Total Rush

by Deirdre Martin

  “Jesus Christ, you look like you died sitting up. Since when did you aspire to swamidom?”

  “Since I went to talk to the counseling unit about the brownstone fire.”

  “You did?” There was no mistaking the relief in her voice as she waited for him to rise and put on his leather jacket. “Do you think it helped?”

  Sean picked his words carefully. “It seemed to.” He wasn’t yet ready to say so definitively. But Dan was right about one thing: Talking about it helped. The Kennealy household might have functioned a helluva lot more smoothly if there’d been a counseling unit back when his father was still dragging hose.

  “Where we going?” JJ asked, following Sean out the door.

  “I need to stop by my apartment to check on Pete and Roger. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  JJ looked hopeful. “Italian?”

  He shrugged. “No problem.”

  “That’s what I love about you. You’re so easygoing.”

  ———

  The irony of JJ’s words struck him a few minutes later as they stepped off the elevator in his building’s lobby and ran smack into Gemma. He felt tongue-tied and awkward. Concerned, too: She looked exhausted; her soft brown eyes were ringed with circles, the airy bounce in her step conspicuously absent. Was he the cause? Guilt engulfed him.

  “Hi,” he said, straining to keep his tone light and casual.

  “Hi.” Gemma’s placid face was all politeness. Her eyes flicked to his friend. “Hello.”

  JJ nodded, smiling. “Hello.”

  Sean turned to her awkwardly. “Would you mind giving me a minute?”

  “Sure.” JJ threw him an odd look before smiling again at Gemma. “Nice meeting you.”

  Gemma’s eyes were downcast. “You, too.”

  As JJ walked to the front door, Sean felt sick. He wanted to spill his guts, here, now, tell Gemma everything he’d learned from talking to the counselor; apologize, beg her to give him another chance, make her laugh till her eyes lit up again and there was color in her cheeks. Instead he stood there paralyzed, watching as she moved toward the elevator.

  “Gemma?”

  Her expression was wary as she turned back to him.

  “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine. I just have a bad headache, is all.”

  “There must be an herb for that. Or something.”

  It was the right thing to say. Her mouth almost curled into a smile. Almost.

  “There is. Feverfew.”

  “Is that what’s in the bag?”

  He knew he sounded like an idiot, but he didn’t care. He wanted to keep the conversation going. He wanted to keep her here until he figured out how to say what needed to be said.

  Gemma rattled the bag. “Aspirin.”

  He nodded. What could he say to that? How much? What kind? Ah, aspirin, yes, that always works for me? She was looking at him a bit oddly now. Could he blame her? It was none of his business what was in her bag.

  He nervously licked his lips. “Well, um, I hope you feel better.”

  “Me, too.” She turned to the elevator.

  Well, that’s that, Sean thought glumly. Opportunity blown, over and out. Then she abruptly turned back to him.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask how you were.”

  “Fine, fine.” Sean nodded vigorously. Nothing like a good lie to get the heart racing. Keep nodding, keep smiling.

  “I’m glad,” Gemma said quietly.

  Maybe it was the headache, but Sean thought she looked distinctly pained as she stepped into the elevator, though she was doing her best to hide it.

  “Have a nice night, Sean.”

  “You, too,” he said as the elevator doors snapped closed in his face.

  And… cut! That’s a wrap. Frowning, Sean zipped up his jacket and went outside to meet JJ. He knew women; she’d want to know “what that was all about.” JJ would probably tell him he was an idiot not to seize the moment. Sadly, he agreed with her.

  ———

  “Do you think I’m a jerk?” Sean asked abruptly.

  He and JJ had just given their order to a waiter named Dodge. As predicted, JJ wanted to know all about the woman they’d run into in the lobby. As Sean filled her in on all the facts, JJ listened attentively and a battle raged inside his head over whether or not he was a fool not to have made better use of the encounter. A larger question ate at him as well: If he missed her so much, why didn’t he apologize and try to get back together with her? That’s when he had blurted out his question.

  JJ smiled politely at the waiter as he placed their salads before them. “Can I get Sir or Madam anything else before I depart?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

  “This is fine, thanks,” Sean said, watching him go.

  “Why would a mother saddle a child with the name ‘Dodge’?”

  “You think that’s his real name?” Sean said with disbelief. “Get a grip. He’s probably an actor.”

  “No one trying to break into show biz is going to take the name ‘Dodge,’ believe me.” She reached for the pepper. “Now, what was your question again? Do I think you’re a jerk?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In general, or does this have to do with a specific situation?”

  “Specific. Specifically Gemma.”

  JJ looked uneasy. “I thought so. You’ve been distracted ever since we ran into her.”

  Sean poked at his salad. “I miss her.”

  JJ swallowed nervously. “Sean, I have to tell you something, and you have to promise not to get pissed.”

  “Okay.”

  “That woman—Gemma? Your ex-girlfriend? She, um, stopped by your apartment that weekend I was bird-sitting.”

  Sean felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “She did?”

  “Yeah. I forgot to tell you.”

  “And—?”

  “This is the ‘Don’t get pissed’ part.”

  Sean’s fingers tightened around his napkin. “Okay.”

  JJ’s words tumbled out in a rush. “She came to the door and I opened it and I was wearing your robe and she asked for you and I was on the phone fighting with Chris and I just said ‘He’s not here right now’ and I closed the door and forgot all about it until now. I’m sorry.”

  Sean made a sound like a dying moose and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, shit.”

  Eventually he uncovered his face, staring in disbelief at JJ. She sank down lower in her seat.

  “I really wish you’d told me sooner, JJ.”

  “I know. I’m so, so sorry, Sean.”

  Sean sighed. “It’s not your fault. Well, it is, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.” His fist hit the table, making JJ flinch. “Shit!”

  “There is something you can do about it,” she said tentatively. “Go talk to her. Tell her you miss her. Beg her forgiveness and ask her to go out with you again.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the woman clearly hates me. She could hardly stand talking to me. Now I know why.”

  “I thought you said she asked how you were?”

  “She did.”

  “Women don’t ask how you are if they wish you were dead.”

  “You don’t know Gemma. She’s nice to everyone. Bin Laden could step into the elevator beside her and she’d try to talk him out of jihad. That’s the kind of person she is.”

  “I don’t know what to say. You cut her loose, and now you want her back. There’s only one way to make that happen: Apologize.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?” JJ asked softly. “It’s not rocket science, for God’s sake.”

  “No, but it is complicated.” He grimaced. “I don’t know if you could tell by seeing her for those few seconds, but Gemma’s not exactly a typical firefighter’s girlfriend, you know?”

  JJ looked appalled. “What the
hell does that mean?”

  “I told you about that night we went out with some guys from my house. It was a disaster.”

  JJ put down her fork. “Okay, let me make sure I’m getting this straight. You miss Gemma, but you’re hesitant to get back with her because a few of the boneheads you work with think she’s a little offbeat?”

  “I guess,” Sean muttered.

  “Then you are an idiot.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You wanted to know what I think; there it is. No offense, but who the hell cares what those guys think of Gemma? It’s what you think that matters.”

  “They’ll give me shit, JJ.They already have.”

  “Then give it back to them! We all give each other shit about everything anyway! If it’s not Gemma, it’ll be something else. This is ridiculous, Sean. Are Leary and those other yahoos the ones you’re going to come home to after a long day’s work? Are they going to give you a family? Grow old with you? I know you worked hard to get them to accept you, but you succeeded, Sean. Any hell you catch from here on in is just bluster. And if it’s not, then I think you need to get yourself some new friends. Life’s too short to screw around with this stuff,” she concluded in a choking voice.

  Sean thought her food had gone down the wrong pipe. Then he realized: She was starting to cry.

  “Hey.” His hand snaked across the table to hers. “You okay?”

  “Ignore me,” she sniffled, waving him away. “It’s PMS.”

  “Bull.”

  “Okay, it’s not. It’s me and Chris. If Gemma makes you happy, go after her.”

  “I don’t know if I can give her what she wants. Not right now, anyway.”

  “Then offer what you can and see what she says. If she tells you to get lost, at least you’ll know you gave it your best shot.” Swiping at her eyes, she glanced frantically around the restaurant. “Now where’s Dodge? I need a glass of water.”

  ———

  “Excuse me, Janucz?”

  Sean tried not to feel embarrassed for the building super as he jerked awake at the sound of Sean’s voice. Janucz had been snoring so loudly Sean had been able to hear him all the way down the hall. He wasn’t surprised, therefore, when he arrived at the super’s tiny basement office to find him with his feet up on the desk and his head lolling on his chest.

  “Sean, Sean, how are you?” The burly Pole motioned for Sean to come through the doorway. “What can I do for you?”

  “A favor. A big one.”

  “For you? Anything.”

  Sean smiled at the compliment. The staff and the other tenants in his building loved that a firefighter lived under the same roof. They thought it somehow made them safer. Sean had never traded on his status, but there was a first time for everything.

  “I need you to go into 5B when the tenant isn’t home and put this inside.” He reached outside the doorway and grabbed a large, wrapped box.

  “What is this?” Janucz asked suspiciously.

  “A present.”

  “And you want Janucz to place it in 5B? Falconetti?”

  “It’s not Falconetti anymore, but yeah.”

  “Why for?”

  To his surprise, Sean felt mildly embarrassed even discussing it. “It’s a surprise. For the woman who’s living there now.”

  “Yeah?” Janucz wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “That little redhead in 5B? She is your special friend?”

  Sean feigned a wolfish grin he knew would communicate better to Janucz than words. “She was. I want her to be again. That’s why I need you to put this in her apartment. I want to surprise her.”

  “Hhmm.” Janucz folded his hands across his soft belly, and tilted back in his old office chair. “This is illegal, you know, just going into someone’s apartment for no reason. Janucz could get in trouble.”

  “I know.” Sean felt badly, compromising this kind soul. “But it’s for a good cause. And I could pay you,” he added.

  “You pay nothing,” Janucz shot back, sounding insulted. “You are a great hero of this city.”

  Yeah, right, Sean thought. But to Janucz he simply said, “Thank you.”

  Janucz looked up at him with earnest, narrowed eyes. “If I do this for you, do you swear to tell no one, not even you own mother?”

  Sean crossed his heart. “I swear.”

  “You swear on the grave of you father?”

  Exasperated, Sean bit the inside of his cheek. “My father’s still alive, Janucz. But yes, I swear.”

  “All right.” Pitching himself out of the chair, Janucz leaned forward and, picking up the box, put it on his desk. “Let me see… 5B, 5B, 5B,” he muttered to himself. Then: “Oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  “You know who live on that floor? Croppy.” He shook his head sadly. “Sorry, Sean. Too dangerous.”

  “Croppy won’t be a problem,” he assured Janucz.

  “What? Are you crazy? Croppy’s always problem. Her late husband? Beelzebub, I’m telling you. He’s the only one who would have her.”

  “Listen,” Sean said patiently. “It’s none of her business why you’re going into Gemma’s apartment with a gift box. For all she knows, Gemma asked you to bring it up for her.”

  “Hhmm.” Janucz rubbed his pocked chin. “You are right, Sean. But if Croppy sees me, she will bust my balls. You know this. But I will do this for you anyway.”

  “Thank you.” Sean couldn’t express his gratitude enough. “Gemma usually leaves for work at around eight, and is home between six-thirty and seven. Can you do it tomorrow?”

  “I can do it. No sweating,” Janucz said proudly.

  Sean patted Janucz’s shoulder. “I really appreciate this.”

  “No sweating,” Janucz repeated. “You are a great hero of this city.”

  ———

  A day later the encounter with Sean still had Gemma rattled. It was too much, seeing his image on the calendar and then running into him in the lobby minutes later with his new girlfriend in tow. It felt like a cruel sensory over-load. Despite looking tired, he was still handsome in that rugged, heart-stopping way of his, with his unkempt hair hinting at wildness and the faintest hint of his cologne teasing her through the weave of his faded denim shirt. Malibu Barbie was a lucky woman.

  Unlocking her front door, she found herself face-to-face with a large, wrapped box.

  Her first thought was panic: What on earth is this? Someone’s been in my apartment!

  Nervous, she looked around to see if anything had been moved or changed. Nothing had. Then it hit her. Sean. It had to be. Didn’t it? Before her galloping pulse got the better of her, she forced herself to focus and listen to the still, small voice inside, the one that told her things, true things, about herself and others. You want this gift to be from Sean. But is it? Yes.

  She tore off her cape and sank to the floor, tearing at the wrapping paper and carefully lifting the top flap of the box. A flash of hot pink hit her eye and she gasped in delight as she pulled it free, knowing just what it was: a hot pink wildebeest. Where Sean had managed to find another one, she couldn’t imagine. Nor did she care. All her focus and attention was on the beautiful, fuzzy, unwieldy beast, its beaded eyes staring at her in supplication. There was an envelope pinned to its chest, and just for a moment, Gemma remembered the last time he’d used the wildebeest as a messenger: Back killing me. Went back to my own rock hard mattress. But that was then and this was now. She tore open the envelope.

  Gemma,

  Can you meet me at the Starbucks around the corner tomorrow night at eight? I really need to talk to you.

  Sean

  Gemma pressed the note to her chest, breathing hard. Oh, God. Maybe he wants to apologize? Maybe he wants to get back together? Barely able to think, she got up off the floor and rushed to the phone, punching in Sean’s number.

  That’s when she remembered.

  Nonna.

  Shoot.

  She hung up. Tomorrow was Wednesday, one of her nigh
ts to watch Nonna. There was no way out of it, unless she switched nights with her mother or one of her aunts. She could already hear her mother: You’ve only watched her once and already you’re changing things around, making it a big pain in the ass for everyone, blah blah blah. But this was Sean she was talking about here. Sean. The man whose eyes had appeared to her in the first love spell she’d ever cast for herself. The man who loved his family, and walking the beach in winter.

  The man she loved.

  Bracing herself, she dialed her mother’s number. Her mother picked up on the third ring, her voice tired.

  “Hello?”

  “Mom, it’s Gemma.”

  Silence ensued.

  “Mom?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I—I need to ask a favor of you.”

  More silence. Deeper, resentful. Gemma held her breath.

  “What would that be?”

  “I need to know if you can watch Nonna tomorrow night.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Gemma hesitated. Should she tell her the truth? Why not?

  “I have a date.”

  “With who? A warlock?”

  “A firefighter,” Gemma said, ignoring the dig. “I was hoping you could watch Nonna for me tomorrow night and then I’d watch her for you Thursday. We’d switch.”

  “I have my widows’ group tomorrow night.”

  Gemma dug her nails into her arm. “It’s just one night, Mom. I promise.”

  Judging from the drama of her mother’s sigh, Gemma felt as though she were asking her to bring peace to the Middle East. We’re talking about watching your own mother for one night! Gemma longed to yell. She bided her time and waited.

  “I suppose I could do it,” her mother eventually said. “Or I could get Millie or Betty Anne.”

  “Thank you so much, Mom.”

  Gemma heard a grunt of acknowledgment. Then: “You know, I hope you’re not going to make a habit of this, Gemma. Because it’s not right, especially on such short notice. You’re not the only one with a life.”

  “I know that, Mom.” Gemma swallowed her annoyance. “And I appreciate it. These are extenuating circumstances.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Her mother’s tone was caustic. “Why’s that?”