny telltale beep.

Still hadn't fixed the front door, he noticed. He went right up.

He stood in front of her door for a minute, getting himself together before he knocked. He knew she was going to read him for staying out of touch. But he could take the weight. Actually, he was looking forward to it.

He knocked.

And waited.

And rang the bell.

Then he heard footsteps coming down that long, narrow hallway that he knew so well.

“
Sí?
Who eez it?”

He frowned, looked at the apartment number on the door.
That wasn't Maxine's voice.

“Uh, I'm lookin' for Maxine Sherman.”

The door creaked open, the security chain in place. A tiny, white-haired Puerto Rican woman peeked out.

“No Maxine here. Gone. Move away.” She shut the door before he could say anything else.

He stood there, stunned. A pulse began to pound in his temple. His thoughts started jumping around.

Where was she? She'd quit her job. Moved out of her crib. And hadn't said a goddamned thing.

He zipped in and out of the weekend traffic, challenging lights and pedestrians, until he pulled to a rubber-burning halt in front of B.J.'s and jumped out.

Dismissing the pleasantries, he breezed by the group outside the door, passed Turk and went straight to the back, after being checked by Smalls.

“Yo. Sylvie.” He signaled from across the murky room. The usual group was assembled around the ratty green felt table with the dull single bulb hanging over their heads. Several men looked up, grunting in acknowledgment, but quickly returned to the game at hand.

Sylvie sashayed across the room, her skintight sky-blue dress one with her body.

“Hey, baby. You're early. What's up?” She moved out of the twisting shadows into the dull yellow light.

“You seen Maxine around lately?” His chest pumped in and out, seeking some fresh air amid the stale stench of the back room.

“Naw. Heard somethin' 'bout she moved a coupla weeks back. Ain't sure, though.” She shrugged. “Ya'll was tight. I should be askin' you.” She popped her gum.

“Thanks, Sylvie. Check ya later.”

Maxine gone.

He couldn't get it together. He just drove around for the next few hours, aimlessly.

A heaviness settled over him, a sadness that he couldn't explain. It felt like something, another part of him, was gouged out.

It never occurred to him that Maxine would ever be
gone.
Really gone. Not
his
Maxine.

Maybe she'd just moved to a bigger crib. Maybe she moved in with André. Damn. Maybe she was married already.

He found himself back at B.J.'s, located a quiet corner booth, ordered a burger and fries and a round of drinks.

 

“What in the world makes you think you can run a magazine, Nikita?” her mother asked, demurely sipping tea from her favorite cup.

“I know it. Ms. Ingram knows I can do it. I've been running the business virtually by myself.”

Her father returned his coffee cup to its saucer. He cleared his throat. “You've disappointed your mother and me terribly, Nikita. We had plans for you. Worked hard to build a solid future for you.”