21 Questions

by Mason Dixon

  “I thought we could check out the street art in the Wyndham Art District,” she wrote. “The Wynwood Walls is an outdoor museum that has over forty permanent murals on display. There are hundreds of other murals in the area, too, and it’s all free and open to the public. If you work up an appetite from all that walking, we could head over to the Caribbean Food Festival and stuff ourselves with jerk chicken and fried plantains while we listen to some reggae, dancehall, and soca.”

  “Sounds like fun. What time do you want to get together?”

  Now.

  “If you text me your address, I could pick you up around noon. We can check out the art for a couple of hours, then head over to Alice Wainwright Park for the festival.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Not as much as I am.

  *

  Kenya loved the idea of spending the afternoon looking at art, but she balked at Simone’s suggested mode of transportation: a battered motorcycle that sounded like it was about to cough up a lung. “You don’t actually expect me to ride that thing, do you?”

  “Well, yeah, that’s kind of why I brought the extra helmet.”

  The protective headgear emblazoned with an elaborate photo-realistic illustration of a human brain made Kenya worry even more about getting hers scrambled. “I don’t ride anything that has less than four wheels,” she said, holding her ground. “By my count, you’re two short.”

  “I’ve been riding motorcycles for ten years. I haven’t had an accident yet.” Kenya eyed the dent in the rear fender. “That wasn’t my fault,” Simone was quick to point out. “Someone backed into my bike while it was parked outside the post office and didn’t stick around long enough to exchange insurance information.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Simone grinned and tightened the chin strap on her helmet. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “When I was in college, one of my fantasies was to ride with the Dykes on Bikes during a Pride parade.”

  Simone gunned the idling engine. “What do you say we hold our own parade?”

  Kenya felt her resolve begin to weaken. “You’re a bad influence, you know that?”

  “I may have heard that a time or two. Now get on.”

  “Here goes nothing.” Groaning at her foolhardiness, Kenya strapped the helmet in place and straddled the motorcycle, leaving plenty of space between her body and Simone’s.

  “Come closer. I’m not going to bite.”

  Kenya reluctantly slid closer until Simone’s firm, round ass was nestled against her crotch. She felt awkward being in such an intimate position with someone she wasn’t sleeping with, but she didn’t know any other way to ensure she wouldn’t fall off the back of the bike once Simone began to pick up speed. Simone showed her where to put her feet but didn’t direct her where to put her hands. She tentatively slipped her arms around Simone’s waist, vaguely registering the feel of Simone’s washboard abs pressing against her fingers.

  She wasn’t prepared for the excitement she felt when Simone hit the gas. As the wind whipped in her face and the warm sun shone down on her skin, she finally understood why adrenaline junkies had a need for speed.

  “I didn’t realize you were a backseat driver,” Simone said after she parked the bike and they made their way through the entrance to the Wynwood Walls. Huge murals—some more than forty feet high—loomed before them. Kenya loved the bright colors and the artists’ clever ways of utilizing the buildings’ architectural elements in their work. “I could feel you leaning into the turns and squeezing me like you were the one working the accelerator.”

  “Too much ballroom dancing, I’m afraid. When you lead, you’re supposed to squeeze your partner’s hand or side to let them know which direction you want them to go.”

  “That explains the bruises.” Simone rubbed her narrow waist as if to erase the marks Kenya had left behind. “How’s rehearsal going?”

  “Better. I’m still nervous about the competition, but I’m more confident than I was a few days ago. Mackenzie is a wonderful partner.”

  “In more ways than one?”

  Kenya felt herself begin to blush. Were the events of the night before written on her face? Or was Simone better at reading her emotions than anyone else? “How did you know? Did she tell you?”

  “No, I saw you leaving the club last night and put two and two together.” Simone shoved her hands in the pockets of her shorts as she slowed her pace. “Do you love her?”

  “Is that the question you wanted to ask me?”

  Simone stopped in front of a mural of one-time rap rivals Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G., two supremely talented young men who had died while in the prime of their careers. “No, but it’s a good place to start.”

  Kenya’s feelings for Mackenzie were growing by the day. But had they blossomed into love? She had felt so close to Mackenzie last night. Even before they’d had sex. Mackenzie had listened to her concerns, assuaged her fears, and promised to remain faithful. She had done everything short of swearing on a stack of Bibles. In the end, she had convinced Kenya that her present—and her future—had nothing in common with her past. Kenya didn’t know if she was ready to use the L word yet in reference to Mackenzie. But when she was, Mackenzie deserved to be the first to hear it, not someone else.

  “She’s a remarkable woman,” she said diplomatically as she regarded a mural depicting famous antiheroes from American cinema. Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone in The Godfather. Robert De Niro as Max Cady in Cape Fear. Al Pacino as Tony Montana in Scarface. Jack Nicholson as Jack Torrance in The Shining. When she resumed walking, Simone fell into step beside her.

  “Code for none of my business. Got it.”

  “I’m not trying to shut you out, but—”

  “No, Kenya, it’s cool. When I start a new relationship, I don’t want to talk about it, either, until I know I’m not going to screw it up. I’m just happy that you’re happy.”

  Simone sounded sincere. Like she genuinely meant what she had said and wasn’t simply paying lip service. She was a loyal friend. Kenya admired that about her and hoped she would remain in her life long after their question-and-answer session ended. Lovers came and went, but friends were forever.

  “Here’s a question I hope you do answer,” Simone said, almost as if on cue. “Question eight: if you found a magic lamp and the genie inside granted you three wishes but said you couldn’t use any of the wishes on yourself, what would you wish for?”

  “Peace on Earth, goodwill toward men—”

  “No, seriously.” Simone put a hand on her arm. Kenya stopped in her tracks, rooted in place by both the tenderness of Simone’s touch and the intensity in her eyes. “What would you wish for?”

  Kenya felt an unexpected surge of emotion. Her heart swelled in her chest as she thought of all the things she would bestow upon other people if given both the means and the opportunity. “I would wish that my friends and family could live long, healthy, and happy lives. I would wish that Pierce, Jackson, and Smith would continue to be successful for years to come. Not for my benefit but for the sake of the talented agents and artists who work there. And I would wish that you could meet someone who’s as passionate about you as you are about music.”

  Simone looked startled. “You’d waste a wish on trying to find me a girlfriend?”

  “I wouldn’t consider it a waste at all.”

  “That’s because you’re in that zone where you’re in a new relationship and you’re blissfully happy and you want everyone else to be happy, too. You’re going to drive all your friends crazy trying to get them hooked up, you know that, right?”

  “Including you?”

  Simone regarded her as if sizing her up. “Do you consider me a friend?”

  “I do,” Kenya said honestly. “I like having you around.”

  “Good.” Simone sighed as if she had been holding her breath while she waited to hear Kenya’s answer. “Because I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. I could d
rag out these questions for years if I want to.”

  The comical expression of exasperation on the face of a woman on a nearby graffiti-covered wall seemed to sum up Kenya’s feelings perfectly. “What have I gotten myself into with you?”

  Simone’s smile faded and her expression turned serious. “Nothing you can’t get out of if you want.”

  “That’s just the thing. I don’t want to. I like what we have. I don’t know how to define it, but I like it.” And whatever it was, she didn’t want to be without it. “Now what’s your next question?”

  “Question nine: what do you value most in a friendship?”

  “Oh, that’s easy.” Kenya was glad to finally have a question she could answer without hesitation instead of one she needed to ponder for several minutes before formulating a response. “I place the highest value on the same thing in a platonic relationship as I do a romantic one: honesty. Loyalty is good, but I don’t want someone to support me just because she’s my friend. If I’m wrong, tell me I’m wrong. Don’t take my side just because you think you have to. And if I ask your opinion, give it to me. Don’t spare my feelings.”

  “But what if…a friend knew something that would hurt you and kept quiet in order to keep you from being hurt? Would you hold their silence against them?”

  The question didn’t sound entirely hypothetical. Kenya briefly wondered if Simone knew something she didn’t. Something she might not want to know. But, fully cognizant of how much stock she placed in open, honest communication, how could Simone ever keep anything from her?

  “It would depend on what they were holding back. If I ask you if my ass looks fat in a particular pair of jeans and you say no when we both know the answer’s yes, I could overlook that. But if you know something that, if revealed, would have a direct effect on my life and you keep it from me? Yes, I would have a problem with that. Why? Do you have something to tell me?”

  “No,” Simone said quickly. Too quickly? “I was just curious. Come on, friend. Let’s go to the park and listen to some tunes.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Kenya said, but the sudden change of subject made the issue at hand feel tabled instead of resolved.

  Simone draped her arm across Kenya’s shoulders and steered her toward the exit. Kenya slid from her grasp. Not because Simone’s touch was unwanted but because it was. What did it mean that an innocent gesture from Simone could excite her just as much if not more than an intimate one from Mackenzie?

  Coming here today—agreeing to be with Simone like this—was probably a mistake. Kenya was dating Mackenzie, which meant her relationship with Simone had to remain strictly platonic. Having been cheated on, she could never bring herself to cheat on someone. She didn’t want to give anyone the impression she and Simone were more than friends. What if someone saw them together and got the wrong idea? Even worse—what if she did? For a moment, she realized with a start, she had wanted to lean into Simone’s embrace rather than pull away from it.

  “Sorry.” Simone raised her hands as if she were being held at gunpoint. “I forgot for a second you were spoken for.”

  “I’ll let you slide this time,” Kenya said, but the attempted joke sounded hollow even to her own ears.

  *

  As she blended a Blue Hawaiian, Simone hummed along to the Bob Marley song that had been stuck in her head since she and Kenya had attended the Caribbean Festival that afternoon. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. Sampling wares from all the food vendors, dancing to the wide variety of music, and spending time with someone she cared about. She had hated to see it come to an end. Even if the joy she had felt hanging out with Kenya was offset by the guilt she felt for keeping Mackenzie’s betrayal a secret from her.

  Kenya had said if something had a direct effect on her life, she would want to know about it. Mackenzie’s cheating certainly qualified. But Simone couldn’t bring herself to break the news to her.

  She supposed she could ask Bridget for advice—Bridget had known Kenya longer and would have a better handle on her feelings than she did—but turning to someone else felt like a cop-out. She had to figure this out for herself. And, hopefully, spend a few more days like this one in the process.

  Amanda took a long look at her as she tossed the ingredients for a lemon drop martini in a cocktail shaker. “You look happy. What did you do this afternoon? Or, to be more exact, who did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anyone. I went to the Caribbean Festival.”

  “With?”

  “A friend,” Simone said cagily.

  “A friend, huh? Anyone I know?”

  Simone ran her fingers across her mouth as if zipping her lips. “Mum’s the word.”

  “You can try to keep her identity a secret if you want, but I’m going to find out. I always do.”

  “I hate to break this up just when it’s starting to get good,” Crystal said as she squeezed between them to grab a bottle of mineral water from the cooler. “I want to know who you’re hooking up with as badly as our inquisitive little friend here, but the boss wants to see you.”

  Simone didn’t know whether to be thankful or wary. She was glad she could escape Amanda’s incessant questions for a few minutes, but she wasn’t looking forward to having face time with Mackenzie. Nothing good could possibly come of it. Unless, of course, she received a long-overdue raise. That would certainly be worth the stress of making the long walk to Mackenzie’s office with the other employees’ eyes boring holes in her back the whole way.

  When she stepped into Mackenzie’s office, Mackenzie was standing in front of the wall-length one-way mirror that allowed her to keep tabs on the action in Azure without being seen. She whispered something to Gabby, who suddenly found a need to be elsewhere.

  “You wanted to see me?” Simone asked.

  Mackenzie slowly turned away from the view. “Are you happy here?” she asked as she tugged at the cuffs of her five-thousand-dollar suit. She took a seat but didn’t motion for Simone to do the same, so Simone remained standing, which made her feel even more like she was being called on the carpet.

  Not an auspicious start to the conversation.

  “I love it here. My coworkers are like family. This is the best job I’ve ever had.”

  “Then tell me why I shouldn’t fire you.”

  Simone’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. She had bills to pay. A mouth to feed. Namely, hers. Aside from the grand Dre had fronted her, she didn’t have a lot of money in the bank. Her parents had always told her she should set something aside for a rainy day, but she had been too busy living in the moment to plan for the future. Now what was she supposed to do?

  “I know I’ve been late a time or two,” she said, confessing her faults, “but, even with the worst hangover, I’ve never called in sick. I don’t bail in the middle of my shifts, I don’t overpour, and the customers like me. I might not be a model employee, but I’m willing to compare my performance to anyone else’s. I’m one of the best bartenders you have.”

  “Exactly. You make me a lot of money. Which is why I would hate to see you go.” Mackenzie steepled her fingers under her chin and leaned back in her chair. “Yet how can I afford to keep you around?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll make it simple. I want you to stay away from Kenya.”

  Simone nearly laughed out loud.

  “That’s what this is about? You called me in here because my spending time with Kenya makes you feel insecure? Just because you’re sleeping with her doesn’t mean you can control her. She can see who she wants. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

  “If you’re trying to imply something, don’t beat around the bush. Spit it out. Confession is supposed to be good for the soul.”

  Simone told herself not to take the bait, but it proved too tempting to resist. “I’m not trying to imply anything. I’m saying I saw you last week. The night you told Kenya you we
re heading home after rehearsal, you met up with someone else. I saw you in the alley.”

  Mackenzie’s eyes widened as recognition set in. She tried to play it cool, but Simone saw beads of sweat form on her upper lip. The first crack she had ever seen in Mackenzie’s usually impenetrable façade. “Have you told Kenya what you think you saw?”

  “No.”

  Mackenzie’s shoulders slumped in apparent relief. She unscrewed the cap on an expensive fountain pen and reached for her checkbook. “How much would it take for you to keep this between us? A hundred thousand would go a long way toward financing your musical ambitions, wouldn’t it?”

  Simone felt her eyes nearly bug out of her head. One hundred thousand dollars would allow her to quit her job, buy the remaining equipment she needed to complete her home studio, pay off every debt she had, and lay back and make music while she took her sweet time finding another gig. She started to grab the check and cash it before Mackenzie could change her mind, but she couldn’t. One hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money, but no amount was high enough to convince her to betray a friend.

  “I don’t want your money, Mackenzie. I haven’t told Kenya what I saw because, unlike you, I don’t want to see her hurt. I was protecting her, not angling for a potential payout from you.”

  “Do you think you’re the only one who has her best interests in mind?”

  “Were you thinking of her best interests when you were French kissing some bimbo out back, or were you only taking yours into consideration?”

  “Not that it’s any of your concern, but Fernanda and I aren’t seeing each other anymore. She and I had an affair. The fire burned quickly, it burned brightly, but now it’s gone. This is why Kenya doesn’t need to know about any of it.”

  Simone found herself in the same uncomfortable position as the rest of the women in Mackenzie’s life: listening to her tell a lie and hoping it was the truth. “That’s debatable, but she won’t hear it from me.”