by Donna Hill
“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.
Chapter 8
Checkin’ Things Out
She’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 fr
iend. 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.
“Thanks, Q.” Maxine fidgeted with the lock for a minute, got it open, then turned to him. “See ya. You have my number. Give me a call one day next week. I’ll let you know what’s happening.”
Quinn nodded and looked at her hard. “You straight, Max?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.” She opened the door. “Later.” She wanted to ask him about Nikita. She wanted to know if he was going to see her later—again—ever. She didn’t.
“Yeah, later,” he mumbled. He waited until she was safely inside the building, then pulled out.
He shook his head, pushing thoughts of Maxine Sherman temporarily aside. He had his run to make and then home—where Nikita was waiting. He smiled. That sounded real good.
She wasn’t stupid. Every grown woman with a grain of sense knew what to expect when she got invited to a man’s apartment. Her hands shook as she tried to fit the key in the lock. The keys clanged to the concrete steps.
Oh, Lord, what in heaven’s name was she doing? Was this what she really wanted? She stared at the keys. She looked around, up and down the quiet, tree-lined block. Maybe she could leave the keys where he could find them and just go home. That would certainly put a quick end to their short relationship.
When are you going to get some heart, girl? she thought. This is supposed to be all about change. She bent down and picked up the keys. This time she got the key in the front door lock.
After her fumbling with the keys again and trying each one, the last one, of course, finally fit in the lock to the apartment door. Cautiously, she stepped inside. Feeling along the wall, she found the light switch. The large, airy front room was bathed in soft light from the track system up above.
Quietly closing the door behind her, she stepped into the room. Her eyes widened. The gleaming, high-gloss wood floors supported black leather furniture with smoked glass and wood coffee and end tables, a complicated-looking stereo system situated near the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a bookcase loaded with books. Books! He even had plants. Dead in the center of the room was a fireplace, with a piano holding a place of honor to the left. The smooth, cream-colored walls were beautifully adorned with examples of black art—she was familiar with some, and with others she wanted to be. On either side of the fireplace hung magnificent reproductions of John Biggers’ Harvest From the Sea and Crossing the Bridge, a poignant depiction of rural black life. Wow. She approached the piano to get a closer look at the portrait of a jazz band that hung above it. A Doris Price original.
She looked around and noticed a pair of heavy sliding doors at the back of the room. She tiptoed across the floor and opened them. A full dining room with a rectangular smoked-glass dining table atop what appeared to be a polished tree trunk, surrounded by six chairs covered in African fabric, took up the center space. Beyond was a sunny yellow-and-white kitchen with every kind of gadget imaginable. Did he cook, too?
&nb
sp; Uhmph, uhmph, uhmph—well, wonders never ceased. Quinn Parker lived well, seemed to have excellent taste in furnishings, art, literature. Yet, on the outside he presented himself as a crude, unworldly thug. Beyond closed doors he was an entirely different person. Why? It was almost as if he were two different people.
She shook her head in confusion. What in the world did he do for a living? She wondered if he shared this classy abode with a woman. It was just so neat for a man. But he couldn’t be so arrogant as to give her a set of keys if his girlfriend could just walk in. Could he? She discarded that idea.
She jumped when the ringing phone pierced the silence. On the third ring the answering machine came on and seconds later she heard the voice of a sexy-sounding female who didn’t seem to feel the need to identify herself. “Hey, baby. Long time no hear from. Give me a call so we can get together. Soon.” Click.
Well, whoever she was, at least she hadn’t seen him in a while and she obviously didn’t live there.
She retraced her steps and went back out into the front room. The bedroom must be upstairs. She thought about going up, just to see, but that would probably be the moment Quinn would arrive and find her in his bedroom. No thanks. No point in asking for trouble.
Crossing the room, she approached the stereo and pressed open the Plexiglas panels. Not wanting to take a chance on messing with anything, she opted for listening to the radio and was pleasantly surprised to find it programmed to 98.7, better known as KISS FM, which only played classic R&B. The throaty sounds of Anita Baker’s “Been So Long” filled the room. How appropriate, she thought.
Letting the music soothe her, she took a seat on the couch and leaned her head back, closing her eyes, thinking how comfortable she felt. Just as he’d said, she mused, a smile touching her lips. She hummed along with Luther’s “A House is Not a Home,” true understanding of the lyrics finally taking hold.