by Donna Hill
Nikita looked away. “Right. But they’re too good to just sit up in his closet.”
“Maybe that’s what he wants, Niki. Some people write simply for the personal pleasure of it, or to get things off their minds.”
“But that’s ridiculous. He could make something of himself as a writer. I know he could. He’s light-years ahead of some of the stuff I’ve seen come through the office.”
“Are you asking my advice?”
“Sort of.”
“Leave it alone. If he hasn’t told you about it, it must be for a reason. Did it ever occur to you that Quinn is exactly who and where he wants to be?”
Nikita uncurled her legs and leaned back on the couch. “Everyone can improve himself, do more with what he has,” she insisted. “Look at us…Nick…Jewel. Come on, Parris.”
“If they want to.” Parris took a sip of her apple cinnamon tea. “He has to want to.”
Nikita pursed her lips, then ran her manicured hands down her denim-clad legs. “Maybe he just needs a little push, some encouragement. I’m sure I could convince Ms. Ingram to publish some of his work. He could get some exposure.”
“Are you listening to yourself? You can’t map out that man’s life.”
“I’m not trying to—just giving it some direction.”
Parris looked at her friend and shook her head.
Quinn checked out the clothes that he needed to take to the cleaners, tossing the selected items on the bed. The house seemed strange without Niki humming around, like something was missing. He kind of wanted her around right about now. Wasn’t sure why. He just did.
Yeah, he understood her worries. Lacy was the same way, always thinking he wouldn’t come home. But he knew how to take care of himself, had been doing it most of his life.
He dug into his pants pockets and pulled out some change, tossed it on the dresser. But he had a woman now. A real somebody in his life.
He piled the shirts together. Maybe it was time to take a new look at where his life was going. Nick had been bugging him about playing more than just the one night, and he was talking about cutting a new album.
Quinn took in a deep breath. Yeah, maybe it was time for some changes.
He picked up the last pair of pants, checked the pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was the workshop schedule for ASCAP. He looked it over. There was an orientation session set up for that afternoon to explain the programs. The one that caught his attention was about writing music.
He checked his watch. Eleven-thirty. The session started at two. If he hurried and took care of his running around right quick, he’d make it on time.
Grabbing his bundle of clothes and his keys, he shut the bedroom door and ran down the stairs.
Dre punched in the numbers from the ad he’d seen in the paper. This morning, just before he’d left Maxine’s apartment she’d asked him if he wanted to stay with her for a while, save some money until he found a job.
And for a hot minute, he’d almost said yes. But when he looked at her, success and moving on up written all over her face, he knew shacking up with Maxine would just be the beginning of their end. She’d grow to resent him, feel she was taking care of him, just as his mother had with his father. He didn’t intend to be another statistic—another black man moving in with his woman. That wasn’t for him.
“Allied Systems. May I help you?”
“I’m calling about the ad for representatives.” He figured it was real estate. He could handle selling homes and showing apartments. But the last thing he expected was what he was told.
All he needed was his own video camera and a car, the woman had said. Allied would provide the client list and the one-week training. All he had to do was get clear videotapes of insurance scammers.
He hung up the phone and laughed loudly. The job was made for him, and his brother in Philly had a video camera. If he could just convince his brother to lend him his camera, he’d be in business.
Maybe things were finally beginning to look up.
Nikita hurried home, taking turns and whizzing around cars with the same aggressive savvy that she’d watched in Quinn. She reached their apartment in no time, parked and hopped out of her car. She didn’t see Quinn’s car on the block.
Good.
Running up the stairs, she went to their bedroom, pushed the nightstand over to the closet and took down his notebooks.
There was a stationery store with a copy machine around the corner. She’d copy the poems that were finished and put the books back before Quinn realized they were missing.
On Monday morning she wanted to show them to Ms. Ingram and see what she thought. If they were as good as she believed they were, she was certain she could convince Ms. Ingram to publish them in the magazine.
As she dropped in dime after dime, making the copies, she knew that Quinn would be angry at first, but he’d get over it. All he needed was a chance to show off his work. Maybe when he saw how proud she was of him and how talented he really was, he’d change his tune and take his writing more seriously. Maybe he’d even take a class with her at NYU.
Then why did she have this sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach?
Quinn pulled up in front of Rhythms, hoping to catch Nick. He wanted to tell him about the class he’d signed up for and get his advice.
He stopped at the bar.
“Nick around?” he asked Jimmy, the newest bartender.
“He was in his office. Didn’t see him go out.”
“Thanks.” He walked to the back and knocked on the office door.
“It’s open.”
Quinn stepped in. “Hey, man. Sorry to bother you. I wanted to kick somethin’ with you.”
“Rest yourself and let’s hear it.” He pushed aside his papers.
Quinn took a seat on the opposite side of Nick’s desk, leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs.
“I went up to that place you sent me to a few weeks ago.”
Nick nodded.
“And, uh, I signed up for a class.”
“That’s great. Which one?”
“Computers and Music, the one you told me about.”
Nick smiled. “You’ll really dig that class. I took it and it blew me away.”
“Yeah, but ya know, like how much do you have to already know about reading music?”
Nick leaned forward. “That’s just it. All you gotta have is drive, man, and a good ear. You already have both. You don’t have to know anything about reading scales.”
He knew that was what was bugging him, and he had a pretty good idea that Quinn hadn’t gotten very far in school—not due to lack of intelligence, but because of circumstance.
“Listen, man, I’d be happy to help you in any way I can. Just say the word.”
Quinn smiled. “Thanks.”
“Parris would help, too. She’s a whiz with that stuff.”
Quinn suddenly got up from his seat. “Naw. I don’t want you to say nothing to Parris. She’ll wind up sayin’ somethin’ to Niki, and I ain’t ready for her to know yet.”
“I hear ya. No problem.”
Quinn nodded. “Listen, uh, I was thinkin’ about, ya know, workin’ another night. If it’s cool with you.”
“Sure. I’ve been asking you for months. Which night?”
“I was thinkin’ maybe Wednesdays.”
“Sounds good. That’s the after-work crowd. So we close early.”
“Yeah. Works for me.”
“Done deal. So when do you start classes?”
“Next week. Three days.”
Nick grinned. “Before you know it, you’ll be producing your own music.”
“Yeah, may-be.”
Chapter 21
Crossin’ the Line
“Ms. Ingram, I want you to take a look at something and tell me what you think. Honestly.” Nikita handed her the photocopies of Quinn’s poetry.
Lillian pushed her glasses up the bridge of her narrow nose and sat down to
read.
Nikita anxiously tapped her foot and crossed her fingers while she waited for the verdict. Her tummy turned every time Ms. Ingram made a sound or her usually stoic face changed expression.
Twenty minutes later, Lillian put the pages on her cluttered desk. She looked across at Nikita, who was twirling her lock of hair with the shell on the end.
“They’re good. Actually, better than good. Crude but moving. Are they yours?”
Nikita popped up out of her seat. “No. They belong to a friend,” she said, finally breathing easy. “You really think they’re good?”
“I wouldn’t have said so if I didn’t.” She handed the papers back to Nikita. “Your friend has a lot of potential. They could use a little polish, but the foundation and the passion are definitely there.”
Nikita beamed with delight. She’d been right. It wasn’t just her blind love that made her think Quinn’s work was good.
“What would you say if I asked to have one of them published in the magazine?”
Lillian frowned, looking long and hard at her protégé. “You want to take on an awful lot, little miss. You know that once you open the door to something like this we’ll be deluged with all sorts of would-be poets. Don’t you think you already have your hands full?”
That meant yes! She just knew it. All she had to do was convince her that she could handle it.
“I can handle it, Ms. Ingram. You see how the entertainment section is taking off. I don’t even have to hunt down leads anymore. The calls from publicists are coming in every day, wanting their clients to be featured.”
“I’ll have to think about it. And you know I’ll have to have permission from the writer. Who is it, by the way? Have they been published before?”
“His name is Quinn Parker. And you would be his first publisher.”
Lillian thought about it for a minute and was pushed into her answer by the eagerness on Nikita’s face. She’d been just like her when she was Nikita’s age, always striving for more, wanting to outdo her last effort. Nikita had come a long way in the months she’d worked for the magazine. Sales were up. Her own job was easier. And Nikita was turning into one darned good editor and businesswoman. She would go a long way in this business.
Lillian took off her glasses and placed them on the desk. “You get permission from the writer, as always, and we’ll try it for six months and see how it works.” She wagged her finger at Nikita. “This is your baby. You handle it, and all the fallout.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She scooted around Lillian’s desk and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
Now all she had to do was convince Quinn.
Quinn knew he was taking a chance, just rolling up on Maxine without calling first, but hey, they were friends. It was cool. What if her man was up there? Too bad.
He found a parking space about two doors away from Maxine’s apartment building. As usual, the front door was open, so he just trotted up to the third floor and rang the bell.
Standing there, he realized he was nervous. He felt jumpy, and didn’t know why.
“Who?”
“It’s me, Quinn.”
Maxine’s heart knocked one good time in her chest. She pulled the door open and it hit her again. There he was, in the flesh, looking cool and in control as usual.
“Quinn. Whatsup? Come on in.” Did she sound as shaky as she suddenly felt?
Quinn dipped his head as he stepped in, wondering why all of a sudden he felt like fifteen instead of twenty-seven. He stopped halfway into the hall, while Maxine squeezed by him and headed for the living room. He caught a whiff of her soft scent, and had she brushed just a little closer…
Her stomach was doing a real number on her and she re-ally wanted a piece of gum.
“Rest yourself. Want something to drink? I was making some tea. It’s getting kinda chilly.”
She smiled and that toothpick gap peeked at him. That made him smile, too, and he slowly began to relax. No sign of whatshisname.
“Naw. Nothin’ for me. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Sure.” She sat down in the beige-and-brown-striped armchair that matched the couch and tucked her bare feet beneath her. “Is it about the case?”
“Naw. It’s about me.”
Lord, please don’t tell me this man is marrying that woman. She’s nice and all, but…. “I’m all ears.” She smiled.
“I’m takin’ some music classes.”
“Get out!” She sat up and her bare feet hit the floor. “Come on, come on. What’s the 411?”
Quinn started to laugh. “Take it easy.”
“No. You takin’ it easy enough for the both of us. Let’s go. I wanna hear every minute detail. And don’t leave nothing out,” she warned, pointing a finger at him.
Quinn told her about the classes at ASCAP and his extra night at the club, and all the while that he spoke his spirits lifted higher and higher, with her “You go, boy’s,” “Ain’t you something’s” and squeals of delight.
“Q, I’m so happy for you. You’re going places, baby. Nothin’ can stop you now but you.”
“I feel like it, Max, ya know. But it’s strange, almost like it’s happenin’ to somebody else. I mean, in the year since Lacy died my whole life has changed. At least, some of it.” He grinned, giving Max a “you know the deal” look. “There’s still that big part of me tied to my life uptown, the runnin’, the hustlin’, the brothers. Then there’s this other part, a small part, that’s startin’ to break out.”
“I know exactly how you feel, Q. It’s happening to me, too. I know I can be more than just an account supervisor. And I can’t let where I live, the color of my skin, or the fact that I’m a woman stop me from anything. We’ve been set up to fail. All the odds are stacked against us from the jump. It’s up to us what we do with what we’ve got. Life’s too short to let it pass you by ’cause somebody says that’s the way it is.”
“No doubt.” He looked around for a minute. “How’s André doing? Ya’ll still hangin’ tough?”
“He’s doing good.” She didn’t want to tell him that her man was out of work. “What about Nikita? How’s the living together life?”
He shrugged just a little. “It’s pretty cool. Takes some gettin’ used to.”
“Hmm.” She didn’t want to think about them spending nights together, waking up together, sharing things together. “Lemme go get my tea. Sure you don’t want any?”
Quinn got up. “Naw. I’m gonna roll. Just, ya know, wanted to tell you what was happenin’.”
She walked him to the door. He turned and looked down at her in her peach sweat suit and bare feet. Yeah. Real regular.
“Talk to ya.”
She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him to her.
Shock waves ricocheted all over his body when he felt hers against his. A sudden, powerful erection startled him. For a minute his mind was scrambled eggs, and before he knew it he was hugging her back. Hard. Like he couldn’t let her go.
“Good luck, Q,” she whispered against his neck.
“Thanks, babe.” He kissed her hair and slowly released her, looked down into her upturned smiling face, then walked away.
Maxine closed the door, shaking all over. You shouldn’t have done that, fool. Nearly lost it.
She walked into her bedroom and threw herself across her bed. Several minutes later she dialed Dre’s number.
That night Quinn made love with Nikita as if his life depended on it, as if with each descent and ascent of his body, he could push aside the visions, the feel of Maxine.
Finally he did.
Nikita had been debating with herself for an entire week about how to approach Quinn about publishing his work.
First on her agenda was trying to figure out how to tell him she knew. She got up from the couch and walked over to the thermostat. The temperature outside had dropped considerably. She adjusted the temperature to
seventy degrees. With the large, airy rooms and high ceilings, it took a while to warm up when a chill got in. She tugged on her tube socks and sat back down.
Maybe she should just be honest and tell him the truth. She was going through his things and found his notebooks. What other choice did she have, except to lie? She couldn’t put it off much longer.
She grabbed the remote control and aimed it at the large-screen TV. Seinfeld was just going off. Eleven-thirty. It would be at least two more hours before Quinn came back home.
Tonight. She’d talk to him tonight.
Quinn was beat. His night had run longer than he’d figured on, and T.C. had talked his ear off nonstop. Boy act like I’m his father or big brother or somethin’. Always askin’ questions, needin’ advice. Now he wanted to know how to deal with some girl from the neighborhood who wouldn’t seem to give him a play.
“Ignore her,” he’d said. “Works every time.”
Quinn laughed as he pulled onto his block. As much as he might pretend to be annoyed, he really got a kick out of talking with T.C. It felt good to try to steer him in the right direction. But T.C. was a hardhead. Had to tell him things a million times. Humph. Him all over again.
He found a space across the street, and pure skill was the only thing that got his 750i into the small space.
Putting his key in the lock, he knew Nikita would be halfway awake, trying to wait up for him, even though she had to be up and out early. He liked that. It reminded him that someone cared.
Lacy used to do that.
He closed the door with just enough noise to let Mrs. Finch know that he was home. She’d said on too many occasions, “Can’t understand why a good-looking boy like you has to be out in the street till all hours of the night. Keeps me up nights—worrying.” She’d looked him straight in the eye. “Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He’d grinned, and she’d popped him on the back of the head for being fresh.
Ever since that day nearly six months ago, he’d made it a point to make some noise when he came in. No sense in worrying the poor woman.