by Donna Hill
They ordered drinks. Nikita stuck to her usual, but within the next few minutes she wished she’d gotten something stronger.
“Good evening, everyone,” Nick said, stepping up to the mike. “Tonight we have a special treat for you. Not only will my lovely wife, the incomparable Parris McKay, be singing for you, but we have a special guest—a former member of the band who will play some selections from his soon-to-be-released CD…Mr. Quinten Parker. Give it up!”
Her heart slammed in her chest, arresting her breathing. Her head pounded.
The audience roared its approval.
Quinn rose from a seat at a table on the far side of the room, moving toward the stage in the slow, easy gait that she’d memorized, taking his place behind the black and whites, in the single spotlight that captured him.
She froze. Seeing him again…here, now, in the place where it really all began, pushed away all the time that was lost, the hurt that was experienced. And time suddenly stood still as he took them on a musical odyssey, his fingers caressing the keys the way they’d once played along her spine.
Grant had his arm around her shoulder and felt her stiffen, then begin to tremble, ever so slightly.
He whispered in her ear, “We can leave if you want.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, and realized that he understood. Probably always had, without her ever saying a word. And he’d been by her side…anyway. The way Maxine had always been for Quinn.
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “No. I need to stay.”
He nodded, kissed her temple and turned his gaze back to the stage.
The club had emptied out. The strains of music from the jukebox filtered through the spaces. Everyone was gone and, to her surprise, it was Grant who’d insisted that she stay behind and “work it out.” He’d given her a soft look of understanding and perhaps regret. “I’ll be home if you need me,” he’d said.
Nikita picked up her glass and then put it back down, looking across at Parris. “When did you know he was coming?”
“About an hour before I went on.” She looked at her friend. “Are you okay?”
“I will be. Finally, I think I will be.” She took in a long breath and let it go. “I know everything now, Parris. Everything that went wrong and what went right,” she said in a faraway voice.
“What do you mean, hon?”
She looked into Parris’s green eyes. “He wrote a novel. Yes. Quinten Parker wrote a novel.” She turned away for a moment. “About us. Our life together.” She slowly shook her head. “I saw myself through his eyes, Parris. I was never able to see that before. Maybe I didn’t want to.”
“And?”
“He did the best he could. Loved me in his own way. We didn’t give each other a real chance.” Her throat tightened. She looked up and saw him walking across the floor, toward their table.
Parris got up, touched his arm as she walked past him, and disappeared into the back room.
His smile was soft, hesitant, but those damned dimples were still there, and she smiled.
“Still drinking that lemon Pepsi.”
That old familiar voice surrounded her, worked its way down to her bones.
He reached out his hand to take hers, as the jukebox pumped out Chaka Khan’s “Your Love is All I Know.”
She stepped into his embrace, as if she’d never left. And they moved easily to the music, finding their own special rhythm, the poignant words touching them in their own way.
“I had to come back. To see you, Niki. Tell you I was sorry,” he said in a ragged voice, hugging the familiar body close to his.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know.” She took a breath, stepped back and looked up into his eyes. “I read the book, Quinn. Most of it—”
“I needed you to…I found a way, Niki…just like you always said I would. I…tried to use what I’d always had, to say what I’ve never said to you…. It wasn’t your fault, baby. Never was. And I can’t keep runnin’ away anymore. Runnin’ to the familiar, takin’ the easy way out, where it’s safe. You never gave me no easy way, Niki, and it scared me.”
She struggled for air.
“I’m not scared anymore.”
“Where do I go…after all that we’ve been through…” Chaka cried.
Nikita swallowed back the lump in her throat, her eyes sparkling with the tears she’d sworn she’d never shed again.
And then he said the words he’d never uttered to another soul. “I love you, Nikita, from the depths of my soul…I know that now…maybe I always did.”
Her world seemed to spin and she barely breathed. How long had she waited to hear him say he loved her? Those precious words. She inhaled deeply, and stepped out of his embrace. She reached up and stroked his cheek, pushing aside a stray lock of his hair.
She stood on tiptoes, touched her mouth to his, to those all too familiar lips, lingering a moment, just…long enough.
“You know how to find me, when you’re ready.”
She turned, picked her purse up from the table and walked out, knowing that her tomorrow, her forever, was now finally hers.
Quinn watched her go, his soul finally at peace, crossed the room to the bar and ordered a glass of Jack Daniels.
Nikita never made things easy. She was his light, always had been. He’d just been too blind to see it.
He smiled.
Chapter 31
Here All the Time
She’d made up her mind that if he didn’t come back she’d be all right. She’d press on. But dammit, the past thirty-six hours had been the longest “I don’t care” hours of her natural born life.
Work was one salvation. And she’d just about burned herself out at the gym, hoping that she’d be so exhausted she’d just collapse into bed.
Nothing happening.
She didn’t know folks could stay awake for damn near two days without going into a coma or something.
One more night. Just one, and she’d know for sure. One way or the other.
She locked up the office and walked the half block to where her five-year-old Honda Accord was parked. Got a good deal on it and it ran like a dream. She stuck the key in the lock, thinking about her long night ahead. “Don’t play with me, Q. Just don’t even try it.”
Taking the long route home, she stopped at some of the antique shops, just to look, then decided to pick up some fresh vegetables and a bottle of wine.
Everything else failed at putting her to sleep. Since she wasn’t a wine drinker, maybe it would do the trick.
By the time she reached her neat little home, it had grown dark. And she felt the loneliness settle over her just like the clouds hanging up over the rooftops. Nights were the hardest. Always had been.
She opened the door, picked up the mail and flipped on all the lights as she went—saying “hey” to all her plants—needing the light, but needing more than that somebody to come home to, especially tonight.
He stood watching her from the top of the stairs as she fussed over her plants, cussed at the bills in her hand, in all her earthy beauty. And it made him smile, inside and out.
“Hey, girl.”
She shut her eyes and breathed in and out real slow, wanting to make sure it wasn’t the lack of sleep playing tricks on her.
Okay, she had herself together.
She turned around, slowly, because if it was her imagination she wanted it to last just a minute longer.
She looked up. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a trick.
She tipped her head to the side and put her hand on her hip. “You here to stay, Q?”
He started down the stairs. He watched those perfect little breasts of hers rise and fall beneath her yellow silk blouse. Only Max could wear yellow silk.
He stood in front of her, looking down into those eyes that challenged him to answer her…with his heart…with the truth.
“I think you know, Max. You always have,” he whispered.
And her eyes filled and tears ran down her che
eks even though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, one way or another. Didn’t make sense to let a man know he had you like that. But…What the hell.
He pulled her into his arms, tight, feeling her all around him, in his heart, deep in his soul. Right there all the time. His friend…all that she ever could be.
She tilted her head back, smiling through her tears, that little toothpick gap winking at him.
“I know,” she breathed. “I know.”
And she knew she’d be okay.
Epilogue
After the Fire
The nationally syndicated television show Like It Is was just coming back on after a commercial break. Gil Noble turned to the camera.
“For those of you who are just tuning in, I’m talking with Quinten Parker, author of A Private Affair. Mr. Parker, just today your book hit the New York Times Bestseller List. The book has had a phenomenal impact on the industry, especially since you decided to go with a small, relatively unknown publishing house. What prompted you to write a relationship story?”
The camera zoomed in on Quinn’s face. “Just a story that needed to be told.”
“And judging by the sales, one that a lot of people want to read. How has the sudden success changed you?”
Quinn smiled, and every television viewer got an up-close glance of those dimples.
“The success hasn’t changed me,” he said. “Finally telling the story did.”
Nikita stood in the wings ready to burst with pride, watching him on the closed-circuit television. She smiled and nodded.
“No doubt, Q. No doubt,” she whispered.
A PRIVATE AFFAIR
An Arabesque novel published by Kimani Press/July 2009
First published by Kensington Publishing Corp. in 1998
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3542-1
© 1998 by Donna Hill
All rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. For permission please contact Kimani Press, Editorial Office, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
® and TM are trademarks. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and/or other countries.
www.kimanipress.com