A Private Affair

by Donna Hill

  Like now.

  “I missed you last night, Niki.” He ran his tongue along her ear. “I don’t wanna feel like that again.” His hand slipped up under her sweater.

  “Neither…do…I.” She shuddered against his chest, feeling the snap of her bra come undone.

  So they made love on her desktop, on the imported area rug in front of Lillian’s desk, on the couch and finally in the shower, as if each act would somehow bind them, erase the doubts, silence the fears, make everything all right.

  Again.

  “Woman, you could wear a brother out.” Quinn chuckled, watching her replace her clothing, while he ran a towel through his damp locks.

  She looked at him from beneath her mascaraed lashes. “You can hold your own, too, buddy.”

  He grinned. “So what else do you do around here besides seduce unarmed men?”

  His offhand comment made her realize that they hadn’t used any protection. For a minute, a nervous knot tightened in her stomach. That was the last thing she needed, or wanted, especially now. She had too much to accomplish, and Quinn didn’t even have a real job. Well, she wouldn’t worry about it. For now.

  “A little bit of everything. Read a bunch of stuff to see if it’s worth publishing, for one.”

  “What kinda stuff do you get?”

  She looked at him for a minute, an idea forming. “See for yourself.” She lifted her chin in the direction of the stack of papers on the shelf behind her desk.

  Quinn strolled over, his eyes grazing across the neat rows. He reached up and pulled down a folder marked Features. “You looked at this stuff already?”

  “Some of it. But it’s getting so hectic, I’m falling behind. I can’t read everything that comes in.” She paused for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about asking Ms. Ingram for an assistant.”

  He looked up. “Oh, yeah? What kind of assistant?”

  “Just somebody to go through the stuff that comes in and make recommendations. Things like that.”

  He took the folder and sat down, flipping it open.

  While he read, Nikita replied to correspondence and sorted through the bills to be paid.

  The phone rang. Nikita answered and Quinn checked the time. He had class in an hour.

  Nikita hung up and he closed the folder.

  “Not bad, I guess.” He stood and plopped the folder on her desk.

  “See anything interesting?”

  He shrugged. “There was one in there about a bunch of single mothers who opened their own business. Sounded kinda cool.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take a look. Maybe we’ll use it.”

  He shrugged again, feeling that he’d made a difference. “Listen, I gotta roll. We’ll talk about this publishin’ thing some more tonight. Cool?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Where do you have to go?”

  He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Got things to take care of. See you later.”

  “How much later?” she called out to him.

  His hand held the doorknob. “We’ll see.”

  Maxine was anxious to see Dre. He’d called and wanted to pick her up after work. She needed to find a way to let him know she’d lend him some money, and that her offer to stay with her if he needed to was still good.

  She pushed through the glass doors of the bank and spotted Dre’s car parked across the street.

  He saw her coming, clean as she wanted to be with her bronze Burberry trench, to-the-waist printed scarf which she’d draped around her neck, and those long legs with just the right amount of heel to make them fabulous.

  His woman.

  Maxine pulled off her shades as she got in the car. “Hey, babe.” She gave him a quick kiss. “This is a treat.”

  “I thought I’d take my lady for a quick bite and share some news.”

  She strapped herself in and crossed her legs instead of her fingers. “What news?”

  “Chinese sound good?” he teased, wanting to delay his announcement a while longer.

  “Your news would sound better. Come on, you’re making me nervous.”

  He chuckled lightly and pulled off into the rush-hour traffic. “First of all, I just wanna tell you how much it meant to me that you stuck with me, Maxine. You were in my corner all these months, even after I tried to keep things from you.” He looked at her profile for a brief moment, then back at the road. “All that means a lot, baby. I never felt less than a man. You didn’t do that to me. Not once. I mean, even your offer to let me crash at your place…I know it was from the heart.

  “I know things have been tight. But all that’s about to change. Got me a sweet gig. And I been thinkin’ how I can turn what I do into my own business. But I’m gonna need your help.”

  Chapter 23

  ’Tis The Season

  Quinn started stopping by Nikita’s office on the mornings that he had classes at ASCAP. There was nothing official said, but he’d come in, look over the stories and story ideas, and make comments. More often than not, Nikita agreed with him.

  On some days he watched Nikita lay out the magazine on the computer, and sometimes he’d add a few suggestions.

  His own computer skills were getting sharper, and he surprised Nikita with his knowledge.

  He still hadn’t told her about his classes. He wanted to wait until Christmas. It was when his poem would be in the magazine and his first music track completed.

  Nick had listened to pieces of it as he was putting it together, and was eager to hear the finished piece. He wanted to include it on his next album when they went into the studio in the new year. Quinn was psyched. Things were really coming together.

  The only thing that kind of bothered him, maybe more than he’d ever admit, was that he missed Maxine.

  They didn’t see each other much anymore. Since that day in Nikita’s office and that same night when he’d actually come in before 2:00 a.m., Nikita told him that she wanted to have more of a place in his life. She wanted to be with him when he went to see the attorneys. She wanted to hear him play on Wednesday nights, instead of staying home. And he noticed that Maxine came down to the club less and less.

  He’d have to make it a point to stop by and check her out during the holidays.

  It just seemed that Nikita was filling up more and more of his life.

  “So how much longer you think you’ll be at the bank?” Dre asked, stringing tinsel on Maxine’s six-foot tree.

  “Hopefully just until the spring. The business is making some solid money now, and it’s building every day.”

  Dre put the box of tinsel on the table and turned to Maxine, who was spraying furniture polish on the coffee table.

  “Max, you know things have been picking up for me, too—thanks to your help with my business plan. I’m figuring that by the new year, if things go right, I’ll be able to open my own surveillance office. I already have some potential clients, and some of the brothers from my old job are interested in working for me part-time.”

  Her heart started beating a little faster and her stomach started feeling funny. Something was up, and it was making her nervous.

  “Sounds good, Dre. I know it’s gonna work out. You have a good plan.”

  “Yeah.” He stepped closer, cutting off the distance between them. “So I’ve been thinking real hard about…you and me, Max, and where we’re going.” He swallowed and looked across into her eyes. He took her hand in his. “I was trying to wait until Christmas,” he said, smiling nervously, “but I guess Christmas Eve is close enough.”

  He led her over to the couch and they sat down. He took a breath.

  “I love you, Maxine. I think you know that. You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been, given me the confidence to go for myself just by watching you. I can’t see my future without you in it.”

  He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a little black velvet box.

  Now her stomach was really spinning.

  He popped the box open and a beautiful
diamond, set in platinum, gleamed up at her. “Marry me, Maxine. Be my partner, my friend and lover…my wife.”

  Maxine’s thoughts and feelings swirled, blending, merging. She looked at Dre and the love that he offered, then at the diamond. And in its brilliance she saw where her life was, where it had been, and where it was going, who had been in it, who was and who would no longer be. Her eyes filled with pain, memories and joy. The muscles in her throat tightened. And realization settled over her as gently as the falling snow. She could no longer sit back and wish on a maybe. “Press on,” she heard Lacy whisper.

  She inhaled a deep gulp of pine-scented air and squeezed Dre’s hands. “Yes,” she breathed, and the elusive dream popped like a pin-pricked bubble. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around Dre’s neck. “Yes.”

  And silent tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “Your people hate me, Nikita,” Quinn grumbled as he eased her Benz, which she’d insisted they take, onto the snow-covered street. “Let’s just make this as quick as possible. I wanna get back and check out Maxine.”

  Nikita’s insides seesawed for a minute. “How is Maxine?” she asked, pushing back her pangs of jealousy.

  “That’s what I don’t know. Haven’t had time to see her much anymore.”

  “And that’s my fault?”

  “Is it?”

  “Just forget it, Quinn. It’s Christmas. Let’s not fight, especially about your friends.”

  “Humph. Don’t seem like I got too many of them, no more.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Like you said, forget it.” He was in a foul mood. Had been ever since she’d said she wanted them to spend Christmas day with her family. Humph. If he’d wanted to be miserable, all he had to do was look at the news.

  They settled down to an uncomfortable silence, the jazz sounds on the car stereo filling the gap between them.

  He wasn’t quite sure when or how things had changed. He just knew that they had. He didn’t seem to have much time for anything anymore except work, which had gone from two nights to four. If he wanted to spend some time with his boys, Nikita sulked. Somehow or other, he was practically employed at her job. What had started out as just “something to do” had turned into a regular gig. Ms. Ingram even sent him a check once a month for his “services.”

  It was as if Nikita was trying to keep tabs on him 24/7 or something. It was beginning to get to him.

  Even seeing his poem in the magazine didn’t have the kind of kick he’d thought it would. Humph, he guessed Nikita had enough enthusiasm for the both of them. She talked about it for a week straight—that, and trying to push him into going back to school, and to write more, play more.

  Now here they were, going to her parents’ house on Christmas day—the same folks that would just as soon tell him to kiss their aristocratic asses as say hello.

  He was losing himself little by little, like a rock that keeps getting hit with water. And he didn’t like it, even if the water was Nikita, even if it did make her happy.

  Things were going to have to change.

  Nikita peeked at Quinn from the corner of her eye. He’d worn the copper-colored Armani suit she’d bought for him, and he looked fantastic in it. He’d trimmed his locks and had them tied back. He’d started to grow a goatee that outlined his full mouth and strong chin. She liked it, and told him so.

  She sighed silently. All of her hard work was paying off. Quinn was settling down…working…planning a future. He’d even begun to clean up his language, at least around her. His music was getting better, and Nick was definitely going to use one of Quinn’s pieces on the album. She had him learning the magazine business, and he was really good.

  So what if they argued a little more than they once had, and he seemed more quiet than usual? They still made love every night, she made sure of that, just like in the beginning. And she knew he loved her, even if he never said the words. He was giving up old habits for her, shedding old friends that were nothing but bad influences, anyway, and building a life together with her. So what if he never said the words? Didn’t Amy say that some people showed love by the things they did for you?

  And she loved him for it.

  Quinn took the Christmas gifts from the trunk of the car, gifts that Nikita had purchased for her parents—“from the both of us,” she’d said—while she trotted up the three freshly shoveled front steps and rang the bell.

  He still couldn’t figure out why she was so anxious to be up under people who gained pleasure from making her life—and especially his—pure hell.

  As he stood next to her waiting for the door to be opened she turned and looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. That tiny dimple under her right eye was winking at him, and she said, “Thank you for this.”

  His heart softened, and there was that familiar rush he got in the pit of his stomach whenever she looked at him as if he could save the world.

  She squeezed his hand and stole a quick kiss just before Amy opened the door.

  Amy seemed delighted to see Nikita, hugging and inspecting her. She even seemed happy to see Quinn, giving him a good hug and wishes for a happy holiday.

  “Come on in, you two. Everyone is in the front room. We have the fireplace going and everything, and there’s plenty to munch on until dinner.”

  She took their coats and ushered them inside like honored guests.

  Well, the pleasantries just about ended at the front door. He could taste Nikita’s parents’ distaste on his own tongue. Not that they weren’t “cordial”—they were too uppity to act any other way. It was in the lift of their noses, as if they’d just stepped in something. And Nikita didn’t help matters any by putting him on display as if he were going to be auctioned off and she had to show off all of his saleable qualities to the new masters.

  “Did I tell you that the music Quinn produced is going to be on Nick’s next album?”

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” Cynthia said in a tone that really meant, “So what?” “You must be very proud.”

  “Nikita seems to be. I’m just havin’ a good time.” He almost laughed out loud when Cynthia cringed and Lawrence grunted.

  Quinn leaned back against the couch and crossed his legs at the ankle, just as Nikita dug in her bag and pulled out a copy of the magazine.

  “Look at this.” She flipped the magazine open to the dog-eared page. “Quinn wrote it.” She pointed to the boxed-off poem.

  Cynthia briefly looked at him over the top of her glasses, then down at the page.

  “Very interesting style,” she said, returning the magazine to Nikita. “Where did you study?”

  Quinn frowned. “Study what?”

  “Writing, of course.”

  He took a breath. “I didn’t.”

  “I see. Where did you attend school, by the way? I don’t think Nikita ever mentioned it to us.”

  Quinn looked at her the way he looked at the gamblers who owed money that he intended to collect. He leaned slightly forward, his gaze zeroing in on her. He saw her withdraw. “No place you’d know.”

  Things got a little better after that. Mom and Pop just ignored him altogether, which was fine with him. At least he didn’t feel like a sitting duck.

  The doorbell rang and Cynthia seemed to brighten. She actually smiled. It made him nervous.

  She pressed her hands together and looked at Nikita with something close to glee.

  “That must be my surprise,” she said, standing when Amy came into view with a guest trailing behind her.

  “Grant!” Cynthia gushed.

  Quinn cut a look at Nikita and her face was frozen. He looked back at the brother in the doorway, and his eyes had targeted on Nikita. Oh, yeah. There was going to be some mess tonight. Ho, ho, ho.

  “Grant, I’m so glad you could come,” Cynthia greeted, walking over to kiss his cheek. She took his hand as if he were a little kid and led him into the room. “Look, Nikita, it’s Grant. Surprise.”

  Nikita thr
ew her mother a withering look, while Grant spoke to her father. Then he turned to Nikita.

  “How are you, Grant? It’s been a while.”

  “It has. Too long.” He leaned down and pecked her cheek.

  He had the kind of voice that sounded as if it belonged on the radio, Quinn thought. He gave him the quick once-over. One of those light-skinned brothers with the curly black hair and light eyes. They were about the same height, but Brotherman definitely looked like he worked out, from the fit of his suit and the width of his shoulders.

  “Grant, this is Quinn Parker.” She possessively took Quinn’s hand. “Quinn, Grant Coleman.”

  Grant looked from one to the other and finally stuck out his hand, which Quinn reluctantly shook. “Nice to meet you.”

  Quinn just stared at him for a minute. “Yeah. You, too.”

  “Grant, you know where everything is,” Cynthia chimed in as if this whole awkward experience were an everyday occurrence. “Help yourself to whatever you like, dear.”

  “Thanks. I think I could use a drink.”

  “So could I,” Lawrence said, having uttered his first sentence since their arrival.

  “Can I get you anything?” Nikita asked softly.

  “Yeah, the hell outta here,” he whispered under his breath. “And what’s wit’ you and Brotherman?”

  “It’s a long story, Quinn. I’d rather not talk about it right now.” She had Quinn now. That’s what counted.

  But the truth was, she didn’t want to talk about it at all. She thought she’d pushed her feelings for Grant way down deep beneath the surface. But suddenly seeing him again brought everything raging back with a vengeance. She was shaking all over. The sparks were still there, even if it wasn’t a fire.

  Dinner was the longest event of Quinn’s life. Little by little he felt more and more like the outsider her parents wanted their daughter to see him as, and him to be. What hurt him most was that Nikita seemed unaware of the toll it was taking on him.