A Private Affair (10 page)

Quinn joined her on the couch. “I ain't tryin' to be right. That ain't what it's about,” he said, the easy, crooning resonance of his voice returning. “I'm just tellin' it like it is.”

He looked at her for a moment before turning away. She was green. No doubt. But at least she had thoughts in her head—even if they were bent out of shape—and she was willing to listen, wanted to hear somebody talk besides herself. The only females he knew like that were Lacy and
Max. Now, those two could definitely hold their own in a conversation, but they always wanted to hear the other side, whether they agreed or not. He dug that. And he really dug Nikita, too.

“Let me show you the rest of the place,” he said, shifting gears. He stood and took her hand.

Her heart began to pound. “Sure.”

He opened the door and went up the stairs, with Nikita close on his heels.

“Do you have the whole house?”

“Naw. The landlady lives on the ground floor. Nice lady, but she wears me out runnin' errands for her.” He chuckled. “Every time she sees me she finds somethin' for me to do. But it's cool.”

That's sweet,
she thought. It was hard to picture big, tough, macho Quinn Parker running errands for old ladies. But hey, her horizons were opening up by leaps and bounds.

He opened the door at the top of the stairs and flipped on the light.

A thick, mint green carpet covered the floor of the huge bedroom. Black lacquer furniture consisting of a six-drawer dresser, armoire, two nightstands and a bed straight out of
House Beautiful,
complete with a built-in stereo system in the headboard, filled the room.

“Come on in.”

She timidly stepped across the threshold, feeling as if she'd just fallen into a lion's den. A mud-cloth bedspread and matching valances were the only decorations.

A television hung from brackets in the ceiling in the far corner of the room. Along one wall were two doors. He opened one.

“This is the bathroom.” He stepped in. “Come on.” He grinned.

Nikita stepped inside a totally masculine bathroom done in beiges and browns. He walked across the cream-colored tiles to a door in the opposite side. He opened that door and Nikita beamed when she saw another room.

Although sparsely furnished compared to the rest of the house, it was just as tastefully done in cool, creamy leather with brilliant art on the walls.

“I'm not sure what I want to do with the room yet. I guess it was supposed to be a bedroom.”

“This place is fabulous, Quinn,” she breathed.

“It's cool.” He shrugged. “Got a little patio out back that I can use. Haven't gotten to it yet.”

“You really lucked out when you found this place.” She looked up at him and smiled, but was taken aback by the sudden closed look that shadowed his handsome features. It seemed as if the light had suddenly gone out of his eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“Naw.”

The sincerity of the word was missing. She saw him clench his jaw. “Quinn, what did I say?”

“Just forget it. It's nothin'. Serious.” He forced a smile and draped his arm across her shoulders. “Let's go back down.”

Nikita frowned, wondering what had just happened. What had she said that changed him from day to night in an instant?

Quinn started down the stairs. He wasn't ready to tell her about Lacy, that this was Lacy's dream and he'd only stepped in it. Naw. Not yet. If ever.

Back downstairs, Quinn removed the Quincy Jones CD and replaced it with Regina Belle's “If I Could.” He turned toward Nikita, his eyes so dark they were almost black, haunting. He extended his hand and she sensed a deep sadness, something untouchable, and it reached her in a place that had never been chartered. She wanted to find the hurt that pained him, that turned him from an easygoing charmer to a brooding stranger. She wanted to make it right—like Regina said.
If I Could
. Quinn was the ultimate challenge, and hadn't she been groomed for challenge all of her life?

She moved into his embrace and felt the air leave her lungs when she became cocooned in his warmth. She pressed her head against his chest and listened to the steady heartbeat. She closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her.

“Stay with me tonight, Nikita,” he whispered in her hair.

Her petite body flooded with heat. She arched her neck and looked up at him, her soft brown eyes searching his face.

“Call home and tell 'em you'll be back in the mornin'.” How could he tell her he didn't want to be alone again tonight without soundin' like a punk? He just wanted her to say yes. To keep the light on for just a while longer.

“Quinn—”

“You can stay in my room.” He grinned. “By yourself. The couch turns into a queen-size bed. Or the guestroom. Whatever.”

A part of her was relieved. Another part of her was disappointed that he didn't want to sleep with her. Because she realized that, against all of her ingrained inhibitions, she wanted him.

“If you promise to stay put,” she said, giving him the
“I ain't too sure about you”
eye.

“No doubt. 'Sides, it's too late for you to be drivin' all the way back to the Island. It's almost two o'clock.”

She let out a breath. “Okay. But I'll have to be up and out early.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, pulling her closer. “No doubt.”

M
axine alternated between sleep and waking for the better part of the night. Her thoughts were filled with images of Quinn and that woman Nikita. The very idea that thoughts of a man—even a man like Quinn—could keep her up at night had her out of sorts. She was still at a loss as to what he saw in Nikita. She was pretty, yeah, but definitely not his type. Anybody could see that from a mile away. But men were such babies when it came to relationships. The real thing could be smack in front of them and they'd walk right past it to the next pretty face.

She stepped into her shoes, grabbed her keys, purse and briefcase. No time to dwell on Quinn and his man-mentality self. She'd promised to meet her friend Valerie for an early breakfast before work, to talk about the lawsuit. Next to Lacy, Val was her dearest friend. Although the three hadn't hung together regularly because Lacy was not a club girl, they were all pretty tight. Val had been Maxine's shoulder, the one she leaned on when they lost Lacy. That was Val—the rescuer, always looking out for the other girl. She'd promised to be Val's first client when she opened her own law office.

The ride on the A train from uptown to lower Manhattan was as eventful as usual. The cacophony of dialects—Jamerican, Spanglish, Southern soul, urban slang and everything in be
tween—melded with the metallic rumble of the train. Dancing-for-dollar kids, who entertained the travelers with acrobatic feats along the length of the car, competed with homeless representatives pleading their causes over the garbled static of the announcements of the conductor. The usual aromas of garlic, curry, stale beer breath and an assortment of designer perfumes clumped together into one indistinguishable scent.

Yeah, just another day on the A train, she thought.

Maxine swayed back and forth from the overhead strap, bumping and grinding with a hefty man behind her. Luckily, after five stops, she was able to squeeze into a seat. She adjusted her headphones and relaxed, rocking her foot to the beat of Notorious B.I.G., the latest victim of the rap world's East Coast-West Coast rivalry.

So much is senseless these days,
she mused as the train rocked and rolled along the track, searching for the light at the end of the tunnel. Black folks were dropping like flies in all walks of life from drugs, poor health and random violence.
When are our dues gonna finally be paid?
she wondered, inhaling a powerful whiff of White Diamonds perfume. She held back a sneeze. If, in fact, black folks were the chosen ones, as Lacy had so often said, what were they chosen for? Destruction?

She rocked her foot a bit harder. Well, Maxine Yvonne Sherman had no intention of being a casualty in the war against black folks. She was gonna have her own. God bless the child, and all that. It was the only way. On that score, she, Lacy and Val had always agreed. She wiggled her hips a little to get the man next to her to close his legs.

Funny how so many of the females from the neighborhood were moving on, doing their thing, while the guys just kept hustling, thinking that their whole future was only what they could see right in front of them.

It was harder for black men. She knew it, saw evidence of it every day at the bank. There was not one black man in management, compared to three black women—she and Val being two. Oh, they had plenty of custodians and security men, but nothing that required a suit and tie and an above-high-school education.
Looking around her now, she could count on two hands the number of brothers who had “white collar” jobs.

The underground railroad screeched to her stop at Chambers Street, and she squeezed out with the rest of the indentured servants.

Maxine exited the subway and took a big gulp of exhaust fumes mixed with hot, muggy air. Even at the early hour of seven forty-five, the streets bracing City Hall, the World Trade Center towers and Pace University were bustling with life. Delivery trucks carrying everything from the
Daily News
to Nathan's hot dogs jockeyed for position with the madmen of Manhattan, who drove the yellow cabs like Indy 500 professionals.

Her pearl gray Donna Karan suit hugged her body in all the right places, and she knew it from the admiring glances she received along the way to meet Val. She prided herself on her physical fitness, making it a point to go to the gym at least three days per week, and keeping her bi-annual appointment with her doctor. Couldn't be too careful these days. Though she practiced safe sex, there were days in her past that she'd just as soon not think about.

She hurried along Chambers Street. Her sneakered feet, de rigueur, helped speed her journey. She reached the door of Hogarth's at eight on the dot. But Val, never one to be outdone, had arrived moments earlier, securing their table.

Val waved when she saw Maxine enter. “Hey, girl,” Val greeted as Maxine slid into the red leather booth and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Hey, yourself. One of these damned days I'm gonna arrive
somewhere
before you. Girl, I swear,” she said, a bit breathy from her five-block walk, “I don't know how you do it.”

Valerie laughed her “all is right with the world” laugh. “Chile, don't even try it. You might hurt yourself.”

“You got that right.” Maxine tucked her purse and briefcase between her feet. “Did you order?”

“Yep. I'm starvin'. Been up since four-thirty.”

“You are crazy.”

Val laughed. “So I've been told. But—” she wagged a finger
at Maxine “—I get so much done at that time of the morning. That's when I do my studying.”

“I guess so. What other fools are up to bug you?” Maxine chuckled. “I hear you. Gotta get it while you can.”

The waitress arrived and took Maxine's order.

“So I guess you've had a chance to talk with Quinten about the possibility of a lawsuit?” Val asked, taking a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice.

“He wasn't going for it at first,” Maxine said, keeping her eyes focused on her glass of water. “But he finally came around. He told me to get the ball rollin' and let him know what needs to be done.”

Valerie eyed her speculatively. “You sounded more enthusiastic
before
you got him to agree. What's up?”

Maxine pursed her lips and planted her elbows on the table. Finally she looked up. “Why can't I get beyond Quinten Parker, Val? Why can't I get it through my thick skull that all we'll ever be to each other is ‘good friends'?”

“'Cause for one thing, he's about the finest thing I've seen since whenever. And second, you don't really want to accept that friend thing because you want it to be more. The question is—what are you going to do about it?”

Maxine tilted her head to the side and half smiled. “Nothing.”

“Exactly.” She paused for a moment, her light brown eyes resting on her friend. “Listen, we've been friends for a while. And as long as I've known you, you've had a thing for Quinn Parker. But I also know you're not the type of woman to let one monkey stop her show. You have it going on, girl, and you know it. If Quinn can't see it, it's his loss, my sister, not yours. You have a new man in your life that digs you, good job, new career on the horizon, and you kinda look okay,” she teased. “So just push on.”

“I know. And I'm not moping about it. Don't have the time. But you know, every now and then those feelings just sneak up on me.”

“Like Friday night,” Val stated, knowing.

The waitress placed a plate of pancakes, scrambled eggs and sausage in front of Valerie and an identical one in front of Maxine, minus the sausage. She'd opted for Canadian bacon.

Maxine cut up her pancakes and doused them in thick maple syrup until it created a little pool around the edge of the off-white plate. “Yeah, like Friday night. Everything was all that until this chick walks in the club.” Maxine proceeded to tell Val what happened.

“Well, sis, one thing I've learned about men is that you can lead them by the nose to your heart, but no telling if they'll take it. They have to find their own way, on their own, in their own time.”

“Don't I know that, too. But hey, this diva's gonna keep, keep keepin' on.”

They gave each other a high five.

“Now that's what I want to hear.”

“And I didn't get my behind up at the crack of dawn to talk about Quinn, anyway. Tell me what we need to do to get some justice for our girl.”

 

Three o'clock. Amen
.

Maxine had opened and closed her last account for the day. Sitting in front of her computer, she wiggled her toes inside her gray pumps, which she'd donned at the start of her work day. Keying in her activity log, she was pleasantly surprised when a single rose was waved beneath her nose.

She turned. “Dre. Hi, baby,” she greeted, raising her lips for a quick, discreet kiss. “How'd you get in?”

“You know me. Besides, Clarence the security guard is cool. Told him that I had a very important appointment with a very special lady. The rest was a breeze.” He grinned, displaying his boyish smile with the tiny chip in his front tooth. Max thought it was cute.

“Dre, you are a piece of work.” She shook her head. “What are you doing off so early, or are you taking a really late lunch?”

André pulled a vacant chair up to her desk and straddled it. “A little of both. I thought if I could leave a little early today, maybe we could go to a movie or something. I hear the new Denzel movie is good, and I missed seeing you over the weekend.” His brown eyes, set in a sienna-complexioned face, sparkled at her. He was a dead ringer for Michael Jordan, minus about five inches.

Maxine swallowed back her momentary bout of guilt and beamed. “You sure know how to rescue a girl.”

Maxine had met André Martin almost a year earlier when he'd come into the bank to open an account. He'd just started his job as Assistant Supervisor of Security for Tower Two at the World Trade Center. He'd moved from Philadelphia to New York and was eager to get his finances in order. She'd liked that.

He was easy to talk with and had a raw sense of humor. He'd always made it a point to pop into the customer service station and say hello whenever he did his banking. Then one afternoon, he dropped in just before closing and asked if he could take her out for a drink after work. That was three months ago. They'd been a “couple” ever since.

“So you think you'll be ready to break out of here by five?”

“Absolutely. Maybe earlier. If I can, I'll beep you.”

He checked his watch and stood. “I have a couple of runs to make, but I'll be out front at five.”

Maxine smiled up at him. “See you then.”

Dre turned and sauntered out, nodding and waving to familiar faces, his navy slacks and white shirt fitting his long, slim body like an
EM
model.

Maxine went back to her work with just a bit more enthusiasm. Val was right. She did have a good life, and if her request for a small business loan was approved it would get even better. Then she could look forward to a future as a small business owner.

During her talk with Val, they'd decided to secure the services of a small black law firm that specialized in civil cases. If she didn't hear from Quinn by the next day, she'd give him a call and let him know the plan.

Maxine turned off her computer and any further thoughts of Quinn, directing her attentions to her upcoming date with Dre. He was good for her, filling many evenings, making her laugh. He was one of the few men she'd dated over the years who was trying to be about something. That in itself was rare. Maybe this relationship could be “the one.” She hadn't given
it
up yet. And Dre wasn't dogging her to get in her pants. He'd been real patient, since this time she wanted to be sure. She was tired of drifting
in and out of relationships. She wanted some permanence in her life, and Dre kept hinting that he was in the market for the long haul.

She'd just have to see.

Five o'clock arrived at a snail's pace and Maxine was out of the door like a shot. As promised, Dre was parked out front in his slate blue Honda Accord. There was definitely some wear and tear on the “ole girl,” but she rode like a cloud. Dre boasted that in the ten years he'd owned the car, the only work he'd had to do was regular tune-ups.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted as she slid into the passenger seat.

“Hey, yourself.” She offered him a quick kiss.

“Get all your work done?”

“Oh, yeah. You know I hate having leftover work greet me in the morning. I'd rather stay late before I let that happen. But today was pretty slow. Not too many problems. How 'bout you?”

He switched on the car stereo to the sexy bantering of Ashford and Simpson on KISS FM. He kept his eyes on the road. “No complaints.”

Maxine gave him a sidelong glance. Dre was always eager to talk about his job and the oddballs that came in and out. Since the bombing a few years earlier, the World Trade Center was more secure than the Pentagon. The slightest little thing and the security force was on you like milk on cereal.