Baby Come Back

by ANDREA SMITH

  “How about if I find a table for you all?” Tristan offered. “Gina, why don’t you and Pete go to the bar and get some drinks on the house; the rest of you follow me.”

  “The regular for us,” Nick called after him. Tristan had done this purposely so that I could have a couple of minutes alone with Pete to ask him what the hell he had been thinking.

  Over at the bar, Pete was waiting for me to say something. I wasn’t sure what to say since apparently my mother had not given him any explanation for my sudden departure before Angie Camerucci’s funeral.

  “Pete,” I said, “Did it ever dawn on you that perhaps Nick and my split was something less than amicable?”

  “Gina,” he replied, wearing a confused expression, “Neither you nor Nick has ever divulged the particulars. I guess I thought after all of this time, bygones would be bygones.”

  “I guess that’s my fault, Pete. I never shared details because I was too ashamed; I suppose Nick didn’t share because he was afraid of people knowing the kind of monster he had become. Look, I can’t get into this now with you; besides that, I’m not sure I want to share this with anyone other than Tristan. He knows the particulars; he is the only one besides Nick and me that knows the details. So please, just act normal but don’t expect me to sit with you and socialize while he is there. I can’t do it.”

  “Gina, Nick did tell me that he had a problem with coke while you two were together; he said he blamed his addiction for you leaving and he totally understood why you would have left. He never told me anything beyond that. I know that he’s clean now; he lives a good life, makes a good living, and seems to be a good husband to Teresa. People can change, Gina.”

  “People can change their behavior, Pete. I believe that; but people are what they are and the Nick I knew was scary. That’s all I can say. You and I can talk tomorrow when we are alone. I just wanted you to understand about tonight.”

  We ordered the drinks and I asked Jo Anna to take them over to the table where Tristan had seated them. She hurried back with Tristan on her heels looking at me quizzically.

  “God Gina, are you alright?”

  “I’ll be fine, Jo Jo - I just wasn’t expecting to see a nasty blast from my past, that’s all.

  “Your brother?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Tristan was by my side again. I’d have to fill Jo Anna in on it later.

  “Gina, I had no clue when I talked to your brother earlier that he was going to spring Nick on you.”

  “I know that, Tristan. It’s fine. I simply told Pete that Nick and I ended up bad terms and I wasn’t prepared to be around him. You would have thought my mother might have clued Pete in,” I bitched.

  “Babe, you didn’t really tell your mom much, you know. Perhaps she didn’t even know that Nick was coming here.”

  Let’s just go down to the lower level; I can’t stand being in the same building with that son-of-a-bitch,” I hissed.

  Tristan and I managed to stay busy on the main floor. I felt like my senses were now on high alert knowing that Nick was nearby. Perhaps he had triggered some primal instinct in me; the fight or flight response had given me an adrenaline rush.

  Tristan and I were sitting at the main bar when Johnny Four-Fingers came out to find Tristan. Apparently, there was an issue with the electrical circuits to the ovens in the kitchen. Tristan ordered me to sit tight; he would be back in a few minutes. I didn’t feel like sitting tight. I was a bundle of nerves, but I wasn’t a coward. This was my club. I wasn’t going to sit in a corner like a scared victim.

  I went upstairs to the mezzanine to where Jo Anna was tending bar.

  “Hey Jo Jo,” I said, “Can I bum one of your smokes?”

  “You don’t smoke,” she said, eyeing me warily.

  “It’s a special occasion,” I replied, holding my hand out.

  She pulled her pack of Camels from her pocket. Her disposable lighter was tucked inside.

  “Here, take my jacket,” she said, tossing it over the bar. I stepped out the side door onto the fire escape to light up. The wind was blowing; there was a damp chill in the air. I went down the fire escape and stood behind the dumpster in the alley. It offered some protection from the gusting wind at the moment.

  Inside the band was playing a medley of U2 songs. I took a couple of puffs of the cigarette.

  (Yuck! Now I remembered why I had quit!)

  I dropped it to the pavement, crushing it out with the toe of my shoe. I shoved my hands into the pockets of Jo Jo’s jacket and turned to head back up. I collided with a tall body as I did. I stood frozen on the spot as a lighter flicked and in the flame I saw Nick’s face as he lit his cigarette.

  (I knew it was a Parliament; that’s what he smoked.)

  “You’re not going to run-off without even talking to me, are you, Gina?”

  (I will not let him frighten me; I will not let him frighten me.)

  “I don’t have anything to say to you, Nick. Frankly, I can’t understand why you would even come here.”

  “Maybe because you and me have some unfinished business.”

  “I’m fairly certain our business was finished Nick, when you beat me into a miscarriage, and I ended up in the hospital.”

  “You know that was because of the drugs, Gina. Still, that didn’t give you reason to take off like that with my money. You emptied our savings out as I recall; over $6000.”

  “What Nick? Are you hard up for cash now?”

  “No Gina,” he said, blowing smoke rings into the damp, chilly air, rocking back and forth on the heel of his boots, “Cash is not what I’m hard up for at the moment.”

  (Stay calm, Gina. He is not going to do anything with my brother, his wife and Tristan all just inside that building.)

  “I see, Nick. Well you’re out of luck on the other thing then; I still don’t do cocaine.”

  I pushed in front of him to get out from behind the dumpster into the alley where at least there was some dim light from the street filtering in. He hauled me back against the dumpster with his free arm.

  “You never told your family about what happened, did you Gina? I always wondered why you hadn’t. I mean, I expected your father, or maybe my buddy Pete to come and haul my ass outside and beat the shit out of me; hell, I figured that they might even go as far as calling the cops, but nothing. Why was that, Gina?”

  He was taking another long drag off of his cigarette.

  “It wasn’t to protect you. That’s for sure, mother fucker.”

  Just like that, the palm of his hand slammed against my cheek. I didn’t flinch. I stared at his dark, dead eyes. In that moment, I knew that Nick Camerucci was who he was, regardless of what drugs he was taking or what alcohol he was drinking. He was a monster.

  “Smart mouth, Gina. Always the smart mouth.” I wasn’t sure exactly what Nick wanted with me, but I knew that I needed to kill some time before I allowed him the honor of showing me. Jo Jo knew I was out here; hopefully Tristan was looking for me by now.

  “Give me one of your cigarettes, Nick. These Camels taste like shit.”

  “Tell me what brand I smoke, Gina. Then maybe I’ll believe you want a cigarette.”

  “May I please have a Parliament, Nick?”

  “I’m impressed,” he said, giving me a smile. He handed me a cigarette, then flicked his lighter to light it for me. I prayed like hell my hand wouldn’t shake. Showing fear was the worst thing possible when facing a predator.

  I took a puff on the cigarette, pretending that I enjoyed it. I assessed the situation at hand. Nick was dangerous; that was a given. Nick was most likely a sociopath; that too was a given. What was his purpose with me? That was what I needed to find out prior to his unleashing it on me.

  “So Nick, why is it that you followed me out here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you, Gina. I want to know why you never told anyone what happened.”

  “Can I ask why that is so important to you?”

  “I have a t
heory.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what your theory is?”

  “Oh no. That would really take all of the fun out of finding out whether my theory is correct or not.”

  (What the fuck? Think, Gina. What possible ‘theory’ would give him cause to think I would ever want to set eyes on him again - especially after all of this time? His mother’s funeral? My not being there?

  It is all I have . . .)

  “I guess it was pretty evident when I didn’t show up for your mom’s wake; and then hightailed it back to Atlanta before the funeral, huh?”

  (Oh please, God. Let this be it.)

  I could see his smile as he lit another cigarette.

  (Bingo!)

  “Go on,” he prodded, blowing smoke out through his nose.

  “Well Nick, I thought I could handle it, you know, because I had loved your mom and all. I thought after all those years of not seeing you or thinking about you would have finally chased those feelings away. I was wrong.”

  “Define ‘those feelings’ for me.”

  (Oh fuck! Not love - that doesn’t mean shit to him. What? What? What else is there?)

  “You know I feel funny saying it, Nick. You obviously already know.”

  “I want to hear it from your lips, Gina. Come on, I know it’s painful for you as fucking proud and stubborn as you are, but you need to say it to me. In the end, you’ll enjoy it.”

  (Say what?? Painful? Pain? That’s it!)

  “The feelings that I got when you punished me, Nick. That wonderful feeling of fulfillment when you showed me who was boss.”

  (My stomach was churning. I hoped to God that I was right. Where in the hell is Tristan?)

  “Excellent,” he breathed, “That’s my girl.”

  His voice had now taken a husky, sexy tone. Oh God!

  “Does your man, Tristan punish you Gina?”

  “He doesn’t know about that, Nick.”

  “Really? He doesn’t know that you prefer pain to pleasure?”

  I nodded my head.

  “Do you remember that Valentine’s Day when you had an orgasm, Gina?”

  (What the fuck?)

  “Yes Nick, I remember.”

  “What else happened that night?”

  “I got pregnant?”

  “Exactly,” he said, his lip curling downward. “There was no way I was ever going to let that little bastard be born. You knew that, right?”

  I nodded my head up and down.

  “I never allowed you to have an orgasm after that either, right?”

  I nodded my head up and down again.

  (This mother fucker is sicker than I had ever imagined.)

  “I mean, it would have spoiled everything between us, don’t you see? No, I suppose you don’t. I know all about you having that baby now,” he spat. “Teresa understands . . . now. She didn’t at first; I had to abort our first baby by myself. She doesn’t enjoy pain like you did. She is more fragile than you, Gina. After that, I made her get her tubes tied. No sense in putting her through pain that she doesn’t enjoy, right?”

  “It makes sense to me, Nick.”

  “Then why are we wasting our time just standing here, Gina? We both know what we want and how to make it happen.”

  (Holy fuck!)

  “Nick, we’re in an alley; people will be coming out here to see where we are. It’s really not a good time.”

  “It’s the perfect place and time, Gina. No one will be looking for me. I told Teresa I was taking a cab back to our hotel. She knows better than to doubt or question me.”

  “For me, Nick. Tristan will be looking for me.”

  (I had to get the fuck away from this lunatic mother-fucker!)

  “Not for a while,” he replied confidently. “Seems they’re having some major electrical problems in the kitchen,” he said with a laugh.

  (How in the hell did he know that?)

  “I’m sure Tristan is on the phone trying to get an electrician out at this late hour, on a holiday no less.”

  Just then there were voices in the alley near the street. Please God, let it me someone other than a thug or mugger. Forget that last part; at this point, I would have welcomed either of those over Nick.

  Nick grabbed me and pulled me back behind the dumpster; he clamped his hand over my mouth, cutting off my ability to scream (or breathe). I squirmed within his grasp, raking my fingernails over his hands, and biting the hell out of his finger closest to my lips.

  “Ow, son of a bitch!” he yelled, jerking his hand off of my mouth momentarily. It was long enough for me to shriek.

  “Over here! Please, somebody help!”

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I heard one of the thugs say. “We don’t need this shit.”

  (Great. I’m dead now!)

  Nick slammed me to the cold, hard concrete. He pinned my arms up over my head with his hands. He straddled me with his thighs. His angry eyes were boring into mine.

  “What the fuck, Gina? Were you just shining me on a minute ago with bullshit? Were you just pretending?”

  I was sick of playing Nick’s demented game. I thrashed around beneath him, screaming again. His fist slammed into my jaw. I saw stars; I was dazed. I prayed that I didn’t pass out. Instead, I decided to play possum. Perhaps with Nick it was the ‘fighting back’ that gave him the pleasure.

  My eyes closed and I somehow forced my body to relax into a heap underneath him. I could feel his eyes watching me. He was waiting to see if I was really knocked out. I could hear the band from inside. They were playing ‘With or Without You.’ It was my favorite U2 tune. Perhaps this was a sign; perhaps Nick would finish me off while one of my favorite songs was playing in the background. How fucking poetic was that?

  The words from the song drifted to my ear that was now ringing from the impact of his fist on that side of my face. ‘Sleight of hand and twist of fate; on a bed of nails she makes me wait . . .”

  (A bed of nails? That was right up Nick’s alley . . .)

  I willed my breathing to slow as if I was in a restful sleep. My adrenaline was pumping so this was no easy task. It was dark enough that I could still make out his form from beneath my lashes.

  He waited for a couple of minutes which to me, seemed like an eternity. He released his grip on my wrists allowing my arms to lie freely on the concrete; they were still up over my head. I felt him lift his weight off of me, only slightly. My other senses were kicking in now. My jaw was throbbing and my head felt as if would explode shortly.

  I heard the sound of his fly unzipping. At the same time, I felt his hand part my legs.

  (Oh dear god; the crotch-less underwear and gartered nylons! I needed to remain calm.)

  It took every bit of will I had not to react to his touch. He certainly couldn’t respond to a near corpse-like woman. Or could he? As whacked as Nick was, I couldn’t be sure of anything. I felt him unzip the jacket that I had borrowed from Jo Jo. Once opened, he separated it, pulling each side apart covering my arms.

  I felt his hands rub over my dress and massage my breasts roughly. He dipped his fingers below the bodice and pinched my nipples hard, again and again twisting them; he wanted me to scream. That would prove I was faking my unconscious state.

  I thought of Reese. I pictured him in my mind and used it as a focal image to take my mind off of the pain Nick was inflicting. He seemed satisfied that I was out cold. That meant short term, he didn’t feel as if I posed a threat to whatever sick punishment he had in store for me.

  His hand brushed the bottom of my short dress. He raised himself up and off of me to allow his hands to move the dress up past my thighs and around my waist.

  (Oh God!)

  “Well, what have we here?” he asked. “Looks like Tristan is partial to having you dress up like his whore. Is that what your man likes, Gina? Perhaps he will get his wish this evening when I make you my whore. Yes, fucking you in this back alley will be proof to your Tristan that you are quite the whore, I think.�
��

  (You are so dead, Nick. Tristan will fucking kill you.)

  I felt his hands travel up my thighs to my underwear.

  “Yes, Gina. You have made your cunt quite accessible for my cock, I see. How very thoughtful of you to wear panties without a crotch. No need to waste my time undressing you. I can get right down to business.” Nick laughed as if he found himself very amusing. The sick bastard didn’t care if I was comatose or not. He was going to do whatever he wanted.

  Ever so slowly, I moved my right hand on the pavement. I allowed my fingers to feel around for something, anything. Nick was distracted momentarily. From beneath my eyelashes I could see that he had his hand on his cock. He was masturbating!

  “Let’s see,” he said, “I need to find a stick for you, Gina. Have you ever been brought to painful pleasure with a thick, nubby tree stick?”

  (Oh good God. There is no fucking way.)

  “I pleasured Teresa with a nice knotty, tree branch, one time. She didn’t find enjoyment in it, though. She thought it would hurt the baby. That was the whole point, the stupid bitch.”

  He laughed derisively as he evidently was reliving the incident in his twisted mind. He moved up off of me now, but he was still only inches away. He was looking for a stick. There was no way I could jump up and get past him. He was blocking the only way out. My other hand frantically searched the pavement; it was halfway under the dumpster. My fingers closed around something. It was a brick! I inched it out little by little. I had it clasped in my hand now. My hand was still out of site, just under the outside edge of the dumpster.

  “I suppose this will have to do, Gina. No sticks or branches readily available. As luck would have it, it seems your establishment tossed out a perfectly good broom.”

  I heard his sick laugh again, and from under my lashes, I watched as he broke the broom stick in half over his muscular thigh.

  “Yes, this will work quite nicely,” he crooned, once again lowering himself down to straddle my torso. This time, one of his thighs remained inside my legs in order to spread it further. I could feel the cold breeze roll across my private area. Damn that sick son-of-a-bitch!

  “Which end would you like in first, Gina? The smooth rounded tip, or the splintered, raggedy edge where it broke; it is your choice. Well, I guess since you are giving me the silent treatment, then I’ll decide. I say we go with . . . the splintered end, for shits and giggles.”