Forbidden Prince

by Zoey Oliver

  “Didi, can I have a moment?”

  I step out from behind her, smiling as I catch Martha’s eye.

  “Martha, I finally got ahold of Dusty,” I interrupt, pretending that I don’t know how rude I am being.

  Martha flinches and scowls, turning her attention toward me.

  “Um... all right? Thank you for doing that.”

  “I have some bad news,” I announce, cutting Martha off before she can get Didi back into her sights. “Dusty was snaked by another gallery. They saw her at the opening and… she took the job.”

  Martha looks affronted. “Who was it?” she snarls.

  “I will find out for you,” I assure her, slowly inching my body between her and Didi. “But in the meantime, there’s no one there. We need to be open on Thursday, and so I was thinking… Well, actually, Didi suggested—”

  “Didi?” Martha repeats sarcastically. “Yes, please tell me what Didi’s suggestion was.”

  Martha folds her hands in front of her chest, tapping her upper arms with her shiny red fingertips. I take a moment to swallow and arrange my story in the most compelling possible narrative.

  “Well, the opening was a success,” I begin in a hurry, “but we don’t really have a second show planned. So with Martha Schindler so successful in this space, we were thinking that a co-located show could be a nice way to pivot off of the Manhattan reputation and bring more prestige to the Willowdale location.”

  “Co-located?” she repeats slowly. “As in, a double opening?”

  “Exactly,” Didi pipes in, hobbling forward. She offers Martha a tight, brave smile. “Your Florida collectors are slightly less sophisticated than New York, which makes Schindler a fantastic choice. Her color palette is really on trend for the Naples area.”

  I offer a silent prayer of thanks to Didi for paying attention. I forget sometimes that she really is good at her job, when she bothers to show up to do it.

  “Oh, yes… The blue lady. I suppose those large pieces will perfectly match some local sofas. Heathens.”

  “I know, right?” I laugh brightly, aware that she is almost bought in. “So Didi and I would like to go down and handle the Florida location.”

  Martha purses her lips, flaring her nostrils as she thinks it through.

  “Both of you?”

  “Well, I know that I can’t do it by myself, and Didi is almost healed,” I explain quickly, hoping it sounds remotely possible.

  But as Martha glances at Didi, I realize that this really was her last chance. Martha is only happy to have Didi out of her sight. Dusty getting snaked was a stroke of luck.

  “You would have to stay until… through the high season, I suppose,” Martha adds, nodding to herself. “Would you be willing to do that? Through, say, January?”

  I take a moment to calculate, and it seems to be just about the right amount of time. After that, maybe I could just take a very convenient vacation, to make sure it all works out.

  “Well, then,” Martha announces, casting a brief accusatory look at Didi, “looks like you two are going to be heading out of town.”

  It’s not until we are practically within the city limits that Didi actually seems to work up the courage to talk about logistics.

  “So, are you going to stay with your parents?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

  “I’ve been staying at the cabin, actually…”

  But maybe I shouldn’t. I pause, weighing it against the possibility of staying with my mother, under her eagle eye, while I ruminate over my choices. I mean, I haven’t figured out if I’m planning on staying pregnant. I’m sure my mother would like to make that decision for me.

  “My mother’s in the hospital,” Didi announces uncomfortably, her eyes flickering up toward the rearview mirror to make sure the Uber driver who picked us up at the airport isn’t listening. He is a older guy, sort of looks like a farmer with a wrinkly, tanned neck the color of a leather handbag. He just stares out the windshield, bored and listening to his talk radio.

  “Yeah… Actually, my mom told me about that. I’m really sorry.”

  “Well, I guess we all saw it coming.”

  I pause, giving her room in case she wants to say something else. Didi doesn’t talk about her mother too much, and she never has. In middle school, she was embarrassed by her outbursts. In high school, she went out of her way to please or impress her, but it never seemed to work. Things would seem fine, then her mom would change suddenly, becoming furious in the middle of dinner. Shrieking. Throwing things.

  “Why don’t we both stay at the cabin?” I suggest. “There’s a futon in the living room. It pulls out. It’s a bed. Got a whole ocean in the backyard.”

  She smiles at me gratefully. “Really? You don’t mind?”

  “It’ll be just like the old days,” I smile back.

  Didi gazes out the window, happy at least for the moment. When the palm trees part and Main Street appears in the distance, she taps my leg excitedly.

  “Home sweet home!” she chuckles.

  I realize she hasn’t been back before now either. I hope this will work out for both of us.

  Chapter Twenty

  Joe

  “You know what?!” Didi hollers from inside the shower while I brush my teeth. “You should get some prenatal vitamins! And ginger beer! I hear that’s good for your puking.”

  “I already got the vitamins!” I holler back.

  She pokes her head out of the shower, licking beads of water from her upper lip and squinting at me.

  “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you,” she says.

  “I said I got the prenatal vitamins last week. I drove all the way to Naples to get them, too, so I couldn’t run into anybody. And ginger beer gives me gas. I think I will just stick with the oyster crackers.”

  “Suit yourself!” Didi sighs as she pulls her head back into the shower, snapping the curtain closed.

  “Hey, can you hurry up?” I yell as loud as possible. “I want to get there before the UPS guy. Those crates should be coming today.”

  The water snaps off and Didi pops out, fully naked and gleaming. She throws out her arms and jiggles her boobs back and forth just to annoy me.

  “Can you not, maybe?” I ask her as I trudge out of the room, feeling slightly overstuffed.

  I know that I am not showing yet, exactly, but my waist disappeared. I always feel like I’ve just had a heavy meal, just gotten way too full. And I’ve got at least six more weeks of morning sickness to look forward to, according to these books. It’s crazy.

  “You know, they say that having a baby makes you way less uptight,” Didi announces as she comes out of the bathroom in a pair of lime green culottes and a speckled top.

  “Oh, they do, do they?” I ask as I stuff everything I will need for today into my bag.

  “That must be later in the pregnancy, huh?” she smirks.

  “I’m not uptight.”

  “Oh, honey, you are the uptightest.”

  “All right, I’m leaving,” I announce as I head for the door.

  Didi falls in right behind me, despite her attitude. Just before we left New York, she got a walking boot that lets her get around pretty well. It is supposed to come off in two weeks.

  As I lock the front door, I see her tip her head back out of the corner of my eye. I turn around and notice her stuffing an empty bottle into her purse.

  “Hey, can we drop by the pharmacy before the gallery?” she asks as we walk down the front steps.

  “Shouldn’t you be done with those by now? I mean, you won’t even have a cast for much longer. Does it still hurt?”

  “Not as long as I take my prescription,” she answers pointedly.

  “I was just thinking… you seem to be all healed.”

  She squints at me sarcastically. “So, did Dr. Stud also inseminate you with an MD?”

  “All right, never mind…”

  “Because if he did, I want some too! You know, I never went for a lady treatment. M
y mom swears by Boss Warner, but I wouldn’t mind trying out the new kid…”

  “Didi, quit it. I hear you, okay?”

  “No, seriously,” she continues, ignoring me, “your new medical license must be so handy, what with you knocked up and all. Are you gonna deliver the baby yourself too? Do you have magical powers in your fingers to make them work like an ultrasound or something?”

  Pressing my lips together, I focus on the end of the street.

  “Actually, not joking about that part,” she shrugs. “You really should see a doctor, you know? I mean… assuming you are keeping the baby?”

  Just one more house to go, and we will be at the end of the block.

  “Joe? I’m seriously asking you here. Are you keeping the baby?”

  We turn onto Main Street and I sort of hope she will let the subject drop, but she just keeps staring at me.

  “Yes,” I finally answer. “I’m keeping the baby. I know I have options, but that’s not for me.”

  Didi claps her fingers together excitedly. “Yes! A doctor in the family… Who would have thunk it! Your mom is going to be so excited.”

  “He’s not really in the family, Didi,” I sigh. “That wasn’t really the deal.”

  “But you’re going to tell him, aren’t you? I mean, he deserves to know.”

  “Sure,” I answer carefully. “In about eight months. I’ll send him a picture.”

  We reach the gallery and I twist the key, pushing open the door. A cool blast of air-conditioned air rolls out onto the sidewalk, carrying with it the delicious smell of linseed oil and walnuts. Our gallery. Just me and Didi, somehow we got this little place all to ourselves.

  As soon as we are inside, Didi drops into a chair by the framing table and sighs dramatically, elevating her boot.

  “I don’t think you should wait to tell him,” she informs me. “Wouldn’t you want to know? What if he is secretly in love with you when you are depriving him of the joys of watching you throw up every morning?”

  “Very funny,” I sneer as I flip on all the lights. I unlock the back door in case UPS wants to come that way.

  “Well… I’m actually kind of serious. Are you sure he doesn’t want to know? Like, actually sure?”

  Sighing, I balance my hands on my hips and glare at her. She’s not going to let the subject drop.

  “He’s not even here, Didi. I’m not going to drag him back to Willowdale just to drop this bombshell on him, especially since he and I already talked about the parameters of our relationship and this just isn’t it.”

  “But you’re not even giving him a chance!”

  “You’re not even giving me a chance!” I bawl, reaching the end of my rope. “I’ve only known I’m pregnant for two weeks, okay? It’s a lot to process, Didi. I’ll get through it, okay? Just give me some space!”

  Didi sulks, picking at her fingertips with her nails.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” I finally say. “I just think—wait. I think the UPS guys are here.”

  Grateful for the distraction, I walk to the front door, smiling. The delivery driver rolls the hand truck over the threshold and levers the crates to an open space. He offers me a cocky smile and tips his hat when he leaves.

  “See? I want some of that,” Didi complains when he’s gone.

  “Some of what?” I ask distractedly.

  “That glow,” she sniffs. “Everybody can see it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do,” she sighs with effort as she stands and hobbles over. “You’re glowing. As one does. When one is gestating.”

  “Oh that’s a nice word—hey.”

  She raises her eyebrows as I eye her purse.

  “What,” she huffs defensively.

  “I thought you were going to help me with this crate!”

  “Mmmmmmm no,” she shakes her head. “I think you have it. I have to go to the pharmacy, like I told you.”

  I just take a deep breath and nod. She’s a grown woman. I can’t stop her. And she’s right, I don’t know what I’m talking about.

  The paintings in the crate are a marvel. As soon as I unlatch the lid, I take a deep breath of the linseed oil. I just love that smell. I always have. I guess growing up with a carpenter for father, I learned to love all of these woodsy aromas.

  Time slips away from me as I release each painting from its paper protection, then set them all on the floor, leaning against the walls. After a little bit of thought, I decide to swap one that is mostly violet for one that is mostly turquoise.

  “You’re gonna love these, Didi,” I say out loud, before remembering she’s not here.

  As I look around, I realize I can hear my phone vibrating in my purse and walk over to retrieve it. Scowling, I can see that I have fourteen new messages and three missed calls, all from Didi.

  “Why did you call me three times?” I ask her when she picks up the phone.

  “Did you read my text?”

  “No, I just called you back! That is why we are talking right now! What do you need?”

  I hear her take a breath before answering.

  “I need you to come and get me,” she growls in a low voice. “They say if you do not come and get me, they’re going to call the police. Well, the one guy in town who has a badge, I guess. I don’t even think he has a gun. I don’t even think—”

  “Didi! Focus!” I interrupt. “Come and get you from where?”

  “The goddamn pharmacy, Joe,” she snarls. “Come and get me from pharmacy jail, okay?”

  The phone goes dead in my hand and I just let it drop to my side. How could she have possibly gotten herself in trouble in the span of half a block?

  Hustling down the street, I keep an eagle eye out for the busybodies and gossips that I know lurk behind every shop window. I haven’t exactly made the welcome wagon rounds since Didi and I got back. I've just kind of kept a low profile. I didn’t think that I would be back so soon, and I’m not quite ready to face everyone just yet.

  When I open the pharmacy door, the gray-haired pharmacist looks over his half-moon glasses at me with judgment in his eyes. Didi sits slumped in an old-fashioned leather chair, her arms crossed over her chest. It looks like she’s been nabbed for shoplifting, just like when we were eleven.

  “Okay, what on earth could you possibly have done?” I ask her, checking her out to see if there are any obvious outward signs of her transgression.

  She jerks a thumb upward. “This guy does not want to give me my prescription.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly with my hands out. “And this became a problem? A big one?”

  “She doesn’t have a refill,” the pharmacist says pointedly. “And she got very snippy with me!”

  “Snippy, okay,” I repeat, then shift my focus back to Didi. “So, you need to go get a new prescription, right? Are you going to the doctor to get the boot off in a couple of weeks?”

  “I’m not waiting a couple of weeks,” she growls. “That prescription I gave you is perfectly good!”

  The pharmacist waves a piece of paper in the air. “I can’t use a photocopy!” he declares angrily. “DEA rules!”

  “Okay, so, we can go see a doctor today? Hit the urgent care in Naples?”

  “Urgent care is not going to give someone like her a prescription,” the pharmacist scoffs.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Didi snarls.

  “You just watch your tone, missy!”

  “Okay, that is not helping!” I announce. “Everybody just needs to settle down a little bit. I’m sure we can work this out!”

  I hear the bell of the front door ring as the door opens and watch Didi carefully. She bounces her free foot on the heel, glaring at the carpet.

  “Is everything all right here?” comes a voice behind me.

  “Yes, everything is—”

  I pivot and stop, along with my heart, my breath, and all of time.

  “Sturgill,” I hear myself say fr
om a distance.

  He offers me a quick, sideways smile then changes his expression instantly. His eyes go distant and he stiffens.

  “Can I help with something?” he asks, his voice gentle and concerned.

  “She’s been flagged,” the pharmacist says meaningfully.

  Sturgill nods, walking past me to kneel in front of Didi. He takes her wrist in his fingers to check her pulse and gives her a quick once over, touching her forehead, her cheeks, the bottom of her chin.

  “You’re in pain?” he asks, his voice kind.

  “I broke my leg,” Didi explains meekly.

  “When was that?”

  “About a month ago.”

  Sturgill continues his exam, finally standing and raising her hand toward the pharmacist. Then he turns toward me and smiles, tipping his head to the side.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute? Maybe outside?”

  “Of course,” I answer hoarsely.

  I turn to walk outside, tense and alert. My mind is racing, and I wonder if he’s looking at me at all. I can’t tell from his expression if he feels affection toward me, professional interest, or even remembers my name.

  “Your friend…” he starts when we are out of earshot.

  “Didi,” I offer.

  He smiles gently. “Didi, right. We’re not going to be able to give her Vicodin today. You know that?”

  “I’m kind of figuring that out, yeah,” I say slowly.

  “Actually, it might be better for you to get her into treatment.”

  I take a breath and count to three.

  “Today, if you can,” he continues.

  There are million things I want to ask him, about me, about him, about what’s going on with my uterus. And now a million things I need to know about Didi.

  “Treatment? As in, rehab?”

  He shrugs sympathetically. “You must know, right? She’s pretty bad off, Joanna.”

  Joanna. The sound of my name on his lips is like a dart that pierces right through me.

  “Do you need my help? I can take you if you like.”

  Emotion washes through me, overfilling me like a plastic cup. I feel myself get extremely sad, extremely quickly. I’m going to cry, right here on the sidewalk.