Total Rush

by Deirdre Martin

  “Don’t even say it.”

  Stavros sidled up to the table, wordlessly handing Gemma a cup of coffee. He didn’t even ask anymore whether she wanted any of the “bullsheet hippie tea” she used to sip so demurely. Those days were gone. Nowadays Gemma couldn’t conceive of surviving without caffeine.

  “I’m sorry,” Frankie apologized. “I didn’t mean to insult you. You just look really, really tired.”

  “Frankie, I am really, really tired. Between Nonna and the store, I feel like one of those gerbils on a wheel.”

  “I told you this was going to drive you into the ground,” Frankie sang under her breath.

  “Yes, you did,” Gemma snapped. “Would you like an award?”

  Frankie went wide-eyed. “Yo, foxy, this is me you’re talking to, your best friend?”

  “I know.” The numbing sameness of her days, coupled with the sense of always being one step behind, had made her tense and irritable. “I’m sorry.”

  “You know it’s going to be a good day when we’ve both apologized within the space of two minutes,” Frankie joked. They smiled at each other sheepishly.

  “It’s good to see you,” Gemma murmured.

  “You, too. It’s been—what?—ten years?”

  “Feels like.” Gemma sipped her coffee. “What’s new?”

  “Not much.”

  “Things going well with Uther?”

  “Yes and no.” Oh, no, Gemma thought. Please don’t let her tell me he’s sending love notes on the tip of a flaming arrow.

  “He’s a really interesting guy,” Frankie said carefully. “But the medieval talk is kind of getting to me. Plus, he’s always asking me questions about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. It’s weird. It’s like, no matter what we talk about, he always manages to bring the subject back to you.”

  “Maybe he’s nervous and he knows I’m one thing you share in common,” Gemma suggested, hoping herself that was the case.

  “Maybe. It’s getting on my nerves a little, though. That and his constantly asking me to speak in my Lady Midnight voice.”

  “Tell him to stop.”

  “I have. He doesn’t listen very well.”

  “Bend him to your will,” Gemma suggested.

  “I’m trying. Enough about me. What about you?”

  “Work, Nonna, sleep. That’s my life.”

  “No close encounters of the firefighter kind?”

  “No.” She hadn’t seen Sean since the day he’d shown up at her store after standing her up, and for that she was grateful. Nor had she run into him with his girlfriend, though Gemma thought she once heard her voice behind the closed door of the elevator.

  Frankie looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry that didn’t work out, sweetie. Seriously.”

  “If it was meant to be, it would have been.” She smiled sadly. “In my next life, maybe.”

  Frankie cupped her chin in her palm and sighed. “In my next life, I want to be attracted to gorgeous, stable men with lots of money who are always great in bed.”

  “Good luck.” Gemma drained her coffee cup and stood up.

  Frankie peered at her in alarm. “Where are you going?”

  “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late getting to Brooklyn.” She slipped her jacket back on.

  “Jesus, Gemma. You weren’t kidding when you said you could only give me half an hour tops.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” Gemma looked glum. “Call me, okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” Gemma hurried out the door.

  She was halfway to Brooklyn before she realized she’d neglected to pay for her coffee.

  ———

  Arriving at Nonna’s, Gemma was surprised to walk in and find her mother in the kitchen, helping Nonna eat her cereal. Usually it was her Aunt Millie who took care of Nonna on Saturday nights, the house reeking of Winstons by the time Gemma got there.

  Nonna looked up and smiled. “Benedetta!”

  “THAT’S GEMMA, YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER,” Gemma’s mother shouted. “Benedetta is your sister. She’s been dead for ten years,” she added under her breath in an annoyed voice.

  Gemma put the bag of groceries she was carrying down on the counter and tapped her mother on the shoulder, motioning her into a corner.

  “She’s not deaf, you know,” Gemma pointed out quietly. “A loud voice isn’t going to make her understand any better.”

  “I think it does.”

  “Fine. Whatever, Ma.” Her eyes traveled to her grandmother. “How did she do last night?”

  Gemma’s mother shook her head. “Up practically the whole goddamn night. I hardly got any sleep.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “She kept raving about Coca-Cola or something, I don’t know what the hell she was talking about.”

  Gemma’s pulse looped. “Querciola?”

  “That’s the word!” Her mother looked at her suspiciously. “You know what that is?”

  Gemma held back a smile. “Yeah, I do.”

  “What?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Her mother’s hand shot out, gripping her arm like a vise. “Tell me.”

  Gemma unclenched her mother’s fingers from her forearm. “They’re the spirits in La Stregheria who aid lovers.”

  Gemma’s mother’s face fell. “La Stregheria? Have you been filling her poor addled head with your witch crap?”

  “No!” Gemma was offended.

  “Then how else would she know about these fairies or whatever the hell they are?”

  “Maybe she’s a witch herself,” Gemma suggested, going to sit beside her grandmother.

  “Let me tell you something, Miss Smarty Pants.” Her mother’s expression was indignant as she approached the kitchen table. “My mother is a good, obedient Catholic!”

  “Who has her spiritual roots in Paganism.”

  “N. O.”

  “Maybe I inherited it from her. Maybe it’s in the blood.”

  “What’s in the blood?” Nonna asked innocently.

  “Being a stregh,” said Gemma.

  “Don’t say that in front of her!” her mother hollered. “Madonn‘, what are you trying to do, confuse her further?”

  Gemma put down the spoon she was about to lift to her grandmother’s mouth. “Why are you so threatened by this?”

  “My daughter worships the devil and now she’s trying to suggest my own mother is a devil worshipper, too!”

  “I’ve told you a million times, it’s got nothing to do with the devil.”

  “You listen here. I know what I know. My mother lives by the cross, period. You understand?”

  “Sure. That’s why she wears a cimaruta.”

  Gemma’s mother narrowed her eyes. “A cima wha?”

  “Cimaruta.”

  “What, that ugly necklace with the branches? She got that from her own mother. It’s an heirloom from the old country.”

  “It sure is.”

  “I don’t like what you’re inferring.”

  “What? That my being a stregh really is in the blood?”

  She checked her grandmother’s face to see if she was comprehending any of this. If she was, it didn’t show. Instead, she was smacking her lips impatiently like a baby bird waiting for food. It broke Gemma’s heart.

  “There’s leftover ziti in the fridge if you don’t feel like cooking,” her mother said briskly, completely changing the subject. She slipped on her coat as she made ready to leave.

  “Anything else I need to know?” Gemma asked.

  “You know it all already,” her mother replied sarcastically.

  Gemma sighed.

  “She’s bad at night, like I said. But you already know that. I spoke with Anthony: no Mass today. She’s getting too agitated and it’s getting too hard keeping her in the pew. Don’t forget her medicine.”

  “I won’t.”

  Frowning, Gemma’s mother kissed Nonna on the forehea
d. “YOU BE GOOD FOR GEMMA, MAMA, YOU HEAR ME?” Gemma waited for her mother to kiss her, too. The kiss never came.

  Nonna turned to Gemma after her mother left. “Why does she keep yelling at me?”

  “It’s just who she is,” Gemma explained gently, biting back her own pain. “She doesn’t mean any harm.”

  ———

  I can’t do this much longer. I love her, but I feel like I’m the one losing my mind.

  Trudging through the door of her apartment building on Monday morning, Gemma fantasized about collapsing on one of the couches in the lobby. That’s how exhausted she was.

  She’d passed a horrible day and night at her grandmother’s. Nonna’s lucidity was slipping; more and more she was in her own world. Her habit of repeating the same questions over and over made Gemma want to scream. She knew her grandmother couldn’t help it. But she herself couldn’t help the rising frustration and exhaustion overtaking her life. Frankie had been right: She’d been nuts to take this on while trying to run her business at the same time. Thank God she’d had the presence of mind to have Julie open the store this morning. Gemma would come in after lunch, after she’d had a chance to shower, change, and maybe even close her eyes for a little while.

  Walking past Mrs. Croppy’s door, Gemma heard her whisper, “Slut.”

  “I wish,” Gemma replied, laughing to herself. No doubt the old busybody thought she was trudging home in the early morning after a night of debauchery. If only she knew.

  Opening the door of her apartment, she was greeted by the sight of the red light blinking on her answering machine. Sean. Then: Why on earth would you immediately assume that?

  She took her time hanging up her coat, kicking off her shoes, and putting away the few groceries she’d picked up. Then she went to the machine. It was Frankie.

  “Gem, hi, look, it’s me. Not only is there a suspicious mole on my shin, but—”

  Gemma hit “Delete.” She couldn’t take it anymore: not Frankie’s self-obsessed hypochondria, not her mother’s coldness, not Nonna’s deterioration, none of it. She needed to escape. She called Julie at the Golden Bough and told her she’d be in at 6 p.m., not noon as planned. Then she unplugged her phone, took a few drops of valerian, and slid between the sheets, praying for the oblivion of deep, unbroken sleep. For the first time in a long while, her prayers were answered.

  CHAPTER 19

  When Frankie failed to show up for their diner date four days later, even stretched as she was to the limit, Gemma knew something was wrong. Phone messages left for her at WROX and on her home machine yielded nothing. Gemma knew she was going to have track Frankie down in person to get to the bottom of her sudden disappearance.

  Leaving the store to Julie in the middle of the day, she trekked over to Frankie’s. She knew her friend was there: Frankie had been on the air overnight and had to be sleeping. It was just a matter of waking her up, then annoying her enough to get her out of bed to let her in. To achieve this, Gemma leaned on the intercom buzzer relentlessly. After what felt like forever, the intercom crackled and Frankie’s cranky voice could be heard loud and clear.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Gemma.”

  She pulled at the door, assuming she’d be buzzed in immediately. Instead there was silence. What the hell was going on here? She spoke into the intercom. “Frankie?”

  “Yeah, okay, come on up. I guess.”

  You guess? Not good. Not good at all. Gemma slipped inside and headed for the elevator.

  She arrived to find Frankie’s door open a crack, a clear indication to let herself in. The apartment was shrouded in darkness, a necessity for someone who slept during the day. She could hear Frankie bustling in the bedroom, and took off her cape, taking the liberty of turning on the living room lights. She kept the shades down.

  Frankie finally emerged, looking like what she was: someone who’d just been woken up. Her flannel pajamas were crumpled and her hair hung in thin, unruly sheets. There was no mistaking the unhappiness on her face as she stood in her bedroom doorway, regarding Gemma warily with her arms folded across her chest.

  “Yes?”

  Gemma looked at her like she was nuts. “What do you mean, ‘yes’? I’ve been calling you for days and you haven’t called me back. You also stood me up at the diner. What’s going on?”

  “You tell me,” Frankie said tersely.

  Gemma scowled. “What?”

  “Didn’t you get my phone message?”

  “What, about the mole?” Gemma asked cautiously.

  “The mole and Uther. You never called me back about that.”

  Gemma looked away from her friend. Painful as it was, she knew she had to tell Frankie the truth. “I didn’t listen to your whole message,” she confessed quietly. “I thought you were being your usual hypochondriac self.”

  Frankie appeared stunned. “Oh.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Frankie looked mortified. “Am I really that bad?”

  “Honey, you know you are. Admit it.”

  Frankie hung her head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Gemma went to her. “No, I’m sorry. I was wrong, I should have listened to the whole message. What’s up with Uther?“

  Frankie sank down on the couch with a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure you’re going to want to hear this. God knows I didn’t.”

  Gemma braced. “What?”

  “Well, things were getting a little hot and heavy, you know? We were rolling around and I thought, ‘What the hell, I’ll sleep with him.’ I haven’t had sex in so long I’m getting cobwebs between my legs. So I asked him if he wanted to spend the night, and he said yes, but then he tells me”—Frankie pressed her lips together—“that he prefers to do it with his helmet on.”

  Gemma recoiled. “That pewter soup bowl thing?”

  “You got it. Which is fine. I’ve dealt with much kinkier things than that.”

  “You have?”

  “Oh yeah. Remember that guy in college who wanted me to pretend to be Eleanor Roosevelt?”

  “I must have blocked that out. Go on.”

  “So he put the soup bowl on his head and we rolled around some more and then guess what happened?”

  “He insisted on pinning you to the headboard with two arrows from his quiver?”

  Frankie frowned. “I wish. No, in the heat of passion he called me ‘Gemma.’”

  Gemma sank down onto the couch feeling dizzy and nauseous all at once. It was if someone had knocked the wind out of her. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Needless to say, I told him to put on his jerkin and with a hey nonny nonny to get the hell out of here. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again.”

  Gemma nervously raised her eyes to her friend’s. “Frankie, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Gemma could see she was trying to brash it off, but it had to hurt.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. I mean—was it a blow to my ego? I’ll say. But it’s not like I imagined this relationship really going anywhere. I just wanted you to know so you can be on your guard. Seems Robin Hood wants you to be his Maid Marion.”

  Gemma groaned. “This is the last thing I need.”

  Frankie smiled sadly. “Guess it’s back to me and Russell Crowe.” Russell Crowe was Frankie’s pet name for her vibrator.

  Gemma laughed. “Who needs men anyway?” She relaxed a bit. Then she noticed Frankie, who’d been chuckling with her a moment before, was now staring at her worriedly.

  “Gemma, no offense, but have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror lately?”

  Gripping her shoulders, Frankie steered Gemma into the bathroom, turning on the light. Gemma gazed at her reflection: Her complexion was sallow, there were dark circles ringing her eyes, and her hair was dull as weak tea.

  “It’s the light in here,” she told Frankie.

  The look Frankie flashed her clearly indicated she thought Gem
ma was delusional. Gemma looked again. It had nothing to do with the light, and everything to do with trying to do it all.

  Gemma turned away. “Take me away, spirit, I’ve seen enough.”

  “You have to take care of yourself, Gem.”

  “Look who’s talking.” She followed Frankie out of the bathroom. “I should let you get back to sleep.”

  “Forget it. I’m up now. I’ll go put some coffee on. Go sit down.”

  Doing as her friend requested, Gemma sat back down on the battered couch. She felt awful about deleting Frankie’s phone message before it was done. She was her oldest and best friend, and the fact that she didn’t even have the patience to listen to it in its entirety spoke volumes about the life she was leading—or wasn’t, depending on how you chose to view these things. She knew Frankie’s hypochondria made her partly culpable, but still… I should have been able to tell by her voice that something was up. I should have had the patience and consideration to play her entire message.

  But she hadn’t. What is happening to me?

  ———

  It was crazy to be here, Sean knew, as he walked through the door of the Golden Bough. She had told him she didn’t have time for him. She had made it clear she didn’t understand firefighter culture, nor did she care to. She’d intimated to his face that she thought he was emotionally stunted.

  So why did he care so much that Gemma be clear about his relationship with JJ?

  The issue had been haunting him ever since he’d visited the Golden Bough last time and she’d asked him about “his girlfriend.” He wasn’t here because he thought he could talk Gemma into giving him another chance. He was here because, when all was said and done, it was important to him that Gemma be clear on what kind of man he was: the honorable kind. JJ had stayed at his apartment right after he and Gemma broke up. He didn’t want Gemma thinking he’d been fooling around behind her back. He wanted to set the record straight. He wanted her to know he didn’t have a girlfriend.

  The store smelled vaguely of cinnamon, while the haunting lilt of a tin whistle keened from the sound system. A smile twitched at the edge of Sean’s lips as he recalled their disastrous first date going to see deValera’s Playground. He could almost hear Gemma’s voice in his head: That wasn’t Irish music. This is Irish music.