My eyes opened and my mouth closed. I looked at him. He stared at me. "What?" I asked, confused by the flip.
Nick's hands moved under my shirt, slowly ascending over my skin to my shoulder blades. "I'm not going to fight you any longer Layla. This was the last time. You told me to leave..." His fingers traveled around my body, under my arms and to the sides of my chest. "So I'm leaving. And this time..." I moaned softly, painfully as his hands cupped my covered skin, squeezing ever so tenderly. "I'm not coming back." He put his lips on mine again and spoke words I never thought I'd hear him speak. "And neither are you. Not until," He bit down on my lip, "you stop playing these games."
"How do you know it's entirely me playing the game?" I asked into his lips.
"Because I'm the only one in this relationship that realizes just what we have," he said, leaning back to look into my eyes once again.
"And what's that?"
"A future. And when you realize it Layla.... When that little light bulb clicks on in that head of yours, you know where to reach me."
"So that's it?" I asked, feeling anger swelling in every atom of my body.
"It's what you asked for."
"You son of a bitch."
"I know. And now this son of a bitch is going to do exactly what his wife wants. Goodbye, Layla." He removed his hands from my body and stood up, towering high above me.
I stood up and blocked his exit. "Are you seriously turning this around on me?"
Nick's face remained unchanged. "Yep. Isn't this what you expected your son of a bitch husband to do?"
Of course not! God Nick you just. UGH! "I should divorce you right now," I said through gritted teeth.
Nick reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He handed it out to me. "Don't you have the number memorized?"
I looked at Nick. And then the phone. And back at Nick again.
Nick nodded his head. "That's what I thought. Like I said, when you finally wake up and realize you love me, you know where I'll be."
"At your bitch's house?" I spit back at him.
Nick slid his left hand into his pocket and pulled out his wedding band. He slid it onto his finger and reached out for the door, but not before taking one last look at me. "I meant what I said that day. Until the day I die. I'm yours. And you're mine." And with that, he left.
Chapter Thirteen
"Is it true that you and your husband, Nick Hudson, have separated, merely weeks after publicly announcing that you two have been secretly married for a year and the equally shocking allegations that a woman is pregnant by Nick?"
I looked at the interviewer without trying to show the emotion change on my face. This was my first interview without Nick. I wasn’t expecting it. Not really. I wasn’t the star. Nick’s the star. But now they’re interested in me.
"Nick and I have not legally separated. But we are spending some time apart from each other." No use in lying. I have had enough of the lies. "Nick’s in New York doing some work on his next album and I’m working on a novel."
"About your relationship with Nick?"
Right. Because I want to capitalize on his fame and make the whole world feel sorry for me. Sure. "No. I’ve been wanting to do some writing for a while and now I have the opportunity to do so."
"Has a paternity test been done yet?"
"That’s all being taken care of." I was counting down the weeks. Only six more to go.
"How do you feel about Nick being a father to another woman’s baby?"
I’m jumping with joy. Can’t you tell? "I’m not pleased with it, but what can I do? I love my husband and I’m going to support him one hundred percent."
"The gossip blogs have been running rampant with rumors that you and Nick are no longer together. Care to comment?"
It was a mistake doing the interview. It was no one’s business and we had the power to decline their requests. Now I wish I had. "Nick has his career and it’s very important to me that he focus all of his attention and efforts on his career."
"Do you talk to each other?"
"Every day." Well, okay that’s a lie. Truth is, since Nick left two weeks ago, we’d been avoiding each other. If we talked, it was into each other’s voice mail.
"How has your life changed since the announcements?"
"I seem to be really popular all of a sudden. People keep asking me for interviews left and right. That’s not really my thing though. I’ve never had an appetite to be in the spotlight. I’d rather just go on living my life and watching my husband be the star."
"Well thank you very much for the interview Layla. We all appreciate it."
"Sure thing. Thank you for stopping by."
Ten minutes later the reporter and her crew were out of my house and I could finally breathe.
Two long weeks without Nick and everything he said that last night kept repeating over and over in my head. Until the day we die. I’m his. And he’s mine.
I’d never thought of it that way. Possession. Ownership. Nick is mine. I’m Nick’s. It was too surreal. We’re not property. We’re married. We’ve pledged our lives to each other.
Good job we’d done of it.
Nick wasn’t the only messed up one in the relationship. I had just as much responsibility in that department. We need to work things out. Truth be told I was feeling his absence. I wanted him back.
I picked up the portable phone and just stared at it. I don’t know why, but I was nervous about calling him.
He’s mine. I’m his.
Call him Layla. Just turn on the phone and dial his cell phone. And I was about to, when the phone rang.
I stared at the ringing phone, eyes wide, mouth tense. Was it him? Should I answer it?
"Hello?" I asked nervously.
"Hey." It was Nick.
"Hey."
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing. What are you doing?" I twirled a strand of my hair around my fingers. I’m his. He’s mine. Too surreal.
"Nothing."
"Where are you?"
Nick sighed into the phone. "New York. Recording. On a break."
"Are you getting much done?"
"Kinda."
"Kinda?"
"I don’t know, Lay. I’m just not into it."
"I don’t believe you."
There was a long pause on his end. My finger stopped twirling. "I don’t know."
"Nick."
"Layla."
"Nick..." I sighed. "I... I miss you."
"I miss you too, baby."
"You do?"
"Yeah. I think that’s why I can’t work. I’ve been thinking about you."
"Not in a bad way I hope."
"Kinda."
"Kinda?" Was this a good thing?
" I wish we were on better terms."
It was my turn to pause. "So do I."
"I was writing this song and... I don’t know. I just couldn’t put my heart in it."
"Is there something I can do to help?" I laid back on the couch and listened to the sound of Nick breathing through the phone. But he didn’t say anything. "Nick?"
"I’m here."
"Sing it to me."
"What?"
"Sing me the song you’re working on."
"I can’t."
"Why? Are you shy?" I chuckled to myself. Since when is Nick shy of singing?
"Not shy. Just nervous." At least I wasn’t the only one.
"Come on Nick. I’ll tell you if you sound bad."
"Thanks," he chuckled.
"Hey Nick?"
"Yeah Lay?"
"I’ve been thinking about you."
"I’ve been thinking about you too."
I turned my head and picked up our framed wedding portrait. "Remember the day we got married?"
"No. When was that again?"
"Jerk."
"Of course I remember. Our anniversary is in a week."
"Yep. One year."
"You were so nervous."
"No I was
n’t," I denied. But I remember it exactly. I’d never been so happy and nervous at the same time in my life.
"Yes you were. I could see it in your eyes."
"Well if I was nervous I had good reason."
"Do you regret it?"
"What, marrying you?"
"Yeah."
"No. Do you?"
"Never."
"Good."
"Yeah." Another long pause.
"So sing me your song."
"It’s not ready."
"I don’t care."
"I care."
"Since when?"
"Since always. Your opinion means a lot to me."
"There’s no possible way you can write anything bad. Not when it comes from your heart."
"You think so?"
"I know so. Start singing."
"It’s really rough."
"Well you know that’s how I like it."
When I heard him laugh on the other side,it made me feel better. This was going better. We were talking. It’s something at least.
"Yeah. What are you wearing?"
"Seriously?" The man didn’t have an off switch.
"No. Come on tell me. I’m lonely."
My heart flipped. "You’re lonely?"
"Yeah Lay. I wish you were here."
"Oh." I didn’t know what else to say. If he was lonely.... He’s not cheating?
"No, I’m not cheating."
What the fuck? "I didn’t say that."
"You were thinking it."
"No I wasn’t."
"Don’t lie. So help out a lonely man. What are you wearing?"
I looked down at my outfit. Nothing exciting. "Clothes."
"What kind of clothes?"
"Nick, you’re such a perv sometimes."
"I know. So what are you wearing?" Wow. He really must be lonely.
"What are you wearing Nick?"
"Shirt and jeans."
"Me too."
"No you’re not." Damn. How’d he know?
"No, I’m not. I’m wearing one of your old shirts and a pair of expensive sweat pants."
"Did you make a knot in the shirt in the back?"
Whoa. "How’d you know?"
"You always do that when you wear my clothes."
"Well you’re bigger than me."
"True."
"So are you going to sing to me or not?"
"I can’t."
"Did you forget how to sing?"
"No."
"Thought so." I stared at the picture of us on our wedding day. We looked so happy. "What’s your song about?"
"You."
I dropped the picture on my chest. "Me? Really?"
"Yes. You. Really."
"Don’t make me ask you again."
"Ask me what?"
I rolled my eyes. "Cut it out."
"Cut what out?"
"I’m going to hang up!" I warned.
"No, you’re not." Well, that’s true enough.
"How do you know?"
"Because you love me."
"Like cake. Big chocolate, gooey cake."
"Sounds good."
"It is. That’s why I married you Nick."
"Hey Layla?"
"Yes Nick?"
"I love you."
And my heart broke. "I love you too, baby."
"Come out here."
"To New York?"
"Yeah. For our anniversary."
I paused. He’s mine. I’m his. "Can I ask you a question?"
"You just did."
"Smart ass."
"Dumb ass."
"Be serious, Nick."
"I am serious, Layla."
"I’ve been thinking about something you said. About me being yours and you being mine. Is that how you feel? Because, honestly, I never thought of it that way."
"No?"
"No. I never thought that I owned you. We just.... were. You know?"
"No. I’ve always belonged to you."
I turned over on my side and held the phone close to my ear. "You’re amazing Nick."
"Amazing?"
"Amazing. You’re so... I just love you."
"You said that already."
"I know. But I have to say it over and over again or else I’ll feel like it doesn’t exist, you know?"
"Well come say it to my face."
"I don’t know..."
"Why not?"
"Because..." I sighed and laid my head on a pillow. "I think being apart is doing us some good."
"I know. I agree. But..."
"But?" I prompted.
"But I need you here. I want to see your face. I want to touch your skin. I want to be with you."
If I was honest with myself, I’d realize how much I wanted to be with him, too. Physically. Sexually. Emotionally. Spiritually. "When do you want me there?"
"Yesterday."
I felt my heart swell and tears brimming in my eyes. "Nick," I whispered.
"Can we work this out?"
"I want to. So badly."
"Then let’s work it out."
"Do you really think it’s that easy Nick?"
"We’ll never know if we don’t try."
I closed my eyes. I want to try. More than anything.
"Layla?"
"I’m here."
"There’s a plane ticket waiting for you at LAX."
My eyes opened. "When did you do that?"
"Yesterday."
"How’d you know I’d come?"
"You always do," I could hear him smirking through the phone.
"Are you extra horny or something?" I laughed.
"Kinda."
"You miss me that much?"
"Of course. But not for that reason. I just want to breathe the same air as you."
How could I say no to that? "All right. What time does my flight leave?"
"In three hours."
I sat up and tried to not drop the phone. "Three hours?!"
"Delta. Flight 395. Nonstop to JFK."
"That doesn’t leave me time to pack!"
"So don’t pack."
"What?!"
"Get your purse and leave the house right now. Get in your car, drive to LAX, get on that plane and get your ass over here."
"I kind of need my stuff, Nick."
"No you don’t."
"You’ve gone nuts." I shook my head. "You expect me to just get everything I need there? Right down to my toothpaste and underwear?"
"Down to the hair spray."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"Nick!" I whined. "You know I don’t like being spontaneous."
"Exactly. Come on Layla. I’m waiting for you."
"If you’re doing this just to have sex you’re trying way too hard."
"You’re my wife. Of course I want to have sex with you. Over and over and over."
"Nick...."
"Two hours and fifty-eight minutes."
"Nick!"
"You’re running out of time, baby."
"You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days."
"Not if you give me one first. Besides, you’re probably just as horny as me."
"No. That’s why I have a vibrator."
"Why? I’ve got the real thing."
"Pervert."
"Me? You’re the that uses a battery-operated penis."
"The battery-operated penis isn’t annoying."
"And it isn’t me."
True. Damn! "All right. I’ll agree to take this spontaneous trip. But you better have a clean pair of pajamas ready for me!"
"And a warm bed."
"Horny boy."
"You know it. So you’re coming? Pun not intended."
"Yes. I’m going to leave right now."
"Hey Layla?"
Oh my God! "Nick! How am I supposed to make my flight if I’m on the phone talking to you?"
"I just wanted to tell you that I have something waiting for you here."
"I hope it’s some t
oothpaste."
"No. It’s not toothpaste. This is in a box."
"Soap?"
"No."
"Condoms?"
"Besides that," he laughed. "A velvet box."
"Jewelry?"
"Possibly."
"Goober."
"You love me. Remember?"
"I’m leaving, Nick."
"I love you, Layla."
"I know. I love you too."
"I’ll see you in a few hours."
"Don’t expect much. You know how tired plane trips make me."
"I’ll keep you awake."
"Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of."
"Get going, beautiful."
"I’m going, I’m going. Bye."
"Bye."
I clicked off the phone and stared at it again. So this was it.
Chapter Fourteen
There are few things in life that I hate: People that spit in public. Crazy drivers in SUVs. Missy Page. Insects. And flying.
There’s just something about flying that irks me the wrong way. It’s not like a road trip. On a road trip you can stop and take pictures and go to silly museums dedicated to stupid shit, such as alligators and haunted houses that aren’t really haunted. You can always get out of the car and stretch your aching body and will somehow manage to find a breathtaking view that you’d only previously seen on a postcard.
With flying, it’s a whole other ball of wax. First, you can’t stop. Not unless you have a layover and in that case the only view you’ll have in sight will be a Starbucks and a bunch of planes. And if you get out of your seat, your head is maybe a foot away from the ceiling and your hips are in danger of hitting every other annoyed person on the plane. Plus, the bathrooms suck. If I wanted to pee in a box the size of a refrigerator... well, that would just make me stupid. And to top it off, they never play a movie I want to see. And if, by an act of God, they do show a movie I want to see, the crappy headphones - overpriced at five, sometimes ten dollars - always fall out of my ears. And please, let’s not even start talking about the food.
Walk Away, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 1) Page 8
