To those who did not know her, Parris was an elusive beauty with the voice of Ella, Mahalia, Sarah and Whitney all rolled into one. But to Nikita, Parris was just her girlfriend, the one who told her like it was, borrowed her clothes, was light enough to be accepted by her parents and brazen enough not to care. Fame hadn’t changed her one bit.
Nikita stood and they hugged, long and hard. “It’s good to see you, girl,” Nikita said into Parris’s tumble of midnight hair.
“You, too. It’s been too long, sis.”
They both stepped back assessing each other with knowing up-and-down looks.
“That’s my dress. I’ve been missing it since the last time you rolled into town,” Nikita spouted, one hand on her hip and the other pointing at the red sleeveless linen dress.
“Just wore it so you wouldn’t forget what it looks like,” Parris taunted in a quick comeback. “You’ve finally grown into those dreads. Lookin’ good, too.”
“Yeah, they’d probably look real good with that dress.”
“We’ll never know, now will we?”
“We’d better!”
They bug-eyed each other and broke into sidesplitting laughter, collapsing into their seats.
“Whew. You still have that fast mouth, Parris.”
“You just bring out the best in me. What can I tell you? Did you order?” She picked up the menu.
“No. I was waiting for you. As usual.”
“Don’t want to go changing on you. You’d be disappointed.”
“I doubt it.”
“It was that bad, huh?” Parris asked later over a mouthful of blackened salmon.
Nikita nodded her head slowly. “Worse. It wasn’t so much the scene. It was the things that were said. I’ve never seen my father that furious.”
“You’ve never had the nerve to go against him before. He was probably as stunned as you were.”
“Yeah, well the shock should be over. That was almost four months ago. Even though I started working he still barely speaks. I can’t wait to get out of there. I feel like I’m sitting on a time bomb.”
“You’re always welcome to stay with me and Nick. We’re hardly ever there, anyway.”
“Thanks, but no. I need my own space.”
“I can understand that. Just remember the offer is always open.” She shoved more food in her mouth. “Tell me about the job. I always knew you had a flair for the written word. I never could see you in the doctor getup. And your bedside manner is lousy.”
Nikita laughed. “Yeah, how about that? But the job is great. My boss, Ms. Ingram, is a real character. A throwback to the sixties, and she must be about seventy-five. But she’s determined to get her magazine out to the masses. I’m learning the business from the bottom up. Distribution, printing, layout, sales. She’s even letting me edit some stories that have come in.”
“Sounds great. How much does it pay?”
“Not enough, unfortunately. I get subsidized with hands-on training.”
Parris eyed her speculatively. She leaned across the table. “Tell me. Is this really what you want, or are you just doing this to be a pain in the ass to your folks? I was only kidding about the bedside-manner thing. You’d be great at whatever you did. But you know how you have your moments—breaking up with Grant, then not going away to school, having musicians as friends…”
“The truth?”
Parris nodded.
“For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to write. You know that. When I was little I saw myself standing in front of this massive desk with a huge floor-to-ceiling window behind me. And I knew I was a publisher, and that was my office. But you also know I was never encouraged in that direction. I was always pushed to fill my father’s unfillable shoes.” She paused, then looked at Parris. “I’m taking some writing courses at New York University, and I’m learning the business. I can feel it Parris, this is for me.”
“Then go for it, hon. Give it everything you’ve given to all the other challenges in your life. This time put your heart in it.”
Nikita keyed in the last page of a women’s health article on the need for mammograms just as Ms. Ingram bustled through the door.
“Niki, you’re still here? I thought you’d be long gone by now,” she said, hanging her sweater on the brass hook behind the door. The scent of lavender wafted around her, cooling the room.
“I’m almost finished. I have a class tonight, anyway. Six forty-five, remember?”
“Oh, yes. How is it going, by the way?” She crossed the small room, her footsteps muffled by the Aubusson area rug. She went to her cluttered desk, which was scarred by years of use, and sifted through the stack of mail.
“So far, so good. I love my instructor.”
“Glad to hear it.” She wagged a brown finger at Nikita. “We’ll make a journalist out of you yet.”
Nikita pushed back from the desk and stretched her arms above her head. “Ms. Lillian?”
“Hmmm.”
“I was thinking—what about adding an entertainment section to the magazine? I mean, I know the magazine is issue-and-health oriented, but I can’t imagine that your subscribers wouldn’t like to read about places in the city to go, interviews with entertainers who are in town.”
Lillian stopped her perusing of the mail and settled her hazy brown gaze on Nikita’s face. “Sounds like a wonderful idea, but who’s going to write and edit that section?”
“Well…I’d like to, if you’d be willing to give me a try. As a matter of fact, Parris McKay is my closest friend. I could easily get an interview with her, and pictures.”
“Parris McKay is a friend of yours?”
Nikita beamed. “She sure is. And she wears my clothes every chance she gets.”
Lillian laughed her weatherbeaten laugh. “Niki, if you can get an interview with Parris McKay, I’ll let you run the entertainment section anyway you want.”
Nikita popped up from her seat, darted around the desk, and closed Lillian’s lean frame in a bear hug. “Thank you. Thank you. It’s going to be great. You’ll see.”
The weather had been unusually warm for late June. The temperature had spiraled into the nineties and remained there for more than a week. For the first time since she’d returned home she was grateful for the extravagance that her parents poured into the house. The entire structure was equipped with central heating and air. All of the major rooms had their individual thermostats. She had hers on frosty.
“You must have Parris out before she goes on tour again,” Cynthia said, stepping into Nikita’s dressing room.
Nikita sat in front of the oval mirror circled by professional makeup lights and looked at her mother’s reflection. The entire top of the white-and-gold-lacquered tabletop was covered with a huge assortment of nail polishes, lipsticks, beautifying creams and ointments. She sprayed her locks with oil sheen and held back a chuckle when she saw her mother demurely turn up her nose.
“I’ll ask her. But you know how busy she is.” In actuality she didn’t want to be subjected to her parents’ monologues about how wonderful Parris’s life was, what a wonderful husband she had,