by Susan Sey
“They’re from the clinic down the street.”
“I’m Dr. Erik Larsen, and this is our receptionist.” Erik stepped forward, offered his hand to Tyrese. Tyrese took it. Somehow, both men made it clear that it wasn’t a friendly greeting. Nixie had no idea how men did such things.
“Come in,” he said, and stepped back from the door. He put a hand on Daryl’s chest. “Not you, Daryl.”
The kid’s face fell. “Aw, man.”
“Go home and open some windows. You smell like the Laundromat started selling pot. Your mama’s going to have your ass.”
“Later, dawg.”
“Later.”
Tyrese closed the door and turned to them, his face a blank. Erik stood next to one of the overflowing bookshelves, glaring at Tyrese, but Nixie took in the tiny apartment with interest. It looked like somebody with an addiction to both books and computers was squatting there. No photos on the walls, no posters or pictures, no stash of grocery bags, no clutter. Not even a piece of mail or a newspaper or a take-out carton. Just a breathtakingly vast collection of books and a laptop humming on every flat surface.
“Have you lived here long?” Nixie asked.
“A few years, Ms. Leighton-Brace.”
“You recognized me?” She patted at her filthy hair. “Erik assured me I was incognito like this.”
Tyrese smiled, and it made him look seriously angelic. “I’ll admit, Mary Jane tipped me off.”
“Where is she?” Erik put himself between Nixie and Tyrese. If possible, he looked bigger, squarer, than usual. Nixie sighed. Again with the nonverbals.
Tyrese gave Erik an assessing look. “Is she late for work or something?”
“She’s off today,” Nixie said, putting herself between the two men. It was like stepping between a couple of growling dogs. “Erik’s just worried about her.”
“Why?” Tyrese didn’t look at Nixie. Neither did Erik. They just glared at each other over her head. “She something special to you?”
“Yeah.” Erik’s hands were fists, and Nixie wanted to seize them in her own hands and gentle them. “She is.”
Tyrese’s dark eyes went hot, then utterly cool. “Does she know that?” he asked, an edge of mockery in his melted butter voice. “Because she didn’t mention you last night.”
“My relationship with Mary Jane is none of your business,” Erik said. “The only thing you need to know is that she’s under my protection.”
“Oh? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Listen, Tyrese. I don’t give a shit who you are, what you think you need or who’s dying. Mary Jane isn’t yours to snatch off the street whenever you feel like it. That happens again, I’ll make sure you’re sorry. You understand?”
Tyrese was silent long enough to be insulting. Nixie sighed. Please God let us get out of here without anybody taking a swing, she thought. Because as ripped as Tyrese was, Erik was taller, more muscled and probably had a fist like a wrecking ball. If these two were going to tangle, Nixie didn’t want to see it.
“Mary Jane didn’t get snatched, cuz,” Tyrese drawled. “I asked her to come, she came. Simple as that.” He smiled at Erik, and it was full of malice. “You ain’t been getting so lucky with her, huh?”
Nixie could see the white of Erik’s knuckles through his skin. Any minute now he was going to try to put them through Tyrese’s perfect white teeth and then she’d have to break up the War of the Alpha Dogs. God help her.
She took a deep breath and threw herself into the fray. “Listen, Tyrese, do you know where we can find Mary Jane? We’re both worried about her. The kids who came to collect her last night were armed, and it didn’t sit so well with Erik. We both care about her, though. All we want to know is that she’s safe. Is she?”
“Safe.” Tyrese seemed to think that one over. “Yeah, I guess she is. Safe and sound in her little apartment on the other side of the river.” He showed his teeth in a twisted parody of a smile. “Far, far away from the stink of people like me. Good enough for you, doc?”
Nixie caught her breath at the depth of pain in his face, and even Erik looked taken aback. “How do you know Mary Jane?” he asked abruptly.
“Me? I don’t.” Tyrese shook his head. “I never did. That’s where the trouble started.”
Nixie chewed her lip. This was bad. Tyrese was in love with Mary Jane. How did Mary Jane feel about that, she wondered. And how did Erik feel about how Mary Jane felt?
“Well, okay. That’s what we needed to know,” Nixie said brightly. She tucked her hand into Erik’s elbow and started hauling him toward the door. “We’ll just swing by her place on the way home and make sure that everything’s, you know, okay.” Erik’s arm was like a steel cable in her hands but she ignored that and kept pulling. Tyrese opened the door and she flashed him a grateful smile as she steered Erik through it.
“Thanks, Tyrese. See you around.”
The door closed in her face and Nixie turned to Erik. He was staring thoughtfully at the door. “Huh,” he said. “You think Mary Jane actually knows that guy?”
“You’ll have to ask her that.” Nixie scratched at something disgusting in her hair. “Oh, ick. I think there’s beef jerky on my head.”
Erik surprised her by laughing. “Yeah, I think there is. Come on, princess. I’ll get you home, then swing by Mary Jane’s.”
Good luck with that conversation, Nixie thought. But she kept her mouth shut. His heart wasn’t any of her business, now was it?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Erik frowned at his cell phone while Nixie gazed studiously out the windshield. I am deaf, she thought to herself, as if she could make it so by concentrating hard enough.
“What the hell does that mean?” Erik said into the phone as they cruised down Constitution. “Jesus, Mary Jane, you were abducted last night at gun point--”
Nixie couldn’t hear Mary Jane’s response to that, but the fact that she worded it strongly enough to derail Erik mid-sentence pointed to serious irritation
“Can I at least swing by and see for myself that you’re--”
Uh-oh, Nixie thought. Another interruption. This did not bode well for Erik’s courtship. She resisted the urge to pat his knee. She didn’t dare risk a look at him, because she knew her own face would betray all sorts of sympathy, and that was probably the last thing he wanted.
“Because I care about you, Mary Jane.” He pushed the words through gritted teeth. He sounded more terminally pissed than caring, but Nixie figured he’d had a hard twelve hours. The object of his affection had been snatched away, first by armed teenagers, then by a renegade CPA. And she didn’t seem at all interested in soothing Erik’s bruised ego.
He glanced toward Nixie and lowered his voice. “I was hoping I could take you out to lunch. We need to talk.”
Deaf, Nixie chanted in her head. I am deaf. La la la la la.
“Oh. No, sure. I understand. I’ll call you later.” Erik flipped the phone shut and tossed it onto the console between them. Nixie didn’t speak, and neither did he. They drove in tenuous silence until Erik turned into the Watergate complex.
He angled the Jeep into a spot near the front doors and cut the engine.
“Are you coming in?” Nixie asked, unaccountably cheered by the prospect. For years, she’d dreamed of what it might be like to be completely alone. No advisors, no press, no assistants, no directors, managers, or foreign dignitaries. Nobody but herself and her thoughts.
As it turned out, she and her thoughts weren’t such good company. Her life had always been packed with people who orbited her mother like planets spinning around the sun. Nixie had never learned to make friends, at least not lasting ones. She’d never had to. What was the point? People were always leaving, but there were always new ones coming, too. Love the one you’re with, right?
She thought of another long, solitary Sunday afternoon with nothing to do but plan her next culinary disaster and suddenly she was regarding Erik with naked hope in her face.
�
��Are you hungry? I was going to try an eggplant roulade this afternoon.”
“Eggplant what?”
“Eggplant roulade. Big slices of eggplant smeared with filling and rolled up?” Nixie frowned. “At least I think that’s what it is. The recipe is a little complicated, but I like a challenge.” She realized with a start that she was pretty hungry herself, but not for eggplant. What she really wanted was a taste of the Viking doctor’s lovely, firm mouth. Geez. She must be lonelier than she thought.
“Eggplant,” Erik said slowly. “Smeared with something and rolled up.”
“Forget I offered, okay?” His lack of enthusiasm made her feel suddenly needy and pathetic, so she threw a little exasperation into her voice. “You make it sound like I’m trying to poison you.”
“Are you? I’m trying to decide.”
Nixie sighed and shook off the moment. His mouth was still appealing, even curled up as it was in disdain for all things vegetable. “I was trying to be nice, Erik. You just got dumped. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to be alone with your misery all afternoon.”
He patted her knee. Zingy little shock waves rolled up her thigh and on into parts better left unmentioned. “That’s sweet. But I didn’t get dumped.”
“No? Then why did your girlfriend ditch you for an ultra-hot criminal accountant, then refuse to let you take her out for brunch?”
Erik smiled. “See there’s the problem right there. You think Mary Jane’s my girlfriend.”
“She’s not?”
“No, of course not. She’s my best friend. Has been for years.”
“I see.”
“Which is not to say that I wouldn’t snap her up in a heartbeat if she showed the slightest interest. The older I get, the more I’m convinced that she’s exactly what I want.”
“And that is?”
“Somebody smart, funny, driven and absolutely unfamous. Somebody normal.” He glanced at Nixie. “No offense.”
“None taken. But what are you going to do about her being... How to put this delicately?” She tapped her lips and pretended to think. “Not into you.” She gave him a sweetly concerned and patently false smile. “No offense.”
He shrugged. “Nothing really valuable in life is free, Nixie. I’m not afraid to wait for it. Or work for it.”
She had one hand on the door. She needed to end this conversation, get back to her apartment, clean up and start on the eggplant. She did not need to sit here any longer, contemplating his beautiful mouth, and the prospect of a man--any man--thinking she was everything he’d ever wanted. Wanting her enough to work for her. Lucky, lucky Mary Jane.
“Well, as long as you’re okay.” She opened the door and slid out. A small flurry of leaves and straw wrappers fell out at her feet. “I’m not on till Tuesday,” she said. “See you then.” But she was talking to an empty truck. He’d opened his door and was rounding the hood, fingers tucked into pockets, a smug grin on that mouth.
“What’s this now?” Nixie smacked at her jeans and gave him a dismissive look. “There’s no eggplant for you, mister. That was a pity invitation, and I’ve decided you need psychotherapy more than pity.”
“Why? Because I’m goal-oriented and not afraid of a little rejection?”
“Ha. Tell it to the judge when she issues Mary Jane’s restraining order.”
“Besides, I wouldn’t eat eggplant on pain of death.”
“No? Then why are you coming up?”
“Because my mom needs a little talking to about how she uses my spare key.”
“Ah.” Nixie’s enthusiasm deflated. She’d been enjoying their little spat, and thought he had been too. As it turned out, he was just keeping up his end of the conversation. All he wanted to do was drop her politely at her door and go yell at his mom. How...lowering.
“Well, let’s get going,” she said, starting for the lobby at a brisk trot. “I stand still in all this dirt much longer and something’s bound to start sprouting.”
Erik kept pace easily. “Your head was made for a flower garden.” He reached over and plucked out a leaf. “Looks good on you.”
Nixie hardened her heart as she strode through the posh lobby. She avoided the mirrored panels on the walls. She knew what she must look like. No wonder Erik didn’t want to have lunch with her. She’d gotten used to the smell herself, but boy was she turning heads here at the Watergate. She punched the elevator button and gave a face-lifted socialite and her pocket-dog a nod.
“I’m not a flower garden sort of girl,” she told Erik. “I always figured I’d have a Victory Garden someday, though.”
“Hell, no. You’d just grow eggplant. Nobody eats eggplant.”
“I do.”
“You’re...unusual.”
She caught sight of her dirty face in the polished metal elevator doors. “Tell me about it,” she muttered.
The doors opened with a discreet bing, and Nixie stepped into the lift. Erik followed, put a hand across the door and looked a question at the socialite. She shook her head and firmed up her grip on her dog, who squirmed desperately to get on the elevator. Nixie smiled at them.
“Sorry. I almost got run over by a truck.”
“Half a truck,” Erik said.
The door swished shut on the socialite’s frozen brow.
“I think she was trying to register sympathy,” Nixie said.
“I think she was trying to frown,” Erik said. “Hard to tell with Botox.”
“Her dog liked me.”
“Her dog wanted to roll in whatever’s on your jeans. Plus you have jerky in your hair. And you smell.”
Nixie frowned at her blackened knees. “Right. Thanks so much for reminding me.”
The elevator rose, and they were silent. Nixie glanced at Erik.
“Are you breathing through your mouth?”
He gave her big, innocent eyes. “What?”
“Jerk.”
He was still laughing when the doors parted again. Nixie sailed out of the elevator like she was the Queen of England. “Tell your mom thanks for me.”
“I’ll do that.
She could feel his eyes on her back as she marched down the hallway to her apartment. She didn’t look back, just opened her door and let it bang satisfactorily behind her.
Erik rapped on his mother’s door. He checked his watch. Eleven twenty-five. Perfect. The Senator worked insane hours--much like his own now that he thought about it--but Sunday mornings were sacred. She reserved them for coffee, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and a single sticky bun from Heller’s Bakery.
The door swept open and the Senator appeared, wrapped up in a silky red robe that matched her polished toenails.
“Ah, yes. I’d recognize that hammering anywhere. Good morning, beloved child, oh my favorite son.”
“I’m your only son,” Erik told her as he stepped into the foyer. She presented her perfumed cheek and he deposited the ritual peck on it.
“Indeed. Which is why my hopes for you are so high.”
“Yeah. We need to talk about that.”
She turned her back on him and swished toward the kitchen. He followed. “Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I won’t be here that long.”
“Suit yourself.” She seated herself at a pretty little café table near the window and raised a china cup to her lips. Her dark eyes danced merrily over the rim. “So, what are you angry with me about this time?”
“Let me count the ways.”
“Oh dear.” She set the cup down and broke off a piece of sticky bun. “That bad? I thought you’d like Nixie. She’s not your usual fare.” Her mouth twitched. “Or mine, for that matter. You’ve got to admit, she’s a refreshing change of pace from the debutante parade.”
Images of Nixie flashed through his mind like a slide show on speed. Nixie diving into a pile of rotten garbage. Nixie laughing delightedly at Daryl’s home made pot smoke filter. Nixie, her hands wet with a dying man’s blood, guiding a hysterical teenager through goodbye
.
“You have no idea.” Erik sat down in the chair facing his mother and pushed aside the Times. “But that’s not the point, Mom. You need to stop this.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop steering me.” He resisted the urge to shake like a wet dog. His mother always made him feel this way. Like he was too huge, too clumsy, like he required a gentle nudge in the right direction at every crossroads life handed him.
“I beg your pardon.” The Senator sipped her coffee. “I have never steered you a moment in your life. I suggested American History, you insisted on science. I suggested law school, you went to medical school. I’ve introduced you to dozens upon dozens of well-bred, highly educated young ladies and you date...” She lifted her brows and waved an airy hand. “Nobody.”
“I date, Mom.”
“Who? Certainly nobody recently. At least not that you’ve deigned to introduce to your mother. Or--” She blinked, her coffee cup frozen halfway to her mouth. “Oh my God, Erik. Are you gay?”
Erik laughed. “No, Mom. I like girls just fine.”
She set down her cup and patted her chest. “Good heavens. My heart.”
“Your heart.” Erik smiled. “Your heart is made of stainless steel.”
She leveled the gaze on him that had mowed down countless uppity men who’d mistaken her gender for a weakness. “My heart is committed to seeing you settled with the right woman.”
“And by the right woman, I assume you mean somebody who can trace her ancestors back to the Mayflower and would be a political asset should I ever do you proud and run for office?”
“Well.” She sipped delicately at her coffee. “It is a dream of mine. I’m not going to work forever, you know. I’d hate to turn this office over to some brash young person with no vision.”
“Mom, I’m a doctor. When are you going to accept that?”
“Edward Harper’s son is a doctor and he’s serving on his father’s presidential campaign.”
“You really want me to be more like James Harper? The guy who ditched Nixie so he could screw Sloan Leighton across Europe?”
The Senator lifted her chin. “Howard Dean’s a doctor, too.”
