by Nicole Falls
"I know you told me to mind my business, but I'm just gonna say this one thing and I'm done. Don't you ever feel like something is missing, daddy? I mean, I know you have me and I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you, but beyond that what else do you have? Work, that's boring. You don't have hobbies. And your friends...I love Uncle Ant, but he isn't exactly...anyway, I just think that if you had somebody, not even saying it has to be that Juju lady, could be any body, you'd smile a hel...ck of a lot more and stop being so freaking uptight all the time. I really am just looking out for your happiness, daddy. You deserve," Junior finished, and without awaiting a response, pulled her wireless beats over her ears and leaned over to snap a few photos of our view from the clouds.
The kid might've had a point, but I'd be damned if I let her know it. I would, however, plan to make getting to know Juniper priority number one as soon as we touched back down in the City.
"Tell me again why you can't come today, Joey?" I asked, exasperated.
We'd been slammed with workshop requests lately and that had taken its toll on my good sis. I could barely hear her when I answered the call and had her switch over to FaceTime to finally understand what was going on. Her voice was completely gone. Laryngitis according to the fine folks at the Minute Clinic thanks to the paperwork she'd flashed across the screen when I accused her to faking it.
"Ju," Jonique croaked, her barely audible voice nearly unrecognizable.
"Okay, sorry," I laughed, "I'll stop giving you a hard time. You good, though? You need me to bring you anything?"
Jonique scribbled quickly on the notepad she'd grabbed to make our conversation go quicker.
I'm good. Thx 4 askin boo. Sry :-)
"It's fine, sis. I mean there was gonna come a time where we would have to split off and do these on our own anyway, right? I've done Rock the Mic so many times; I could prolly do it in my sleep. Don't worry."
That sent Joey back to scribbling on her notepad. She flipped it up with a smirk settled upon her face as the words she'd written sank in for me. I'd assumed that today's session was a Rock the Mic workshop because it was our most popular as well as most often scheduled. Today, however, was a Snack Chat—my least favorite to facilitate, not because of content, but because people that were signed up for this one usually fell into one of two categories. Men who were signed up against their will or lesbians who thought they wrote the book on minding the gap. Both groups brought with them a sense of entitlement and standoffishness which undoubtedly led to tension throughout the entire session.
Joey, bless her spirit, usually let the tension roll right over her as she burrowed through the lesson and practical applications, but the way my me was set up? I carried the stress of it with me for the rest of the day. And considering how my former favorite means of stress relief was no longer available due to a cross country move and smashtastic break up? I would definitely be heavily reliant upon relaxation means number two after the session. I looked around my room to make sure I had my pen and it was full for when I came back home. Joey, omnipotent unicorn that she was scribbled onto her notepad once again.
I have an extra cartridge if you need it. :-)
"Yep, I do need it and I'll stop by you on my way to...aw man, this is a private workshop too? Damn I thought it was at MYOP. Yep, I'll definitely be hitting you up before making my way over to this Quinny Finley person's place. What an odd name, Quinny...I know, I know I'm one to talk named Juniper."
Joey said nothing, just laughed soundlessly. I rang off with her and got back to what I was working on before she had called. In addition to running MYOP with Jonique, I also ran my own web design business. What had started as me being bored on the internet and playing around with HTML and CSS eventually evolved into being self-taught and self-employed. I started with making websites for people I knew, and word of mouth helped launch my fledgling business, much like the evolution of MYOP, only this wasn’t one that would get me a side eye from my mama and second mama, Ginger. I set an alarm because I tended to get caught up in designing that I lost track of time and tended to tune everything else out. And I was working on a site for a friend of my sister’s who was launching a skincare line that involved some pretty heavy responsive coding, so it would be nothing for me to get lost in that and run right up to the time I needed to be in my whip and headed to my appointment.
I drove through a side of town I didn’t have cause to visit often, caught up in vibrancy of the neighborhood. For years, most of my childhood and early adulthood, this side of the neighborhood was run down and on the verge of ruin, but a revitalization project initiated by a few hometown heroes had really turned this area around. Where there were once boarded up greystones, was now a beautifully composed neighborhood that looked the way the founders likely imagined it would look after their passing. I turned the radio down as the GPS informed me that I was less than a quarter of a mile from my destination. Joey always made fun of me for turning down the radio like that would help me read the address numbers more clearly, but I low key thought it did help.
Soon I was pulling up to a greystone with an immaculately kempt lawn and rose bushes that were in the early stages of bloom. I grabbed my things from the trunk, carefully stepping onto the walkway to avoid the kids running and playing back and forth along the sidewalk. I took a couple minutes to take in my surroundings instantly transported back to my youth. Despite living in the same house, my neighborhood had changed drastically. We had no kids on our block and I’d kinda missed the sounds of kids running roughshod over the block, living their best lives. Shaking off the memories of years well passed, I rolled my suitcase up the sidewalk and short porch before I rang the doorbell.
“It’s open,” I heard a deep voice intone.
I opened the door, rolling my suitcase in, instantly on alert because it was very quiet when I walked in. I flicked my wrist up to take another look at my watch, confirming that while I was early I wasn’t so early that I would make it here before the rest of the party.
“Up here,” the same voice that told me the door was open sounded again.
What a rude ass, I thought, while I lugged my suitcase up the short flight of stairs that led to the second floor of the greystone. It wasn’t super heavy, but damn was chivalry dead these days? A gentleman would have offered to help me with my things. I rolled my eyes and steeled myself to be met with resistance as soon as I crossed the threshold of the door. I walked into an apartment beautifully decorated in cool grey and navy, with spots of lush greenery placed strategically in the living and dining areas.
“Hello?” I called out.
“You can set up in the den, straight through the kitchen to your right,” a voice called out from near the back of the apartment space.
Oooookay, I said to myself rolling my bag into the indicated space and immediately beginning set up. After a few minutes I was all set, but the owner of that deep rumbling voice had yet to reveal himself, nor had any other guests shown up for the workshop. I knew sometimes folks were operating on CP time, but if no one showed up within the next ten minutes I had no problem issuing a refund and hightailing it the hell outta here. I played around on my laptop a little, getting the PowerPoint set up when I suddenly felt a twinge of…something.
I looked up to see that handsome, peanut butter skinned, freshly twisted loc god I’d embarrassed myself in front of both in virtual reality and real-life reality.
“I-It-It’s…you…” I stammered.
Real cool Juniper.
He walked over with a hand extended, reaching out to encase mine in his.
“I don’t think we’ve ever actually been formally introduced. Quincy Finley, my pleasure to finally, officially make your acquaintance.”
I damn near swooned out of my shoes, but quickly recovered introducing myself, “Juju Holliday. Um, Quincy…where’s the rest of your party?”
“Party?”
“Yeah, you booked a workshop. That’s usually facilitated by me for a group.”
>
“Oh, I thought we could have a little one-on-one action, if you don’t mind,” he replied, flashing me that panty wetting grin.
It almost had me before I his words really permeated my brain.
“One on one?” I asked, “That’s not really a thing we offer.”
When MYOP first started we had more than a few creeps contact us thinking that we were offering services that were less of a sexologist and more in line with prostitution. Our mailbox was overrun with dick pics, improper solicitations and indecent proposals. For the most part we’d been able to weed out a lot of the bullshit, but every now and again one slipped through the cracks. They never, however, tended to make it any further than my personal guard dog aka Joey.
“Not even for a possible baby daddy,” Quincy asked, that smirk still gracing his handsome ass face.
I rolled my eyes, “Unbelievable. Of course, you’re trash. That’s right in line with my life right now. What a waste of fine. No, we do not offer any one on one services, you creep.”
Angrily, I shut my MacBook and began throwing things into my suitcase haphazardly. Quincy reached out, grabbing my arm trying to halt my progress, but I shrugged him off continuing to get things in the bag so I could get the hell out of there as soon as possible.
“Yo, sweetheart, chill, it’s not like that.”
“It’s not like what? Not like you booked a whole workshop about eating pussy under the guise of getting me here alone in your apartment to do what exactly? Not like you deliberately misrepresented yourself to gain favor? Not like you manipulated this whole situation and put me in a potentially unsafe environment? Tell me Quincy, what isn’t it like?”
Not waiting for an answer, I rolled my bag back toward the front of the apartment to move straight out the door, back into my car, and home when I was stopped by Quincy trying to grab me by the arm once again.
“Negro, you must be out of your cotton pickin’ mind! Get your hands off me!” I said, forcefully shoving him away from me.
“Juniper, please, give me a minute to explain. This isn’t what it seems like, I promise,” Quincy pleaded.
Something in his voice, a thread of sincerity laced with a bit of disappointment caused me to turn my eyes back upon his face. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, regret clearly etched across his features—hands up in the air, palms stretched wide like he didn’t want any problems. I said nothing, truncating my stride and resting a hand on my hip.
“So…I now see that this looks shitty. Like, real shitty. But in my defense, I thought you’d find it charming. I mean you did ask me to go half on a baby and all,” he laughed, but I remained unmoved, “I meant no harm, honestly and understand if you want to go. But do know I expected nothing more than us being able to spend some time together, in person; maybe get to know one another a little better. The only reason I chose the ‘pussy eating’ workshop as you called it was because there was no way in hell I was booking shit called Rock the Mic and I thought the P in V one would have definitely been the creep move.”
At that I had to crack a smile, he did have a point. He had chosen the less creepy of the three options. That didn’t exempt him from still choosing the creepy way out instead of the normal way. Also, he was out way more money booking this workshop than he would have been if he’d just asked me out the old-fashioned way. If Twitter ever got wind of this, they’d debate themselves to death about a $500 non-date.
“You couldn’t just…ask me out like a normal person? I mean, damn, you had my contact info, man.”
He shook his head, biting his lower lip, properly chagrined, “I know, I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly.”
“Clearly!”
“Damn, can I live?”
“Nah, not yet,” I replied, with a grin, slightly loosening the grip I had on my luggage and my key ring with the mini spray can of pepper spray attached, “The rules say I get to roast you for at least ten more minutes.”
“Fair enough,” he acquiesced, before taking the few steps to close the distance I’d put between us, “But…can I try to make it up to you?”
The combination of his adorably sheepish grin, combined with his thumb rubbing circles on the top of my hand made it virtually impossible for me to say no. Not that I was fighting hard against his charm anyway. Initial misinterpretation aside, so far, he’d been nothing but respectful and hadn’t shown me anything that would warrant me needing to remain on alert.
“That depends…”
“On?”
“Does making it up to me include food? I’d kinda counted on snacking over the course of the workshop.”
Quincy chuckled, a sound that instantly warmed me.
“That could definitely be arranged.”
Juniper was just cool. Very down to Earth and—once she realized that I wasn't trying to force myself upon her—chill as hell. I was used to women who were two handfuls, with lists of demands and standards that were a mile long. Not to say that she was devoid of any of that, but tonight we just vibed. What I had initially thought of as an ingenious idea, was quickly proven to be the opposite and I'd almost fucked things up with her completely. Luckily—due to nothing more than The Man Above, honestly—she gave me a chance to not only speak my piece, but also make it up to her for the misunderstanding, which led to us being where we were currently, sitting on opposite sides of the couch on my back deck, debating which 90s girl groups could or could not sing.
"Quin. Cee. You cannot tell me that you're putting XScape over SVW? I can't believe I'm sitting in the house of a man who would dare utter that phrase, for one, and utter it with confidence, on top of that? Tuh!"
"So you gon sit up here and act like 'Off the Hook' didn't slap? Like the big girl wasn't singing for her cornbread on Who Can I Run To? That's what we're doing today? Wooooooow."
"Sir. Sidechicks with Voices had multiple albums that slapped. Plus, Coko could sing all four members of XScape under the table while having an asthma attack. You're buggin," Juniper said, "Wait...this is the true test of just how trash—"
"Or amazing," I broke in.
"Or amazing," she conceded, "your music taste really is. Going strictly off vocals, not who had the most songs that slapped or which ones you thought were finest. Solely by voices—TLC or EnVogue?"
"That's an unfair comparison," I said.
"Just answer the question, man. It's not that hard. I gave you the parameters that set you up for there to only be one answer," Juniper quipped, leaning toward me, eyes narrowed.
"So, you obviously want me to say EnVogue, but—" I started, toying with her because they were going to be my answer all along.
She held up a hand before I could continue, "I'ma stop you right there, pleighboi. The answer is most certainly EnVogue. Now if we wanna talk about who had more heaters, then I might have to put my undying love for Terry Ellis' upper register to the side and begrudgingly admit that TLC has them bested in that category."
“You real serious about your 90s girl groups, huh?”
“I’m real serious about everything. Hazard of being the youngest, most of my life has been spent fighting for the right to not only have an opinion, but to have it be heard. And in a house full of women, tuh! Yeah, I learned early to make my opinion known—loud and strong,” she replied with a touch of something I couldn’t quite place in her tone, “Besides, no use having an opinion, if you don’t feel so strongly about it that you’ll argue it to the death, am I right?”
“So, in the spirit of that frame of mind, you know I’m not letting this XScape versus SWV discussion go away, right?”
“As long as you can accept that you’ll forever go down on the wrong side of history,” she trailed off with a grin, “Hey.”
“Is for horses.”
“Oh my god, shut up,” she said, playfully slapping my arm.
That slight tap brought my awareness to our level of proximity now. We’d been keeping our space, on opposite ends of the couch, but somehow during the course of our conversation we had man
aged to converge near the middle of the couch. The lull in conversation gave me an opportunity to openly ogle just how fine Juniper really was. She was casual as hell in a long dress that buttoned all down the front, but still effortlessly fly in an unassuming sort of way. My eyes roamed her face, committing every single part of it to memory—from the tiny, nearly imperceptible beauty mark near the left side of her hairline to the barely visible dimples in her cheeks that only appeared when she smiled or smirked to the lush set of lips that were covered in a deep berry colored lipstick prior to our meal and the wine that had accompanied that meal. Her lips now bore the stain of indulgence after a couple glasses of Tempranillo.
Her deep set, almond shaped eyes seemed to bore through me as our gazes caught and held for a couple beats before she cast them downward, biting her lower lip.
“You look like you want to kiss me,” Juniper said suddenly, “You do, don’t you?”
Initially I said nothing, momentarily taken aback by her forwardness. One thing I should have not been surprised by as she’d had no problem saying what was on her mind for the duration of our conversation all night. When they were handing out filters, Juniper must’ve been busy getting back in line for second helpings of fine because hers was nonexistent as far as I could tell. She was irreverent, but never crass or disrespectful.
“I do,” I replied after a couple beats had passed, “But I’m treading lightly. I mean, I did almost get pepper sprayed earlier after a misunderstanding. Didn’t wanna risk it a second time.”
“You shook?”
“I’m cautious. There’s a difference.”
“I don’t bite…unless that’s what you’re into.”
Juniper laughed at my raised brows and moved in a little closer, her dark brown orbs sparkling with mischief. She opened her mouth to say something else—undoubtedly something smart, but before she could expel the breath to speak, I cupped her chin, drawing her face closer, pressing a sweet, closed-mouthed kiss to her lips. I let our lips linger connected for a bit before slowly pulling back to look at Juniper once again. She was adorably pouty, eyes closed, lips still in full pucker as she let out a low groan.
