Chapter Two
Flash. The door opened. A leather shoe clicked onto the pavement. Flash. Click, Flash. Nick eased himself out of the rear of the limo and out underneath the bright L.A. sun. More cameras clicked off as he reached into the limo with his right arm. I held on and delicately stepped out of the limo, one bejeweled stiletto clicking onto the ground, followed by a second. A tent of floral colored silk draped down my legs as I stood upright. I employed my mega-watt, million-dollar smile and prepared for the onslaught of paparazzi, bloggers, and screaming fans. Nick and I smiled at each other like we had a scandalous secret only the two of us knew. People from every direction were screaming Nick’s name and pleading for a photo or a quick interview.
We held hands and smiled, looking from one camera to the next. The first to shove a microphone and a camera in our face was a blogger from a prominent celebrity gossip site. He had unruly purple hair and a sneering smile. It was my least favourite part of the job.
"Hey, how's it goin'?" Nick smiled.
"Good, good. Now, you're not nominated tonight but does something as huge as the Grammys still have the same excitement as when you're here as a nominee?"
Nick flashed his pop star smile and a dozen panties dropped to the ground. "Well it definitely takes the pressure off to not be a nominee myself, but the party is still the same. It's all about supporting your peers and the music industry."
"Anyone in particular you're looking forward to seeing perform tonight?"
Nick looked down at me and we exchanged another we've-got-a-big-secret smiles. "We both love everyone but we’re especially excited about some of the newer acts."
He thanked us before moving on to his next victim. Nobody paid any attention to me but I still felt important. Nick and I always put on a good show. We continued walking down the carpet, stopping to smile at photographers and answering questions for journalists.
Then we saw her. Missy Page, the blogger from hell. Missy, unlike the other fluff bloggers, liked to probe deep and get as much information as possible. Nick and I were always prepared for her type. But neither of us were prepared for what came out of her mouth.
"Nick! And Layla," she began, her voice as sweet as sugar and just as bad for you. "Any truth to the rumor that you two are expecting soon?" she asked, eyes bright and focused on us like daggers.
I looked up at Nick and he looked down at me. We tried to pass off our sudden discomfort with an intriguing smile, but it didn't quite work.
"Expecting what?" Nick joked.
"How far along are you Layla? A few months?" she probed. Is she for real? I put on my best affable smile.
"Missy Page you little devil you! Of course we're not expecting. We can't even decide what color to paint our living room!" Nick and I laughed together. Was she buying it?
"That's interesting! Especially after hearing rumors that you two have split up." Who the hell was she sleeping with? Where did she hear that?
Nick raised our entwined hands as a gesture. "Missy, as you can see, Layla and I are very much together and very happy. Maybe you should hire new spies." Good one Nick. You always could make up the best lies.
Missy smiled apologetically. Yeah, sure she was sorry! "One more question Nick. Are there wedding bells in the future for you two?"
"Missy, when Layla and I get engaged you'll be the first to know." We smiled at each other knowingly and moved on. That dirty bitch! I'm going to have to find out how she's getting her information.
We had made our way to the end of the carpet when Nick stopped me, turned me towards him and wrapped me up in his arms. He tenderly kissed me as flashbulbs went off all around us. He looked deep into my eyes and smiled. But it wasn't real. "Layla, sweetie, is there something you're not telling me?" His voice was cold. I brushed a strand of hair out of his face and smiled the same. "Honey, you have to have sex to make a baby. And the only one of us that's getting any is you."
Nick nodded his head and smiled lovingly at me. "Remind me to have that woman fired." And, hand-in-hand, body-to-body, we made our way in and took our seats.
The ceremony was over three hours later; three long and gruelling - yet somewhat entertaining - hours later. The awards were great, the music was great, the kiss-kiss on endless cheek after cheek was great. But it was enough.
The limo drove us in silence through the hectic Los Angeles freeway system into Santa Monica. It was late when we arrived but I wasn't feeling tired.
As I took off my jewellery I watched Nick stroll about the place. I'd almost forgotten how long it had been since he was last here. Must have been months ago.
"So how come you're not out at one of the after parties? You never miss those." What was he up to? He couldn't possibly want to spend the night. At least, not without going out and picking up a girl to bring back with him.
"Not interested." He walked around, looking at all of my homey knick knacks. A candle with sea shells embedded inside the wax; a throw pillow embroidered with flowers; our wedding portrait. He picked up the frame and stared at the photo intensely.
"Don't worry," I said. "I put that away whenever I have company." I walked to the mini bar and pulled a martini glass out from the cupboard. "Can I fix you a drink?"
"What are you having?" he asked, still staring at the picture.
"Martini. Dirty." I unscrewed a bottle of chilled vodka and poured its contents into a large shaker. "Want one?"
"Yeah. I think I could use one right about now." He put down the picture frame and took another look around. "Do you like living here?"
"Sometimes. It gets lonely though. Big house. Little 'ol me."
Nick came up to the counter of the bar and sat on a stool. God, he looked good in his tux. And I loved that he always wore his glasses whenever he got dressed up. He looks so... sexy. Christ, just look away, Layla.
"What?" he asked. I just shook my head as I shook up the drinks. But he was still looking at me. "Come on Layla Hudson. What’s going on inside that beautiful head of yours?" I looked up at him. ‘Beautiful head of yours?’ He only said that when... Sweet Jesus, he’s trying to have sex with me.
"What are you doing here Nick?" I poured the martini mix into two glasses and handed him one.
"A husband can’t spend time with his wife?"
"Not you. Not this wife."
He took a long sip from his glass, keeping his eyes on me. What was he thinking? That we’d get drunk and make love in every room in the house? Been there. Done that. I took a sip of my martini and looked away from him again. He could be so intense sometimes.
"How do you think she came up with that rumor?" he asked me.
"Who?"
"Missy Page."
I shrugged my shoulders and leaned on the counter, leaning closer to him. "She probably got a tip from someone who recognized me the day I went to the gynecologist. And her being the little wench that she is she decided to think of the most obvious thing. That I’m pregnant."
"But you’re not."
"No, Nick, I’m not. We’ve already had this discussion." I picked up my drink and headed towards my bedroom. I could hear Nick following me, his footsteps padding softly along the carpet.
"How crazy would that be? Having a kid together, I mean. A little carbon copy of us."
"Nick, that would be an act of God. I’d be more concerned about your one night stands getting pregnant all of a sudden. You see them more than you see me."
"Must be driving you nuts." I could practically hear the teasing smile in his voice. Everything in the world must exist solely for his entertainment. Especially me.
I stopped walking. I had to keep myself from dropping my alcohol all over the floor. I turned around slowly and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"All that thinking you do. All of your worrying."
"Believe it or not Nick you do not occupy my mind 24/7. I do have a life."
"Right. Your lovely, fancy, happy little life here."
"What are you getting at? This w
as our agreement. I am the back-up girl and live here while you be the slut in our home. Isn’t that the perfect arrangement for you, Nick? You get to have your cake and eat it as much as you want?"
"Well you weren’t exactly protesting as you boxed up all your stuff and hauled it all out here. Why is that, by the way?"
What an ass. I just rolled my eyes and walked into my room, setting down my glass by the bed and unpinning bobby pins from my hair. "You didn’t seem to mind it too much when I found out you were cheating on me and I turned my head the other way. I pretended that everything was still fine. I played our little game."
"And how many times have I asked to stop playing the game?"
"Including this morning? Once. Once out of how many months?" I slipped out of the stilettos and stretched my toes across the carpet. I glanced down at the clock. It was barely ten and I knew it would be hours before I could pour myself into bed. Hell, maybe I’d just drink myself to sleep. "Besides, you couldn’t be faithful to me if you tried."
"Yes I can. I can be faithful."
Sure. "That’s not enough for me Nick. I want more than that. That’s why I married you."
"Oh, so that’s why? And here I thought it was the sex." What a bastard. Didn’t he know how to be anything but conceited? I don’t know why I put up with his bullshit sometimes.
That’s a lie. I know why. Whoever asked what’s love got to do with it obviously never met Nick Hudson. I pulled a padded hanger from my closet and hung it up on a door frame. I slipped my dress up and over my head and hung it on the hanger to breathe. And then my heart stopped. I felt Nick’s hand touch my skin gently, just at my shoulders, and move down my naked back along the curve of my spine.
"How can I be faithful when you don’t have enough faith in me to at least try?" It was the softest I had heard him speak in a long time. I closed my eyes and slowly drifted further into my pain. His touch was electric. It always tore my heart up to pieces. But my skin always reacted to his touch, bumps raising, hair standing on end, skin heating.
"How can you possibly trust me if you don’t believe in me?" he asked. My breath caught in my throat as he caressed the back of my neck, from my hairline down to the tops of my shoulders. He was always so good at this. He made me so powerless just by touching me. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.
"I think about you every day, Layla. Think about how much I’d love to have you in our home again. You may have moved away, but you never left my heart."
"Nick," I whispered. It was the only attempt I could make to stop him. His hands were only gone for a minute then, but I felt them again, this time running down my arms. He pulled me against his chest and I could feel his skin touching mine. He was so warm. So soft. So manipulative. Oh but I didn’t care. I was lost in him. Lost in his touch. This pain he inflicted upon me was burning me up. I bit my bottom lip and tried to stop myself from moaning.
I opened my eyes as my courage came back to me. I turned around so that I was facing him, my bare chest against his bare chest. I looked deep into his blue eyes and found what I was looking for.
"Just because you can speak the way you do doesn’t mean I’m going to give in. You’re still a bastard and I’m still not interested in being taken advantage of." I ran my hands along his cheeks and down to his neck. Instinctively I pulled him down towards me and our lips connected. I kissed his bottom lip and pulled away with it slowly before letting go. He rested his forehead against mine and brushed his fingers through my hair, gently massaging my scalp.
"Can’t we just pretend for a minute that we’re not seriously fucked up, Layla? Just for tonight?"
"And what about tomorrow?" I saw something change in his eyes and I didn’t know what it was. "You’ll go back home, back to your life? And I’ll live mine here?"
"Or you could come back with me."
"No. I won’t share a bed with you. Not when you bring others in it."
"I won’t."
"Yes, Nick, you will. From this moment on I’m not your backup. You make me your wife, the only woman in your life... Or I’ll make you my ex-husband. What’s it going to be?"
Chapter Three
"You and Nick had sex last night?"
I looked up at Dr. Brown and felt uneasy. I always felt uneasy when talking to her about Nick. I always felt like she was judging me. I know she’s supposed to remain objective but if I were in her shoes I’d probably judge me. "Yes," I said, my voice strong and untainted by emotion. "Three times."
Dr. Brown nodded her head and jotted something on a legal pad. "And when was the last time you and your husband engaged in intercourse?"
I looked up to the ceiling as if the date were written on it. "Another awards show in January. In Vegas."
"So about two months."
"I guess." This is the way our sessions usually went. I would talk and then Dr. Brown would ask a question that would inevitably reiterate whatever I had just said. Then she’d jot it down, follow-up with a question that only adds further detail to the previous reiterating question and nod her head. And then I’d say something extremely intelligent along the lines of ‘I guess’ or ‘Sure, that sounds about right’. Then I’d look at the clock to see how much longer I had.
Twenty-five minutes. Damn.
"Where is Nick right now, Layla?"
"In bed. He wasn’t awake yet when I left."
"Does he know about your sessions with me?"
"I’ve mentioned it a few times but I seriously doubt he paid attention."
"All right. Let’s talk about last night. What happened?"
It was all I could do to keep the memory from taking over my body. I could still feel the touch of him on me. "Nick and I went to the Grammys, came back to my house, had a few drinks, started kissing, which then led to having sex. Three times."
"And how do you feel about that?" she asked. She adjusted a button on her blazer but kept her full attention on me and my messed up problems.
"I don’t mind. Nick usually likes to do it more than once."
Dr. Brown smiled politely. "I mean, how do you feel about having sex with Nick?"
"I’m favorable to it when I’ve been drinking. That’s when I forget about how much of a jerk he is."
"So you never sleep with your husband when you’re sober?"
Is she kidding me? "Doctor Brown, I don’t want to have sex only under circumstances of alcoholic inebriation. I’d like to have sex with my husband every night, possibly twice or three times or more a day. However, Nick has decided that his penis should be shared by as many of his adoring f as possible. Therefore, he gives it up to all of them and not to me."
"And how do you feel about that?"
Jesus Christ. I swear to God that the very first class any future therapist takes is How Do You Feel About That 101. "What am I going to do to stop it?"
"Ask yourself this question: What am I not doing to stop Nick from sleeping with other women?"
What am I not doing to stop Nick from sleeping with other women? I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "This is a trick question."
"How do you figure?" she asked me.
"Because if I tell you what I think I’m not doing to stop Nick from sleeping with other girls won’t you just say, ‘Well Layla, why don’t you do that?’?"
"Not necessarily. The point of this exercise is to give you clarity."
"Doctor Brown, no offense but... The point of Pilates is to make my ass look like a Kardashian. Only after a year of Pilates it looks more like a slightly rounded pancake, which I can live with. The point of coming to you is to help me understand why I’m married to such an asshole and how I can possibly make him fall in love with me again. Only after a year of coming to you I still can’t figure out what it makes Nick an asshole. And I have no earthly clue how to make him love me. So wouldn’t you say that doing Pilates provides more clarity than your so-called therapy?"
"So there it is." She gave me one of her psychology smiles.
I
scrunched my eyebrows ever-so-slightly and stared blankly at her. Is she for real? Am I really paying a hundred and fifty dollars an hour for some lady to say ‘so there it is’ without even giving me a fucking clue first as to what IT is? "There what is?"
"You’re comfortable with settlement. You’d like to know why you married someone like Nick, but you’re fine with just realizing that he is the way he is. Am I right?"
"I don’t know. You’re the one with the PhD, not me."
"Layla, when you and Nick have an argument would you say you immediately give up trying to defend your side, or do you concede to whatever his side is? Or do you fight until he believes what you believe?"
"With Nick Hudson you concede. He’s the most bull-headed, stubborn man on the planet and there’s no changing his mind. That’s just the way he is."
"And you’re fine with that?"
"How am I supposed to change him?"
"I want you to try something Layla. The next time you and Nick get into an argument over something small, maybe the best basketball team or the best flavor of ice cream, whatever it may be, I want you to try and change his mind about his own opinion. If he says the Bulls are the best basketball team and you say that the Lakers are the best, change his mind. At the end of the argument I want you to have Nick conceding. Make him think that the Lakers are the best."
"Okay. And how will this help me?"
"I believe this exercise will help you to break down a wall. I have been observing you for quite some time and would say that you have a tendency to give in too quickly. Try to be the victor for once, not the conquered. Start small. And let me know how it goes."
" You’re telling me to have an argument with my husband... and to win?"
"Yes."
"But what if he’s right?"
"Don’t let him be. Make you right. Make him wrong."
"What about my ultimatum?" I asked. Yeah, what about it? That is why I’m here!
"Ah, yes. Either Nick remains faithful to you or you’ll divorce him. Is that correct?"
"Yes. I think it’s a perfectly fair request."
Walk Away, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 1) Page 2
