by Zuri Day
“Absolutely not. You can continue to wear the boot and take your chances on whether or not the bone will heal correctly. You might even be able to do moderate dance. But maybe not. Either way you’ll more than likely end up with chronic pain that can only be alleviated through surgery.”
Nicki put her head in her hands. Julian reached over to comfort her. Nicki shook him off. “I’m okay.” She took a deep breath and lifted her head. Her eyes looked misty, but no tears fell. “I’ll do the cast.”
Dr. Allen nodded. “That’s a good and wise answer. The sooner you are on the road to healing, the sooner you’ll be back to doing what you love.”
Less than hour later, Julian helped Nicki to the car. He’d have broken his own ankle to help hers heal, but all he could do was support her as much as possible in any way that he could. They got buckled in and were soon on their way back to Paradise Cove.
“Are you hungry?” Nicki shook her head as she looked out the window. He watched her hand squeeze into a fist, knew she was resisting the urge to cry. His heart broke a little. The therapist kicked in. He remained quiet, giving her space until they merged onto the highway. It was midmorning. Traffic was light. The sun was bright. A total contrast to the gloomy, heavy atmosphere in the car.
“Baby, I’m sorry this happened to you. I can’t imagine how devastating it must feel to work as hard as you have and reach your goal, only to have one of life’s crazy flukes derail your plans.” Julian didn’t expect a response and didn’t get one. “While dealing with day-to-day struggles, we often get used to hiding our feelings. We’re told to be strong. Suck it up. Keep it moving, and all that. But you know I’m a safe zone, right? Where you can acknowledge the sadness, let the tears flow. It’s best to get it out, babe, because otherwise those feelings will expand, deepen and cloud every thought and situation that you encounter.”
She remained quiet. Julian let her be. As outgoing as she was in social situations and especially when she was on the stage, he was familiar with the side that she now revealed. Quiet. Private. Figuring it out on her own, in her head. Ironic, he thought, as Nicki reached for the cell phone in her purse. Patients paid a high fee to receive his counsel. Nicki could receive it for free, yet often kept her own.
“Might as well get this over with,” Nicki mumbled.
Julian glanced over as she tapped her cell phone screen. “The call to Milo?”
“I’ve anticipated being fired before, but never considered having an injury cause me to leave a show. I’ve danced for almost fifteen years straight and never had to quit one. Why now?”
Julian remained quiet and instead heard Nicki leaving a message asking Milo to call her. After finishing the call, she adjusted her body, reclined the seat slightly and closed her eyes. Whether from exhaustion or avoidance, he didn’t know. Remembering her restless night, he figured it was probably some of both.
He sympathized with Nicki, but it didn’t extend to sadness. Everything happened for a reason. Julian felt this was no different. Her career was always the excuse she’d given for not moving west. For now, that barrier was gone. He hoped she’d stay in Paradise Cove during the recovery process, for the six to eight weeks Dr. Allen recommended. Perhaps in that time she’d come to love the town as he did, enough to leave New York for good. It was a selfish thought. Julian knew he should feel bad for having it. But he didn’t. The only niggle that remained was from last night’s situation and Nicki’s mood swing. Why was he still so focused on that? Why had it bothered him so much?
More than likely it was due to the show, he decided, and the thought of having to leave it. He spent the next several miles shifting his thinking and imagining a life with Nicki in Paradise Cove. For that to happen, he’d have to get up the nerve to propose again. Nicki had no idea how she’d hurt him when she turned him down two years ago. He wanted to ask her. He wanted her to be his wife. But he didn’t think his ego could survive a second no. Another rejection and their relationship would be over. And if she returned to New York? What would he do then? How long was he willing to endure a long-distance relationship and a life lived alone?
Not much longer, he realized. As they neared PC, Julian had a sobering thought. Their relationship might be ending right now.
Chapter 13
Nicki looked at her phone for the tenth time in five minutes, then placed it on the kitchen island, determined to walk away and leave it there. It was the only way she’d stop checking the ringer volume or text messages to ensure she hadn’t missed a message or call from Milo, returning her call from yesterday.
She reached for the crutches leaning against the granite countertop and headed out of the room as fast she could hop. It was hard to run away from one’s thoughts on crutches. As she passed the dining space into the living room they followed her. So what if it had been almost twenty-four hours since she’d left Milo a message. There were any number of reasons why he hadn’t returned her call. It could have nothing to do with the fashion show pictures and the past weekend’s gossip. Milo would never doubt her passion for dancing, uncompromising work ethic or belief in the show. Until the accident she’d never missed rehearsal. Never been late. More often than not, she’d been one of the first ones there and one of the last to go home. She’d worked herself ragged to get a difficult sequence perfected, the timing just right. Milo knew about her dreams of Broadway, had said she was one of the hungriest performers he’d ever seen.
As for not calling on Friday? That was no big deal, either. The reason was simple. She hadn’t any news until yesterday—which was the worst news possible, with dire consequences. But a short time after receiving the cast and leaving the hospital, she’d put on her big-girl panties and called the director. He needed to call her back. ASAP. The waiting hurt worse than her ankle ever did.
Reaching the expansive glass doors, she slid one of them open and walked out into the crisp morning air. The coming of autumn had not only brought cooler temps, but colorful foliage on the red maple and sweetgum trees planted in the backyard. Nicki noticed how the leaves’ colors complemented the patio’s natural stone tile, highlighted the red and orange shards amid the tan and gray. They reminded her of the trees in Prospect Park near her childhood home. She used to collect them as she played on Saturday mornings and take them to school for Monday’s show and tell.
Time to go back, she thought as she watched a bird sail over the fence and perch on one of the higher branches. She didn’t want to be a burden to Julian, or draw his family’s pity. Even with crutches she could navigate Brooklyn. She had more resources there—she knew her neighbors. Could grab a bus, train or taxi down the street from her house. Maybe Julian could come for a visit in November, celebrate Thanksgiving in New York. Almost eight weeks away. A long time to be without her man. The only thing good about the thought was that by then she’d be back dancing.
She reached a patio chair and leaned her crutch against the table. Just as she was about to sit down, her phone rang. “Just like a watched pot,” she mumbled, grabbing the crutch and hightailing it back to the kitchen as fast as she could.
“Hello?”
“Hey, superstar.”
Crap! Vince. Too late, she glanced at the screen. Wouldn’t have helped. The call hadn’t come in as private but with a number she didn’t recognize but probably would have answered since it began with a Brooklyn area code: 929.
“What, you don’t have any conversation for an old friend?”
“No, Vince. We’ve already had what should have been our last conversation two conversations ago.”
“You didn’t get my text?”
“I got it but I didn’t understand it. Taking a picture with a group of celebrities doesn’t put money in my bank account.”
“Not just celebrities. Your sister.”
“London isn’t my sister.”
“Your boyfriend’s sister. Same thing.”
“Who have you been talking to?”
“The internet. Info at your fingertips, girl. No secrets anymore.”
Nicki wished she’d remembered that after giving Vince her number. Had she done so she would have realized two very important words he’d left out of the description “pro basketball player”—former and broke.
“Who I’m dating and his family tree have nothing to do with what you asked me months ago. I didn’t have money to loan you then and I still don’t.”
“Ask your man for the money. He should be able to take care of you at least as good as I did.”
The comment was audacious and wrong and rolled off his tongue much too glibly. As though it wasn’t being said for the first time. So quickly did she want to rebut the lie, Nicki almost bit her tongue. “Oh, so that’s how you’ve rewritten our very brief history together. I wondered how you could possibly come to someone you barely knew a month and ask for that much money. It’s because you’ve fabricated an experience that didn’t happen. I’ve taken care of myself since I was seventeen years old and worked hard for every dime I’ve earned. Just like I worked for and won the audition in Atlanta. The director exposed your lie two years ago. I didn’t owe you then, and get this straight—I don’t owe you now.”
Vince laughed as though she’d just told a joke. Nicki wasn’t laughing at all.
“Your attitude doesn’t surprise me. Nor does your gall. Next time it won’t be me saying this. It will be my attorney or a judge. Lose my number.”
“I’m not playing with you, Nicki. I borrowed money from the wrong people. Now I owe them. And you owe me. I intend to collect. Don’t make me—”
She ended the call and seconds later heard the garage door opening. Unexpected since Julian usually called before coming home to see what she needed or suggest eating out. Earlier than he usually broke for lunch, too. Had something happened? Was he okay? And what if Vince decided to call again? That’s exactly what he did. She refused the call and muted her phone just as Julian walked into the kitchen.
“Hi.”
The barest of pauses between strides. “Hey, babe.” He walked over. Hugged her. “Your heart’s racing. I excite you like that?” His eyes were intent, but he smiled.
“Of course.” She playfully pushed past him and put the wide granite island between them. “But I’m on edge, too.”
“The director called?”
“No.”
“That’s got you nervous.” Nicki didn’t answer, just kind of half shrugged. “Totally understandable that it would. Think you should call again?”
“I don’t want to appear as anxious as I feel. Wasn’t expecting you, either, so hearing the garage door startled me.”
“It was a spontaneous decision. A nice day, and I felt like getting out of the office. But perhaps I should have called.”
“I’m glad you’re here. Crutches are helpful, but I like you carrying me much better.” One second she was standing, the next her feet had left the floor. Nicki let out a sound of surprise.
Julian had picked her up as though she weighed nothing, carried her across the room and set her down on the couch.
He flopped down beside her. “Better?”
“Actually, yes. Thank you.”
“With nervousness probably putting your stomach in knots, is it safe for me to assume that you haven’t eaten?”
“I had a protein shake earlier. Does that count?”
“Like I figured.” Julian eased off the couch. “I’m going to run down to the deli. They’ve got great soups, sandwiches and salads. Going to bring you back something and you’re going to eat it. Okay?”
“Sure.” Julian walked away, but when Nicki’s phone buzzed he came back into the living room. His eyes asked a question. In answer, Nicki held up her cell phone, which showed the face of a smiling man with curly black hair and a bright feather earring in his right ear. Milo.
Nicki answered the call and put it on speaker. “Milo?” She watched Julian sit on the short side of the L-shaped sectional with her directly in his line of sight.
“Hello, Nicki. How are you?”
“I’ve been better.”
“From what I hear, things are fine.”
Nicki looked at Julian. She was almost sure what Milo was talking about but refused to be the one to mention the pictures from fashion week.
“What did you hear?”
“That you were in New York last week. Partying it up at the OTB show. Can’t dance on that ankle, but it appears you can walk just fine. You should have stopped by.”
“Watch the show I’m supposed to be in, with someone else dancing my part? I can’t believe you’d suggest that, Milo. Sitting this show out is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Yes, I was in New York. London is my boyfriend’s sister. They thought going to the show would cheer me up. But I was and still am very much on crutches, with an injury that’s even worse than I thought. So please don’t believe everything you read, Milo. This is hard enough.”
“Perception is reality, Nicki. Especially in this town. You were supposed to call on Friday. You didn’t. Then you’re snapped at fashion week, leaving me to have to explain to investors why you were too injured to work but not too hurt to party. That was pretty difficult, too.”
“I’m sorry, Milo. You’re right. I should have called. I didn’t because there was no new information. The doctor wanted to do an MRI before making an official diagnosis. We just got the results yesterday. I called right after.”
“What’s the verdict?”
“Chipped bone. Soft cast. Out for at least four more weeks.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m sorry, Nicki.”
“Me, too. I know that’s a long time, but I’m hoping there’s a way you can save my spot and let me come back. I’ve worked so hard—”
“You know I can’t do that. This is a short run, only sixteen weeks. In three weeks Arielle will have been in the role longer than you. The audience loves her. So do the investors. It’s rotten timing. Lousy luck. But there’s no way I can guarantee you that spot.”
“But the investors love you too, Milo. And you know how dedicated I am to this show! If you tell them you want me in that role, they’ll listen. Maybe it won’t take six weeks. If it guarantees that I won’t lose the role, I can work my ass off and be back in four.”
“It’s too late, Nicki. Asking you to call on Friday wasn’t just to inquire about your health. It was to inform you that while you were great, and you know how much I love how you dance, the investors prefer Arielle. Especially the one based in LA who wants to transition the show from Broadway to the big screen. She’s pulled for her from the very beginning. Thinks the camera will love her. Arielle will take over the part permanently, beginning this week.”
Milo kept talking, but Nicki didn’t hear much more after that. The call ended. She was vaguely aware of Julian coming to sit next to her, his arms going around her. A river of tears came up from her belly. She batted her eyelids and swallowed the pain. The tears lodged in her throat. She wouldn’t cry. What good would it do? It was time to go home. The faster she went back, the faster she and her agent could start working on the next gig. Finding upcoming shows. Taking meetings and networking. She would not let a chipped bone chip away her dream of Broadway and stardom. She was too close to stop now.
Julian kissed her temple. Nicki grabbed her throat lest the cry escape.
“What are you thinking, baby?”
“Calling my agent,” she replied, her voice raspy with pent-up emotion. She cleared her throat. “Setting up meetings. And making a reservation to fly back home.”
Nicki knew it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. She didn’t want to leave, either. Mostly because of how much she loved Julian, but there was another reason.
Vince was in New York, along with the thugs, the threats and the fear that one of their angry taunts would be carried out.
Chapter 14
The next morning Julian arrived at the office with what he thought were big problems. By the afternoon his perspective had changed. His first appointment was slowly rebuilding her life after relocating to PC following the unspeakable trauma of discovering a teenage son who’d committed suicide. The second appointment battled guilt over surviving an accident where his best friend was killed. It had happened years ago, but the pain was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.
Julian released his last patient with a referral to a psychiatrist. There were times when medication was mandatory and the war vet’s severe PTSD and dysthymia presented one of those times. He’d gone out for lunch, walked around the square to clear his head. He sat and thought about the dilemmas that hours ago had felt enormous. Nicki leaving was no small matter, and the increasing number of patients wanting to switch from Dr. Johnson’s care to his was disconcerting at best. But in comparison to what some people in the world had to deal with, Julian counted himself a lucky man.
The sound of a cell phone broke into his thoughts. A programmed series of chimes informed Julian that it was the call he’d expected. He retrieved the phone from where it sat on the desk and walked back to the window.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Good afternoon, son. How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“Julian, I’ve known you since the day you were born. You’re handling business effectively as always, but what’s been said about Nicki has got to upset you. How could it not?”
With what had happened since then and his shift in perspective, he’d almost forgotten about Ashley’s blog. “I’m not happy about what was written. But there are way worse problems than gossip, Mom.”
“What do you mean?”
Suicide. War. Chronic depression. “Nicki’s out of the show.”
“Oh no! What happened?”
