Sadeqa Johnson
12th Street Press • Hillside, NJ
Love in a
Carry-On
Bag
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
12th Street Press
1215 Liberty Avenue
3rd Floor
Hillside, NJ 07205
www.12thstreetpress.com
info@12thstreetpress.com
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in
any form without permission.
Book design by Mary Brown
Production Assistance by Marrathon Editorial Production Services,
www.marrathon.net
ISBN 978-0-9847289-1-6
Library of Congress Control Number 2011962619
Printed in the United States of America
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
9
T
hey had barely made it through Warren’s front door
before they began sipping, tasting, and gorging on each
other’s body like starved animals. Clothes were strewn
throughout the living room and Erica was splayed on the sofa,
basking in the afterglow. Warren sat opposite her in his boxers,
pushing the muter into his trumpet. A plushy sound emerged,
clear and full, and with each note Warren slipped further between the rhythm and cords, filling the air with a thick sweetness. The music soaked into Erica’s pores, as she stored him
up like she did every weekend; his scent, sound and touch. It
was the only way she made it through the week without him.
He lowered his horn.
“Nice,” she leaned up on her elbows.
Warren placed his trumpet in the hard case, then propped
it in the corner next to his vinyl collection. Everything in his
apartment had a place. “Did you eat?”
“I nibbled on the train,” she reached for the chenille throw.
Warren strolled into the kitchen and then returned with two
beers and a bowl of salt and vinegar potato chips, Erica’s favorite. After her fourth scoop, Warren offered, “I could order
you something. I think Chinese is still open?”
She shook her head. It was late, and she hated going to bed
on a full stomach. They found a West coast basketball game
and settled into their usual trash talk about the other’s team.
Chapter Two
Dream Crusher
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
10
Sadeqa Johnson
“Come on, take the Spurs with me? The Mavericks can’t
buy a bucket,” Erica teased.
“They’ll be back.”
“I doubt it. You have a knack for picking the worst teams,”
she made an L with her thumb and pointer finger.
“Yeah, it’s called loyalty. I don’t bounce around based on
who’s winning like you do.”
“Well, you should. Maybe you’d win an office pool or two.”
She popped another handful of mix into her mouth. Warren
leaned in closer to the television, and she reached for his chin.
“When was the last time you washed your hair?”
“This morning, why?”
“Here, sit,” she dropped a pillow on the floor in front
of her, grabbing her purse wedged in the corner of the sofa.
Warren eased onto the floor and rested his shoulders against
her thighs. She carefully parted his curls, then dipped her
fingers in jojoba oil and slid them through his scalp. Warren’s
hair moved like short balls of cotton, and as she worked she
found an easy rhythm.
“I have this first time author who is making the most ridiculous demands.”
“Really?” Warren’s head was pressed against her inner
thigh, and she could tell by his voice that he was being lulled.
“She’s crazy, telling me that she needs to stay at the RitzCarlton. With the budget that marketing gave me she’ll be
lucky if I can afford the Marriott.”
“Hmm.”
“I hope Claire pulls me in on Reverend Black’s campaign.
It’s high profile and will really give me the experience I need.”
“How’s Edie?”
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
11
Love in a Carry-On Bag
“Tacky and pregnant. I can’t wait for her to go out on maternity leave. She called me at home last night complaining
about a typo on the Chang schedule.”
Warren shifted his head so that she could grease the other
side.
“Meanwhile I’m thinking isn’t that what you have an assistant for.” Her fingers moved as if she was buttering a piece
of bread. When all of his hair was oiled she moved into a head
massage.
“What’s up for tomorrow?” Warren muttered. He usually
left the weekend plans to her, and Erica hesitated before telling him she had to stop in on a book signing.
“That’s two weekends in a row.” He turned to face her.
“I’ll be ten minutes.” She tilted his head back towards
the television and started raking the comb over the tiny hairs
above his neck. “I just need to show my face.”
“I’m not going.” He stretched out his legs and slipped from
between her knees.
“Please, honey, we’ll be in and out.”
He reached for his T-shirt and pulled it over his head.
“Why can’t someone else handle it? You do too much.”
“Because I’m here, and I’m trying to line things up so that
when Edie leaves I slide right into her director’s position.” She
stood next to him smoothing down the back of his shirt. “I did
a good job on your hair. Doesn’t that feel better?”
He nodded without distraction. “It just seems like it’s always something.”
“I know, Muffin.” She wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Soon you’ll be moving back to New York and this won’t even
be an issue.”
Warren pulled away from her and slipped on a pair of
sweats. “You want anything from the kitchen?”
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
12
Sadeqa Johnson
“Nope, I’m good.”
Erica took his question as a truce, picked up her beer and
then patted the seat next to her on the sofa.
Late the next morning,Erica slipped out to the corner shop for
food and was placing their continental brunch on the living
room coffee table when Warren walked in yawning. “ What’s
this?” His shawl-collared robe was open at the waist.
“Bagels, morning glory muffins and a few slices of melon
to get the day started,” she handed him his coffee. “Your
blackberry kept ringing this morning but I didn’t answer it.”
“Probably one of the geeks from the job. We have our
monthly metrics meeting on Monday.” Warren worked under
contract as a software engineer for mobile telephones.
“How much longer on your contract?”
Warren shrugged. “What time do you need to be at the
bookstore?”
“Two.”
“I’ll go with you. But ten minutes, tops.”
Erica hugged his neck.
When they arrived atthe Books a Million in DuPont Circle,
Warren held the door for her and reminded her once again
not to take all day.
“Promise,” she said and was off.
Brandon Sykes was a midlist mystery author that Erica’s
company was trying to build, and like many of her authors,
he was demanding and filled with self importance.
“I asked for navy Sharpies, not black,” he chided. “I never
write in black, it’s too easy for people to forge my signature,”
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
13
Love in a Carry-On Bag
Brandon tapped his wire-rimmed glasses. His eyes were the
same storm gray as his receding hairline, and matched his
wool vest.
“I’ll take care of it,” was her signature line, but when she
returned with the correct pens, he continued to complain.
“I can’t go to the podium and pour my heart out to a handful of people. It kills my creative flow. How was this advertised?” he demanded. Erica turned up her publicist smile and
told him to give it five more minutes. She asked the events
manager to make another in-store announcement.
Warren had strolled to where Erica could see him and
mouthed, do you need any help? She winked at him and
shook her head no. Turning her attention back to the stack
of books, she lifted the dust jacket and flapped the books to
the title page to make them faster for Brandon to sign. A few
stragglers arrived, and once the folding chairs were half-filled,
she pushed Brandon to begin.
He cleared his throat, took a sip of water, adjusted his
glasses and read. Erica had not intended to stay, but after the
first few minutes, she could tell that Brandon needed help
with his presentation. She took out her turquoise note pad
and jotted a few notes.
1. He’s speaking too slowly; the audience is falling
asleep.
2. Start the reading with chapter 1, instead of 13. I’ve
read the story and I was lost.
3. Don’t wear so much gray.
Brandon took a few questions, autographed books, and
posed for a picture with the staff, which was clearly the highlight of his day. It was the first time Erica witnessed a hint of
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
14
Sadeqa Johnson
a smile. Gathering Brandon’s things, she walked him out to
his hired town car and pressed a business card into his hand.
“Call me if you need anything,” she said, deciding to
wait until she got back to her office in New York to give him
her notes.
“Oh, I intend to,” Brandon called from the window as the
car pulled away from the curb.
Warren walked out of the store with a bag biting his bottom lip.
“What did you buy?”
“Nothing. You ready?”
“Sorry, the guy was terrible, I just couldn’t leave him
stranded.” She reached for his hand.
“It’s cool.” Pulling his skull cap down on his head, he
started towards the car.
The problem with long distance relationships was that
there was no time to fight. With only seventy-two hours together and a good portion of that reserved for sleeping, things
needed to be resolved and fast.
Warren put the key in the ignition. Erica reached over to
the dashboard and pressed the buttons to warm their seats.
After driving a few streets south, he parked on Wisconsin
Avenue down the block from one of their local hangouts.
The Big Hunt was an unpretentious dive bar that offered
twenty-seven varieties of beer on tap, flat screen televisions,
a pool table, lots of seating, and a jukebox with good soulful
music.
Warren held the door open and then led her over to empty
seats at the bar. “What’re you having?”
“The Raging Bitch I.P.A,” she said, and watched him hold
back a smile. It was what she drank the last time they were
there, when Erica dedicated a karaoke song to him. Even
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
15
Love in a Carry-On Bag
though she sucked at singing, her theatrics had the audience
cheering her on and Warren stood in an ovation.
Erica knew Warren remembered, even though he kept his
eyes on the game. He was a sucker for HD television and the
Wizards were playing the 76ers on the mega-sized flat screen.
But after dealing with Brandon, Erica needed music. She pulled
a five dollar bill from her purse, strolled over to the jukebox,
and scanned for a song that would get the party started. Warren
acted like everything was cool, but she knew her man: he wanted all of her and the book signing had taken longer than she
promised. Bob Marley was the perfect remedy, and seconds
later Erica shifted her hips to the sultry sound of “Is This Love.”
I wanna love you and treat you right;
I wanna love you every day and every night
This was their song. They had danced to it on their one
week anniversary at Café Creole in the West Village. Erica
slid her stool closer to him and laced her fingers through his,
humming with the music. Warren ordered a second round.
The point guard for the Wizards shot a three-pointer to end
the half. Warren pumped his fist and Erica moved in circles to
the music. The beer had made her happy and she was singing
the lyrics softly but out loud.
“Who’re you rooting for?” Warren turned.
“The Sixers of course.”
“Can’t you ever root for my team?”
“I am on your team, just not the Wizards’,” she leaned
in and dragged her glossy lips over his cheek until he turned
and kissed her back.
BoB marLey, theWizards’ victory, and three pints of Raging
Bitch beer had Erica laughing brashly on the elevator ride to
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
16
Sadeqa Johnson
Warren’s apartment. The hallway was long and narrow with
four beige doors on each side. Warren’s unit was on the right
and while he unlocked the front door, Erica’s cell phone started
ringing. Her mother’s name flashed across the screen and Erica
gritted her teeth. What could she possibly want now? Her mother knew better than to interrupt Erica’s weekend with Warren.
“Yes?” came out sounding annoyed.
“If you weren’t gonna send the money, you shoulda just
said so,” her mother hiccupped.
Warren closed the door and was fastening his fingers
around Erica’s waist, but she shook him off, mouthing that it
was her mother.
“I walked four blocks in the pourin’ down rain, with no
long johns, and you know my arthritis in this damp weather.”
“Ma, I deposited the money last night,” Erica padded down
the hall, closing the bathroom door behind her.
“Wasn’t there and it’s freezin’ in here.”
Erica opened the vanity and reached for her hair clip. She
wasn’t in the mood for her mother’s drama.
“Okay, let me call the bank.”
After ten minutes of holding, she was told that the money
had been withdrawn from an ATM down the block from her
mother’s home. A persistent tapping worked her temples as
she listened to her mother explain.
“Chile, I ain’t crazy. I went down to the store; put the card
in the machine, and nothing. Maybe the person behind me
stol’ it,” clucking her tongue.
“Ma, you been drinking?”
“Pepsi is all. Just tired from that long walk. God as my witness I never got that money. Can you send it again?”
God was going to strike her Pinocchio ass down. Erica wasn’t
a fool. An enabler, yes, but not a fool. The money had been spent
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
17
Love in a Carry-On Bag
on a liter of Bacardi, four Colt 45s and a hard pack of whichever
menthol lights happened to be on sale. It was the same story.
Erica shifted her weight against the pedestal sink listening
to her mother ramble. Warren’s white bathroom was spa-like,
with jasmine-scented candles and stark white towels stacked
in wooden shelves. Ordinarily, it was a room that relaxed
her, but talking to her mother had her wound-up and irritated. When she looked at herself in the mirror she wondered
why she even bothered. Her mother had celebrated her fiftieth birthday last year and Erica didn’t understand why she
couldn’t get it together. Every conversation with her was the
same, beginning with a need, ending with what she wanted,
and Erica was exhausted.
“It’s so cold in here, I’m wearin’ my coat. ’Member that red
one Aunt Mavis gave me with the big black buttons?”
She remembered.
“Well, Mr. Handy won’t fix the heater without the money.
Tues-dee’s first of the month and I told you I’m selling my
pills. I’ll pay you then. Promise.”
Promise? If Erica had a book for every time her mother
broke a promise, she could build a library.
“I don’t have it,” she responded flatly.
“Come on Slim, I’ll pay you back.”
“Ma, I’m with Warren.”
“He’ll understand. Will take you ten minutes then I’ll be
outta your hair.”
Erica tapped her foot against the floor.
“Come on Slim, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it. I tried
all of my friends but everyone I know is broke til Tues-dee.”
It took effort for Erica to control her tone. “I don’t know
why you think I’m an ATM. I had to spend an extra seventyfive dollars to get here because I missed my train.”
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
18
Sadeqa Johnson
“Warren don’t pay your way?”
“Ma, that’s not the point.”
“You right. Well just do it for me one more time. I’ll help
you with a little extra to get you through next week,” she hiccupped again. “Thanks baby.”
Warren sat in theleather recliner, working a soft cloth in and
out of the front valve of his trumpet. A piano soloed in the
background and a single tea light burned on the coffee table.
“Everything all right?” he looked up from his horn.
“Yeah,” Erica said, fumbling with the buttons on her
shearling coat. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where you going?”
“To the bank. Keep practicing, I’ll be right back.” She
closed the door behind her with more force then she intended.
Anger was percolating inside of her like a strong pot of coffee.
Her mother was a damn leech and once again Erica had found
herself trapped in her bloodsucking clutches.
Warren Was stiLL coddLinghis horn when she got back to the
apartment. Her mother had completely killed her buzz, and
since she had a headache she was debating between ibuprofen and water or a glass of chardonnay. Then she opened the
refrigerator and saw the frosty bottle. The chardonnay won.
“What do you want to eat?” she called out.
“I know you love Tex-Mex, so I just ordered. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” she mumbled, uncorking the wine. Everything
inside of her was tense and after a few sips she was still restless and decided to do a word search puzzle, a habit carried
over from adolescence that she found soothed her nerves.
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
19
Love in a Carry-On Bag
She reached for the top left kitchen drawer where she stored
her book, but it would not open. She gave it a yank but the
drawer only slid an inch forward, which surprised her because
nothing was out of order in Warren’s apartment.
He was Mr. Fix-it and organized almost to a compulsion.
Vintage records were coordinated alphabetically, toiletries
stowed in labeled baskets, shoes stuffed with shoe trees and
stored in the original boxes, and take-out menus arranged by
the specialty of cuisine. With the flat of her palm she reached
inside and after a brief tug-of-war pried the culprit loose. It
was a thick envelope that bore Warren’s company seal and
Erica knew what it was without opening it.
Warren was a software engineer by day and a jazz musician
by night. They had only been dating a month when his father
scored him the very lucrative position in D.C. When he left New
York, he promised that it would only be temporary. But when
the first six month contract ended, another one popped up.
Just then, Warren entered the kitchen whistling a tune.
“Pour me some water, babe?”
The package had gained weight in Erica’s hand and she
didn’t move. When Warren’s eyes adjusted to the situation,
he rushed to explain.
“I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” she stood.
“Brett just offered it to me on Thursday. I haven’t really
worked it out yet.”
Erica opened the envelope and read over the conditions
for the new contract. “Another whole year?” she tossed the
papers on the counter.
“They want me to head the project, and the money is sick.”
Erica had never cared about money and she reminded
him of that. It was him that she wanted.
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
20
Sadeqa Johnson
“But then you wouldn’t have to work so hard. You know,
with your mother and sister. Let me do this for us.”
“Don’t throw them in my face,” she chided. “It’s already
been a year, now you want to make it two?”
“Move down here. You could start your own PR firm,” he said.
“Why do you keep saying that? You know what I’m trying to do.”
“Because it’s logical.”
The food arrived just in time.
Warren made small talk with the delivery guy and then
returned to the kitchen with two bags in hand. “You want to
eat in the kitchen or the living room?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten anything all day. Let’s enjoy our meal
and talk it over.”
“What is there to talk about? When you left New York a
year ago, you said it wouldn’t come to this. Now I’m wondering how committed you are to this relationship.”
“Like you can talk? You can’t even make it a whole weekend without working. Selfish.”
“I’m selfish?” Erica tightened the clip in her hair. “I’m just
reminding you of what you said.”
“Yeah, well things change.”
“Oh, now you have the nerve to be pissed?”
Warren laid the tin container on the counter and removed
the plastic lid, ignoring her.
Erica stepped in front, blocking his path. “If you aren’t committed to being together then why are we even doing this?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t say that.”
“Actions speak louder than words,” Erica shouted.
“You are being ridiculous.”
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
21
Love in a Carry-On Bag
“Whatever.” Erica couldn’t think straight, so she walked
off into his bedroom, closing the door behind her. On top of
the headache, now her stomach was twisting in knots.
With all of the men walking the streets of New York, why
did she have to fall in love with a man who lived and worked
four hundred miles away? And loving Warren was an understatement; Erica revered him. There were times when they
were together that she couldn’t stop touching him—her hand
on his forearm, a toe rubbing his calf, or a finger resting in
his belt loop. So many nights at home alone she wondered
what it would be like to just dissolve into him, breathing his
air, and feeling his heart tick.
And there was no way possible that she could move. Erica
had worked hard for B&B publishing for five years, starting as
a publicity assistant, then becoming a full fledged publicist,
publicity manager and now associate director of publicity. Her
director was preparing for maternity leave, and Erica wanted
to be named her successor. The promotion would make her
one of the youngest ranked African-American women in the
company. Publishers Weekly, the industry trade magazine,
would do a story on her, maybe even Essence. She couldn’t
stop now and Warren knew that.
The bedside clock marked each second until Erica grew
tired of listening to it. She opened the bedroom door and headed back to the living room. Warren was chewing on a bite of
his steak taco. It amazed Erica how his appetite never failed
him, not even in the midst of a major fight. She sat on the sofa
with him, leaving lots of space between them, focusing on the
potted plant in the corner next to the double paned window.
Warren had a green thumb and his houseplants were
thriving. There was a devil’s ivy with leaves hanging from the
windowsill, two types of ferns full and luscious, and a pretty
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
22
Sadeqa Johnson
African violet with big velvety leaves and lavender flowering.
His whole apartment reminded her of something off of HGTV.
It contained all the usual bachelor pad elements—the mega
flat screen television, booming sound system and lazy boy
recliner—but everything was high end with uncluttered lines.
When she looked down at the table, Warren had her quesadilla unwrapped and had scooped a bit of sour cream on top.
“Thanks,” she said, cutting into the tortilla and taking a
bite. They ate with their eyes glued on the television. Warren
poured her a glass of wine and popped open a beer for himself.
When she finished the quesadilla, he pushed the remote
towards her. “Want to watch a movie?”
“Sure.”
Erica carried the empty containers into the kitchen. The
contract was still on the counter. Disappointment washed over
her, but before it felt consuming, Warren was there wrapping
his arms around her and pulling.
“There’s nothing in the world I want more than you. We’ll
get through this.”
“But I’m tired of just getting through it,” she said and her
resistance made him hold her tighter, pressing his pelvis and
chest against her until she retreated.
Warren unclipped her hair and ran his fingers over the
curve of her neck, “You’re my first round draft pick. Just trust
me to run the team.”
He was such a man. After spending most of her life without her father, and having an incompetent mother, Warren
was just the rock that she needed, and that knowledge was
sometimes as scary to deal with as the distance.
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
12th Street Press • Hillside, NJ
Love in a
Carry-On
Bag
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
12th Street Press
1215 Liberty Avenue
3rd Floor
Hillside, NJ 07205
www.12thstreetpress.com
info@12thstreetpress.com
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in
any form without permission.
Book design by Mary Brown
Production Assistance by Marrathon Editorial Production Services,
www.marrathon.net
ISBN 978-0-9847289-1-6
Library of Congress Control Number 2011962619
Printed in the United States of America
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
9
T
hey had barely made it through Warren’s front door
before they began sipping, tasting, and gorging on each
other’s body like starved animals. Clothes were strewn
throughout the living room and Erica was splayed on the sofa,
basking in the afterglow. Warren sat opposite her in his boxers,
pushing the muter into his trumpet. A plushy sound emerged,
clear and full, and with each note Warren slipped further between the rhythm and cords, filling the air with a thick sweetness. The music soaked into Erica’s pores, as she stored him
up like she did every weekend; his scent, sound and touch. It
was the only way she made it through the week without him.
He lowered his horn.
“Nice,” she leaned up on her elbows.
Warren placed his trumpet in the hard case, then propped
it in the corner next to his vinyl collection. Everything in his
apartment had a place. “Did you eat?”
“I nibbled on the train,” she reached for the chenille throw.
Warren strolled into the kitchen and then returned with two
beers and a bowl of salt and vinegar potato chips, Erica’s favorite. After her fourth scoop, Warren offered, “I could order
you something. I think Chinese is still open?”
She shook her head. It was late, and she hated going to bed
on a full stomach. They found a West coast basketball game
and settled into their usual trash talk about the other’s team.
Chapter Two
Dream Crusher
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
10
Sadeqa Johnson
“Come on, take the Spurs with me? The Mavericks can’t
buy a bucket,” Erica teased.
“They’ll be back.”
“I doubt it. You have a knack for picking the worst teams,”
she made an L with her thumb and pointer finger.
“Yeah, it’s called loyalty. I don’t bounce around based on
who’s winning like you do.”
“Well, you should. Maybe you’d win an office pool or two.”
She popped another handful of mix into her mouth. Warren
leaned in closer to the television, and she reached for his chin.
“When was the last time you washed your hair?”
“This morning, why?”
“Here, sit,” she dropped a pillow on the floor in front
of her, grabbing her purse wedged in the corner of the sofa.
Warren eased onto the floor and rested his shoulders against
her thighs. She carefully parted his curls, then dipped her
fingers in jojoba oil and slid them through his scalp. Warren’s
hair moved like short balls of cotton, and as she worked she
found an easy rhythm.
“I have this first time author who is making the most ridiculous demands.”
“Really?” Warren’s head was pressed against her inner
thigh, and she could tell by his voice that he was being lulled.
“She’s crazy, telling me that she needs to stay at the RitzCarlton. With the budget that marketing gave me she’ll be
lucky if I can afford the Marriott.”
“Hmm.”
“I hope Claire pulls me in on Reverend Black’s campaign.
It’s high profile and will really give me the experience I need.”
“How’s Edie?”
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
11
Love in a Carry-On Bag
“Tacky and pregnant. I can’t wait for her to go out on maternity leave. She called me at home last night complaining
about a typo on the Chang schedule.”
Warren shifted his head so that she could grease the other
side.
“Meanwhile I’m thinking isn’t that what you have an assistant for.” Her fingers moved as if she was buttering a piece
of bread. When all of his hair was oiled she moved into a head
massage.
“What’s up for tomorrow?” Warren muttered. He usually
left the weekend plans to her, and Erica hesitated before telling him she had to stop in on a book signing.
“That’s two weekends in a row.” He turned to face her.
“I’ll be ten minutes.” She tilted his head back towards
the television and started raking the comb over the tiny hairs
above his neck. “I just need to show my face.”
“I’m not going.” He stretched out his legs and slipped from
between her knees.
“Please, honey, we’ll be in and out.”
He reached for his T-shirt and pulled it over his head.
“Why can’t someone else handle it? You do too much.”
“Because I’m here, and I’m trying to line things up so that
when Edie leaves I slide right into her director’s position.” She
stood next to him smoothing down the back of his shirt. “I did
a good job on your hair. Doesn’t that feel better?”
He nodded without distraction. “It just seems like it’s always something.”
“I know, Muffin.” She wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Soon you’ll be moving back to New York and this won’t even
be an issue.”
Warren pulled away from her and slipped on a pair of
sweats. “You want anything from the kitchen?”
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Sadeqa Johnson
“Nope, I’m good.”
Erica took his question as a truce, picked up her beer and
then patted the seat next to her on the sofa.
Late the next morning,Erica slipped out to the corner shop for
food and was placing their continental brunch on the living
room coffee table when Warren walked in yawning. “ What’s
this?” His shawl-collared robe was open at the waist.
“Bagels, morning glory muffins and a few slices of melon
to get the day started,” she handed him his coffee. “Your
blackberry kept ringing this morning but I didn’t answer it.”
“Probably one of the geeks from the job. We have our
monthly metrics meeting on Monday.” Warren worked under
contract as a software engineer for mobile telephones.
“How much longer on your contract?”
Warren shrugged. “What time do you need to be at the
bookstore?”
“Two.”
“I’ll go with you. But ten minutes, tops.”
Erica hugged his neck.
When they arrived atthe Books a Million in DuPont Circle,
Warren held the door for her and reminded her once again
not to take all day.
“Promise,” she said and was off.
Brandon Sykes was a midlist mystery author that Erica’s
company was trying to build, and like many of her authors,
he was demanding and filled with self importance.
“I asked for navy Sharpies, not black,” he chided. “I never
write in black, it’s too easy for people to forge my signature,”
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Love in a Carry-On Bag
Brandon tapped his wire-rimmed glasses. His eyes were the
same storm gray as his receding hairline, and matched his
wool vest.
“I’ll take care of it,” was her signature line, but when she
returned with the correct pens, he continued to complain.
“I can’t go to the podium and pour my heart out to a handful of people. It kills my creative flow. How was this advertised?” he demanded. Erica turned up her publicist smile and
told him to give it five more minutes. She asked the events
manager to make another in-store announcement.
Warren had strolled to where Erica could see him and
mouthed, do you need any help? She winked at him and
shook her head no. Turning her attention back to the stack
of books, she lifted the dust jacket and flapped the books to
the title page to make them faster for Brandon to sign. A few
stragglers arrived, and once the folding chairs were half-filled,
she pushed Brandon to begin.
He cleared his throat, took a sip of water, adjusted his
glasses and read. Erica had not intended to stay, but after the
first few minutes, she could tell that Brandon needed help
with his presentation. She took out her turquoise note pad
and jotted a few notes.
1. He’s speaking too slowly; the audience is falling
asleep.
2. Start the reading with chapter 1, instead of 13. I’ve
read the story and I was lost.
3. Don’t wear so much gray.
Brandon took a few questions, autographed books, and
posed for a picture with the staff, which was clearly the highlight of his day. It was the first time Erica witnessed a hint of
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Sadeqa Johnson
a smile. Gathering Brandon’s things, she walked him out to
his hired town car and pressed a business card into his hand.
“Call me if you need anything,” she said, deciding to
wait until she got back to her office in New York to give him
her notes.
“Oh, I intend to,” Brandon called from the window as the
car pulled away from the curb.
Warren walked out of the store with a bag biting his bottom lip.
“What did you buy?”
“Nothing. You ready?”
“Sorry, the guy was terrible, I just couldn’t leave him
stranded.” She reached for his hand.
“It’s cool.” Pulling his skull cap down on his head, he
started towards the car.
The problem with long distance relationships was that
there was no time to fight. With only seventy-two hours together and a good portion of that reserved for sleeping, things
needed to be resolved and fast.
Warren put the key in the ignition. Erica reached over to
the dashboard and pressed the buttons to warm their seats.
After driving a few streets south, he parked on Wisconsin
Avenue down the block from one of their local hangouts.
The Big Hunt was an unpretentious dive bar that offered
twenty-seven varieties of beer on tap, flat screen televisions,
a pool table, lots of seating, and a jukebox with good soulful
music.
Warren held the door open and then led her over to empty
seats at the bar. “What’re you having?”
“The Raging Bitch I.P.A,” she said, and watched him hold
back a smile. It was what she drank the last time they were
there, when Erica dedicated a karaoke song to him. Even
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Love in a Carry-On Bag
though she sucked at singing, her theatrics had the audience
cheering her on and Warren stood in an ovation.
Erica knew Warren remembered, even though he kept his
eyes on the game. He was a sucker for HD television and the
Wizards were playing the 76ers on the mega-sized flat screen.
But after dealing with Brandon, Erica needed music. She pulled
a five dollar bill from her purse, strolled over to the jukebox,
and scanned for a song that would get the party started. Warren
acted like everything was cool, but she knew her man: he wanted all of her and the book signing had taken longer than she
promised. Bob Marley was the perfect remedy, and seconds
later Erica shifted her hips to the sultry sound of “Is This Love.”
I wanna love you and treat you right;
I wanna love you every day and every night
This was their song. They had danced to it on their one
week anniversary at Café Creole in the West Village. Erica
slid her stool closer to him and laced her fingers through his,
humming with the music. Warren ordered a second round.
The point guard for the Wizards shot a three-pointer to end
the half. Warren pumped his fist and Erica moved in circles to
the music. The beer had made her happy and she was singing
the lyrics softly but out loud.
“Who’re you rooting for?” Warren turned.
“The Sixers of course.”
“Can’t you ever root for my team?”
“I am on your team, just not the Wizards’,” she leaned
in and dragged her glossy lips over his cheek until he turned
and kissed her back.
BoB marLey, theWizards’ victory, and three pints of Raging
Bitch beer had Erica laughing brashly on the elevator ride to
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Sadeqa Johnson
Warren’s apartment. The hallway was long and narrow with
four beige doors on each side. Warren’s unit was on the right
and while he unlocked the front door, Erica’s cell phone started
ringing. Her mother’s name flashed across the screen and Erica
gritted her teeth. What could she possibly want now? Her mother knew better than to interrupt Erica’s weekend with Warren.
“Yes?” came out sounding annoyed.
“If you weren’t gonna send the money, you shoulda just
said so,” her mother hiccupped.
Warren closed the door and was fastening his fingers
around Erica’s waist, but she shook him off, mouthing that it
was her mother.
“I walked four blocks in the pourin’ down rain, with no
long johns, and you know my arthritis in this damp weather.”
“Ma, I deposited the money last night,” Erica padded down
the hall, closing the bathroom door behind her.
“Wasn’t there and it’s freezin’ in here.”
Erica opened the vanity and reached for her hair clip. She
wasn’t in the mood for her mother’s drama.
“Okay, let me call the bank.”
After ten minutes of holding, she was told that the money
had been withdrawn from an ATM down the block from her
mother’s home. A persistent tapping worked her temples as
she listened to her mother explain.
“Chile, I ain’t crazy. I went down to the store; put the card
in the machine, and nothing. Maybe the person behind me
stol’ it,” clucking her tongue.
“Ma, you been drinking?”
“Pepsi is all. Just tired from that long walk. God as my witness I never got that money. Can you send it again?”
God was going to strike her Pinocchio ass down. Erica wasn’t
a fool. An enabler, yes, but not a fool. The money had been spent
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Love in a Carry-On Bag
on a liter of Bacardi, four Colt 45s and a hard pack of whichever
menthol lights happened to be on sale. It was the same story.
Erica shifted her weight against the pedestal sink listening
to her mother ramble. Warren’s white bathroom was spa-like,
with jasmine-scented candles and stark white towels stacked
in wooden shelves. Ordinarily, it was a room that relaxed
her, but talking to her mother had her wound-up and irritated. When she looked at herself in the mirror she wondered
why she even bothered. Her mother had celebrated her fiftieth birthday last year and Erica didn’t understand why she
couldn’t get it together. Every conversation with her was the
same, beginning with a need, ending with what she wanted,
and Erica was exhausted.
“It’s so cold in here, I’m wearin’ my coat. ’Member that red
one Aunt Mavis gave me with the big black buttons?”
She remembered.
“Well, Mr. Handy won’t fix the heater without the money.
Tues-dee’s first of the month and I told you I’m selling my
pills. I’ll pay you then. Promise.”
Promise? If Erica had a book for every time her mother
broke a promise, she could build a library.
“I don’t have it,” she responded flatly.
“Come on Slim, I’ll pay you back.”
“Ma, I’m with Warren.”
“He’ll understand. Will take you ten minutes then I’ll be
outta your hair.”
Erica tapped her foot against the floor.
“Come on Slim, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it. I tried
all of my friends but everyone I know is broke til Tues-dee.”
It took effort for Erica to control her tone. “I don’t know
why you think I’m an ATM. I had to spend an extra seventyfive dollars to get here because I missed my train.”
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Sadeqa Johnson
“Warren don’t pay your way?”
“Ma, that’s not the point.”
“You right. Well just do it for me one more time. I’ll help
you with a little extra to get you through next week,” she hiccupped again. “Thanks baby.”
Warren sat in theleather recliner, working a soft cloth in and
out of the front valve of his trumpet. A piano soloed in the
background and a single tea light burned on the coffee table.
“Everything all right?” he looked up from his horn.
“Yeah,” Erica said, fumbling with the buttons on her
shearling coat. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where you going?”
“To the bank. Keep practicing, I’ll be right back.” She
closed the door behind her with more force then she intended.
Anger was percolating inside of her like a strong pot of coffee.
Her mother was a damn leech and once again Erica had found
herself trapped in her bloodsucking clutches.
Warren Was stiLL coddLinghis horn when she got back to the
apartment. Her mother had completely killed her buzz, and
since she had a headache she was debating between ibuprofen and water or a glass of chardonnay. Then she opened the
refrigerator and saw the frosty bottle. The chardonnay won.
“What do you want to eat?” she called out.
“I know you love Tex-Mex, so I just ordered. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” she mumbled, uncorking the wine. Everything
inside of her was tense and after a few sips she was still restless and decided to do a word search puzzle, a habit carried
over from adolescence that she found soothed her nerves.
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Love in a Carry-On Bag
She reached for the top left kitchen drawer where she stored
her book, but it would not open. She gave it a yank but the
drawer only slid an inch forward, which surprised her because
nothing was out of order in Warren’s apartment.
He was Mr. Fix-it and organized almost to a compulsion.
Vintage records were coordinated alphabetically, toiletries
stowed in labeled baskets, shoes stuffed with shoe trees and
stored in the original boxes, and take-out menus arranged by
the specialty of cuisine. With the flat of her palm she reached
inside and after a brief tug-of-war pried the culprit loose. It
was a thick envelope that bore Warren’s company seal and
Erica knew what it was without opening it.
Warren was a software engineer by day and a jazz musician
by night. They had only been dating a month when his father
scored him the very lucrative position in D.C. When he left New
York, he promised that it would only be temporary. But when
the first six month contract ended, another one popped up.
Just then, Warren entered the kitchen whistling a tune.
“Pour me some water, babe?”
The package had gained weight in Erica’s hand and she
didn’t move. When Warren’s eyes adjusted to the situation,
he rushed to explain.
“I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” she stood.
“Brett just offered it to me on Thursday. I haven’t really
worked it out yet.”
Erica opened the envelope and read over the conditions
for the new contract. “Another whole year?” she tossed the
papers on the counter.
“They want me to head the project, and the money is sick.”
Erica had never cared about money and she reminded
him of that. It was him that she wanted.
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Sadeqa Johnson
“But then you wouldn’t have to work so hard. You know,
with your mother and sister. Let me do this for us.”
“Don’t throw them in my face,” she chided. “It’s already
been a year, now you want to make it two?”
“Move down here. You could start your own PR firm,” he said.
“Why do you keep saying that? You know what I’m trying to do.”
“Because it’s logical.”
The food arrived just in time.
Warren made small talk with the delivery guy and then
returned to the kitchen with two bags in hand. “You want to
eat in the kitchen or the living room?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten anything all day. Let’s enjoy our meal
and talk it over.”
“What is there to talk about? When you left New York a
year ago, you said it wouldn’t come to this. Now I’m wondering how committed you are to this relationship.”
“Like you can talk? You can’t even make it a whole weekend without working. Selfish.”
“I’m selfish?” Erica tightened the clip in her hair. “I’m just
reminding you of what you said.”
“Yeah, well things change.”
“Oh, now you have the nerve to be pissed?”
Warren laid the tin container on the counter and removed
the plastic lid, ignoring her.
Erica stepped in front, blocking his path. “If you aren’t committed to being together then why are we even doing this?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t say that.”
“Actions speak louder than words,” Erica shouted.
“You are being ridiculous.”
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Love in a Carry-On Bag
“Whatever.” Erica couldn’t think straight, so she walked
off into his bedroom, closing the door behind her. On top of
the headache, now her stomach was twisting in knots.
With all of the men walking the streets of New York, why
did she have to fall in love with a man who lived and worked
four hundred miles away? And loving Warren was an understatement; Erica revered him. There were times when they
were together that she couldn’t stop touching him—her hand
on his forearm, a toe rubbing his calf, or a finger resting in
his belt loop. So many nights at home alone she wondered
what it would be like to just dissolve into him, breathing his
air, and feeling his heart tick.
And there was no way possible that she could move. Erica
had worked hard for B&B publishing for five years, starting as
a publicity assistant, then becoming a full fledged publicist,
publicity manager and now associate director of publicity. Her
director was preparing for maternity leave, and Erica wanted
to be named her successor. The promotion would make her
one of the youngest ranked African-American women in the
company. Publishers Weekly, the industry trade magazine,
would do a story on her, maybe even Essence. She couldn’t
stop now and Warren knew that.
The bedside clock marked each second until Erica grew
tired of listening to it. She opened the bedroom door and headed back to the living room. Warren was chewing on a bite of
his steak taco. It amazed Erica how his appetite never failed
him, not even in the midst of a major fight. She sat on the sofa
with him, leaving lots of space between them, focusing on the
potted plant in the corner next to the double paned window.
Warren had a green thumb and his houseplants were
thriving. There was a devil’s ivy with leaves hanging from the
windowsill, two types of ferns full and luscious, and a pretty
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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Sadeqa Johnson
African violet with big velvety leaves and lavender flowering.
His whole apartment reminded her of something off of HGTV.
It contained all the usual bachelor pad elements—the mega
flat screen television, booming sound system and lazy boy
recliner—but everything was high end with uncluttered lines.
When she looked down at the table, Warren had her quesadilla unwrapped and had scooped a bit of sour cream on top.
“Thanks,” she said, cutting into the tortilla and taking a
bite. They ate with their eyes glued on the television. Warren
poured her a glass of wine and popped open a beer for himself.
When she finished the quesadilla, he pushed the remote
towards her. “Want to watch a movie?”
“Sure.”
Erica carried the empty containers into the kitchen. The
contract was still on the counter. Disappointment washed over
her, but before it felt consuming, Warren was there wrapping
his arms around her and pulling.
“There’s nothing in the world I want more than you. We’ll
get through this.”
“But I’m tired of just getting through it,” she said and her
resistance made him hold her tighter, pressing his pelvis and
chest against her until she retreated.
Warren unclipped her hair and ran his fingers over the
curve of her neck, “You’re my first round draft pick. Just trust
me to run the team.”
He was such a man. After spending most of her life without her father, and having an incompetent mother, Warren
was just the rock that she needed, and that knowledge was
sometimes as scary to deal with as the distance.
This is an excerpt. Copyright © 2011 Sadeqa Johnson. Published by 12th Street Press.
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