Love by the Numbers

by Karin Kallmaker

Boone’s cell phone chirped and Boone reflexively glanced at the display.

  “You’re late, aren’t you?” Lily gave Boone a steady look. Nicole marveled at her now clear eyes and fearless stance. “You are a smart woman, I agree. You’ve spent so much time and energy on me and found nothing. Accountants who work for lawyers know that I am broke. There’s no money to find. If you keep at it and still find nothing they might stop calling you The Bloodhound.”

  Nicole held up a hand to draw Boone’s gaze back to her. “Ms. Smith may be without resources, but she still has friends. Given your ratings issues and the personal makeover you’re attempting with your memoir, consider the damage a lawsuit for stalking, harassment and malicious libel would do. How long do you think it would take me to find a lawyer who would be happy to take a retainer for the pleasure of embarrassing you? To find a sympathetic talk show host who’d be pleased to help you fall further from grace?”

  Boone’s gaze had narrowed and Nicole was willing to bet she had already drawn up a mental short list of enemies who might be willing to take her on if the price was right.

  “If I have to I will find those people you just thought of,” Nicole said in a low voice. “You are too smart not to know when the only winning hand is not to play.”

  The phone chirped again and Boone stood like a woman pulled in two directions at once.

  “This conversation is over,” Lily said, then she turned on her heel and walked away with Nicole in her wake.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lily’s ears told her that Nicole was behind her, but she couldn’t turn her head to look. She didn’t see anything but the pavement ahead of her next footstep. They reached a corner. She turned randomly, crossed the street, turned again.

  Nicole finally slipped a hand gently around her arm and pulled her to a stop. “She’s not following us.”

  “I know.” They were standing in the shade of an antique shop near Bourbon Street. It wasn’t that hot, but the asphalt seemed wavy.

  She vaguely heard Nicole snap, “You are not going to faint!”

  She did anyway, or something like it. Disoriented, feet not on the ground, she heard Nicole’s voice somewhere above her saying, “Not even a blink when Cossack outlaws ride down on us in the middle of the night… You’re not giving that bitch the satisfaction…” To someone else maybe, “Thank you. Yes, in here.”

  There was a hubbub of surprised voices and a scratching of stools on a wood floor. Lily found herself sitting upright at the edge of a booth seat, Nicole’s hands clamped on her upper arms.

  Over her shoulder Nicole said, “Just the heat, I think. Thank you so much.”

  A woman with bob-cut gray hair peered at Lily from around Nicole, her dark face creased with concern. “You okay, honey? Here’s your purse. I know you wouldn’t want to be parted from it.”

  “Thank you,” Lily managed. She included a bartender in her grateful look as he set down a frosty glass of water.

  Nicole relaxed her grip, then slid into the booth across from Lily.

  The other woman regarded them both with beaming approval. To Lily she said, “That was like something out of Gone with the Wind. She just scooped you right up and carried you right in here.” She turned her bright gaze to Nicole. “You must work out or something.”

  Nicole nodded at Lily without looking at her. “Her purse is heavier than she is and you did that part.”

  “That is the truth about purses, now ain’t it? You sure you’re okay, honey?”

  “I’m fine.” Even to herself, her voice sounded close to normal after a couple of swallows of the cold water. “Thank you again.”

  Left alone, they fell silent. Lily didn’t know why it felt awkward. Maybe because other people in the bar were still stealing glances at them. Maybe because she had a mental picture of herself in a fabulous Scarlett O’Hara gown with a ripped bodice and Nicole in a raffish Clark Gable suit, carrying her up a curving staircase to their bed…

  “Are you really feeling better? Can I get you something stronger than water?”

  “I would love a vodka and cranberry juice.” She watched Nicole go to the bar and considered that it was the second time this trip she’d been held off the ground by another woman. The two experiences threatened to merge in her memory with the confusing, exquisite blend of being held close and safe while being enjoyed and savored.

  She felt faint again.

  Nicole returned with two identical looking cocktails and a bowl of pretzels and peanuts. It was a neighborhood bar, Lily gathered, with worn, not quite level floors and the lights just low enough to imply anonymity, but not so low the bartender couldn’t see a signal for another round. “Thank you.” She meant for more than the drink.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She didn’t meet Nicole’s gaze until after a refreshing sip. The tart cranberry woke up her brain and the vodka slightly burned her throat. “You know where I made my big mistake?”

  Nicole shook her head. Her dark gaze never left Lily’s face.

  “I didn’t know that with my life in a shambles, planning a funeral for both parents and realizing that they’d lied to me just like everyone else, that the sudden wealth and travel and rich cousins on speed dial was all based on a fraud—what I really needed more than anything else was a publicist. They don’t teach you that in school.” The vodka took some of the tension out of her shoulders.

  “What would that have done?”

  She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I’d have never given interviews, those first few days. Someone would have told me that words and pictures can be chopped up and repackaged. That I could say ‘people think I’m rich and I’m not’ and the headline would be ‘I’m not that rich says Ponzi heiress.’ I needed a publicist more than a lawyer. Hell, I didn’t even realize I needed a lawyer until they arrested me.”

  “You were innocent.”

  “Naïve. I thought being innocent was enough. With people like Merrill Boone, innocence is meaningless. I was good ratings, nothing more.” After another hefty swallow, Lily noted, “You called her a bitch.”

  “Not to her face. I would have though, if it might have helped.”

  “I’ve never heard you swear.”

  “It seemed appropriate to the situation.”

  “You didn’t have to get in her way. She could come after you. It wouldn’t take her long to come up with your name. She’d milk the notoriety of Love by the Numbers for her own publicity.” Lily shivered at the idea that Insignis would somehow get dragged into her problems. Uncle Damon had stood by her, and he and his small company didn’t need Merrill Boone camping in his office.

  “Let her.”

  Lily shook her head. “You don’t get it.”

  “I do.”

  “She could decide to look into the mystery of your mother’s immigration status. The puzzling questions surrounding your birth certificate. The unfortunate stigma of your sister’s unwed motherhood.”

  Nicole’s expression hardened. “I know. I don’t relish the idea.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  She sipped from her glass and gave it a surprised look. “That tastes better than I thought it would.”

  “You’re from New England and you’ve never had a Cape Cod?”

  “I don’t tend to drink.”

  “Are you changing the subject?”

  “Why would I do that?” Nicole was looking anywhere but at her.

  “You did a nice thing and I think you’re embarrassed.”

  Their gazes met for a moment, then Nicole’s smoky brown eyes seemed to darken even more. “I dislike bullies and she’s not very good at it, in spite of her publicity. Her vulnerabilities were obvious. You got off to a great start with serotonin addiction. Incorrect, but inspired.”

  Lily still felt like Nicole was trying to change the subject. “I couldn’t think of any of the others. But you put your biopsychology chops to work.”

  “She was remarkably easy to read.”<
br />
  “She’s a dipshidiot.” Lily blew out air before having another sip. “I doubt she’ll leave me alone, but I stood up to her and as far as I know, it won’t be on YouTube by morning. I sat in my condo for months and months, afraid to go outside. I thought if I ever had the chance I’d slap her, or scream, or something like that. Not…blind her with science.” She giggled.

  The corners of Nicole’s mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t say it was science, but it was a reasonable facsimile.”

  Lily decided a pretzel was a good idea. Around the crumbs she said, “You’ve worn off on me.”

  “I refute that claim.” Nicole’s attempt to look stern failed. “From our first meeting it was very clear that you are gifted at making suppositions sound like facts.”

  “You mean I’m a bullshit artist.” Lily’s grin widened as Nicole, of course, lifted one eyebrow.

  “You are a diplomat at heart.”

  “Some people would say it’s the same thing.” She waved a hand at her drink. “It might have been smart to get something to eat before this, but I certainly feel better.”

  Nicole shrugged. “What are we supposed to be doing tonight?”

  Startled, Lily searched her memory. “Nothing—our flight is at nine thirty tomorrow morning, so it means leaving the hotel by seven.” Clearly, their bar bonding time was over. She’d been about to suggest finding some dinner.

  “I think I’d like to have room service and try for an early night,” Nicole said. “If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure. I’ll probably do the same thing.” Even as she said it, Lily knew she didn’t want to be alone. She’d brood and raid the mini bar for more alcohol and twenty-dollar cashews. With all the fabulous food in New Orleans she could at least find a relaxing meal.

  * * *

  She’d liked the cocktail but hadn’t finished it. Sitting at the desk in the hotel room, staring at the untouched room service menu, Nicole felt numb, not tipsy. The scene with Boone had been surreal. She’d only been frightened for Lily’s sake—there was nothing she had that Boone could take away. Though Nicole had refined her arguments with academic resources, she’d learned how to argue a point from her mother. Let Boone show up at their house and try to question Indira Hathaway, or Kate, for that matter.

  She smiled at herself in the mirror over the desk. Arguing to win was in her DNA. The smile faded as she recalled the image of Lily, pale and shaking with tension, standing her ground against the tank-like Boone. Lily was so small, seemingly so fragile. Profound trauma had not broken her, though. Again, Nicole thought of her mother, who hadn’t been broken by life either. For a moment she was tempted to call home, just to talk, an urge as unusual as the one that had prompted her to help Lily by distracting Boone.

  Kate was the impetuous doer of good. Kate rushed into things without thinking first. Kate had been in the seventh grade, and Nicole a college sophomore, when they’d come upon boys throwing rocks at a cat in a tree. It was an uncomfortable memory because she’d stood frozen wondering why anyone would practice cruelty and thinking how to summon help. But Kate had launched herself screaming at the boys, knocking one down before Nicole could even move. The boys had run off when they’d realized Kate wasn’t alone—they didn’t realize Kate was the one they had to fear. Kate had refused to leave the scene until the cat moved and appeared to be just fine.

  That was Kate. Not her. She could hear her own lecture in her head, talking about the fine line between won’t and can’t. That we argue for our limitations with spectacular success. But today Lily had been just like that cat and Nicole hadn’t hesitated to protect her. Was that what love did to a person?

  She looked into her own dark eyes, seeing no sign of her turmoil in her somber expression. Love, she thought again.

  But for her knowledge of psychology, she’d call it insanity. She felt utterly unlike herself. The clamor and noise in her head was something she could no longer ignore.

  Love? Her?

  It only took minutes to change her clothes.

  * * *

  Lily hadn’t gone as far as getting out the seamed stockings she’d worn in London, but if she was going to find a club and dance to release her tension, she had thought the little black dress and the Manolos were the least she could do. She liked wearing them. But, she told Libido firmly, there would be no alleyways, no trysts. That wasn’t her mood.

  After a quick, delicious dinner of Creole shrimp on mustard greens with a sweet pecan dressing, she backtracked toward the hotel. There had been a club with a promising level of dubstep thumping out of the open doorway and a rainbow sticker in the window alongside various other symbols from university logos to “Who Dat?” for the Saints football team.

  There was no bouncer to navigate or even a cover charge. The crowd was mixed in gender, but most pairings appeared to be same sex. She felt right at home wriggling her way onto the crowded dance floor. She wanted to move, stretch, twirl, spin like Julie Andrews on a mountaintop. Maybe Boone would come back. Maybe she wouldn’t. But Lillian Linden-Smith was no longer afraid.

  She wasn’t running away anymore. She was running toward life again.

  She found herself dancing to Deadmau5 with two young women, as impersonal as hip to hip could be in the boisterous crowd. She didn’t think they were old enough to drink but that wasn’t her problem. Eventually they danced away and Lily just kept moving.

  When arms wrapped around her from behind she was reminded of that attractive Welsh butch. But it wasn’t her mood and she slipped out of the other woman’s grasp. When she turned around to wag a finger at the other dancer she saw a chunky brunette with a cheeky grin giving her an inquiring, hopeful look. She had the shoulders of a long-distance swimmer.

  Lily smiled and shook her head.

  The other woman took advantage of the song lyrics to mouth, “Then I’ll be on my way.”

  Lily laughed as the brunette sidled up to another woman. To each her own. A few weeks ago she might have said yes. But even the flicker of the thought brought the image of Nicole’s smoky eyes, and even more powerfully, the conviction and strength of Nicole’s voice as she picked at Merrill Boone.

  The music changed and softened its pace to what passed as a slow dance in a club. Her energy drained, she now felt tired—and was glad. It was possible she’d sleep, even though her heartbeat felt a little unsteady when she recalled the petrifying moment she’d recognized Boone. That had been the worst of it, as it turned out.

  Perhaps it was time to go back to the hotel. A frozen margarita to sip from on the walk would be refreshing. Reaching the bar she ordered one virgin, to go, and relaxed while she waited.

  A voice suddenly boomed into her ear, making her jump. “My buddies said we were in the wrong kind of place to meet a woman like you.”

  She gave the sandy-haired jock in the LSU T-shirt a narrow look, then turned her back on him.

  He sidled around to the front of her. “Now, you’re not gonna tell me that you’re not into men are you?”

  Unsmiling, she shouted back at him. “I’m not into men and I’m certainly not into boys.”

  He scowled and said something that was lost in the music, though it looked to Lily liked it had included queer.

  She waved her hand dismissively in his face. “Run along.”

  The woman from the dance floor was suddenly next to her, leaning in between them. “This asshole bothering you?”

  “He’s not succeeding,” Lily said. “I don’t need a rescue, thanks.”

  She exchanged cash with the bartender for the frothy green margarita in its clear plastic cup and pushed away from the bar. The jock elbowed the brunette who staggered and trod on Lily’s foot. Lily dropped the glass, lunged to scoop it off the floor before all the contents spilled and butted heads with another woman who’d been standing right behind her.

  “Damn it!” She could only see stars.

  * * *

  Nicole put down her fork with a satisfied sigh. It had been a walk to get
to the café where she and Lily had eaten last night, but worth every step. She would tell her mother all about shrimp and grits. If she was lucky, it might mean less vindaloo.

  Thoughts of what life would be like when she got home were disjointed. She couldn’t predict with any certainty what changes it would take to add Kate and a baby more or less permanently to her life.

  She paid the bill and picked up her leather jacket from the back of the chair. The white UCNH T-shirt tucked into her jeans had much in common with most of the other diners, college-aged kids. Did they think the jacket added something else or was that all in her head? Slipping it on, she relaxed into its warmth, welcome after the chill of the restaurant air-conditioning.

  Pausing to look at a display of Mardi Gras masks in a window, she confronted her reflection. She liked the way she looked in the jacket. But like looking at her reflection, putting the jacket and her entire sexuality into a box so she could study it was how she had kept from actually dealing with its meaning. An all-too-easy mental sleight of hand.

  Putting the jacket on had felt different tonight. Not like a mask she was donning temporarily, as she had in the past. Tonight the jacket felt like an amplifier, an announcement. On a metaphoric level, she might never take it off again. It felt as if everything the jacket represented now fed a part of her she’d kept starved. She would not go back to ignoring the hunger. But how could she conquer all the barriers she had created and accepted as necessary without turning upside down the life that made her so content?

  Some of those barriers guaranteed a future without Lily. She walked for a while, riding the edge of all the fear that surrounded any vision of the future without Lily in it. All possible futures had no Lily, she tried to tell herself. Lily collected male hearts and attention like breathing and one of these days Lily would like one of them back. Nicole would receive Christmas cards and announcements of life events, such as “And baby makes three.”

  If there was no Lily, there was no reason to change. Simple, then, she could go back to her life. But she knew it would not be the same. The difficulty there, however, was that she had already changed. She was in a middle place, still trying to go backward and knowing full well that forward was the only direction physics allowed.