Robin Kaye Bundle

by Robin Kaye

  Rosalie picked herself up off the cold tile floor, rinsed her face, and brushed her teeth. Damn it, why did she have to fall in love with Nick? Nick, who lived with her but wouldn’t tell her his last name. Nick, who lay next to her night after night but was a world away. Nick, the guy she’d made a deal with and was stupid enough to fall for while she’d been busy having an affair.

  The phone rang again. She ran to pick it up. “Nick?”

  “No. It’s Gina.”

  “Oh.”

  “She says, ‘Oh.’ I’ve been worried sick since ten o’clock, and she says, ‘Oh.’”

  Rosalie ignored the cursing and the mention of her name in the same sentence with the devil and something else she didn’t understand, but figured it couldn’t be good.

  “Do you have any idea how frantic Nick was? Do you know what you did to him? He was calling hospitals, chica. He thought you were dead. How could you do that to him?”

  “Well, it wasn’t as if he was totally innocent. He lied to me.”

  “Yeah, and you knew it all along. Before it was okay, but now it’s a federal offense?”

  “Oh, God, Gina. I fucked up.”

  “You sure did. Now what are you going to do about it?”

  “What can I do? I tried to stop him before he left, but the look in his eyes . . .”

  “Rosalie, are you crying?”

  “I love him, Gina. My timing is impeccable. I figure out I’m in love, right after I break the rules. The rules I made. How stupid can I be?”

  “Pretty stupid.”

  “I wanted to beg him to stay. I started to, but then . . . he looked at me. He’s gone, and I don’t think he’s ever coming back.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I found out all this history with Mr. Lassiter. Nick worked for him since he was a kid. He kept his whole life from me. I got scared. He’d been acting strange, distancing himself. I thought he was—”

  “You thought he was about to dump you, so you dumped him first.”

  “I’m always the one who does the distancing.”

  “Well, bully for you, you did it again. See if that keeps you warm at night. Use your head, Rosalie. Call him, say you’re sorry, tell him how you feel.”

  “I can’t. We made a deal, Gina.”

  “Then you’re right, he won’t be coming back. You and that stupid deal. The two of you deserve each other. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  The sound of beeping signaled her to disconnect the call. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be getting any “poor baby’s” from Gina over this breakup, either.

  Chapter 16

  “YOU SHOULD PUT SOME PREPARATION H ON THE BAGS under your eyes. You look like hell.”

  She’d already tried the Preparation H trick. God forbid, Gina found out she was commenting on the results. Rosalie kept her voice even. “Good morning, Gina. And how was your weekend?”

  “Better than yours, I see. So, when did you finally stop crying?”

  “I did not cry.” Bawled was more like it. She didn’t think she’d ever cried herself to sleep, woken up, and done it again before. And she knew for a fact, she’d never done it for an entire weekend.

  “Have you heard from Nick?”

  “No.” Rosalie didn’t think Gina meant listening to the messages he’d left on her cell. They went from curious, to concerned, to worried, to frantic. She couldn’t help herself. She’d listened to them over and over all weekend, just to hear his voice.

  “When are you going to call and tell him you love him?”

  “Never. Don’t you get it? We made a deal. It’s against the rules to. . . to. . .”

  “Fall in love? Care about each other? Or maybe, it’s against the rules to be human and screw up. At the very least, you should call and tell him you’re sorry for scaring the living piss out of him.”

  “I can’t.” Rosalie double-timed it to her office and slammed the door. At least she’d made it before she embarrassed herself . . . well, okay, before she embarrassed herself further. She sat on the leather couch and willed her tears to disappear. If she started crying again, who knew when she’d stop.

  It was two o’clock, and Rosalie wasn’t hungry. Gina had buzzed her an hour earlier, saying she was going to lunch. She could have asked Gina to pick something up for her, but she couldn’t look at food without getting sick. She’d never felt like this. She hurt all over. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. Every time she dozed off, she’d awaken falling off Nick’s side of the damn bed.

  Even Dave was upset. He’d walked around the house all weekend with a pair of Nick’s boxers in his mouth, whining. He’d hardly eaten, and he’d spent most of his time staring out the window, looking for Nick and ignoring her.

  Nick had finally hit rock bottom, or at least, he hoped he had. He went to the office, packed up Dave’s dog toys, bones, and bed, and tossed them in Rosalie’s Volkswagen before he returned it to her place.

  There he was, for the entire world to see, driving around in a Barbie mobile, and he couldn’t care less.

  Going back to the apartment and packing his belongings would likely kill him. He’d sat around all weekend, trying to figure out how to put things back together with Rosalie, but when it came down to it, he had no options. He’d made a deal with her—no strings and no commitments. It would last until one or both stopped having a good time. Obviously, she’d learned the truth, and she’d moved on. If she hadn’t, she would have called him, yelled at him, hit him, something that showed she cared and wanted him to come back. Right?

  He parked the yellow Beetle in front of the brownstone and found Dave looking at him through the window. Something white hung from his mouth. God, Nick missed that dog. That morning, when he’d gone to the office without Dave, Lois had looked at him as if he’d kicked her. She’d gotten up and hurried out of the door. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she was about to cry. Christ. As if he didn’t feel bad enough, he had to be responsible for making the Rock of Gibraltar cry.

  Nick got out of Rosalie’s car, gathered Dave’s things, and brought them into the apartment. Dave jumped on Nick and greeted him as though he’d been gone a lifetime. Damn, Nick was going to miss the big guy, but that was only a miniscule fraction of the hole left in his life by Rosalie. Nick carried in the empty bags he’d brought from his place and started packing. He took his hanging clothes and put them in a garment bag, emptied his drawers into a suitcase, and packed his shaving kit. He dumped the drawer of his bedside table into another bag, tossed in the book he’d been reading, and searched the rest of the apartment, gathering his things. Nick decided to leave the vacuum and food processor he’d bought for the apartment. Not that he thought Rosalie would ever use them, but Nick knew he’d never be able to see them without thinking about Rosalie and Dave. Life was hard enough; he didn’t need any more reminders of all he’d lost. Dave followed him around the apartment with what Nick realized was a pair of his boxers. He tried to take them away, but Dave wouldn’t let go.

  “You drop my drawers, or I’m not taking you for a walk.”

  Dave dropped them, but only to go out. When they returned, he picked them right back up again and settled into the corner where Nick had placed Dave’s bed.

  “Look, buddy. I have to go. You take good care of your mom for me. Okay?”

  Nick set Rosalie’s car keys on the kitchen counter, right beside the set of apartment keys he’d been carrying. He took one last look around, grabbed his bags, and stepped into the hall, letting the door slam shut behind him. There. He couldn’t go back inside if he wanted to. And by God, he wanted to. He saw Dave watching him drive away in the Mustang he’d left parked in front of Rosalie’s apartment when he took his middle of the night walkabout.

  Home, sweet home. Nick parked in front of his brownstone. He knew it wasn’t far enough away from Rosalie, but then, he doubted Alaska would be. He put his car in drive and headed for the Long Island Expressway.

  He cal
led Lois. “I’m going away for a few days. I’ve got my cell if you need me. Oh, and if you hear from Lee, call me right away. Okay?”

  “Where are you going, Nick?”

  “I’m going to the beach house for awhile. I need to get out of town.”

  “You didn’t dognap Dave, did you?”

  “No. Why would I do that?”

  “If you had, Lee would come after you, and maybe you’d both get your heads on straight and work things out.”

  “Lois—”

  “Don’t you ‘Lois’ me, Dominick Romeo. I’ve watched you date and dump a plethora of women over the last ten years. You never had feelings for any of them until Rosalie. If you’re not smart enough to recognize love when it runs over you and fight for it, well then, you don’t deserve it. So go to the beach house and lick your wounds. But let me tell you something, Nick, wounds that deep don’t ever heal.”

  “She left me, Lo. She doesn’t want me.”

  “Are you sure of that? Did you ask her? Did you talk to her at all?”

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you in a few days.”

  “Stop at the grocery store before you start drinking. You’ll be in no shape to drive afterward, and I’m not driving all the way out there to feed you.”

  “If she calls—”

  “I know. I’ll get in touch.”

  Rosalie worked until eight. She was avoiding going home. She’d called her neighbors, Henry and Wayne, earlier. It sounded as if they knew Nick had left, and they said they’d be happy to take care of Dave. She would have worked later, but by eight, she was dead on her feet. All she’d eaten was . . . nothing. Unless you counted the milk in her coffee—she’d had a lot of that.

  When Rosalie left the building, she scanned the street, hoping she’d see Nick’s car. She didn’t.

  When she got off the train at her stop, she looked for Nick. He wasn’t there.

  When she got home and found her beloved yellow Beetle parked in front of her apartment, she fell apart. Right there, on the front stoop of her brownstone, she lost it. Nick was gone. He’d come back, but only to return her car. Oh, God, she’d thought it hurt when he walked out. She’d thought maybe, after he cooled off, he’d come home and at least have a fight with her—give her a chance to explain. She thought he cared enough to yell at her. But he didn’t. He’d returned her car.

  “Rosalie? Is that you, darlin’? Wayne, come out here!” Henry sat beside her on the stoop, put his arm around her, and pushed her head against his chest.

  “Henry? What is it? I’ve got dinner . . . Oh, my Lord, Rosalie. Is she hurt? What happened?” Wayne always reminded her of a hummingbird. He was small, flighty, and never stopped moving, but was amazing to watch. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know he was in a full dither.

  “I don’t know. Dave was going berserk, and I looked out the window. Wayne, be a love and pick up her things. She must have dropped her purse. There are tampons and God only knows what rolling down the sidewalk.”

  Rosalie tried to pretend that nothing had happened— that Nick was inside waiting, that her car was still gone, that she still had a life—anything to get a grip, but it didn’t work. When she opened her eyes and saw her car, reality crashed into her again.

  She tried, but she couldn’t stop crying long enough to tell them what had happened. She could only point to her car and do that weird hiccup thing she did when she cried so hard, she couldn’t stop to breathe. Henry tightened his hold and pulled her up with him as he stood.

  “I’m taking you inside. Come on darlin’, I’ve got you.”

  They led her up the steps and into their apartment, handed her tissues, and let her cry while they commiserated the way best girlfriends would.

  When she’d run out of tears, they treated her like a sick child. They plied her with tea, made her nibble on toast, and before she knew it, Henry was leading her to their guest room.

  “You’ll stay with us tonight. You’re in no shape to be alone. Wayne, be a love and go over to Rosalie’s and get her a lovely nightgown. She needs to feel pretty. Don’t forget her toothbrush. Come on, darlin’, let’s get this suit jacket off you.”

  Wayne came back a minute later with only her toothbrush. “Henry, she didn’t have one decent nightgown. Obviously, she sleeps au natural, because I don’t think she would be caught dead in some of the nightshirts I found in her bureau. Rosalie, darling, we really must do something about your lingerie. You need at least a few peignoirs. We’ll do a shopping day this weekend. A little retail therapy might be just what the doctor ordered. I know when Henry and I went through a rough patch—”

  Henry groaned. “Wayne, not now. Can’t you see she’s overcome with grief?” Henry left the room and returned with a T-shirt and sweats. “Here darlin’, try these.”

  A fresh rush of tears began. She couldn’t believe she was crying again, and in front of people she’d see every day for the rest of her life. Next, she’d start collecting cats—well, only after Dave passed. He went nuts if you even mentioned the word C-A-T in his presence.

  Oh, God, she was going to turn into one of those old women with sixty cats, and she’d live here until the SPCA came to take the cats and Social Services put her in a home for crazy, old people.

  Henry sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Damn it, Wayne. See what you did. She’s started the waterworks again, and I just got her calmed down.”

  Wayne left the room in what looked like tears, but it was hard for Rosalie to tell, since she was crying, her eyes were puffy, and she had a tissue covering her red nose.

  “I swear. Wayne is such a drama queen. Rosalie, you go ahead and change while I calm Wayne down. I’ll be back in a minute to tuck you in, okay?”

  Rosalie slept for the first time since Nick had walked out on her. She knew that wasn’t precisely the way it had happened, but he’d been the one who’d left. He was the one who had to come back. Right?

  She awoke the next morning thinking that she was cuddled up to Nick. When the fog in her head cleared, she found it wasn’t Nick at all, but one of those long body pillows. She’d barely kept herself from falling apart yet again. She stretched, and when she saw the time, she screamed. A second later, Wayne knocked and poked his head in.

  “Don’t worry. We called Gina and told her you were sick and that we were taking care of you. She’s not expecting you in the office today.”

  Rosalie lay back against the pillows. “Thanks, Wayne. For everything.”

  He came in and waved away her thanks. “Oh, stop, don’t you worry about it. You just take care of yourself. When that man of yours comes back, you two will work everything out. You’ll see.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I know. I heard it all last night. You didn’t see how he picked you up and carried you in when you were sick. It was so romantic. He held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And the way he looked at you—doll, if he looked at me that way, I’d melt, that’s what I’d do. I’d melt. You listen to me; Nick will be back. It might take a while on account of all that macho mojo he’s dealing with. His type needs a way to come back without looking like they’re whipped. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I don’t know. I guess.”

  “I’ll be happy to have him back myself. He is a fine specimen. I swear—all the good ones are either straight or taken.”

  “Wayne.” She picked up a pillow and threw it at him.

  He caught it. “I know. I’m bad. Let’s pretend I was talking about Henry. He’s definitely taken.”

  “How do you know so much about macho mojo?”

  “Ha! I have to deal with that every day. Henry might be gay, but he’s definitely all man when it comes to that macho stuff. Straight guys don’t have that market cornered, girlfriend. Thank God.” He stopped and sniffed the air and then checked his watch. “I made fresh scones. They smell like they’re ready to come out of the oven. You lie back and relax. I’ll bring them to you along
with your coffee.”

  A minute later, Wayne brought in a tray and set it on her lap. She picked at a scone. The only good thing to come out of the whole disaster was that she couldn’t seem to eat. The one time she’d tried last weekend, she had to make a run for the toilet.

  At least she was losing weight. Nick had always fed her; it was as if he wanted her to get fat. She’d comforted herself with the fact that sex burned a lot of calories. Now she was losing weight without even trying. And sadly, without sex.

  After breakfast, she got up the nerve to go home. When she saw what awaited her in the apartment, she was too depressed to shower and dress.

  Nick had left the keys to her car next to the keys to her apartment on the kitchen counter. No note, no nothing. He’d just packed all his things and left. The only traces that he was ever there—except for the neatness of the apartment—was his food processor, his beloved vacuum, and a dog bed and basket of dog toys he must have had at his office. When she saw those, whatever control she’d had over her emotions took ahold. Nick would make someone a great father some day. Which meant that he’d also make someone a great husband, and oh, God, she wouldn’t be that someone. She didn’t know why that bothered her so. She’d always sworn she’d never marry, but the thought of Nick married to someone other than her made her crazy.

  Rosalie sat in front of the TV watching QVC and buying stuff she didn’t need. She had ordered a pair of earrings and had just disconnected the call when the phone rang. She quickly muted the TV, praying it was Nick.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Rosalie.” Not Nick; it was Richie. “I called you at work. Gina said you were sick. What’s the matter?”

  “Hi, Richie. It’s nothing, just um . . . cramps.” She’d learned a long time ago when something was wrong that you didn’t want to talk about, all you had to do was tell the guy you had cramps. Once they found out it had to do with plumbing of the female variety, they got off the topic so fast, if they were in a car, they’d have left skid marks. It worked every time.