by Robin Kaye
“I’ll call Pop and ask him to pick me up at the airport. I’m coming in tonight.”
“No, don’t. I’ll pick you up. It’ll be good for me to get out. What time are you arriving?”
Rich gave her his flight information and saved her from her shopping spree on QVC. It was just as well. She was buying things she’d never use. How much cubic zirconia could one person wear? Especially someone who didn’t wear much jewelry. She’d most likely end up giving it to Mama and Annabelle next Christmas.
Rosalie was a little late picking up her brother. She would have liked to blame it on traffic, but the truth was, she’d lost track of time. He waited outside baggage claim looking pissed. She pulled up in front of him and unlocked the door.
“Sorry I’m late.” she said as Rich opened the door.
“Christ, you look like shit.”
“Thanks, Richie, it’s great to see you, too. Next time you need a ride, call someone else, okay?” She hit the trunk release, hoping he’d stow his bags and get off the topic of how terrible she looked, but he didn’t take the hint.
“I mean it. What? Are you sick or something? Is it contagious?”
Frustrated, she got out of the car and grabbed one of his bags herself. The jerk.
“No, I’m not sick. I got dumped, okay? I really liked the guy, and well, I did something stupid, and he dumped me.”
“I’m sorry, Ro. Do you want me to go beat him up? What’s his name?”
“Dominick Romeo, and no, I don’t what you to beat him up. Stay out of it, and whatever you do, don’t talk to Mama about this.”
“Nick Romeo? What the hell were you doing dating Nick Romeo?” He stashed his laptop and garment bag and got into the driver’s seat.
Rosalie couldn’t help herself. The tears started flowing.
“Oh, God. Please don’t cry. I hate when girls cry, even you.”
“Thanks, that’s so touching.”
“Yeah, you know me, Mr. Sensitivity. So, how’s that cute little secretary of yours? Does she ask about me?”
Rosalie buckled up and checked to see if he was serious. He sure looked serious.
“Whoa, are you talking about Gina? You know she’d fillet you if she heard you called her a secretary—she’s my assistant. Why would Gina ask about you? You met her, what, once?”
“Yeah, but we spent some quality time under the mistletoe at the Christmas party you dragged me to. Then we ran into each other on New Year’s Eve—”
“She never told me that.”
Richie waggled his eyebrows.
“You didn’t sleep with my assistant, did you?”
Rich pulled into traffic and adjusted the mirrors. “I don’t kiss-and-tell. I told her I was flying in tonight. You’re going to lend me your car, right?”
“You’re not going to do anything weird or gross in it, are you?”
“What do you think? I’m a professor, for Christ’s sake. I don’t have to use backseats of cars anymore.”
“Yeah, but Gina’s living with her sister and her brother-in-law the cop while they’re saving for a house. It’s not like you’re going to her place. And I’d be willing to bet you still can’t sneak a girl into your bedroom at Chez Ronaldi.”
“I’m not going to discuss my sex life with my little sister.”
“Fine, I’ll keep out of your personal life, if you keep out of mine. Deal?”
“Sounds to me like you no longer have a personal life.”
“Yeah, thanks for pointing that out.”
“Hey, what’s a big brother for?”
Nick sat on the cold, hard sand staring out at the waves. The tide was coming in, and soon he’d have to get his ass up, or he’d turn into a human icicle. He couldn’t muster the energy to care. He watched as the waves came closer and closer to his feet. God, he was a sorry case. He knew he was lame when he started playing chicken with the surf in winter.
He stood and checked his cell phone for the millionth time. She still hadn’t called. With every hour that went by, his hope waned and the pain in his heart increased. It was as if someone were cutting it out. He had heard people say they were heartsick, and he thought it was a euphemism, but this pain was definitely real. No amount of drinking, no amount of running, and no amount of denying made it go away.
He’d reconsidered groveling, but if Rosalie had wanted him back, she would have said so. Contacting her was against the rules. Why did he have to fall flat on his face in love with the one woman in the world who didn’t want him?
Nick knew he had to make a clean break. He just hoped that he never ran into her. If he did, he’d probably end up on his knees, begging her to take him back—rules or no rules. It was hard enough dreaming about her every night. That same fucking dream over and over and over. He awoke alone in a cold sweat, breathing like a freight train.
No wonder he had avoided love all these years. It sucked. It hurt. And once it had you in its clutches, it wouldn’t let you go.
Rosalie tore the last four days off her Far Side desk calendar, taking note of the tax-day cartoon.
“Rosalie, do you want to go to Katz’s for lunch? It’s supposed to reach seventy degrees today, and they’re working at that new construction site. Maybe the guys will take off their shirts. You need eye candy.”
“It’s against OSHA regulations for construction workers to work without a shirt, pants, and hard hat, Gina. No matter how hot it is.”
“Really? Are you sure? When I walk by, the guys are always taking off their shirts.”
“Yeah, well, it has more to do with you than with the temperature outside.”
“Hmm.” She shrugged and sat on the corner of Rosalie’s desk. “Come on, we haven’t gone to lunch since before you and he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned split up. It’s been over a month.
“What’s going on? You haven’t been eating, you’re losing weight, and I know you’re not pregnant. You’re not, right? You’d tell me if you were, wouldn’t you?”
“I can’t believe you’d ask that. We always have our periods at the same time.”
“Well, yeah, but the last time I had mine, you never asked to borrow a tampon. What’s up with that? You always forget or run out.”
“Nick put all the stuff lying all over the apartment away. Who knew I had, like, four boxes of tampons scattered around? I had to bring one into the office. There was no room left in the bathroom cabinet.”
“Makes sense, especially since you seemed to have PMS from hell, though it was hard to tell if it was the breakup, or PMS, or a combination of both that made you act a little insane.”
Rosalie shook her head and wondered if every assistant talked to her boss like this.
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re not eating. You’ve lost so much weight, even your skinny clothes are hanging on you.”
“I’ve lost weight. So what?”
“So, you look like hell. You look worse than you did when you had pneumonia, and believe me, you looked like shit then.”
“I did? Why didn’t you say something?”
“Me? I didn’t think it was my place—”
“As if that ever stopped you. Gina, since we’re having this little heart-to-heart, tell me something. How’d it go with my brother?” Her jaw dropped. Yeah, Rosalie had gotten her good. “You know, Rich, the tall, good-looking Italian guy you went out with three times the week he was here over spring break.”
“Yeah, I know who you mean. So, we went out a few times. It was nice.”
“Nice? It sounds as if Rich thought it was more than ‘nice.’ He’s been calling and asking about you.” Gina gave her that shrug that meant she didn’t want to talk about it. “So, you’re seeing my big brother, huh?”
“We hung out together when he was in town. It’s nothing serious. He lives in—where is it—Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire? Somewhere like that.”
“He lives in Vermont but teaches in New Hampshire.”
“Yeah, well, he went back home. We had a g
ood time during his visit. Now it’s over, and he’s doing whatever he does out there in the sticks.”
Gina rolled her eyes, and Rosalie pretended not to notice. She paged through the notes on her desk.
Gina slid off the desk and sprinted out, pulling the door closed behind her. Rosalie waited a second to make sure she wouldn’t reappear. When she thought the coast was clear, she retrieved the bottle of Mylanta she kept in her bottom desk drawer, took a healthy swig, and chased it down with cold coffee. Yuck.
By four o’clock, Rosalie was ready to leave. She needed to go shopping. Gina had a point. Even her skinny clothes were hanging on her. Doing the whole safety pin on the waistband thing was getting tedious, not to mention dangerous. As much weight as she’d lost everywhere else, though, none of it was in her chest. She’d always heard women complain that when they lost weight, their bust size decreased, but now that she was thinner than she’d been since college—okay, maybe high school—she still had big boobs. It shouldn’t have surprised her; it was all a part of the cosmic joke that was her life.
Rosalie buzzed Gina and waited for her to answer. Gina didn’t. Strange. She checked the phone and saw that Gina wasn’t on the line. She waited while she cleaned off her desk.
A few minutes later, she heard noises in her outer office, and then Gina buzzed her.
“Rosalie, you have a visitor.”
She didn’t have time to deal with one more problem today. All she wanted to do was hit the sale at Macy’s. As it was, she’d have to head uptown during rush hour, which was not fun. The subways started to resemble sardine cans by four-thirty, and cabs were scarcer than straight men on Fire Island.
She checked her schedule and saw no appointment. Of course, when she wondered who it could be, the first person who entered her mind was Nick. The thought of him hadn’t stopped throwing her for a loop. She wondered how long it took for a broken heart to heal. Since she’d never had one before, she hadn’t a clue. It wasn’t as if she could ask someone, either. It was too embarrassing for words. She’d waited and waited for the pain to go away. She’d waited to be able to sleep without waking up because she’d reached for Nick and he wasn’t there. She’d waited to be able to eat more than a little pastina with butter, or half a slice of toast, or a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. She knew it wasn’t exactly a low-cal diet, but she was losing weight. Go figure.
Rosalie slipped her shoes on and buttoned her suit jacket as she rose. The jacket covered the slightly—okay, maybe a little more than slightly—large skirt.
There was a knock on the door and then Gina stuck her head in, with a huge smile on her face and no lipstick. Odd, that. Gina always wore lipstick—bright, red, and glossy. A large hand pushed the door open from above her head. Way above. A large male hand. Rosalie’s breath caught, and she held onto her desk. Nick?
Gina flew through the door, followed closely by Rich. “Hi, Ro. Still looking like shit, I see.”
“Richie? What are you doing here?”
Gina sidestepped him and tried to back out. Rich caught her around the waist. How he did that, with him being so tall and Gina so short, was interesting to watch. Rosalie guessed that being a knuckle-dragger was good for something.
She swallowed her disappointment and wished for another swig of Mylanta. Then she remembered, too late, to check for a Mylanta mustache. Damn.
Gina pointed at her. “See, I told you. She walks around half the time with white stuff around her mouth from drinking bottles of stomach medicine.”
“I do not.”
Gina teetered to the desk and picked up the wastepaper basket. She pulled out two empty bottles. The cleaning people obviously hadn’t come for a few days.
“You see why I called you?” Gina told Rich. “She’s turning into a Mylanta-holic, and she’s so thin. It’s unnatural.”
Rosalie was irate. “You called my brother and told him about me?”
“Well, what else was I to do? It was either Rich or your mother, and I thought you would be less likely to kill me if I called Rich. You don’ eat, you don’ sleep, you don’ do anything but mope. This is an intervention. I saw it on Montel one time when I was home sick. It’s like they bring together all the people that are important to—”
Rosalie shook her head in disbelief. Gina’s accent was stronger than Rickie Ricardo’s on I Love Lucy. She even had the hand gestures going.
“Gina, I know what an intervention is. Thank you. But I’m not an alcoholic, drug addict, or compulsive shopper. I don’t need an intervention.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” Rich piped up, throwing an arm around Gina and pulling her to his side. “Don’t blame Gina for caring about you, little sister.”
“Rich, look, I’m sorry you were dragged all the way down here for nothing. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you look fine—if you’re into cadavers.”
“I don’t need to defend myself to you. I tried to be polite, but now I’m out of here. Have a nice time in the city, Rich. Call me when you learn to mind your own business. And Gina, I’ll talk to you about the meaning of the word ‘privacy’ tomorrow.” Gina shot her a look. Rosalie smiled, happy to have the opportunity to get back at her nosy assistant. “Yes, I know you don’t like working late on Fridays, but it was the only time I could set up an appointment with Lassiter’s secretary without anyone else finding out about it. Besides, you owe me. Good-bye.”
Gina chased after Rosalie until she was out of the department. It sounded as if Rich had stopped her. It was a good thing, too. Rosalie didn’t know what she would have done if Gina had caught up to her. She was holding her temper by a thread that was unraveling real fast.
The next day, Rosalie and Gina discussed their game plan.
Gina sat across from Rosalie’s desk taking notes. “Okay, we’re supposed to meet Randi, Jack’s secretary, in an hour and a half. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
Rosalie nodded. “If all goes well with Randi, we should be able to take this to the Board on Monday. They can decide if they want to get the police involved. We have evidence of Jack’s embezzlement for the last fiscal year. Depending on what gems Randi sees fit to share, since she’s the one who overheard Jack proposition you. Oh, nice job with that.”
“You know what I always say—”
“Men are pigs?”
“No, never marry the man you fool around with. He cheats on his wife.”
Nick had the TV on with the hockey game playing in the background. It was a Friday night home game, but he didn’t have the energy to go, and he always went to home games. Before Rosalie, he’d loved the game; now, it had turned into a sick form of self-inflicted torture. He couldn’t watch without thinking of Rosalie, imagining what she’d say about a call, the names she’d call the refs, or the way she’d bounce on the bed when the Islanders penetrated the blue line or rushed the goal. Watching her through a power play was a thing of beauty. Her cheeks would pink with excitement, and she’d look the exact same way she did when she was turned on.
Shit, he did this to himself every time. He’d watch hockey, thinking of her the whole time, and all he’d have to show for it was a broken and bleeding heart and a hard-on—one that seemed to become nonexistent around every other women.
He’d tried jumping back into the dating scene. He’d had tickets to a fundraiser at the New York Philharmonic and had asked a gorgeous woman he’d met while she was doing a commercial for Romeo’s. She was nothing like Rosalie, so he figured he’d be fine. He’d go out, have a good time, and sleep with Bridget. Or was it Barbara? Hmm . . . maybe Brenda. No, it was Brooke. That was her name, Brooke. He’d sleep with Brooke and get Rosalie out of his system. He’d taken her out and made small talk—very small talk. It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with her. She was nice, intelligent, and beautiful, but she wasn’t Rosalie. He went as far as her front door.
The whole time he was out with Brooke, he’d felt as if he were cheating. Stupid, he knew, since Rosalie was the one who’d stepped out
on him.
God, every time he thought about the last time he saw Rosalie, the pain knocked the wind right out of him.
The doorbell rang, and Nick grabbed his wallet to pay for the pizza he’d ordered. He’d only wanted the pizza to go with the beer he’d bought. He’d given up Jack Daniels since that week in the Hamptons. He’d begun to worry about his drinking.
God, he was a mess—a fact that Lois reminded him of on a daily basis. He hadn’t been this miserable since his first week in Juvie. He never thought he’d survive that, but at least in there, he knew his release date. He had no idea how long this pain would last.
Nick opened the door and pulled a fifty out of his wallet. He looked up just as a fist crashed into his face.
Chapter 17
WHEN NICK ANSWERED THE DOOR, HE EXPECTED TO SEE the pizza boy, not Rich Ronaldi. And he never expected to be cold-cocked. Before he recovered, Rich followed through with a punch to the stomach, slammed the door shut, and was all over Nick.
“You lying, filthy son of a bitch.”
Rich was a good fighter, Nick remembered. They danced around the foyer, catching punches and each landing their fair share.
They were evenly matched—two guys of approximately the same age, height, and weight who hadn’t been in a fight since their teens.
It felt good to punch someone after years of just wanting to. Even the pain felt good—okay, maybe not good, but deserved. Rich had every right to beat the shit out of Nick. Hell, he’d had a right fifteen years ago, but they’d been arrested before Rich could break Nick’s neck for sleeping with his girlfriend.
Still, the fact that he had it coming didn’t mean Nick had to be a punching bag. Nick gave Rich a kidney shot.
The doorbell rang and worked like the bell in a boxing match. Nick and Rich stopped fighting, and both went to neutral corners.
Nick answered the door, picked up his wallet lying open on the floor, and paid for the pizza. If the delivery boy noticed anything strange, he never let on. Nick handed him a fifty and told him to keep the change, grabbed the pizza, and closed the door, wondering if he’d have time to put the pizza down before Rich went after him again.