"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.”