Nicky's Fire

by Nancy Fornataro

  Breaking away from the women, and as he reached her, he said under his breath, "Let's make a run for it, after we check out. You lead."

  After they passed the security guard at the door, he grabbed her arm and they ran to the covered parking garage. She glanced back quickly, as they ran, and saw that there were three teenage girls in hot pursuit.

  "Christ!" she gasped, "Have they no pride?"

  "None," he laughed, "none whatsoever!"

  They reached Ellen's Jaguar, which was parked in the dark recesses of the garage. She let him in then ran over to the driver's side.

  Backing out quickly, she almost ran over one of the girls. They began pounding on the windows of the car, and Ellen cursed as she sped down the ramp.

  As he laughed softly in the seat next to her, and took off his sunglasses, Ellen said dryly, "Sex sells, I guess."

  "Nah, must be my music."

  "Could be the leather pants," she countered. She paid the parking fee, refusing the twenty he offered, and they hit the freeway.

  They rode along for a while, without speaking.

  Ellen could feel the man's energy surging in the car.

  Her Jag became too small, suddenly, and she became edgy. He was wearing some kind of subtle aftershave, expensive, and very, very heady. It filled the car with its pleasant scent, and that, mixed with the smell of leather, was entirely intoxicating. Too provocative. Too enticing.

  "Well," she finally said with a sigh, shifting in the seat uncomfortably, as a warm sensation flooded her lower regions, "I had you booked at a hotel, but I'm thinking they'll find you there. Your fans, I mean."

  He turned towards her, and stretched lazily. "You got a better idea?" he asked softly.

  "Well, you could stay at my place. Not that I'm overly awed by your celebrity status, or anything--" Now why had she said that? He'd probably be offended.

  "Of course not. A woman like you? I bet you're into classical, right?" Her words hadn't fazed him.

  She could feel his eyes raking over her, but she concentrated on driving. Weaving her way through the tangled, congested 405 Freeway, she said, "Once in a while. Actually, I prefer old rock." She couldn't look at his eyes. Not now. She'd probably have an accident.

  Breathing deeply, savoring the enticing, subtle smell of the aftershave, she tried to concentrate on driving. But she found his presence unnerving.

  "How old?" he asked.

  "This guy I dated for a while introduced me to it. Zeppelin, Hendrix, Cream, groups from the sixties."

  "Yeah," he breathed, turning his gaze towards the mass of cars in front of them, "that's when it started. The heavy metal sound."

  "Yes, I guess so. I like some of your songs, too."

  "Which ones, sweetheart?"

  Ordinarily, Ellen didn't like nicknames like 'babe' or 'sweetheart,' but coming from Derick, she found she didn't mind. She actually liked it a little. More than a little.

  "Mmmm, 'Cara,' and I like 'Tell Me Your Secrets.'"

  They hit the 101 Freeway, finally, and she felt him gazing at her again, as he said, "The slow ones. You must be a romantic." His voice lowered a notch, "You look very delicate. Like you'd break if I touched you."

  Again, she felt his eyes on her, and she rolled her tongue around her suddenly-dry lips. "Well, there's a solution to that. Don't touch me."

  There was a pause in the conversation, filled with unspoken words, until he said, "I won't. Not if you don't want me to. But, you know what I mean. You're so...compact."

  She laughed. "Well, that's the first time I ever heard myself described like that! Usually, people call me petite or say I'm a shrimp."

  "How unimaginative," he drawled. "You remind me of a doll my sister used to have."

  His voice took on a strange, wistful quality then, and she grew curious. "Are you very close with your sister?"

  When he sighed, she looked over at him. With his head resting against the seat-back, his eyes stared straight ahead. "I was, until three years ago."

  "Can I be nosy, and ask what happened?"

  He smiled now, but his tone was bitter, as he said, "She died. Drugs killed her. I was sending her money. I didn't know she was using it to buy cocaine. Then, I got the call. They found her in a crack house. I just had no idea she was in that deep, and I was devastated. Felt like it was my fault, you know?"

  "I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I shouldn't have asked."

  He turned his head slightly to look at her. Glancing over, as she drove, she saw a deep hurt in the languid depths of his eyes. His voice was soft, as he said, "It's all right. Before that happened, I was a user too. Actually, I was probably more of an addict than she was. It just seems to go with a musician's life-style sometimes. But, after that, after my sister died, I checked into the Betty Ford Clinic. I stayed a month. It was the only thing I could do."

  They were silent for a few minutes, as she thought about all he'd told her. And, he rose in her estimation immensely. It wasn't easy kicking a cocaine habit, or admitting to it openly.

  "You must be a very strong person." she said, finally.

  "No. I'm not. I'm weak. That's why I got addicted in the first place. But, I worked it out."

  They approached her home in the hills of Calabasas, and she was trying to think of what to tell him. She couldn't tell him she was with the D.E.A.. Not yet. But Ellen made a good salary, and her home was large, and would certainly broadcast the fact she had money. Searching her mind, she finally came up with a ruse.

  At the turnoff, as they waited for the light to change, she glanced over at him and said, "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but my parents died a while back, and left me their house. Plus a few bucks."

  His expression was bland, as he looked at her. "Why shouldn't you tell me? You can tell me anything, Ellen. Including who you really are. Let me know. When the urge strikes you, I'll listen." With that, he turned, and faced straight ahead.

  Her lips compressed, as the light blinked green, and they proceeded through the intersection. But she didn't reply. What could she say? He knew she was lying.

  Then, she sniffed. Let him guess. She wasn't about to jeopardize the operation just to spill her guts to some leather-clad rock singer. Even if he had opened up to her about his sister. She'd stash her briefcase in the closet, and any other items that might give her away.

  "By the way," he said softly, "how did you get my phone number?"

  "Well, the secretary at Taft told me she thought you lived in Chicago. I have a friend in the phone company."

  Chuckling, he didn't reply.

  She pulled into her curved driveway, and stopped by the house.

  "Nice place," Derick said, as he strolled through the front door. The sprawling house had a sunken living room, which looked out over a large, woody back yard, and the furnishings were an interesting blend of antique and modern pieces. A huge, mahogany cabinet, he surmised, hid her television and stereo. Plants were scattered here and there.

  Strolling through the living room, he got a feel for the woman. More of a sense of her was prevalent here, than in the car. She'd been so distant on the drive. He'd expected explanations, and had been questioned instead. But she was in control of the situation now. Maybe not later, but for now she was.

  She led him to the left, down a hallway, to the guest bedroom. It was large, nicely done, again with an antique, mahogany dresser, nightstands, and a dark, paisley green print quilt on the bed. The bathroom was off to the right, and the shower curtain sported the same paisley print. A large ficus tree stood in one corner of the room.

  All in all, the effect on Derick was a soothing one, and he lowered his suitcase slowly. How long had it been since he'd been in a real home? He was on the road most of the time, staying at hotels and calling for room service. This was nice. He felt himself relaxing, finally. And he realized the scene at the airport had jangled his nerves more than he wanted to admit.

  "Mind if I take a shower?" he said, as he looked down at Ellen. He was intrigued by
this woman. The minute he'd seen her at the airport, lounging against the wall, he'd wondered who she really was. And he felt a growing attraction towards her.

  She smiled up at him, nervously. "Not at all. Make yourself at home. Are you hungry?"

  "Starving. But don't go to any trouble. I can fix myself a sandwich or something."

  Unbuttoning his shirt, he gazed at her, and she seemed flustered, then hastily retreated, closing the door behind her.

  As he showered, and let the hot water run over his head, he thought of her again. She really did remind him of a little, delicate doll, with her smooth, corn-silk hair, and her large, turquoise eyes. She was tiny, but he had the impression she didn't take any flack from anyone. And the thought made him grin. Tiny, but tough, this woman.

  There was also an air of authority about her. He could tell she was used to being in charge. But of what? She was a mystery, all right. One he'd like to unravel. And not just her occupation, either, but the woman herself. Aside from that, he was glad she wasn't overly impressed by him. It made Derick feel good that there was one woman in the world who didn't fawn all over him.

  He came out, as Ellen was busy making them both sandwiches. She didn't hear him come in, but then she felt his presence and smelled his aftershave. Without turning around, she said, "Find everything you need?"

  "Yeah. This is a nice place. I didn't notice you had a pool at first, but then I guess most places out here have them."

  She turned, with the plates in her hand, and almost dropped them when she saw the look in Derick's eyes. He sat on an oak, kitchen chair, lazily studying her. His eyes were languid, as in the picture she'd seen. His long hair was wet from the shower, and he wore only pants.

  Moving slowly towards him, she said, "Something to drink?"

  His riveting eyes continued their lazy study of her face, as he replied, "Juice, if you have it."

  After she brought orange juice, she sat across from him, and tried to avoid looking at his chest. But, her eyes found it, in spite of herself. He was lean and muscular. She could tell there wasn't an ounce of fat on his body. And he had no hair on his chest at all. Not a one. It was smooth, hard, and now had a few drops of water running down its center, from his wet hair. She followed the path of one drop down, down, to where he did have hair.

  Looking up suddenly, she met his eyes, and blushed at being caught in such an intimate appraisal. Yes, his eyes were fabulous, a person could almost get lost in them. If a person wasn't careful. And Ellen was a very cautious woman.

  "You have a boyfriend?" he said, between bites.

  "I used to. Actually, I was married." His eyes really were quite unusual, she thought, as she gazed back at him. Heavy, languid, sensual eyes that probably spoke of the man's true nature.

  "Didn't work out, huh?"

  She shook her head. How could she give him any details about this? She'd give herself away. She and Charlie were just two different people. He, a laid-back, almost lazy type-B personality, and she, a spirited, type-A. A workaholic, is what he'd called her. Actually, that's what everyone called her.

  And it seemed like every time she'd been able to spend time with Charlie, he was out playing golf. No, he was not the man for Ellen. She'd spotted that fact a year after they married, but stayed with him for five years, probably from simple inertia.

  "Can I be nosy, and ask what happened?" he said. "After all, you owe me one nosy question."

  Pushing her plate away, finishing her last bite, she smiled. "Yes, I guess I do. We were just too different." her voice was thoughtful now, as she stared out at the well-lit pool beyond, "I need someone with more energy. Someone who could keep up with me."

  He grinned slowly. "Do you mean what I think you mean?"

  She thought of the many nights she'd approached Charlie and been rebuffed for her efforts. Yes, probably, she thought. But, then she replied, "No, sexually, we were fairly compatible—"

  He chuckled. "That kills me."

  She frowned. "Why?"

  Now, he was laughing. "Compatible. What the hell is compatible?"

  "He knew me," she countered, irritated at being laughed at, "he knew what I liked."

  A strange expression crossed his face, before he replied, "Did you want him all the time? Sexually, I mean."

  "No, certainly not. Marriage isn't like that. You can't think about sex all the time." Although, the thought came into her mind that with Derick, a woman would certainly think about sex more than usual.

  He sat back and studied her. "I'm talking attraction. Did he make you feel special? Desired? Did you feel a hunger in him? Like he couldn't get enough of you?"

  It was her turn to laugh, as she thought of Charlie, 'hungering' after someone. "No," she gasped, "I never felt like that."

  His eyes caught hers, in a spell-binding stare, and she stopped laughing. The room was suddenly silent. Too silent. A frog chirped in the distance, and Ellen tried to quiet her drumming heart.

  "That was stupid of him," he said softly, "stupid, stupid man."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chloe peered out the window towards the workshop, and listened for the sounds of Max and Nick working on the bike. It was dark, and they'd been in the shop for hours. She wanted to check on them, but found herself hesitating, probably because of Max. His presence sickened her after the other night, and she kept replaying the thing over and over in her mind.

  The phone rang, and after she answered, she heard Tessie's breathy voice on the other end.

  "Are they done yet?" Tessie asked anxiously.

  "I don't think so, Tess. You want to talk to Max?"

  Chloe was glad when the woman said yes. It would give her an excuse to check on the men.

  When she walked into the workshop, the two men were standing, drinking beer. And, Max frowned deeply at the news of Tessie on the phone.

  "Christ," he muttered, thumping down his beer, "I'm gone for a few hours, and she starts having fits. She's like a Goddamn ball and chain."

  Chloe followed him out, thinking Nick would take a break and join them. She was sure she heard him behind her.

  But, he didn't come to the house. She stood in the kitchen, listening to Max's grumbled replies to Tessie, and she grew worried. She certainly didn't want to be alone with Max for any length of time.

  Deciding to go back to the workshop, she was suddenly confronted by him, and he blocked her way out of the kitchen.

  "Going somewhere?" he asked. His face was impassive; a mask over what she knew really ran under the surface.

  "It's my house," she snapped, "I can go where I want to go." As opposed to you, she thought. After the arrest, you won't be going anywhere. Enjoy your freedom while you can.

  He smiled a humorless smile. "Still that mouth..." moving closer, he took her chin in a firm grasp, and she couldn't jerk away. "I'd like to tame you," he whispered. "Oh, yes I would. Then you'd know what a real man was like."

  Reaching up, she angrily pulled his hand from her face. "Nick's a real man. He's more of a man than you could ever be," she said in a low voice. She wanted to tell him to get out, and never come back. Stifling the impulse, she stared up at him instead.

  He raised his eyebrows, and seemed amused. "How do you know? You haven't tried me yet."

  She sighed, tired of his innuendos, tired of the man himself. "Listen, Max. I don't want you. It's as simple as that. Just accept it, and you'll be a lot happier."

  Taking her shoulders in a tight grip, he replied softly, "Well, we got a problem, then. Because I want you. Do I have to force the issue?"

  She laughed softly, but then her edginess made her temper flare. "Is that how you get your women? Resort to rape, when they won't come to you willingly?"

  She'd crossed the line again. And, she wasn't in any mood to take back the words.

  But to her surprise, Max dropped his hands and started to laugh. "You're priceless," he gasped, as he moved to the front door, "absolutely priceless."

  As she watched him leave, and h
eard him laughing outside, Chloe knew she couldn't tell Nick. He'd be angry, then they'd lose Max. Her face hardened, and she knew she could handle Max on her own. But someday, Nick would know. She'd make sure of it.

  The next morning, Chloe showered, dressed quickly in jeans and a blue tank top, and walked into the living room. Tiny lay snoring on the couch and Nick was asleep on the chair. Their usual places. This wasn't out of the ordinary for these two.

  Shaking her head, she began cleaning up the mess. Beer cans, cigarette butts, and an assortment of stale, leftover food lay on the coffee table in a sickening display. Chloe had gone to bed early the night before, and she hadn't heard their noise. She was getting used to it by now. But then, she was getting used to a lot of things lately. Things she would have never, in her wildest dreams, even considered living with before, dirty houses, surly men, and threats to her safety. Sighing, she thought it was all very difficult.

  Suddenly hearing voices, she opened the door, and was shocked to see Ellen standing there with a long-haired man she vaguely recognized from somewhere.

  "Surprise!" Ellen said happily. "Chloe, I'd like you to meet Dennis Daley, alias 'Double D,' alias Derick Sands."

  "You found him!" Chloe breathed, as she stepped back to let them enter. And a faint glimmer of hope started in her.

  Derick looked around the room, while Chloe hurried over to wake Nick, who still lay asleep, sprawled in a chair.

  "Nick!" she cried, "Nicky, wake up! You'll never believe who's here!"

  Without opening his eyes, he said sleepily, "Whoever it is, can wait. Tell them to get lost."

  "Hey, Nick the Brick," Derick said, in a loud voice, "I didn't come all this way for nothing. Get your lazy ass up out of that chair."

  Nick's eyes flew open. "I'm dreaming."

  Looking around, Derick said dryly, "If this is your dream, I'd hate to see your nightmare, Brick."

  Slowly, Nick's gaze moved to Derick. "Double D?"

  Chloe and Ellen watched Nick intently, as he rose from the chair. A grin started on his face, and grew wider and wider. "I can't believe you're here!" he said incredulously.