“Alright, bro. What do you need?”
“Clothes.”
“Yeah, got that, fidiot. What size do you need?”
“How the hell should I know?” Nick muttered. “Um, hang on a sec.” Holding the phone against his chest, he poked his head into the living room where Isobeille was now making complicated geometrical patterns in the air with the remote. She looked like she was casting a spell. “Do you have any idea what size you are?”
She looked at him for a moment, then used her hands to indicate rectangular dimensions of her approximate height and width.
“No, of course you don’t,” Nick mumbled under his breath.
“Holy shit. She’s there? At your place?” Carlos yelled into the phone. “Are you insane?”
Nick ignored Carlos’ well-meant but totally irrelevant remarks and cut into his tirade. “Hang on, dude. I have to put the phone down for a minute.”
“Come here,” he commanded Isobeille. Without hesitation, without question, she immediately dropped the remote and came to stand in front of him (a fact that amazed him). The top of her head just barely reached his shoulders, so he figured that put her around five-two or so. He tugged her toward the bathroom, had her step on the scale, leaning over her shoulder to see the digital display. Then he used his forty-inch leather belt to get approximate measurements. Throughout the whole ordeal, she remained silent and cooperative, though she did watch everything he did with great interest.
“Carlos,” Nick said, picking up the phone and the remote at the same time. He gave the remote back to Isobeille and pointed at the power button. She tapped it with her finger, her face lighting up with the radiance of the sun when the television came to life.
“About five-two, one-ten. Thirty-eight, twenty-three, thirty-eight.” Nick turned away and spoke into the phone. He was met with silence. “Carlos? You still there, man?”
“Are you kidding me?” his partner asked in disbelief.
“No. Just do this for me, please? There’s no one else I can ask.”
Carlos must have heard the desperation in his voice. “Yeah, man, I got your back. Give me a couple of hours.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“Shit yeah, you do, and I’m going to - ” Nick disconnected the call without hearing the rest of what Carlos was going to do and walked back into the living room to Isobeille.
“If you think that’s cool,” he said, pointing to the remote, “wait till I show you Xbox...”
“You’re not going to invite me in?” Carlos drawled as Nick took the gym bag from him and attempted to shut the door. His size fourteen, steel-toed work boot prevented it from closing entirely.
“No.”
Carlos grinned, his perfect white teeth glistening. “Thirty-eight, twenty-three, thirty-eight? Really? You know I’m not leaving till I meet her.”
“I really hate you sometimes.”
“You love me like a brother.”
“I could just shoot you. Hide the body. Nobody’d have to know.”
“But you won’t, ‘cause then there won’t be anyone to cover your ugly ass when you mess up.”
In general, Nick was a pretty stubborn guy, but he knew his partner was as well. There was little chance this was going to end well, and despite the verbal abuse, Carlos was like a brother to Nick. A brother and a best friend, even if he was an annoying pain in the ass sometimes. There was no one he trusted more.
Nick gave a martyred sigh and stepped back enough to allow the other man to enter.
“Nick!” Isobeille cried excitedly from the other room, waving the controller when she saw him thru the archway. “I have vanquished the evil one!”
He smiled indulgently at her like a star student. “Good job!”
She gave him a huge smile and a hand gesture as Carlos leaned in to get a better look. “Why is she flipping you off?”
Nick chuckled. “She keeps getting that confused with a ‘thumbs-up’.”
At the sight of Carlos, Isobeille dropped the controller, and stood, taking a step back. The smile that had filled the room with sunshine only moments earlier was now noticeably absent.
“It’s okay, Isobeille,” Nick said soothingly. “Carlos is my friend. He brought some clothes for you.”
Nick held the bag out to her, but she didn’t move. He looked over to find Carlos staring at her intently and thumped him soundly on the back of the head. “Knock it off, man. You’re scaring her.”
Carlos shook himself free. “Sorry.”
Nick gave Isobeille the bag and suggested she change. Only once she was safely behind his bedroom door did Nick turn to Carlos and punch him hard in the arm. “What was that all about?”
“She’s...” Carlos seemed at a loss for words.
“Yeah, I know, right? But she’s - ”
“Dude. She’s the chick from the video.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You better fire up your Galaxy, man.”
Several minutes later, Nick was staring openmouthed as images of Isobeille getting tackled filled the screen of his smartphone.
“I should have known that was you. Who else would be stupid enough to jump in front of a frigging bus? And look at that ugly-ass hair. You really need a haircut, dude.”
“Where did this come from?”
Carlos shrugged. “Everyone’s got a smartphone now, don’t they? My guess is some tourist was just jacking around, got lucky.”
Nick replayed the video. It began with a simple, panning view of the busy streets, crowds, and lighted shops. Then there was a flash and a scream, and the view swung around. The clip showed Isobeille in front of the bus, looking terrified as she put up her hands to shield her face. Then a man came out of nowhere and with a running tackle got her out of the way just before both of them were flattened. Nick paled; he hadn’t realized just how close she – and he – had actually come to being roadkill.
He winced as he watched them hit – Isobeille taking the brunt of it on her small body. Only the back of him was visible, but there was no mistaking Isobeille’s hair and unusual dress.
Those images were closely followed by ones of her on the sidewalk, a close up of her face over his shoulder as she held her hand up to her rescuer’s, of the look in her eyes, the wonder. Christ, how had he missed that? No woman had ever looked at him like that. Then again, he was too busy being annoyed with her at the time to notice.
“My sisters were going nuts over it, and they’re not the only ones. It’s gone viral, bro. Everyone wants to know who she is. Who you are.”
“Why?”
“Jesus. Are you not looking at the same thing I am? It’s like a scene from a chick flick. Man saves beautiful woman, then she looks at him like that? You’ve got every woman sighing from here to the West Coast.”
Nick had seen Isobeille in her peasant dress, in Gloria’s too-tight clothing, and his workout gear. Therefore he was somewhat prepared and had a chance to steel himself for Isobeille’s emergence from his bedroom in her new clothes. Carlos, however, was not as fortunate.
“Damn.”
Isobeille stood just outside the kitchen area. In soft faded denims and an even softer white sweater, she looked ... incredible.
“Isobeille,” Nick said, rising and going to her. “You look beautiful. Do they fit well?”
“Aye, they do. Thank ye,” she said with a shy smile, looking first at Nick and then more warily at Carlos.
“Come on over and meet Carlos. He’s ugly, but he doesn’t bite. Isobeille, Carlos. Carlos, Isobeille.”
“Isobeille,” Carlos murmured, looking at her like a lovesick puppy. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He took her hand in his and kissed it, making her blush. Nick rolled his eyes and slapped Carlos’ hand away. “Knock it off, Casanova. She’s not interested.”
“’Tis a pleasure te meet ye, Carlos,” Isobeille said with a slight curtsy.
“You have a lovely accent, Isobeille.”
&nbs
p; “Isobeille is from Scotland,” Nick said quickly.
Carlos grinned widely. “Obviously. What brings you to our fair city, Isobeille?”
“Fate.” She glanced at Nick and he chuckled as they shared their private joke. “Give us a minute, will you, Isobeille?”
She nodded, and left them alone.
“Fuck, Nick. I mean, fuck.”
“Yeah, that pretty much covers it.”
“She in some kind of trouble?”
“Isobeille lost everything,” Nick said carefully, his tone subtly warning Carlos not to ask too many questions. “I’m just... helping her out a little, that’s all.”
Carlos shook his head in disbelief. “Does Gloria know?”
“No, not yet,” Nick grimaced. “She’s been busy.”
“You are going to tell her though, right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“I know your heart’s in the right place, man, but do you really think this is a good idea?”
Nick shrugged. “Probably not. But I can’t just toss her out into the street.”
“They’ve got places that deal with situations like this, people like her.”
Nick was shaking his head. “No, not like Isobeille. Trust me on this one, dude.”
Carlos grinned. “She can stay with me.”
“So not happening, bro.”
Carlos chuckled, then grew serious. “Seriously, Nick. You sure you’re not in over your head on this one?”
“No,” Nick answered honestly.
Carlos studied him for a few minutes. “Fair enough. You’re a big boy, and one lucky bastard, if you ask me. You need anything, you just ask, yeah?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Nick answered, relieved, then immediately thought of something. “Hey, there is one thing. Your sister still work over at the University?”
“Yeah.”
Nick dug into his pocket and pulled out the coin Isobeille had given him. He had thought about showing it to Gloria and asking her to have someone look at it, but this might work out better. He had no idea how Gloria was going to react when she found out about Isobeille, but his instincts told him she wouldn’t exactly be thrilled. She was forever telling Nick he was too soft-hearted, that he let people take advantage of his decent nature.
“Ask her to show this to one of the medieval studies profs, get his take on it, maybe find out what something like this is worth. But keep it quiet, okay?
“Sure.” Carlos rose to go, stuffing the coin into his pocket. “And hey, if you want me to babysit for a couple of hours, I’m there for you, you know?”
Chapter 8
“Would you like to go for a walk?” Nick asked. He’d been standing in the doorway, watching Isobeille stare out the window. She seemed to do that a lot, as if she was trying to make sense of it all. He could only imagine what it would be like to look out onto the world and not recognize anything. He might not have all the answers, but maybe he could at least help her acclimate to the twenty-first century.
“Could we?” she asked, a spark of interest igniting in her pretty green eyes. He loved seeing her face light up like that; she was so easy to please.
“Sure,” he grinned. She had braided her hair. Dressed in a hoodie and jeans, she wouldn’t draw too much attention. Now that he knew about the video, he would be careful of taking her out in public – at least until they had a better plan.
Nick held on to her hand. He told himself it was only for her safety, to keep her from walking into things or wandering off, but even he knew it was a lie. He liked holding her hand, feeling the warmth it gave him and the pleasant tingles that radiated up his arm and into the rest of him. He smiled, remembering the first time he had held a girl’s hand - Constance McCreary, at recess in the third grade. It had felt kind of like that then, too. And this time their crotchety old teacher, Mrs. Lewinski, wasn’t there to put a stop to it.
They walked up one side of the street a couple of blocks, then down the other. Nick didn’t think anything of it – he’d walked this path a million times, had long ago stopped noticing the buildings or the shops or the people, but Isobeille’s curiosity and excitement was contagious. She was enthralled by the smallest things and asked a million questions, many of which Nick found he couldn’t answer (why hadn’t he paid more attention in science class?). By the time they stopped near the park, he couldn’t seem to wipe the silly-assed grin from his face.
Mentally, he was making a list of all the things he wanted to show her, all the things he had begun taking for granted. It would take weeks, at least.
“Thank ye, Nick,” Isobeille said when they made it back to his place. “I had a wonderful day.”
“I did, too,” he said honestly. They really hadn’t done much of anything besides walk around and look at things. He’d spent a grand total of less than ten dollars (roasted peanuts from a street vendor and a Snickers from a Duane Reade), but Isobeille acted as if he had given her the moon.
He waited until Isobeille went into the shower before listening to his voicemail. Shit, he cursed softly when he saw the missed call and vmail icons. There was a message from Gloria. He’d completely forgotten that he’d said he’d call her. He listened to the message, then quickly tapped the call-back icon.
“Hey,” he said, when Gloria picked up on the second ring. “Got your message. What’s up?”
“I called hours ago.”
“Been busy,” he said, trying to dispel the image of a naked, wet Isobeille in his bathroom at that very moment. “Get your article done?”
“Mostly. Busy doing what? Didn’t you have the day off?”
“Stuff.” He loved being near Isobeille after her shower, when her skin was still dewy and especially fragrant, her long hair twisting into all those curls...
“Does it have anything to do with the redhead you body-slammed on 15th Street last night?”
Nick’s thoughts rocketed back into focus at her words. He briefly considered playing the dumb card, but really saw no point. Gloria had recognized him, and he’d been meaning to tell her anyway. It was as good an opening as any.
“Saw that, huh?”
“Who didn’t?” She paused, waiting for Nick to say something else. He didn’t.
“I knew it was you. Who else would throw himself in front of a bus for someone he’s never met?”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Nick muttered.
“It’s all anyone’s talking about around the paper,” Gloria fished, waiting expectantly for more information.
“It was a spur of the moment thing,” he said, opting for partial truth. “I was running late for our date, so I took off after making sure she was okay.” He failed to mention that he turned around right afterward and that she’d been staying with him ever since, wondering why he was so reluctant to tell her those things. Gloria was his girlfriend, after all.
A girlfriend who’d told him she needed to ‘find herself’ when he last saw her three weeks ago.
“You didn’t tell anyone it was me, did you?” he asked, suddenly imagining a bunch of media jackals camping outside his apartment building. He hadn’t spotted any when they’d been out earlier, but that could change in a heartbeat if they smelled a story.
“No. But the paper would love to get a scoop on that,” she said. ”I could write it myself, do an exclusive.”
“No,” he said, a little too harshly, then added quickly, “Really, there’s nothing to tell.” Nothing that wouldn’t get Isobeille locked up somewhere for observation, anyway, and get his puss in the news, neither of which was a good thing.
“Oh.” Gloria somehow managed to convey so much disappointment into that one word that he almost reconsidered. Then her voice changed significantly, dropping into a much more sensual tone. “Listen, how about I come over tonight? We can open up a bottle of wine, light a few candles, talk about you being a big, strong hero.”
What?! “Not tonight,” Nick heard himself saying, surprising himself. “I’m beat, and I pulled the e
arly shift tomorrow.”
Gloria was silent for several long moments. “All right. Call me tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Nick put down the phone and stared at it as if it might bite him. What had he just done? Then he heard Isobeille singing, and thought about snuggling on the couch again with her, maybe ordering some Chinese and watching some corny animated Christmas classics, and everything else just kind of faded into the background...
“You know how to work the TV and Blu-Ray. There’s a stack of DVDs over there. Feel free to watch whatever you want, but most are probably a bit on the violent side.”
“Thank ye.”
“We can go shopping later, but there should be enough food for you. There’s soup and crackers and a couple of frozen boxed things in the freezer. You’re okay working the can opener and the microwave, right?” He’d explained and demonstrated both the night before.
“Aye.”
“Don’t leave the apartment, okay? We’ll go out when I get back if you want, but you shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself. You might get lost, and there’s all kinds of nut sacks out there.”
She smiled serenely, her hands clasped in front of her.
“If you need anything, just go next door to Mrs. Anderson. She’s a real nice lady. She knows you’re here – not any of the details, of course – but she may stop by later just to say hi and see how you’re doing. But don’t open the door for anyone else, got it?”
Isobeille nodded somberly. “Got it.”
“I’ll call if I get a break. Don’t pick up unless you hear my name on the machine. If there’s an emergency, or something happens, go next door to Mrs. Anderson’s and call me from there; she has my work and cell numbers. She’ll know what to do.”
“All right.”
Christ, he felt like shit leaving her alone like this. He walked toward the door, got as far as putting his hand on the knob, then turned around. “Maybe I should just call in today. I can get someone else to cover my shift. God knows I covered for them often enough.”
“Nick,” Isobeille said softly, laying her hand on his arm. “I will be fine. Go. Save people.”
Maiden in Manhattan Page 6
