21 Questions

by Mason Dixon

  Bridget and Avery had hired a wedding planner for the event itself. Kenya’s primary tasks as maid of honor were getting Bridget to the venue on time and hosting her bachelorette party the night before the ceremony. She hadn’t decided what to do yet to celebrate Bridget’s last night of freedom, and she had less than a month to make up her mind since the wedding was scheduled for mid-September. Avery’s only demands for Bridget’s fond farewell to single life were no strip club visits and no last-minute affairs, two requests Kenya was more than happy to fulfill. She would be even happier if she could think of an activity she, Bridget, Celia, and six of her and Bridget’s former sorority sisters would all enjoy.

  “A problem for another day,” she said, moving the task from her mental to-do list to her wait list.

  She turned on her blinker and eased into the turn lane as she neared the exit that would take her to her office. Over the past few weeks, the pain of betrayal had begun to fade and her dark mood grew a little brighter each day. She didn’t miss the rollercoaster of emotions she had been on or the constant second-guessing to which she had subjected herself. But she did miss one thing. One person. She missed Simone.

  She missed Simone’s easy laughter, her nimble mind, her rapt attention, and her tender touch. She missed listening to her rave about her favorite artists and the powerful effect music had on her. She missed hearing Simone’s dreams for the future and listening to her stories about the past. She missed everything about her. Yet she continued to stay away. Not because she wanted to. Because she had to.

  Her breakup with Ellis had left her life in tatters and her heart in even worse shape. Years later, when she had finally convinced herself she was ready to try and find love again, she had been so worried about not having history repeat itself that she had followed the rules instead of following her heart. Then Mackenzie Richardson had come along.

  Mackenzie had been the safe choice. The logical choice. And the wrong choice.

  Kenya didn’t need someone who could take care of her. She needed someone who cared for her. She didn’t want someone who could buy her a gift that cost tens of thousands. She wanted someone who offered her something priceless. Mackenzie could never be that person. But perhaps Simone could.

  When she reached her office building, Kenya found an empty parking space, picked up her phone, and did something Simone had spent several weeks doing to her. She asked her a question.

  *

  Devonte Shaw, the director Dre had hired to oversee Reagan’s first video, had forgotten to get the necessary permits to allow him and his crew to film on the streets of South Beach. He blamed the “oversight” on his assistant, whose primary work qualifications appeared to be how good she looked in a miniskirt and six-inch heels. The answer was pretty damn good, but in Simone’s eyes, her obvious physical attributes didn’t make up for her professional shortcomings.

  As Reagan lip-synced the words to “Miami Dreams,” Simone kept an eye on the street to make sure the cops didn’t show up before Devonte and his crew finished filming the scene. If they got caught filming without a permit, everyone present could be subject to arrest and Liberty City Records would be required to fork over a substantial fine. The film in Devonte’s cameras would also be confiscated, meaning Dre would lose money twice. Anyone who knew Dre knew there were three things you didn’t want to mess with: his family, his food, and his money.

  If she was hauled off to jail, who was Simone supposed to call? Most of her friends couldn’t afford bail, and her parents would probably leave her behind bars for a night or two in order to teach her some kind of lesson. They still hadn’t come to terms with the idea of her new career. Being forced to pay for someone else’s ineptitude wouldn’t help her convince them that trying her hand at the music business was the right decision. Yet another reason she needed everything to go right today. She had to show her parents she knew what she was doing, even if on most days she was playing it by ear.

  “Are we done?” she asked after Devonte directed his lead cameraman to stop filming.

  “Almost.” Devonte held a light meter in the air, then squinted in the general direction of the setting sun. “We’ve got time for one more take.”

  Simone spotted a nearby shopkeeper looking at the assembled group with a scowl as if he thought their presence was the reason for his nonexistent business. “Make it fast,” she said after the shopkeeper pulled out his cell phone and disappeared inside his shop. “We’ve got less than ten minutes before the cops roll up.”

  “Got it. Let’s take it from the top. Girls, you gotta bring it,” Devonte said after Reagan and her trio of backup dancers resumed their places. “Give me more energy this time. If you don’t look like you’re having fun, how do you expect anyone else to?”

  “Can’t I just stand here and sing?” Reagan asked. “It’s hard to remember the dance moves and the lyrics at the same time. I’m not a professional dancer, you know.”

  Devonte put his hands on his hips as if he wasn’t in the mood for excuses. “Neither was Whitney Houston—girlfriend looked as stiff as the Tin Man in some of her early videos—but that never stopped her from being fierce. Fake it until you make it, honey. Ready? Three, two, one. Action!”

  Reagan looked to Simone for help, but there wasn’t anything Simone could do to ease her growing pains. When she was more established, Reagan would be able to dictate what she would and wouldn’t do. Until then, she was at the mercy of the people calling the shots because they knew what worked and what didn’t. Simone would have stepped in if Devonte was out of line or if he had asked Reagan to do something demeaning or disrespectful. She remained on the sidelines this time because making herself look silly upon occasion was part of the process Reagan needed to undergo in order to become a better performer.

  “You can do it,” she said, offering a few claps of encouragement.

  Reagan and the rest of the cast ran through their paces again. When the song reached the end once more and Reagan hit her final pose, Simone prayed Devonte had all the footage he needed. She expected the cops to roll up any second so she didn’t want him to risk another take.

  Devonte peered into the camera, nodded, and waved his arms over his head to get everyone’s attention. “That’s a wrap.”

  “Great,” Simone said. “Now let’s get out of here while the getting’s good.”

  She hustled Devonte and his crew to a nearby van. Once everyone and everything was safely inside, she peeled off a few bills to pay the dancers for their work on the shoot. If Devonte wanted his money, he would have to ask Dre for it. Knowing Dre, though, he wasn’t going to dish out even a dime until he had seen and approved the final footage. Smart move considering some of the shortcuts Devonte had taken to this point.

  “That was fun,” Reagan said excitedly as she bounced on the balls of her feet. Hearing sirens in the distance, Simone hustled her down the street so they could put some distance between them and the scene of the crime. Even though they were trying to maintain a low profile as they dodged the cops, Reagan’s face glowed with a sense of accomplishment. “I’m glad you made me do that. What’s next?” She didn’t give Simone time to answer the question. “I know. Let’s go to Azure for a drink.”

  Simone made a face to show her distaste for the idea. “I haven’t set foot in that place since I picked up my last paycheck, but you can go if you want. I have to warn you, though. Amanda says the crowds have really fallen off lately. The numbers increased for a while when Mackenzie’s latest scandal first broke, but after the rubberneckers left, the regulars weren’t far behind. Most of the bartenders are looking around for other gigs because they heard there might be job cuts coming soon.”

  “Where do you think Amanda will end up?”

  Reagan looked—and sounded—worried. Simone could tell Reagan had a bit of a crush on Amanda and she suspected the feeling might be mutual. Amanda was four years older than Reagan, but Reagan seemed to be the more emotionally mature of the two. If they became a couple, th
eir opposing personalities might end up balancing each other out. A perfect example of yin and yang.

  “I don’t know what she’s going to do,” Simone said. “The last time I talked to her, she was kicking around the idea of going into business for herself. A friend wants her to partner with her and buy one of those pedal-powered sightseeing bikes that are popping up all over town.”

  “The ones that people pay thirty bucks a seat to ride and bike from bar to bar?”

  Simone nodded. “Amanda’s friend Heidi would be the driver and Amanda would be the tour guide. More like the party host. Since she’s always the life of every party she attends, the role would be right up her alley. Her main job wouldn’t be to point out the sights but keep the guests excited while they’re sweating their asses off. She would also be in charge of establishing and maintaining relationships with the bars in town so the owners would agree to have their places included as stops on the tour, complete with drink specials and priority service for the passengers.”

  “Are the drinks included in the price of the tickets?”

  “No, the tour companies are allowed to provide sodas, snacks, and bottled water, but they aren’t licensed to sell alcohol. The passengers aren’t required to drink in the bars they visit. Taking a shot or two or three is optional. That way, the tour group keeps its operating costs low and the bars can profit, too. Even if they don’t make a sale that day, the guests might come back after the tour is over or recommend the bars to their friends. It’s really popular with tourists and people looking for a different or unique way to celebrate a special occasion.”

  “It sounds like a cool venture. Is Amanda going to do it?”

  “She wants to, but she doesn’t have the money. She’d have to ask her parents for it and I don’t know if they’ll pony up.” That was why Simone was trying to save as much money as she could. She didn’t want to have to ask anyone for anything ever again. She wanted to be able to take care of herself from now on. “Her parents are still holding out hope she’ll change her mind and decide to go back to law school. She went for a year before she decided she would rather wear jeans to work than a business suit. Whatever she decides to do, I’m sure she’ll land on her feet. She always does.”

  “I think I will stop by Azure for a while. Amanda could probably use some consoling and I know the perfect way to make her feel better.”

  “You’re just as transparent as she is,” Simone said with a laugh. “You two might be perfect for each other.”

  Reagan grinned. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  Simone had a feeling Reagan and Amanda would be doing more kissing than talking by the time the night was through. She wished she could say the same, but music was her only love these days. Her real-life prospects were somewhere between slim and none.

  “Don’t drink too much,” she said after Reagan hailed a taxi and climbed in the back. “It’s bad for your voice.”

  Reagan stuck her head out the cab’s open window. “You’re starting to sound like my mother.”

  “I’m not that much older than you are,” Simone said. But as she watched the taxi pull away from the curb, she felt something she had once thought she never would—responsibility.

  In the past, responsibility had always been something she would rather shirk than claim. She wanted to have fun, not lead. By example or otherwise. But now she had a career to build and an artist to mentor. Things were different now. And so was she. She only wished Kenya was around to see the changes she had made in her life.

  As she listened to a street musician performing a spot-on cover of a Taylor Swift song, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She dug it out and looked down to check the display. Kenya’s name was printed on the top of the screen and “Are you free for dinner tonight?” was printed on the bottom.

  She read the words twice to make sure she understood them—and who they were from. She was pleasantly surprised to see she wasn’t mistaken. After all this time, Kenya had indeed reached out to her. And she was inviting her to dinner. Was Kenya planning to let her down easy or to tell her the words she longed to hear?

  There’s only one way to find out.

  She texted her response. “When and where?”

  Kenya’s reply was immediate. As if she, like Simone, was hovering over her phone, anxiously waiting for the words to appear on the liquid crystal display. “Meet me at my place at seven. I downloaded the new season of Orange is the New Black and there are few things sadder than watching a comedy alone.”

  Simone couldn’t stop the grin that creased her face. “Do you need me to bring anything?” she wrote.

  Her phone buzzed a few seconds later. “A sense of humor,” she read. “I’ll provide the rest.”

  “Dress code?”

  “Casual. We can save the black tie for a later date.”

  Simone clenched her fist, elated Kenya didn’t want tonight to be a one-time thing. Even if Kenya didn’t have romance on the menu, Simone was eager to partake in the meal.

  “See you tonight,” she wrote. And she knew she would be able to think of little else all day.

  *

  It was said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. The path to some women’s hearts likely followed the same route, but Kenya suspected Simone was different. For her, the food on the plate was far less important than the conversation held during the meal—and the people sitting at the table on which it was served. Accordingly, Kenya didn’t plan on whipping up a five-star meal for dinner. Instead, she stopped at a Cuban café near her condo and picked up a small tray of sliders and a large order of yuca fries after she left the office. The earthy smell of the yuca and the intoxicating combined aromas of the ham, chicken, lamb, and roast pork in the sandwiches permeated her car during her short drive home. Her stomach growled in anticipation, but nerves prevented her from feeling as hungry as she normally would when a meal from Cubanito was in the offing.

  She didn’t know what tack to take with Simone. Their last conversation had been weighted with emotion. She didn’t want to repeat that heavy scene, but the subjects she and Simone needed to discuss were too serious to be taken lightly. How should she greet her? With a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or a simple nod hello?

  “Stop thinking so much,” she told herself as she parked her car and shut off the engine. “That’s what got you in trouble in the first place. Trust yourself. Trust what you’re feeling. Don’t let ghosts from the past continue to haunt you. If you get hurt again, you get hurt again. But you’ve got to stop allowing fear to dictate your every move.”

  Her nerves disappeared almost as quickly as they had arrived. She was finally ready to move on with her life. She was ready to move on with Simone. Wherever the path might lead.

  She placed the sandwiches in the oven so they could stay warm, then she took a quick shower, and changed out of her work clothes into a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. She put on enough makeup to be presentable but not enough to make it appear she was trying too hard. She was done acting out of desperation. From now on, she would follow her heart instead of the rules. Even if the rules were ones she had written.

  Her doorbell rang a little before seven. She opened the door to find Simone standing in the hall clad in a bright orange jumpsuit and white canvas tennis shoes. A handcuff was fastened around her left wrist, the open end dangling like a charm from a bracelet.

  “Remind me to rethink my outfit the next time you have a themed dinner party,” Simone said. “I was pulled over twice on my way here. I was told I bear an uncanny resemblance to an escaped con. What do you think?”

  Kenya laughed until her sides ached. Leave it to Simone to find the right amount of levity amongst the seriousness. Kenya wrapped her arms around her neck and gave her a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  Simone put her arms around Kenya and squeezed. Kenya felt her breath go. Not from the pressure of the hug but the feel of Simone’s body pressed against hers. Simone�
��s body was firm in all the right places and soft in all the right ones, too. Kenya wanted to explore the flat planes and gentle curves, but she forced herself to let go. This time, unlike with Mackenzie, she wouldn’t have her decisions adversely affected by the distraction of sex. This time, no matter where the relationship progressed, she would get it right.

  “I’m not too early, am I?” Simone asked. “My dad always says if you’re on time, you’re late. It isn’t a philosophy I typically subscribe to, but tonight I felt like taking it on.”

  Kenya thought she was prepared for this moment. She had spent her drive home from work mentally drafting a speech explaining why it had taken her so long to reach out. But when Simone tossed one of her infectious smiles in her direction, words failed her.

  “I’m sorry about—”

  Simone stopped her. “I’m sorry, too, but let’s make a deal. From this moment on, let’s stop rehashing the past, wipe the slate clean, and start over, okay?”

  “Sounds good to me.” She ushered Simone inside and closed the door. “I hope you’re hungry, and I hope you like Cuban food. I picked up some sandwiches from Cubanito.”

  “I love that place. And, yes, I’m hungry.” Simone shrugged off her costume, revealing the polo shirt and jean shorts she was wearing underneath. “I was at a video shoot all day and was too busy to grab lunch.”

  Kenya took the food out of the oven and set two plates on the counter. “How did the shoot go?” she asked as she grabbed the ketchup and two bottles of sparkling water from the refrigerator.

  Simone began filling her plate. “If the police’s response time was a couple minutes faster, the outfit I’m wearing would be real, not a joke.”

  Simone followed Kenya to the living room, where they settled on the couch. The first episode of the new season of the prison dramedy Kenya had invited Simone over to watch was cued up on the TV screen, but Kenya didn’t press Play. Not just yet. She was more interested in Simone’s day than the latest antics of Piper, Alex, Red, Big Boo, or the hot new convict all the bloggers were drooling over.