21 Questions

by Mason Dixon

  “What happened?”

  Simone related the tale of the rogue video shoot and her near-miss with the police. Kenya listened, impressed by Simone’s ability to keep her head under such trying circumstances. There was something different about her. A gravity that wasn’t there before. It looked good on her.

  “While I was trying not to get arrested, did you spend your day in the marketing department of the tourism board?” Simone asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  Simone indicated the brochures scattered on the coffee table. Each advertised various things to do in Miami. Some for free and others that came at a considerable cost.

  “Oh, those. No, I’m not checking out the competition. I’m trying to plan Bridget’s bachelorette party and I was looking for some ideas. If Amanda finds funding for her start-up, do you think she and her business partner could have the company up and running by September? If so, that sounds like the perfect venue for Bridget’s party. Including her, me, and her six bridesmaids, we would take up eight of the fifteen seats. If I tried hard enough, I could probably find seven other friends who would be willing to join in the fun. Especially if alcohol is involved.”

  “Heidi has already applied for the business license and designed the company logo. She just needs to get the funding in place so she can pay for the custom-designed bike. I’m not sure how long it takes to build those, but she might be able to ask the vendor to expedite the process.”

  “Keep me informed, okay? I could go with one of the other companies that are already established, but I would rather support someone I know if possible.”

  “I’ll do that.” As Kenya finally started the show, Simone polished off one sandwich and reached for another. “Who are Bridget’s bridesmaids, friends or family?”

  Kenya fast-forwarded through the opening credits. “Six of our sorority sisters from college. What’s with the look?”

  “I can see you as a sorority girl, but I have a hard time picturing Bridget as one.”

  “She had a much different look when we were in college. Back then, she was more Salt-N-Pepa than Grace Jones.”

  Simone did a double-take. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I don’t believe you.”

  “I’ll prove it to you.”

  Kenya pressed Pause again. At this rate, it was going to take them two hours to watch a sixty-minute show. That was fine by her. She was enjoying the return to the old dynamic she used to have with Simone, as well as the start of their new one. Whatever it turned out to be. She dug out a photo album and returned to the couch, where she flipped through the pages until she found the photograph she was looking for. She pointed to a picture of her, Bridget, and several thousand of their nearest and dearest friends rooting for the home team at a Miami Hurricanes football game. Both she and Bridget were wearing ’Canes jerseys, and Bridget was sporting a colorful asymmetrical ’do.

  “Do you believe me now?” she asked.

  Simone’s eyes widened. “Wow. She looks so different. When did she change?”

  “Not very long after that picture was taken. During homecoming weekend, she met a girl who said she liked women with short hair. She went directly from the party to the barber shop and has been close-cropped ever since.”

  “When did she meet Avery?” Simone asked after they finished looking through the rest of the photo album.

  “They’ve been dating for a little over two years and engaged since last November. To be honest, I’m surprised it took that long for Bridget to decide to put a ring on it. She and Avery have been practically living together since their first date.”

  Simone wiped her mouth and set her empty plate on the coffee table. “Are all these wedding plans giving you any ideas about your own life?”

  Kenya set her plate next to Simone’s and leaned back on the couch. “No ideas I didn’t already have. I would love to walk down the aisle someday, but I’m not going to beat myself up if it doesn’t happen.”

  “What changed? You were doing a pretty good job beating yourself up the night we met.”

  That night had felt like her last chance to find happiness. She had put so much pressure on herself she had been unable to relax. But that was before she had met Simone. Before Simone had done wonders for her self-esteem by making her feel like the most beautiful woman in the room.

  She thought for a moment. When had she learned to take the ebbs and flows in her love life in stride instead of hitting the panic button each time a relationship came to an end?

  “I was driving to work this morning when I heard Reagan’s song on the radio. I remembered the first time you played it for me. I remembered the excitement—the passion—I heard in your voice when you talked about the changes you had made to the original version of the song and how you planned to approach the rest of the album. I decided while I was sitting in traffic that I didn’t want to hear about your life. I wanted to be a part of it.”

  “You mean you want to—”

  “I mean I want to see where this leads. I have feelings for you, but I don’t know how deep they go.”

  Simone took her hand. “Then let’s find out together.”

  *

  Dre pumped his fist in the air as he watched the playback of Devonte’s final cut of the video for “Miami Dreams.”

  “Was I right or was I right?” he asked, spinning around in his chair. He pointed to the monitor. Reagan’s image was frozen on the screen. “This girl is the one who’s going to put us all on the map. Devonte can be a piece of work sometimes, but he always gets the job done in the end. Cut the checks, Nate.” He turned to his nephew/accountant, the college freshman who had talked himself into a job by convincing Dre that running a cash-only business was bad for the bottom line, especially whenever the IRS came sniffing around. “The usual amount for Devonte and a five grand bonus for my friend here for getting this project done on time.”

  “Thanks, Dre.”

  “Don’t thank me, girl. Just keep doing what you do. Once this video hits the Web, Reagan’s CD is going to fly off the shelves.”

  After Nate handed her a check, Simone made sure her name was spelled right and all the zeroes were in the right place. Then she folded the check in half and tucked it in her back pocket until she could swing by the bank on her way to Kenya’s place.

  She and Kenya had spent time together every night this week. They watched three episodes of Orange is the New Black each night, but they spent so much time talking she would have to watch the episodes again to catch up on everything she had missed. She felt like part of an old married couple and they hadn’t even slept together yet. She was used to going out clubbing every night. She hadn’t realized just chilling at home could be this much fun. If she had, she might have tried it years ago.

  “You know what’s next, right?”

  Dre’s question forced Simone to focus on the present instead of the future. She waited for Dre to answer his own question so she wouldn’t disrupt his train of thought. Once he was on a roll, he didn’t like to stop.

  “MTV, BET, VH1, Fuse.” Dre ticked the names off on his thick fingers. “All the music networks are going to pick us up. Next stop top ten, baby. Give me some dap.”

  Simone reached out and gave him a fist bump.

  “I’m starting to get calls from major labels.”

  “Already?” she asked incredulously. “The EP isn’t even out yet.”

  “They’re not calling about Reagan. They’re calling about you.”

  Simone sat up straighter. “Major labels want to work with me?”

  “They don’t want you to work with them. They want you to work for them.”

  “Are you serious?” She imagined the famous artists she would get to work with and the fat checks that were sure to follow.

  “Nate.” Dre snapped his fingers, and Nate passed him several business cards. “These are the ones I’ve received so far, but I’m sure there will be more to come. You’re hot, girl. I’ve always known it. Now the rest of
the world is catching on, too.”

  Simone sifted through the cards. She recognized the record labels and A&R reps listed on each. “These guys want me?”

  “So do I, but we both know I can’t pay you what those brothers can. So it looks like this will be our first and last album together. When you get to the top, don’t forget the little people who helped you get there, all right?”

  Simone looked at the cards in her hand. “No matter where I go, I’ll never forget where I came from.”

  *

  “Why the change in plans?” Kenya asked as she and Simone walked through the Art District. They were supposed to be at her condo noshing on Indian food while they watched TV, but that was before Simone called a switcheroo and asked if they could visit the Wynwood Walls instead.

  “I got some news today, and I wanted to tell you about it here. I wanted to be in the place that inspires me the most with the woman who inspires me the most.”

  “Then I take it the news was good?”

  “That depends on your perspective. When I viewed the final cut of Reagan’s video with Dre this afternoon, he told me that—”

  Simone stopped mid-sentence when someone called their names. Kenya turned to see Imani Gaithers, the artist she had met during the speed dating event, jogging toward them.

  “I thought that was you,” Imani said, slightly out of breath from the exertion. Her outsized personality was much larger than her diminutive stature. The top of her head barely reached Kenya’s shoulder. She stood on her tiptoes as she gave both of them a kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to see you again. What brings you out here tonight? Did you finally decide to take me up on my invitation to check out my gallery slash studio?”

  “Is it close?” Kenya asked. “If so, I would love to see your work.” She turned to Simone, wondering if what she wanted to say was too important to wait. “Do we have time?”

  Simone didn’t hesitate. “We have all the time in the world.”

  Kenya admired Simone’s ability to take things as they came. Her schedule was so tightly regimented she had to pencil in time to be spontaneous. She loved how good it felt to be able to do whatever came to mind instead of what was due up next.

  “Perfect.” Imani linked her arms through theirs. “My gallery is a few blocks from here. I’ll show you some works by a few of the artists in my stable as well as some of my works in progress.”

  Imani’s energy was infectious. She bounded down the street as she walked, reminding Kenya of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. She was wearing the same paint-splattered jeans Kenya remembered from the speed dating event, along with a loose-fitting Jean-Michel Basquiat tank top and a pair of leather tennis shoes that had once been white but were now covered in layers of graffiti rendered in oil paint and permanent ink. Her hair was as much a riot of color as her outfit, her natural hair augmented by red, white, and blue extensions.

  “It looks like taking a chance on speed dating worked out well for all of us,” she said. “Do you remember Barbara?”

  “The legal secretary with a thing for cats?” Simone asked.

  “Yes, that’s her,” Imani said. “We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now. She said you two would end up together. I’ll have to let her know she was right.”

  Kenya started to tell Imani she and Simone hadn’t made any official announcements and were still trying to figure things out. But Imani looked so happy Kenya didn’t want to burst her bubble so she smiled and played along.

  “Here we are.”

  Imani stopped in front of a gallery filled with contemporary art. The walls and display areas teemed with paintings, sculptures, and assorted installations. Each spoke to Kenya. She would buy the whole place out if she could afford it. Her budget was safe, thankfully, because most of the pieces were already marked Sold. A few prints were available for sale, but the majority of the original works had already been claimed.

  “Are all these yours?” she asked.

  She drifted toward an updated version of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus. Instead of an ivory-complexioned redhead posing demurely on a clam shell while angels circled her, this work featured a cinnamon-skinned ’70s-style pin-up with the Afro and ankh pendant to match. The crushed velvet surface and built-in black light on the top of the piece completed the homage. The painting was provocative, sexy, and fun. Everything art should be.

  “That one is,” Imani said, “as well as the ones along the far wall. The rest were created by my protégés, the students I teach at a local community college when the muse abandons me and I still need to make enough money to pay the rent. I have a show scheduled in a couple of months. It will feature my works as well as a selection of the best student pieces. The event will be held the same weekend as the Art Walk. Every second Saturday, the owners of the surrounding galleries, studios, and showrooms open their doors to the public so the members of the community can see what we do without having to pay through the nose for the privilege. It’s a good time. You should come. There’s music, food, refreshment, and enough sensory stimulation to fuel a multitude of fantasies. Sort of like Mardi Gras without the floats and the endless supply of Sazeracs.”

  As she moved up the corporate ladder, Kenya had lost touch with some of the small town facets of Miami that had drawn her to the area in the first place. The Art Walk sounded like the perfect way to rediscover what she had been missing. “I’d love to come.”

  “Leave me your address and I’ll make sure to add you to the mailing list,” Imani said. She nodded toward the clerk manning the cash register. “Excuse me, but I think Colin needs my help with a customer. Feel free to look around, and let me know if you have any questions.”

  “We will. Thanks,” Simone said.

  “Do you like it?” Kenya asked when she saw Simone staring at the painting that had caught her eye.

  “You know who that is, don’t you?”

  Kenya took a closer look but didn’t recognize the model. “No. Should I?”

  “Try picturing her in a sweater set and tweed skirt.”

  Kenya looked again. “Oh, my God,” she said as recognition set in. “It’s—”

  “Barbara the legal secretary. I guess she isn’t as uptight as I thought she was. If I’d known she looked like that underneath it all, I might have changed some of my answers to her questions.”

  “Is that what attracts you to someone? The physical?”

  “No. Well, it’s not the only thing. Our personalities have to mesh, too. I like to have things in common with someone I’m seeing. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have anything to talk about or mutual interests to share. As you could tell from the brief time Barbara and I spent together, we definitely didn’t have any mutual interests. What about you? Do you limit yourself to one type of woman, or do you think outside the box?”

  Kenya added her name and address to the visitors’ log so she could receive an invitation to Imani’s upcoming show. “I don’t care what a woman looks like as long as she makes me happy.”

  Simone wrapped her arm around Kenya’s waist. “Do I make you happy?”

  Kenya didn’t have to take time to consider the question before she provided her answer. “Yes, you do. Now what’s your big news?”

  Outside, Simone leaned against a pop art mural that could have been painted by Roy Lichtenstein. “I’m being recruited.”

  “By?”

  Simone handed her several business cards. “These guys.”

  Kenya looked through the cards. Each contained the logos of some of the biggest labels in the music industry. “Oh, my God. I’m so happy for you. This is what you’ve been working for.”

  “I know, but now that the opportunity has presented itself, I’m not so sure I want to take it.”

  “Why in the world not?”

  “My life is here. My family’s here. You’re here. I don’t want to move to New York, Detroit, or Los Angeles and leave everyone I love behind.”

  Kenya brandished the cards. “Have you called any of thes
e people yet?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know you’d have to relocate? If they’re interested in you, it’s because they like your sound. If you say you need to stay in the area in order to keep producing that sound, I’m sure they would be willing to work with you.”

  “And if not?”

  “You’ll be racking up the frequent flyer miles as you shuttle back and forth between here and whatever studio makes you the best offer.”

  “But what if I said no? What if I turned down the money and stayed here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t have to get rich to make good music. I don’t have to have a mansion, a Porsche, or a wristful of bling to bring out the best in an artist. What if I stayed right here and kept on doing what I’m doing? Would that be okay with you?”

  Kenya held Simone’s face in her hands. “Whatever you decide to do, I will back you up one hundred percent. You don’t have to be a millionaire to make me happy. You just have to be you.”

  Simone drew her into her arms and kissed her. Gently at first, then with a greater sense of urgency. Kenya kissed her back, matching her intensity. She had never been a fan of public displays of affection, but at the moment, she didn’t care who was watching or what they might have to say. She only cared about Simone. Kissing her. Tasting her. Falling in love with her.

  “What’s wrong?” Simone asked after she pulled away.

  “Nothing,” Kenya said, taking her hand. “Let’s go home.”

  *

  Simone’s apartment was closer to the Art District than Kenya’s condo so she drove there as fast as the speed limit would allow. After they climbed the stairs, she unlocked her apartment door, closed it behind her, and pressed Kenya against it. She fisted one hand in the soft cotton of Kenya’s shirt and slid the other up the nape of her neck. Kenya’s brown eyes went dark and her breath hitched.