by Zuri Day
He held up the five-by-seven card. “Here is a list of questions to help get you started. Your first journal entry can be answering these questions. There are no wrong answers. Just write how you feel.”
“But, Doctor—”
“No buts.” He took her arm and gently guided her toward the door. “You can do this, Vanessa. It’ll help you get better, okay? See you next week.”
Traffic was light, and the gods were kind. Forty-five minutes at mostly ninety miles an hour helped him reach the airport within minutes of Nicki’s arrival. Jennifer had suggested he send a car service. Much too impersonal for his queen, and for someone who’d experienced a career-threatening injury less than a week ago. He wanted to get her himself.
He parked the car and went inside, hoping she’d take his advice and use a wheelchair instead of trying to navigate the busy airport on crutches. So independent, his private dancer. A trait that over the years had often put them at odds. It had taken less coaxing than expected for her agreement to recuperate in Paradise Cove. And while he’d not promised that the specialist he’d lined up could cut her recovery from six weeks to four, it was a carrot he’d gladly dangled to bring her home.
Once inside he looked at the monitor for her flight number. The plane had landed. Most likely, she was on her way down. He checked his phone. There was a text from his mom.
Dinner with Nicki? Private room @ the club?
He quickly responded. Thanks, Mom. Not tonight.
Sunday brunch?
We’ll see.
He looked up just as a set of elevator doors opened. A heavily wrapped ankle supported by an Aircast was the first body part through the doors. It was Nicki, busily texting while the wheelchair assistant pushed her toward baggage claim. Just as she looked up, his phone dinged.
He walked to her, smiling. “Is that a message telling me you’ve arrived?”
“Yep.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wad of bills, peeled off a twenty and tipped the assistant. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll take it from here.”
“It’s okay,” Nicki protested. “I can walk.”
“Perhaps. But what you will do is accept the generous offer to be ferried in your silver chariot from this building to my car.” He leaned down and kissed her scowling lips. “You’re welcome. How was the flight?”
“Fine, since I slept through most of it. Doctor gave me pain meds. Can’t feel the throbbing ache in my ankle, which is great. But I end up not feeling much of anything else, either.” She pointed out a large piece of hard plastic luggage with a colorful strip of material wrapped around the handle. “That’s mine.”
Julian retrieved it. “How many more?”
“That’s it.”
“You packed clothes for a four-to six-week stay in one suitcase?”
“You said I’d be treated by the best...what did you call him?”
“An orthopedic specialist.”
“Yeah, him.”
“Even the most gifted doctor cannot make the body heal faster. Here, you roll the suitcase and I’ll roll you.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
Julian quickly got Nicki settled into the front seat, and less than an hour from when he’d arrived at Oakland International Airport, they were headed back to PC. With rush-hour traffic waning, he set the cruise control to a law-abiding seventy miles per hour.
“You were supposed to call me last night.”
Nicki spoke through a yawn. “Forgot.”
“That was disobedient. When we get home, I’m going to have to spank you.”
“Lucky me.”
Said so sincerely and with such deadpan disinterest that Julian burst out laughing.
“So...what’s the official verdict? Broken?”
“Technically, no, and did you know that an actual break or full tear of the ligament and tendons would have been better than the partial tears that I have?”
“I’d heard that before.”
“I hadn’t. Doesn’t make sense that a more serious break would heal faster.”
“Life doesn’t always make sense.”
Nicki fell silent. When they were together, she was usually the more talkative of the two. It was one of her traits that made them such a perfect couple. People didn’t recognize how quiet Julian was when he and Nicki were together. The rare occasions when she was quieter than Julian were very obvious. Like now, when the only sound was the neo-soul on Julian’s playlist.
He looked over. “You okay?”
She didn’t answer right away. While staring out the window she finally replied, “Not really.”
“I understand.”
Nicki made a skeptical snort. “Please.”
“I do, babe.”
“You have no idea what I’m going through.” Nicki’s piercing look was only matched by the ever-increasing volume of her delivery. “How could you? You’re not a dancer! You haven’t been working toward a dream for well over ten years and then right when you are just about there, so close you can throw a rock and hit it, and thirty years old, something happens that takes it all away. Unless that exact thing has happened to you, there is no way you can relate.”
Julian became silent, subconsciously and without thought interpreting the behavior from a professional perspective. Hurt. Fear. Disappointment. Misplaced anger. Nicki had lashed out at him, but her anger was actually toward the situation and the man on the bike who’d instigated it. Fear of the unknown and the unproductive projecting of a worst-case scenario upon an unpredictable situation. Understandable, considering the fickle nature of entertainment. In one day and out the next. That’s why he knew better than to comment. There was no right answer for this type of reaction.
The silence lasted through two more songs.
Nicki repositioned her leg. “I hate when you do that.”
“What?”
“Psychoanalyze me—and don’t deny it. Over there all calm and quiet. I know what you’re doing.”
“Okay.” Said low and drawn out, as if testing the word to see if any repercussions would come along with it.
“Stop!” Nicki punched his arm, but she was smiling. “Is there ever a moment when you’re not trying to figure someone out?”
“I can’t help being who I am, love.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven. This is a tough time. What did the director say?”
“I was supposed to call him after meeting with the specialist. I decided to wait until I see the doctor that was recommended to you. Do I have an appointment?”
“The earliest I could get you in was this Friday.”
“Today is Tuesday.” Nicki did a slow exhale. “I’ll call tomorrow and ask Milo to wait until Friday to make any...permanent changes. Dammit!” Nicki used her good foot to stomp the floor.
They continued to talk intermittently between Nicki’s quiet spells. Knowing she was in no mood to socialize, Julian waited until they were ten minutes outside Paradise Cove and then called in an order to Acquired Taste for Nicki’s favorite meal.
“I have some news that will make you feel a little better.”
“What?”
“A place for us to stay.”
“You bought a house?”
“I just closed on it. I hope you like it.”
“What matters is if you like it. I’m only going to be here for a couple weeks.”
“I know, but...you’ve always been uncomfortable staying at my parents’. So I had Terrell bring me a couple listings. I chose a town house that resembles a brownstone on the inside.”
She gave him a look.
“On the inside, I said!” He reached over and took her hand. “I know that no place will ever come close to
your beloved Brooklyn or Manhattan. But I want to make you as comfortable and happy as I can while you’re here.”
“Ah, that’s sweet, babe.”
“I do have to warn you about something.”
“What?”
“I just got it, so it’s pretty empty.”
“I’m sure I can make it work.”
“Just letting you know.”
They arrived at the echoing town house a short time later. A sectional sofa was the living room’s lone furniture. The master suite was also sparsely furnished, its major feature a king-size bed. Julian helped Nicki shower, tucked her in bed, then joined her there with two tray tables. They watched TV while enjoying burgers and fries. Once the trays were removed and they’d finished their drinks, Julian pulled back the covers and raised the short nightie that covered the shaved lips that he so adored. The good food, hot shower and crisp clean sheets had been arranged with the intention to make Nicki more comfortable. Now it was time to make both of them happy.
Chapter 6
A steady throb served as her alarm clock. The ache forced her eyes open as she slowly floated up from a pain medication–induced fog. Her eyes flickered against bright sunlight and over to the digital clock on a nightstand. Ten o’clock? No way. She fell back against the pillows, but the cry for relief from the ache that went from the tear in her ankle to her shin would not be denied.
She threw back the covers and hobbled into the en suite bath. Her toiletry bag was set next to one of two brass-and-glass vessel sinks that contrasted beautifully against light-colored granite and ebony cabinets. A note was stuck on the mirror above it. Had he emptied her suitcase? What else had she slept through?
She read the extensive note, written in his neat, slanted penmanship.
Morning, beautiful. You slept so peacefully as I prepared to leave I hadn’t the heart to wake you. Breakfast is in the fridge, a credit card on the table. Please go online and order whatever you feel will make the town house a home. For ideas, call Mom. For company, call Quinn. Both cannot wait to see you. Or not—your choice. The main thing is to feel better. Restaurant choices don’t compare to Times Square but all deliver. Call when you read this. Loving you...
She looked down and noticed that beside her toiletry bag was a bottle of water. So naturally thoughtful. Innately kind. Julian had always treated her wonderfully, with the sweetest adoration and the deepest respect. Hard to admit, but sometimes she took it for granted. It had taken a break and a few dates with Vince to remind her how good she had it, how special Julian was. And here he was showing her again.
She took a pain pill. After a quick shower during which she more than appreciated the double shower’s built-in bench, Nicki wrapped a fresh bandage around her ankle, slipped on a loose mini and the Aircast and after a last-minute hop back to grab her cell, made her way downstairs with the aid of one crutch. She hadn’t felt hungry, but a growling stomach let her know that nourishment was needed.
She opened the fridge and pulled out the lone white sack that sat next to bottles of water, orange and cranberry juices, and a variety of flavored coffees. She opened one of the coffees and drank almost half of it with the first swig. Inside the bag were pastries, a bagel and a breakfast sandwich. Forgetting Julian’s warning, she opened a cabinet door to grab a plate. The cupboard was literally bare. She improvised a plate from the top of the paper container, scooped out the sandwich’s insides and nuked them in the microwave.
While reassembling the sandwich it came to her. The reason she’d tossed and turned last night. The feeling of isolation she’d felt that morning. She slowly looked around the room and wondered if she’d ever before experienced life quite this way. No noise. Total silence. So quiet she felt she could hear herself think.
For a woman who’d grown up in the hustle and bustle of Prospect Heights, with traffic and trains, the conversation of close neighbors floating through her window, and a dozen other sounds, the quiet was strange, almost eerie. She rapped a line from the musical. Her voice bounced against the walls, evaporated into the eighteen-foot vaulted ceiling.
Last night she’d barely noticed, but against the bright morning, the beauty of the home’s architecture stood out. Tan-colored ceilings and Tasmanian oak floors were a nice and different accent against ivory walls and complemented an ultramodern, dual-stone fireplace that served both the living and dining rooms. Chandeliers, modern fixtures and recessed lighting all added to the home’s warm yet sophisticated style.
Nice, she thought. Who was she kidding? The place was beyond nice. It was stunning. Like those she viewed in magazines and fantasized about owning. What was its value, she wondered. In Brooklyn such a home would go for two or three million. In Manhattan, five at least.
She reached the sofa, settled against the soft cashmere cushion and looked around her, thinking she could get used to a luxury lifestyle. Then she remembered why she was here. Not in New York. What the freak bicycle accident might cost her. The bright mood quickly faded.
Just as she was about to head to a pity party, her phone rang. She answered and put the call on speaker.
“Hey, babe.”
“Good morning, love. How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Did you get my note?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then why haven’t you called me, as the note instructed?”
“Listen, Doctor...”
The sound of Julian’s chuckle made her smile. “I knew that would rile you. My next appointment is due any minute, but I wanted to let you know that Quinn might be calling you. She asked and I gave her your number. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine. I hadn’t planned to get out, but after coming downstairs and seeing how empty this place really is, I might not have a choice. At the very least we need dishes and silverware.”
“And towels. The two hanging in the bathroom are the only two in the house.”
“Oh my God.”
“Hey, I tried. It was either an empty house for just us or a fully furnished wing at my parents’ house.”
“I appreciate what you did for me, babe. This place is beautiful.”
“Katie’s calling. Appointment’s here. Love you.”
Nicki eased off the couch and took her now-empty containers into the kitchen to throw away. Not used to having downtime, she felt strangely out of sorts with so much of it now on her hands. A plan, that’s it. A plan and a few projects. That’s what she thought could help the time go quickly until her foot healed and she was back on stage in New York, where she belonged.
Back on the couch, she pressed the note icon on her phone and began to make a list. First: find a yoga studio. Nicki couldn’t dance or put pressure on her ankle, but a yoga class, especially hot yoga, would help her stay limber and maybe even help her ankle heal, too. What else? Furnish Julian’s house. That project alone could take four weeks. Four bedrooms—three unfurnished—three bathrooms, combined living/dining space and a patio, too? She’d keep it clean and simple, safe earth colors, Julian’s style. But on what kind of budget? Sure, the black card on the table had no monetary limits, but did Julian? Did she? It had taken her almost a year to personalize her two-bedroom walkup. Just as a sense of anxiety began to creep in, her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Nicki! It’s Quinn. I’m so sorry for what happened to you!”
“Thanks, Quinn. I’m pretty bummed about it.”
“I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling. You were so great in the show. Several scenes with the lead. Sold-out crowds.”
“Hey, I don’t need reminding.”
“You’re right. I’m...stupid and inconsiderate is what I am. Would you believe I was calling to cheer you up?”
“Ha! You meant well.”
“How’s the ankle?”
“Still swollen. Still throbbing.”
“Is it broken?”
“Worse, the ligaments are torn and the tendons are ruptured. The doctor said a clean break would have healed faster.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t I come grab you, show you around our cosmopolitan...uh, town.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say city.”
“I started to, but the lie wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I don’t know if you’re up for it, but I knew you were here and wanted to offer.”
“That’s nice of you, Quinn. I didn’t think I’d be up for much socializing, but I need to hear something besides my thoughts. I’m so used to having noise around me that the quiet feels claustrophobic.”
“Totally understand. When I first moved from San Francisco, I thought I’d go small-town crazy! Is a half hour enough time for you to be ready?”
“Just casual, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you know where I am?”
“Yes, got the address from Julian.”
“Okay, see you then.”
Nicki checked the weather. Projection was high seventies. About the same as New York this time of year. Fall was her favorite month in the city. Perfect temps. Changing leaves. She ignored the stab of pain in her heart. Found where Julian had placed the clothes he’d unpacked from her luggage and threw on a pair of wide-legged pants—easiest to navigate around the heavy bandage and Aircast—and a fitted knit top that showed off her toned, flat stomach. A light jacket and bulky wooden jewelry completed the ensemble.
Quinn rang the doorbell moments after Nicki managed to get back downstairs. They walked outside to a sleek red Ferrari.
Nicki’s mouth was agape. “This is you?”
Quinn smiled as she tapped the key fob. “Christmas present.”
Nicki slid into the seat, folded the crutches and gingerly pulled her injured ankle inside. Seconds later they were out the driveway and zooming down the quiet residential street.
