A Private Affair (8 page)

Letting It Go

“T
his is n-i-c-e, Q,” Maxine said, walking through the spacious duplex. “You always did keep a fly place.” She ran her hands along the polished wood of the old piano and her chest constricted with memories. She'd gone with Lacy the day she'd picked it out for Quinn's birthday. “I know he'll love this,” Lacy had said. “And he'll never do it for himself, so it's up to me. Crazy man needs a gentle push every now and then,” she'd added, giving Maxine a
you-need-to-take-this-advice-and-run-with-it
look. But she hadn't. She just couldn't. She needed Quinn to see for himself without any pushing from her. “You still play?”

“Naw. Not really.”

“Because of Lacy?” she asked gently.

He shrugged and crossed to the other side of the living room and turned on the stereo. “Somethin' like that,” he mumbled. He sat down on the couch and stared down at his folded hands. Maxine took a spot next to him, placing her hands atop his.

He looked at her, then turned away.

“Lacy wouldn't want you to stop being all you could just because she's not here to nag at you, Q.”

They looked at each other and kind of smiled reminiscent smiles.

“I keep tryin' to tell myself that, Max. It don't work. Every-time I even think about playin', writin'—I just lose it.”

“It's hard. I know it is. She was my best friend for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I get ready to pick up the phone to call her because I know she can lift my spirit, and then I remember.” She swallowed back the swell that rose to her throat. “But you gotta hang tough. You gotta.” She reached out and squeezed his hand.

They sat in silence for a long while, just easy in each other's company. Relaxing in the memories they each had of Lacy.

“Funny thing, ya know,” Quinn said after a while. “One day last week, I stepped into this club. It was empty 'cept for the bartender, and I checked this phat baby grand, ya know,” he said, his voice building in enthusiasm. “So I just sat down and played this joint I had been savin' to play for Lacy…” His voice trailed away.

“Yeah, Q, I'm listening. So, tell me, what happened. You just plopped yourself down there like you owned the place.” She grinned. “And what else?” She wanted to keep him talking, to let him get it out. Over the years she'd seen how quickly he could close himself off, shut down and Fort Knox people out. As if there was so much inside that he didn't know how to share. Lacy had been the only one that could ever get to him. And Max had watched and listened on those rare occasions when she got to witness Lacy working her magic on Quinn.

“Well, this brother, Nick, he owns the joint. He heard me play, ya know—”

“And…” She grinned, hunching him in the ribs. “You're killin' me with the suspense.”

“He offered me a gig.”

“What!” she squealed. “Get out. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “You know you bad, Q. Just admit it and go head on.”

He couldn't help but laugh. Max was funny. “I ain't all that.”

“You a liar. We been trying to tell you for years. But seriously. You got the job. So when can I come down and hear you rock?”

He blew out a breath and stood. “You can't, 'cause I ain't gonna play.”

Maxine watched him, that tall, proud, handsome black man, trying to hide his pain, anger and confusion from her. She was the only person other than Lacy who knew how truly gifted Quinn was. Many a night she'd stood outside his apartment door and listened to his grab-you-by-the-heart music wafting to her ears. Without Quinn's knowledge, Lacy had shared some of his poems and short stories. They were great—at least she thought so. But she also knew how fiercely Quinn guarded that part of his life.

“Listen, Q, I'm not the one to tell you your business, or how to feel. I just think you're making a mistake. Not giving yourself a real chance. But that's on you. Whatever you decide is cool with me. You know that.”

“I hear you.”

“Nuff said. Now, how much congratulations do I still have left?” she asked, grinning, that toothpick-wide gap in her teeth winking at him.

“Say what?”

“You heard me. I'm not a one-stop shopper. What else do I get to ask for?”

“Whatever your pretty little self desires.”

“I'm hungry. That club you were talking about, do they serve food?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let's get ta steppin'.”

“Woman, you're pressin' your luck.” He chuckled. “Better be glad I kinda like you. Get your stuff before I change my mind.”

 

The band was in full swing when they arrived. Couples were on the floor, at tables, talking nose to nose and just hanging out.

“This is sweet, Q,” Maxine said, taking a look around before he helped her into her seat.

“Yeah, it's cool,” he responded absently, wondering what he was gonna tell Nick if he saw him, or Nikita's friend Parris. Man, what was on his brain rolling up in here? He was gonna look like a real punk. He should have taken Max someplace else. He didn't have any business in here. But the truth was he'd wanted
to come back. Had been thinking about it for days. But he figured since he stood Nick up like that, there wouldn't be anything he could say. That's just how it was. Man can't be making excuses for reneging.

“Is that the piano you were talking about, Q?” Maxine asked, cutting into his thoughts.

He slanted his eyes in the direction of the baby grand and that old tingling sensation started in his fingers.

“Yeah.”

“You'd probably sound real good on
that.
It looks like they haven't found anybody yet,” she hedged, peeking at him from the corner of her eye.

“Naw, it don't.” He crossed his arms in front of him, leaned back and stretched out his long legs. Maybe he still could give it a shot. Nick seemed like an all right brother. He knew Max was right when she was talking about not giving up just because Lacy wasn't around to nag at him. He needed to do this because deep inside it was what he loved doing. Well, it was all over but the shouting, anyway. He was supposed to have started a week ago and never showed, which shifted his thoughts to Nikita. What was Nikita thinking about it? Females like her must be used to dudes acting correct. Even though she acted as if she understood, she couldn't.

The waitress came to their table to take their order. Max and Quinn had both loved shrimp in a basket since they were kids, and ordered one large basket each with a side order of onion rings. Just like old times.

“You sure haven't changed.” Quinn chuckled.

“You should talk. I can only aspire to consume as much shrimp and onion rings as you have in your lifetime, my brother.”

“You don't have no problem holdin' your own, my sistah,” he teased.

Maxine rolled her eyes and smiled.

Their drinks arrived.

Maxine lifted her glass of rum and coke to Quinn's Jack Daniels.

“To better days, Q,” she saluted softly.

“No doubt.” He took a long swallow. “So, what's gonna happen with this certificate thing?”

“Well, I'm going to look for something part-time at a travel agency so I can get some hands-on experience.” She took a sip of her drink. “I've been saving my money and I'm with this investment plan at the bank. I'm hoping I can open my own place in about a year. At least, that's the plan.”

Quinn slowly nodded his head, taking it all in. Knowing how determined Maxine always was, he figured she'd pull it off. “Maybe I'll be your first customer.”

“Yeah. I'll send you someplace exotic, like to one of the islands or something.”

He chuckled. “If you need any help, ya know, like with paying for your spot, or anything, you just tell me. I got some loot stashed. No problem.”

Maxine smiled, feeling warm all over, and knew it had nothing to do with her drink. She looked down at the remains in her glass. “Just knowing that you have my back means a lot, Q. But you know,” she said, looking into his eyes, “I have to do this on my own. Prove something to myself—that I can do it.” She shrugged and half smiled, looking at him. “Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I hear ya, Max. It's all good. Just don't forget what I said, anyway.”

“I won't.” She grinned, flashing that toothpick gap. She put her glass down and leaned closer toward him. “Q, I've been thinking a lot about Lacy's death and all the B.S. the cops gave us about what happened.”

He felt that old knot tighten in his gut, but he forced himself to listen. He took another swallow of his drink and signaled the waitress for another one.

“Q.” She placed her hand on his, knowing how hard it was for him, but she needed him to know what she was planning and she wanted his support.

He tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth. “I'm listenin'.”

“Not talking about Lacy, putting aside everything that she was, what she meant to the both of us, is not going to make this fuckin' pain go away. We're never going to walk through our
doors and see her again, or hear her singing in her kitchen. All she ever wanted for anybody was the best, Q. She gave everything that she was to everyone that mattered to her. So we need to do her some justice, too.”

His nostrils flared as he sucked in air. He swallowed, but his voice still came out gravelly and hoarse. “What're you talkin' about, Max?”

“I've been talking with a friend of mine. You know Valerie?” He nodded. “She works at the bank and goes to law school at night. She thinks we may have a case. Wrongful death. We may be able to sue the police department.”

“Sue!” He threw his hands up in the air. “What the hell for? All the gottdamn money in the world ain't gonna bring her back, Max.”

“No. It won't. But it can bring to justice the bastards that killed her. Somethin' ain't right, Q. The cops have been playing games with us for months. They think because we're black we're automatically too stupid to care, or if we do care, too dumb to do anything about it. To them it's just one more black body out of the way.”

He was listening now, really listening, fueled by Maxine's energy. “So what're you sayin', get a lawyer and file a suit?”

“Exactly.”

He rolled the idea around in his head. For the past few months, he'd done everything in his power to seal up the hurt, the anger. The only way he found he could do that was to distance himself from all the things that reminded him of his twin sister. New neighborhood, everything. Maybe that wasn't the route. He sure as hell knew it didn't work. It was like putting a Band-Aid on a wound from an Uzi; everything still kept seeping out.

“Let's do this, Max,” he said finally. He leaned toward her and ran his finger down her cheek. “For Lacy.”

She smiled, her insides twirling from the sensation of his touch. Instinctively, she clasped his finger in its wayward stroke of her cheek and held it pressed to her face.

“It's gon be all right, Q. It just takes time.”

That's how Nikita saw them when she stepped into the club.

Checkin' Things Out

S
he'd needed to get out of the house, away from the illusion of peace and tranquility, from the scornful, disappointed glare of her father and the trivial conversation of her mother.

Her first thought had been to call Quinn, be daring and take a ride with him somewhere. But she didn't have his number and she hadn't seen or heard from him since that day at her job. She was totalling the days. Eight days and counting.

After her talk with Jewel, she'd made up her mind that she wanted to see where things could go with them.

All of her life she'd played by the rules, followed the white line, lived up to expectations, never deviating, no surprises. Her life was as pale and lifeless as limp, blond hair. What she wanted was some color, some spark, a little fire. Quinn Parker was all that, and then some. And there was this energy between them that snapped, crackled and popped. The men she'd been with barely got the match lit.

So with that in mind, she'd decided to give Rhythms one more try. She'd been itching to talk to Parris and find out if Quinn ever turned up, but she wouldn't be back in town for
another two weeks. And Nick was on business on the West Coast.

Maybe, just maybe, Quinn had changed his mind and decided to play at the club. Maybe that's why she hadn't heard from him.

She took a chance, and he was there all right, fine as he wanted to be—in the face of some other woman.

With an expert's eye, she sized her up.

Probably about five foot seven, from the length of her legs crossed beneath the table. She was sporting one of those short, precision cuts, and it fit her rather delicate face like a cap. There was no doubt about it—even from where she stood, half a room away, she could tell that Ms. X had a knockout body. And her even-toned, black-beauty skin was
working
up against a pale peach tailored suit. The girl could definitely dress. As a matter of fact she had a suit almost just like it. Cost a pretty penny, too. She wondered what she did for a living.

Just then the waitress momentarily broke her line of vision when she brought their food.
Looks like they both ordered the same thing—and they're laughing about it.

Quinn was turning to say something to the waitress. Nikita ducked between two people seated at the bar. She ordered a Pepsi with lemon.
Now what?

 

When the waitress moved away, Quinn's gaze landed on the line of bodies at the bar. He'd know those legs anywhere.

Since the last time he'd seen her he'd tried to push her to the back of his mind. It hadn't worked, but he hadn't called, either. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do about Nikita. Part of him wanted to pursue her, get something going. Another part of him told him to steer clear. They were from two different worlds. But if he was going to start making some changes in his life, maybe Nikita Harrell was the missing ingredient.

“'Scuse me for a minute, Max. I see somebody I know.”

Watching him thread his way around the press of bodies, she couldn't imagine who Quinn would know in a place like Rhythms. No one that he hung with would think about crossing 110th Street.

“Still drinkin' lemon Pepsi?”

Nikita felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to tickle. She put her glass down to keep the contents from spilling and slowly angled her head around.

“Well. We meet again,” she said as casually as she could. “How have you been?”

“I'm feelin' better already. How 'bout you?”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“You by yourself?”

“Why?”

He leaned against the bar so that he faced her. “'Cause if you're by yourself, I'd invite you to join me and my friend for dinner.” He shrugged. “But if you got plans, no problem.”

“I wouldn't want to interrupt.”

He grinned. “If you was interrupting I wouldn't have asked you.”

“If you're sure it's okay.” Obviously whoever he was with was just a friend. Why else would he invite her to join them?

“Yeah, I'm sure. It's okay. Come on.”

With her heart pounding a mile a minute, she followed him to his table.

He grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table and held it out for her.

“Maxine, this is Nikita. Me and Max go way back.”

“Hi,” Nikita said, taken by Maxine's stunning looks up close. “Nice to meet you.”

Maxine forced a smile. “Same here.”
Where did he meet her? Definitely not from the neighborhood. Must be somebody from around here. And from the hungry way he keeps checking her out, he really digs her.
Her spirits sank.

“You wanna order somethin', Niki? Me and Max are celebratin'.”

“Uh, no thanks.” She looked from one to the other and caught the brief look of something akin to jealousy in Maxine's eyes. “What are you two celebrating?” she said, shaking off the bad vibes that she was getting.

“Max just got her certificate as a travel agent.”

“Really? Congratulations. Are you working at an agency?
I'm sure I could send you plenty of business. My friends love to travel.”

Maxine gave her a saccharine smile. “I'm sure they do. But I'm not with an agency at the moment. I'm planning on opening my own place.” She stabbed her fork into a shrimp and popped it into her mouth.

“That's great. Good luck.”

Maxine popped another shrimp into her mouth. “What do you do?”

“Right now, I'm trying to be a journalist.” She smiled. “I'm working for Lillian Ingram, the publisher of
Today's Woman
magazine.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It's pretty local. Distribution is mostly in just the Village and lower Manhattan.” Maxine was making her nervous, for some reason. She felt a string of perspiration trickle down her spine.

Maxine took a sip of water. Just great. So they had something in common. She was a writer, too. Pretty, intelligent and, by the looks of her clothes, she had money. And she actually seemed nice, much as she wanted to dislike her. She was starting to feel worse by the minute.

Quinn ate his food, letting the ladies talk.

They were getting along. That was cool. It seemed kind of tense at first, but he figured that was because Nikita was nervous about meeting Max. Probably figured Max was his woman or something. It seemed important to him all of a sudden that Max like Nikita. Not that he would back off if she didn't. But he would like to know that she thought Nikita was okay. He realized she wasn't the kind of woman Max was used to seeing him with, but hey—to better days.

“So where did you two meet?” Maxine asked, pushing the rest of her food aside.

Quinn suspiciously eyed the half-full basket.

Nikita turned toward Quinn and smiled. He slid his arm along the back of her chair, then turned toward Maxine. “We kinda ran into each other a coupla times. Still gettin' to know each other.”

“How long have
you
two known each other?”

“Since we were all in kindergarten together,” Maxine stated—
real
clear.

“Long time. I wish I could say I had friends that went back that far.” The truth was that until her senior year in high school she'd never had time to cultivate friendships. She'd always attended all-white schools and they tolerated her, even pretended to like her, but they were never really her friends. Her parents pushed her so hard to excel at everything, and those few who weren't pretend friends were just out-and-out envious of her achievements. Until she met Parris, she hadn't known what it was like to really have a close female friend. Men, on the other hand, were never really a problem. It was just the type of men she attracted—or to be honest, those she allowed herself to be attracted to—who wouldn't turn her parents inside out.

“I need to be gettin' home, Quinn,” Maxine said suddenly. “I'm beat, and I have an appointment in the morning.” Both things were lies, except for the part about her getting home. She rose and so did Quinn.

“You sure you're okay, Max? You didn't even finish eatin'.” He looked at her, but she turned away.

“I'm fine, just tired.” She took a breath. “Nice to meet you, Nikita. Maybe I'll see you again.”

“Yes. And good luck with your business.”

“Thanks.”

She moved from behind the table and started to walk away.

“Hold up, Max. 'Scuse me, Nikita.” He walked away from the table and ushered Maxine farther away with a hand in the small of her back. “Whatsup with you? I brought you. I'm takin' you home.”

“I can get a cab, Quinn. It's no big deal.”

“It's not goin' down like that, Max. Now you just wait here a minute. I'm takin' you home. End of story.”

She tried to act annoyed. “Okay. I'll wait,” she said, secretly pleased that he'd have to leave Ms. Nikita sitting all by her lonesome.

Quinn returned to the table and leaned over Nikita from behind, enveloping her with his hands braced on either side of her. Her heart began to race.

“Listen, I gotta run Maxine home. You wanna wait and I'll come back for you, or what?”

Her heart sank. “No. You go ahead. I have my car.”

“It's still early. You gotta get back to Long Island, or what?”

She swallowed. “Eventually. Why?”

“I wanna spend some time with you.” His smile ran over her like warm sunshine. He was taking a chance letting her cross the line. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a spare set of keys and placed them on the table. “These are the keys to my crib. You remember where it is? Eighteenth and Sixth. Three oh one. The apartment at the top of the steps. First door on your right.”

“What am I supposed to do with your keys, Quinn?”

“Open my door, go in, make yourself comfortable and wait for me. I should be back in a coupla hours. You with that, or what?”

She pressed her lips together.
Decide, girl.
“So long as you're sure you'll only be a couple of hours.”

He grinned. “No doubt.” He leaned a bit closer and pressed his lips to her cheek. Her heart slammed in her chest. “See you in a few.”

As she watched him walk away, her head began to pound and her hands started to shake. What was she doing? She had keys to the apartment of a man she hardly knew. Her stomach started to do a dance. And she was planning to go.

She caught a fleeting glimpse of him walking through the door with his arm possessively around Maxine's waist. Just how good was their friendship?

 

“You wanna tell me what's buggin' you?” Quinn grumbled, pulling his car out into traffic.

“Nothing. I told you I was just tired.”

“You wasn't tired a minute ago. I thought we were celebratin'.”

“So did I,” she mumbled under her breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Women.”

Maxine folded her arms and stared out the passenger window. Quinn cut a look in her direction.

She sure was acting strange. He'd never known Maxine to flip
the script like that. She was always cool, easy to be around. Hey, maybe it was that time or something. If he didn't know better he'd swear she was jealous.

He slanted another look. Naw. They were family. It wasn't like that between them. Not that he hadn't thought about it from time to time, but hell, she'd probably really freak if he came on to her—like he was her brother or something.

“So when you gonna let me know about this lawyer?” he asked, trying to draw her out of her mood.

“I'll talk to Val on Monday,” she said without turning around. Then she did. “Listen, Q, I'm sorry about tonight. I guess I was more tired than I thought.” She paused. “Maybe we can pick it up another time.”

“Sure. Whatever. So long as you're okay.” He grinned, feeling better. “Had me worried there for a minute, girl—leavin' all that food.”

She smiled. “First time for everything.” She took a breath. “So where'd you meet Ms. Uptown?”

He laughed. “Ran into her the day I was movin' into the new crib. What do you think?”

She shrugged her left shoulder. “Not that my opinion counts for anything.” She gave him a look and half smiled. “She seems okay. A little stiff, but friendly. Can't see her hangin' in B.J.'s, that's for damn sure.”

They both laughed at that one.

“I hear ya. She's different. No doubt.”

They drove in silence for the balance of the trip, each caught in private thoughts about Nikita.

He eased to a stop in front of Maxine's apartment building.