“I’m listening.”
“I lived in Mumbai for a while before coming here. It’s where I finished my education.” She chuckled, her face recalling some memory. “I think just living there prepared me for New York. It’s a huge city. I lived in a very nice place, but I saw so much poverty, things I’d never seen in the village. In particular, there was this homeless family that lived on the street across from me. A mother and her two young sons, dressed in nothing but rags. One boy was missing his right arm, and you could see their ribs poking through their skin, but they never complained. They always had smiles on their faces. I watched them beg for money. Most people ignored them. I gave them money every day. I decided to do more so I went to a shop and purchased new clothes and food for them. The mother thanked me, and the boys were so excited. In my ignorance, I decided I’d done something good, Nick. Like I made a difference.”
“You did, baby.”
“No, I didn’t, Nick. When I came the next day, they were dressed in their old clothes again. I asked their mother where the new items were. She told me that no one would give them money if they were dressed so nicely. She said I would bankrupt them with my generosity. I was angry with her. I accused her of being a bad mother.”
Nick’s eyes widened. He knew such brutalities existed, but to hear her talk of them in such a real way angered him, too. “She was a bad mother.”
Shyla shook her head. “Yes and no. You see, I’d observed them for a long time. I saw she loved her boys and she was…she was their world. She held them when they were sick. She made them laugh when they were sad. She gave up her own food to make sure they had a meal. The mentality was ingrained because it’s what her mother and her mother before her did. There was a hopelessness so profound it was tangible. That family stayed in my head for a long time. But what if she had an education? What if she knew her family didn’t have to live this way? Giving food, shelter, and clothing is one thing, but it’s like putting a bandage over a broken bone. Shifting the mind is much more difficult, especially when you’re working to undo generations of beliefs. But in order for there to be real change, that’s what needs to happen. It was that day I vowed to be part of that change.”
He rubbed her back in slow circles, digesting her words. “I resent how good you are. I want you to be selfish like me. We’d get along much better that way.”
She laughed. “There is nothing selfish about you, Nick. I refute your statement. I am not as good as you think I am, and you are a much better man than you give yourself credit for.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you believe me about Charles? I swear we are only friends.”
“I believe you, and I’m sorry for my accusations on that front, too.”
She lifted her head, her fingers playing with his hair. “Nick, do you regret us?”
“Never, Goddess. How could I?”
“Because you’re angry with me. I understand because I’m angry with myself, too.”
“I read this story once about this artist—a sculptor. I don’t remember the name of it, but I remember the story because it stuck with me.”
“What happened?”
“He was famous and rich. He went blind in an accident, and he could no longer work. He became a bitter man and hated the world. The Gods looked down at him and decided to send him a muse. She was an angel—compassionate, beautiful, and smart. She kick-started his creativity, which I guess is what muses are supposed to do.”
“And he made a masterpiece?”
“You’d think that. His new work was criticized. People hated it. He blamed the muse and shunned her. He swore at the Gods for bringing her into his life.”
“That’s sounds like a worse ending than our book.”
Nick chuckled. “Yeah, but it had an important message. You see, he misunderstood why the Gods had sent him such an important gift. She wasn’t there to inspire his work.”
“Then why?”
“To inspire his heart and mend his soul. The problem was he didn’t learn the lesson until it was too late.” He kissed Shyla’s head. “At least I didn’t make the same mistake.”
“Did he find her again…the muse?”
“No…the Gods took her away. He died alone and heartbroken.”
“That’s awful.”
“See what I mean about crappy endings?”
Shyla grinned at him. “Yes, I do.”
“You could have at least admitted you loved me.”
“Would it change anything?”
“No, but I would know I wasn’t alone. That we aren’t an illusion of my own creation.”
She took a deep breath and sat up on the narrow bed, straddling him. She took his hand in hers and ran his thumb across the line of her palm. “You asked me how much of my lifeline was yours once. I honestly don’t know that answer. None of us does. But this is my love line.” She looked at him, her lower lip trembling. “This one belongs to you and only you, Nick Dorsey.”
He crushed his mouth against hers. Nick kissed Shyla in many ways, sometimes with calm slow seduction and other times with fast-paced frenzied sexual exuberance, but tonight they came together differently. Tonight there was a hunger and longing in each exchange.
He unbuttoned her shirt, his fingers working deftly, relying on the sensation of touch to guide him. She moaned against his mouth. He flung the material across the room.
“Your roommate?”
“She won’t be home tonight. You’ll stay with me.”
Although she hadn’t asked a question, he still affirmed the answer. He nodded, unbuttoning her jeans. She worked on his belt. Their lips constantly searching out one another. They undressed quickly, their hands familiar with the other’s garments until each shred of clothing was on the floor. He placed her beneath him, trying not to fall out of the narrow bed.
He fell against her, a string of expletives echoing his frustration.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t have a condom.”
“What?”
He kissed her neck, following a path to her lips. “I can pull out.”
She did a slight nod before shaking her head. Something flickered across her features—a look of panic. “No, please don’t.”
“Please don’t pull out?”
“No, I mean…we should have a condom. It’s important.”
She pushed against his chest. Nick rolled over to his side, his groan evident. “Shyla, you don’t have to say please. I would never force you.”
“I know.”
“I can go get some.”
She looked so disappointed he cupped her face and pressed a kiss against her forehead. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “Elaine might have condoms.”
“Fuck, then what are we doing in bed. We have to find them.”
She found them quickly. She ran in from the bathroom and deposited a handful on his chest. He laughed as he looked at all the gold foil packages. “You seem to have a great deal of confidence in my abilities.”
“I think you’re up for the challenge.” She ripped open a packet between her teeth.
They didn’t use all the packets, but far more than Nick thought possible. When they were both exhausted, she lay on top of his chest, and he stroked her back.
He asked her to describe her life pre Nick, pre-America, and to give him a glimpse of the future. He wanted to imagine her accurately. She spoke barely above a whisper, giving him the details he craved.
“I wake up later than I do here. Around nine. I will first make my tea. You’d like masala tea—it’s rich and spicy. But before I do that, I’ll have to turn on the geyser.”
“What’s a geyser?”
“It heats the water.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s not as modern but it is far better than boiling water.”
“I suppose.”
She went on, telling him about the cobblestone walks and the children playing in the streets. The monsoon rains and gigantic birds. How el
ders, respected and admired, were referred to as uncle or auntie even if they were unrelated. She filled in rich details for him that made it easier to picture her in that setting. But nothing would ever make it easier to let her go.
Then he told her about Gramps and the water tower. “For whatever reason, that was a defining moment in my life.”
She clasped her hand over his, merging their fingers. “I understand it.”
“You do?”
She kissed his scar. “He overcame all his fears because of his love and concern for you. Because you meant that much to him.”
“Yeah, that was it.”
“It’s what you did for me, Nick.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…figuratively, anyway. You didn’t want to feel with your heart because it had been hurt so many times, but you did. You climbed the water tower for me, Nick.”
Chapter 33
Shyla leaned against Elaine’s bed and Nick against Shyla’s, their legs entangled. He sipped the coffee, trying and failing not to grimace.
“I would have made it for you on the French Press, but Elaine packed her microwave so I can’t heat the water. I know the coffee’s subpar.”
“This is great,” he said, tipping back the paper cup and gulping down the lukewarm, flavored water.
She kicked his foot. “You don’t fool me, coffee snob.”
He chuckled, holding his hand against his chest. “Me? A snob? I prefer the term connoisseur.”
“We can go out.”
“Thank God. This is crap.” He grinned when she laughed. “But I think we should go to my place so we can rewrite that ending. I meant it when I said I hated it.”
Her smiled tightened, creating an uneasy feeling in Nick. There was a sixth sense that everyone had, but seldom used. His gramps called it poker prowess, the instinct that a cheat was taking place. It had existed for Nick when he was eight, and he could tell from Peter’s demeanor if he was just drunk enough to hit him or too drunk to do any damage. It existed now. Something was awry.
“Not every ending can be a happy one,” she said.
“True, but it can be satisfying, and this isn’t. Not in the least.”
Shyla opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of the door opening drew both their attentions.
“Oh hi,” Elaine said, her head shifting between the two of them.
Nick helped Shyla up and put his arm around her. She blushed slightly. God, she was so innocent.
“Elaine, this is Nick Dorsey.”
“Ah, mystery man with good taste,” Elaine said, shaking his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Elaine. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Wish I could say the same, but this girl is very tight-lipped,” Elaine replied, bumping Shyla’s shoulder.
“We were thinking of going out for lunch. Would you like to join us?” Shyla asked her.
Elaine shook her head, her face falling into a frown. “I don’t think I’ll be very good company today.”
“What’s wrong?” Shyla asked.
“You’re going to think I’m stupid,” Elaine said, feigning a weak smile.
“I promise I won’t,” Shyla said.
“Do you want me to leave?” Nick asked, feeling like an intruder between the two girls.
“Oh no, it’s not like that,” Elaine said, waving a dismissive hand. “It just…I just found out my favorite author is not going to be writing anymore books. I know that seems dumb, but I’ve sort of fallen in love with his character. You know every year you get a book or two that chronicles this guy’s crazy life, and it just brings you a little joy. You look forward to it. Now, I won’t have that anymore. Damn…I sound like Annie Wilkes from Misery.”
“Annie Wilkes?” Shyla asked.
Nick smiled because he immediately understood Elaine’s reference to the Stephen King novel. “Not at all. In fact, I was just explaining this to Shyla.”
“You were?”
“Yeah, I was telling her that a character belongs to the reader as much as the writer. That it’s an injustice when you are left without a satisfying conclusion.”
“Exactly,” Elaine said, bobbing her head with excitement.
Nick turned to Shyla, wanting to utter the famous and annoying “I told you so” statement. “See, your roommate totally gets it, sweetheart.”
Shyla returned Nick’s smile, crossing her arms. “Elaine, why don’t you tell Nick what author you’re referring to.”
Elaine looked between the two of them. “Keegan Moon. Have you heard of him? He writes the Max Montero novels.”
Nick’s smile fell, and Shyla started laughing. “Ironic, don’t you think?” Shyla asked, elbowing him.
“What?” Elaine said.
This conversation had definitely backfired on him. He should have kept his mouth shut. “Elaine, there will be more books. Or at least one more for sure.”
Elaine shook her head. “I don’t think so. I have it on good authority there won’t.”
“Trust me, there will.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
He turned to Shyla who raised an eyebrow at him. “Because I’m Keegan Moon.”
“What?” Elaine gasped, taking a step back and looking at him with great doubt as if Nick had told her he was Robinson Crusoe.
“It’s true,” Shyla offered. “Keegan Moon is his pseudonym.”
Elaine was quiet for a minute.
“Elaine, are you okay?” Shyla asked.
Elaine smacked Nick on the chest so hard he took a step back. Damn, the girl was freakishly strong. A high-pitched shriek that hurt Nick’s ears emanated from her. Thankfully, she punched Shyla more gently. “You’ve been dating fucking Keegan Moon, and you didn’t tell me?”
Yes, they were both dating and fucking, thank you very much.
“First of all, ouch,” Shyla said, rubbing her shoulder. “Secondly, yes I have.”
“Holy shit, you have to sign my books,” Elaine said, running over to her bed. She pulled out a basket full of books. “I’m your biggest fan ever.”
“Okay, now you really do sound like Annie Wilkes,” Nick said, feeling a little uncomfortable with the attention.
“Shyla, can you go down the hall to Marni’s room?”
“Why?”
“She borrowed books four and five. I want him to sign the whole collection. Oh God, I will kill her if she bent the pages.”
Shucks.
This was going to take all day, and he had no intention of wasting the time he had left with the girl he loved to autograph books. He turned to Shyla while Elaine was organizing her pile and searching for the perfect pen.
“Really?” Nick asked, lowering his voice.
“You can make her day,” she whispered. “And trust me, she is a huge fan.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“Will you be okay?”
Nick laughed. “Of course, it’s not like she’s going to chop off my foot or anything.” He leaned closer to Shyla, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is she?”
Clearly, Elaine possessed exemplary hearing because she answered. “Not now that you’ve told me there is another book.”
Nick and Shyla gaped at her until Elaine burst out laughing. That laugh was almost villainous in nature.
Elaine narrowed her eyes. “Unless you tell me you’re killing him off in the next book. You’re not, are you?”
“Ah, it wasn’t the plan,” he replied, adjusting his collar.
She clapped her hands. “Excellent.”
Nick’s hand cramped as he took in the signing station set up on the desk.
“Can you make it out to your number one fan, Elaine?”
“Sure,” Nick said, taking a seat at the desk.
“I can’t believe Max Montero is in my dorm room.”
“Um…just so we’re clear, my name is Nick Dorsey. My penname is Keegan Moon, and the character is Max Montero.”
“I know that. I’m your biggest f
an, remember?”
“Of course.” How could he forget?
“Shit, you look like how you describe him.”
“Write what you know,” Shyla said, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t be too long,” Nick replied. “I mean it.” He heard Shyla’s laughter even after she closed the door.
“Nick Dorsey… That name sounds familiar, too,” Elaine said once Shyla left.
“Yes, I just introduced myself, remember?”
“No, but from somewhere else.” Realization came over her features. “Hey you wrote a book under your real name, right?”
“Yes. Irish Hold’em.”
“Shyla loved that book. I remember her reading it last year.”
“I think you’re mistaken. I gave her a copy in February. She read it this year.”
Elaine shook her head. “No, I’m sure it was quite a while ago. She must have read it like ten times. She lent it to me. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t get into it.”
Nick tried to dismiss what she said, but his heart pricked, and his gut screamed. “Are you sure of the timeline?”
“Yep,” she said, opening a drawer. “I think you mean she bought the hardcover in February. See, she has it in paperback, too.”
Elaine handed him the two books, the one he’d given Shyla and the other, a dog-eared copy, signaling the pages had been turned quite often. He flipped through it as if the book could provide answers. His body tensed as Elaine chattered on. If Shyla lied about this, how many other things were a lie? She’d played him, bluffing him like the bad hand he was.
“Excuse me, Elaine.”
“Where are you going? I thought you were going to sign the books. I have so many questions for you, and we should take some pictures.”
“A rain check,” he said, heading toward the door. He had to leave.
All of the unease hit him at once. Every doubt and fear he had about their relationship surfaced at the same time, even the ones he’d reconciled in his mind. Unfortunately, his racing heart didn’t give a fuck what his mind thought. She was lying that night when he tried to propose. She was lying about Charles Breckenridge. She was dishonest with him from that first day, creating an illusion, one a former junkie would cling to.
Gramp’s advice came back to him. You’re smart enough to know that there is a sucker at every table, but I hope you’ll be wise enough to realize that sometimes it’s you.
Unwanted Girl Page 28