“I used to have problems wearing just one, but knowing you has sure changed that,” Nicole said.
He groaned. “What day is it?”
“It’s Sunday.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Attempting to save you from yourself. Allyson took Trey out to see a movie, and that means I’m free to hang out and irritate you for as long as I like.” She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Are you going to throw me out? You don’t look well enough. Would another drink give you your strength back?”
Julian rubbed his eyes wearily. “I don’t understand you. You were the one who said you didn’t want anything to do with me. Then I go and have this stupid accident, and you’re back again. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.”
“Actually, you’re right, you don’t need me to feel sorry for you. You do a fine job all by yourself. I’m here because…because I have this really terrible problem. I never wanted this dreadful thing to happen, but it did. The problem is, I love you.” She didn’t give him a chance to speak, but continued in a rush of words. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Julian. I don’t know if you feel the same way about me, because I can’t read your mind. I’m still angry over what happened on Thanksgiving, but I was wrong for not hearing you out.”
He made another agonized attempt to sit up straight. She assisted him by propping up the pillows. His piercing eyes searched her face. “When you got into that argument with Elena, you told her it was wrong to stereotype people, but that’s what you’ve been doing to me from day one. The star, the player, Don Juan, not trustworthy. You can stop me whenever you want.”
It was true. “Stop,” she said weakly. “You’re right. I did do that to you and that makes me a hypocrite, doesn’t it? I stereotyped you because I was afraid to get too involved with you.” She stared up at the ceiling and blinked back tears. “I lost Warren, I lost a big part of my son. I feel that Trey’s losing his voice is my fault because I didn’t do the right thing. You came along and made me feel for a moment that it wasn’t all my fault, that maybe we could get him to talk again.” She subconsciously stepped back, feeling overwhelmed, but she continued to speak. “I didn’t feel I had a right to expect you to commit to that, because you had your own world that was so different from mine. I kept my distance to protect myself. It’s a lot easier to reject a stereotype than a person.”
Julian remained silent for a few moments, watching her. She had drifted to the far end of the room and was pacing around nervously. Her long ponytail was slightly disheveled and she was wearing a white cable-knit sweater with tight-fitting jeans that hugged the gentle curves and slopes of her statuesque body. He visualized her as a dancer.
“Nicole, come here,” he said.
She glided soundlessly toward him and sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes, misty and gazelle-like, mirrored his own. He reached for her hand and held it. “We’re both guilty,” he said. “Guilty of not being perfect.”
“All I know is that things have gone from bad to worse. Trey’s been expelled from school and I’m about to quit my job. What must we do to rid ourselves of this guilt?” Nicole asked.
“I’m not sure, but first we could try trusting each other more. It would also help if I stop acting like a stereotype. Haven’t exactly been doing such a good job lately,” he added wryly.
“I’m ready to listen, Julian. I don’t care what your family thinks of me. This is about the two of us. You can tell me whatever you want about your past and it’s not going to change the way I feel about you.”
Julian folded his arms across his chest and flinched. “I guess I can start by saying that you ran out of the house so quick that day, you didn’t even hear me tell Elena that I was madly in love with you, and that you were the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
She stared at him in stunned silence before finding her voice. “You told Elena that?”
“Yeah, I hope I wasn’t too off-base. You kind of have to be in agreement.”
She noticed him divert eye contact at that crucial moment and she put her hand lightly on the side of his face, hoping to bring it back. Her hand trembled. “I had…I had no idea. Oh, what a fool I am. I never realized that you could love me the same way that I loved you.”
Julian studied her face again. He had always considered himself to be fairly good at reading women, but from the beginning, Nicole had been unpredictable. His fame, money, or even what some considered his good looks, had never impressed her. Was it really true that the simple words, I love you, were all she needed to hear? What if he said or did something else that she considered offensive? Would she run away again? He was tired of playing games. He had to know.
“I meant it then and I mean it now. I love you,” he said.
He leaned forward, ignoring the pain in his ribs, and kissed her passionately on the mouth. She responded without reservations. I shouldn’t be testing her like this, he thought, but his arm slid around her neck, drawing her closer and closer until she was literally on top of him.
The scorching passion consumed them. Nicole could hardly breathe, but it was a pleasant suffocation. The old warning bells went off in her head, and she felt the usual panic, but she did not attempt to stop him. He was kissing her neck, his hands everywhere, stroking. The hands glided like smooth velvet under her sweater, pulling her up higher with almost inhuman strength. He stopped.
Nicole’s eyes searched his trustingly, questioningly. He gently nudged her away, smoothing down her sweater, brushing back the loose strands of her hair.
“You don’t really want to do this now, do you?” he asked.
She smiled uncertainly. “I’m sure there’s a better, more appropriate time.”
“I’m sorry. I do remember what you told me before. If I force you to break your principles, it’s destroying part of the reason why I respect you in the first place. We can wait.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He laughed. “Don’t thank me. I’ve also reached the conclusion that this would be a little too painful right now. My ribs ache and I feel like throwing up.”
She arched her eyebrows in feigned astonishment. “How unromantic. Don Juan would never say such a thing.”
Julian smiled wanly. “If I could have a drink right now, I’d make a toast to destroying all stereotypes.”
“You can still make that toast, but only if it’s with water. Wade swiped all the liquor from your bar.”
Julian scowled. “I’ll kill him.”
“You’ll have to kill me too, because I suggested it.”
Julian looked sheepish now as he recalled his recent behavior. “I’m sorry about that scene. I don’t usually get that drunk. I was just doing it to block the pain.”
“Weren’t you given a prescription painkiller?”
“Yeah, but I hate taking medication.”
“That makes a lot of sense. You hate taking medication, but it’s okay to drink yourself into a coma. What’s this about anyway? I first noticed that you were overdoing it on Thanksgiving.”
Julian sank back against the pillows and closed his eyes. “I always get like that at family gatherings. I start having crazy flashbacks about the past, stupid things about how I was treated when I was a kid, and then I start drinking to shut it out. It used to work, but lately it takes more and more.”
“You’ve got to stop doing that,” she said, squeezing his hand desperately “I don’t want to believe that you’re an alcoholic now, but that’s the way it sometimes gets started. Please don’t tell me you were drunk when you had the accident. You need to talk everything out instead of drink.”
He smiled sardonically. “I was guilty of speeding and this homicidal maniac came right at me, but I wasn’t drunk. Are you suggesting I should see a good shrink?”
“Well, they are helpful at times, but after my experiences with Trey, I’m not the one to recommend that. I think you should start by just talking to m
e. You’re so guarded with your past. You keep everything locked up inside. It’s not a good thing.”
Julian closed his eyes. He started from the beginning. He told her everything he remembered about his early life in Cuba, dwelling a lot on his father and his aunt. He touched on his mother’s mental illness and the fact that she hung herself after hearing about his father’s death. He told her that Elena was the one who found her dead.
Nicole shuddered at the thought. Despite her dislike of Elena, it must have been horrific to come home and discover your mother dead in such a manner. She knew Julian was still uncomfortable talking about the past, but she had to know more.
“Who told your mother that your father was…was murdered in prison?”
Julian stared at the ceiling. “It was confirmed by a family friend who worked in the prison, but my mother’s ex-husband, Jorge Diaz was the one who told her.” He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth, and continued. “That evil bastard worked for the police. He was the one who set my father up on the false drug selling charges to begin with, and the government just went along with whatever he said because they wanted to get rid of my father for being a dissident.”
Nicole felt sick inside as she tried to imagine herself involved in the events that had shaped his life. There was no way that he could completely shut it out even though he was an adult and far removed from that environment.
Julian went on in almost a monotone about how he left Cuba with Elena and Luis. He spoke in detail about what it was like being a child in Elena’s family and how he had been treated like an inferior. There were moments when it seemed as if he had forgotten that she was even there and he was talking to himself. The tone of his voice became quieter now and he looked at her eyes.
“I miss not being able to see the African side of my family,” he said softly. “The night the police came and took my father away, he told me that he would never leave me, and even though he died, he kept his word. He’s with me all the time, in spirit, and in voice, but I don’t remember what he looked like. I know it’s crazy to obsess over that, but I do.”
“It’s not crazy,” Nicole said. “He had a big impact on you. He was your father.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “You told me that your Aunt Alma is here in this country. I don’t understand why you’ve never contacted her.”
“Because I was afraid to.”
“Afraid?”
“When Elena and Luis took me to this country, they wrote Alma in New York and asked her if she still wanted me. She said she did. After that, I really don’t know what happened. Elena discovered that I made a good little servant for her family, and we moved around a lot. She never wrote Alma again, and she couldn’t find us to get in touch.”
Nicole looked away. “That is so cruel.”
“Alma did locate us again when we were living in Hialeah, and she wrote to me when I was about thirteen years old. Elena never let me see the letter. I found it accidentally two years later when I was snooping around in her room. At around that time, my music was starting to get noticed, and I realized that I had my own identity and that no one could use me unless I allowed it. I confronted Elena about the letter.”
Nicole held her breath, listening intently.
“She had a fit of course, made a whole lot of excuses, and finally told me that Alma only wanted to use me. She told me that it was all about money and she didn’t really care about me at all.
“And you believed her?” Nicole said.
“I didn’t want to, but I kind of had that fear myself. I didn’t want to find out that that’s the way my father’s people were too. In my heart I wanted them to be different. I had this childhood image of my aunt being unconditionally loving, accepting, the way I remembered her. I was afraid to find out that she might have changed.”
“Maybe she didn’t change.” Nicole’s voice rose. “If she was really interested in your money, why hasn’t she contacted you since? You’re in the public’s eye. She must know how famous you are.”
He rubbed his eyes wearily. “There are actually two reasons why. First, it’s quite possible that she’s no longer alive, and second, when it looked as if I might become famous, Luis and Elena suggested that I change my last name from Sanchez to Marquez .”
“Julian, listen. I think it’s time for you to find out exactly what happened to her, because this is going to bother you for the rest of your life. Do you still have that letter?”
“Yes.” His voice sounded uncertain.
“I’d like to have it. Maybe I can find her for you.”
He looked frustrated. “Let’s just leave it alone. That letter was written years ago. There was a phone number, and I did call it. The number was invalid.”
“I’m sorry, but I can be just as stubborn as you are. I want to know myself what happened to your aunt. I need the letter.”
“It’s in a gold box on the top shelf of the closet,” he said in one breath.
Nicole rose and entered the enormous walk-in closet. It was bigger than her bedroom. She noticed that he was fastidiously organized, suits all in one place, sports clothes, casual clothes. She looked on the top shelf. Sure enough, there was a large gold, metal box. With her heart hammering, she opened it. From the bottom she extracted the letter, yellowed with age—return address, Mrs. Alma Rivera, 15 West Fifty-seventh St., New York. She returned to the room and quietly slipped the letter into her purse.
Julian had now been sober long enough to take the pain medication without any ill effects, so she insisted, and he did not protest. She found herself in full nurse mode, checking his injuries, making sure he was okay. She changed the bandage on his forehead, noting painfully that his once perfect face was now branded with a glaring laceration, held together by ten stitches. It would fade in time though.
He was drowsy from the medication at this point, and had his eyes shut. She was just contemplating an ice pack for his knee, which looked more swollen than it should be, when she had the uncanny feeling that she was being watched. She turned around to see Elena framed in the doorway. Nicole did not know how long she had been there.
“I came back sooner than usual because I was worried about him,” the woman said. “It seems I have no reason to be.”
Nicole didn’t know what she was implying at this point, but she tried to control the hostility she felt.
Julian opened his eyes. “I’m all right, Elena. It was your idea that I should have a nurse, so now I’ve got the best.”
“I see,” Elena said. “How convenient.”
“And appropriate,” Nicole added. “Julian’s recovering just fine. You don’t have to worry about him.”
“I see,” Elena repeated again. She turned away and closed the door quietly. Nicole heard her footsteps down the stairs.
“Julian,” Nicole said irately, “Wade locked that door when he left. Why does Elena have a key?”
His eyes twinkled a little. “Are you angry at me again? Are you going to run out?”
She laughed, catching herself. “No. I’m not about to run out.”
“She doesn’t usually have the key,” he explained. “I gave it to Luis because they were worried that I wouldn’t be able to walk downstairs if they knocked at the door. They only wanted to…”
“It’s okay,” Nicole said in a whisper. “Of course that makes sense.”
“Despite some of the terrible things I told you about her, I would really appreciate it if you don’t get too upset with Elena. She has a story too. Luis and I both know that she can’t always help it.”
“Are you saying that she is ill?”
“In a way. Can you imagine what her life was like? She was a child with an abusive father, who had to take care of her own crazy mother, and after that, a little half-brother. She never had a childhood, and she was always afraid that she was going to become just like her mother. She protected herself by controlling others.”
“I’m starting to see a clearer picture of her, but still, some of the
things she did were inexcusable.”
“At around the time Amanda was born, she completely snapped,” Julian continued, “postpartum depression or something. Anyway she was hospitalized for months. She wouldn’t speak to her own children or her husband, acted like she didn’t even know them. The only person she seemed to recognize was me.”
Enough, Nicole thought. She didn’t say it, but she was overwhelmed by all the family revelations. How had Julian managed to stay as sane as he was with all the madness around him?
“I’m sorry. I’m probably telling you too much now,” Julian said.
“No. It’s okay. It’s a lot to swallow, but I’m glad you’re telling me.”
“Anyway, after she recovered, Luis and I kind of formed a pact to let Elena always think she was in charge, even though that’s not the case. Being in control seems to give her stability. She really gets on my nerves, but I don’t want her to end up like our mother. The irony here is that Elena believes I’m the one who needs help.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.” She stroked the side of his face with her fingertips. “You deserve a lot better, and I think it’s about time you get it. You deserve to be surrounded by people who will really appreciate your generosity, really understand how self-sacrificing you’ve been.” Nicole reached inside her purse and felt the letter from his aunt. “We both need to know that there are others.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Julian’s progress was phenomenal. Within days he was in physical therapy and anxious to be recovered enough to do the make-up concerts in New York that had been canceled when he had pneumonia earlier. Nicole thought his expectations were unrealistic, but she did not want to be discouraging.
She and Trey visited him almost every day. Her evening hours were spent at home scanning the phone book and the Internet, calling every person named Rivera in Manhattan. Julian did not take her determination seriously and thought she would never succeed, but she persisted anyway. It was a frustrating process, because Rivera was as common a name as Jones or Williams. She was not very optimistic herself, until Friday, the night before she was to leave for Chicago.
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