by Nic Tatano
The light of the day was fading behind growing storm clouds, and all I wanted to do was take my medicine, crawl into bed and sleep forever. I had the taxi drop me off at the drug store two blocks from my place, got my scripts filled, and decided to hoof it home despite the cold, raw weather. I buttoned up my light jacket, which had been a poor choice considering the quickly changing temperature and headed home, wind slapping me in the face. I thought about hailing a cab for the two blocks, but didn’t see one. What the hell, it was just a five-minute walk and I could be home before a taxi wandered by.
And then my heel got stuck in a grate right outside the pharmacy and broke off. My ankle bent at a ridiculous angle, pain shot up my leg and I crumpled to the ground.
Meanwhile, cue the rain.
“Can this day get any worse?” I said, as I looked at the broken heel stuck in the grate. I had two choices. I could either walk home with one leg four inches shorter than the other, or ditch the other shoe and go barefoot on the cold pavement, which was probably littered with glass and God knows what else. Just what I needed to help me get well, running around without shoes like Bruce Willis in Die Hard. I tried to push myself off the ground and stand up, but the pain in my quickly swelling ankle shot that idea to hell.
It was starting to rain harder when I heard, “Miss, are you all right?”
I turned around and Vincent was trotting toward me.
At this point my you-gotta-be-kidding-me thoughts were pointless. I needed help, and I didn’t care who it was.
He recognized me as he arrived. “Oh, it’s you. I saw you fall from down across the street and when you couldn’t get up—”
I pointed at the two pieces of my shoe as that damned red sole taunted me. “My heel broke off, I think I sprained my ankle real bad and I’ve already got some sort of plague,” I said, holding up my prescriptions.
“Well, we need to get you out of this weather. You think you can stand up?”
“I tried that already. Maybe if you give me a hand.” I shoved the prescriptions in my purse and slung it over one shoulder.
“Sure,” he said, as he slipped one arm behind my back and under my arm. “Try to stand. Lean on me.”
The rain was starting to fall harder as Vincent helped me to my feet. I leaned on him and then slowly put some weight on my sprained ankle. The pain was excruciating. “Owwww!”
“Okay, this isn’t going to work,” he said. Then in a quick motion he reached under my legs with one arm while the other was still supporting my back and lifted me easily.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Getting you out of this weather,” he said.
I started to argue, but realized he was right, that this was the only way to get me home. He was carrying me effortlessly and I knew he’d have no problem lugging my hundred and fifteen pounds two blocks. I wrapped my arms around his neck to hold on, felt the taut muscles of his broad shoulders.
He made a right turn off the sidewalk and headed into an apartment building.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m taking you home,” he said.
“I don’t live here.”
“I know. I live here.”
“Can’t you just take me to my place?”
He kept walking toward the front door. “Look, it’s starting to pour, you’re sick, you can’t walk, it’s getting cold, my cab’s four blocks away at the garage and I’m not gonna carry you two more blocks through this rain and get you soaked to the bone. You want an upgrade to pneumonia?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then let me help you.”
“Fine, but don’t treat me like some damsel in distress.”
“You are a damsel. You are in distress. Hence, by deductive reasoning, you are the proverbial damsel in distress. And right now I’m the only white knight you’ve got. So shut up, I’m rescuing you.”
A burly, middle-aged doorman opened the door to his building as he carried me inside. “Need any help, Mr. Martino?” he asked. “I’ve got a wheelchair in the back.”
“I’m good. She just took a fall.”
The warm air of the lobby hit me and felt wonderful. My clothes were pretty damp, but not soaking wet. Vincent carried me to the elevator. “Hit the up button, will you?”
I reached out and tapped the button, which turned red. A few seconds later the doors opened and we got inside. “Floor, please,” I said.
“Four.”
“Fourth floor, linens and house wares.” I hit the button, the doors closed and we headed up.
“What did the doctor say you had?”
“The flu with a sinus infection thrown in. I have bad allergies.”
“Yeah, me too.”
The elevator moved fast. Two minutes later we were at his door. “Oh, geez,” he said.
“What?”
“Fish the keys out of my right pants pocket, will you?”
Oh, great. “Can’t you just put me down for a minute?”
“Remember how it hurt the last time?”
“Point taken.” I twisted my body around so I could reach into his pocket and get the keys. I expected some sexual double entendre, but he didn’t say anything as I unlocked the door and pushed it open, then reached out and flicked on the light switch that was just inside the door. The apartment was not what I would have expected from a cab driver. It was beautifully decorated in art deco furniture and matching prints, with gleaming light hardwood floors underneath the black sofa and loveseat. A large aquarium was bubbling on a coffee table against the far wall as tropical fish provided color. And the place was spotless. No underwear on the lamps, no empty pizza boxes on the floor, no stuff you’d expect from a bachelor. There was even a faint smell of pine, as if the apartment had just been cleaned. Hell, the apartment was nicer than mine. “Beautiful place,” I said.
“Thanks. Rox picked out most of the stuff. She has great taste.” He carried me past the kitchen, through the living room and down a short hallway into a bedroom. The huge windows provided enough light to see. He’d been carrying me for a good five minutes, yet wasn’t even breathing hard. He gently lowered me onto an ornate brass bed, flicked on a lamp that sat on a night stand, then walked to a closet. He returned carrying some clothes and handed them to me. “Rox left these sweatpants here a while back when we were decorating so they should fit you. All I’ve got for your top half is one of my sweatshirts. It’ll be big but it’s warm.”
“What do you expect me to do with this stuff?”
“Get out of those wet clothes, get into these and get under the covers.”
“You expect me to stay here?”
He pointed to the window, which was being pelted by rain. “You wanna go back out in that?”
Common sense hit me. I shook my head.
“Didn’t think so. Look, Belinda, I know I’m not your favorite person, but you’re one of Roxanne’s best friends and she’d smack the living shit out of me if I didn’t take care of you. Besides, I couldn’t look myself in the mirror. The sooner you get well, the sooner you can go home. So get out of those wet clothes and into bed right now.” He was looking at me like Harry does when he calls me young lady.
“Yes, sir,” I said softly, suddenly a little girl who was obeying a parent.
He reached for the end table and hit a switch on a control box. “I’m turning on the electric blanket. It warms up pretty quick.”
I looked up at him and was at a loss for words. For me, that was becoming a fairly common occurrence with men. Why was this man being so nice to me when I’d treated him like dirt?
His tone softened. “Have you eaten dinner?”
“No, I’ve been kinda queasy all day. But I am pretty hungry.”
“And you sound awful. Think you can handle some soup?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
“I’ll go heat some up. And get an ice bag for that ankle. Meanwhile, out of those clothes and under the covers.” He headed out of the bedroom and clos
ed the door.
The situation boggled the mind. I wanted Scott in my bed and somehow I’ve ended up in Vincent’s with him waiting on me like some weird combination of Sir Lancelot, Florence Nightingale and my dad. If I didn’t know better I’d think Roxanne had sabotaged my heels and seeded the clouds to make it rain. (And while I’m on that train of thought, it occurs to me she probably tipped off Stan about the angel cab story.)
I peeled off my wet clothes, managed to get my now-ballooned ankle through the leg of the sweatpants, and threw on Vincent’s sweatshirt, which I swam in. I slid between the covers into the soothing warmth provided by the electric blanket, then pulled them up to my neck. I was in a cocoon of heat, which was beginning to warm me to the bone. The room had a soothing effect on me. The deco theme didn’t carry through to the bedroom. The walls were painted pale green, the ceiling a light beige, not as glaring as the bright white you see on most ceilings. There was an old rolltop desk in one corner, an oak dresser in another. A distressed leather chair sat next to the bed. A few prints of seashore scenes adorned the walls, giving the room a beachy feel.
Ten minutes later he tapped on the door. “You decent?”
“No, I’m a cheap slut.” My voice was now filled with gravel.
“Funny.” He cracked open the door and moved through it carrying a bed tray with a bowl of soup. “At least the flu hasn’t killed that famous attitude. Sit up a bit.”
I propped two pillows behind me and sat up. Vincent placed the tray over my lap as steam rose from the bowl. “Thank you.” I looked at the soup, which I didn’t recognize. “What is this?”
“Italian meatball soup. Some people call it wedding soup. It’s little meatballs and a tiny pasta called pastine, which is what they feed Italian babies. It’s good when you’re sick because there’s all kinds of spices in the meatballs and the broth. Garlic, fresh parsley, basil, pepper.”
I picked up my spoon, dipped it into the bowl and took a sip. My mouth filled with a combination of rich chicken broth and garlic from the little meatballs. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Who makes this?”
“It’s … homemade.”
“So who made it?”
“Me.”
“You just whipped this up in ten minutes?”
“No, I made a big batch a while ago and always keep a bowl in the freezer for when I’m sick. I zapped it in the microwave.”
I took another bite, which warmed my insides. “You really made this?”
“There is a vowel at the end of my name, Belinda. You forget Italians are obsessed with food.”
“Well, this is a wonderful obsession.”
“I forgot the ice bag. Be right back.”
I continued my attack on the meal and thought this was the best soup I’d ever eaten. I was wondering if the little meatballs were this good, how great would the big ones be with sauce and a big plate of pasta?
He returned a few minutes later, just as I finished the soup. “Somebody was hungry. You think you can keep it down?”
“Yeah. That was perfect. Thank you. It really warmed me up.”
“Let’s take a look at that ankle.” He removed the tray and put it behind him on the floor, then sat on the foot of the bed and pulled back the covers. “Whoa.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“It’s pretty swollen.” He grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair, placed one hand under my calf and gently lifted my leg, then propped my ankle on the pillow. I knew I wasn’t going to run a marathon in the next few days. “Think you can handle some ice?”
“Give it a shot.”
He slowly placed the ice bag on my ankle, watching my face the whole time. I cringed a bit from the cold, but then my face relaxed. “That okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s leave that on for ten minutes, then back under the covers you go.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
He reached down to the floor and grabbed the tray. “You wanna watch TV, need something to read?”
“I’m pretty tired. Think I just need to sleep.”
“That’s probably best. I’ll be back to get the ice bag.”
Ten minutes later Vincent returned, removed the bag and inspected the ankle. “Looks a touch better, but it’ll take a while. The best thing to do is to stay off it. Not that you’re going anywhere anyway.” He looked at my face. “You’re pale as a ghost. Are you hot?”
“So I’ve been told. If I wear a skirt that’s short enough.”
“Well, obviously your one hundred fifty IQ backside is feeling fine.”
“That your way of calling me a smartass?”
“You’re very perceptive. But I meant temperature with my original question. Is your body very warm?
“Yeah.”
He covered my ankle with the blanket and tucked it in, moved toward the front of the bed, sat on the edge and placed his hand on my forehead. “Geez, you’re burning up.” He opened a drawer on the end table, pulled out a thermometer and began shaking it. I opened my mouth and he put it in. He sat there and smiled at me as he waited. I would have smiled back if I didn’t have the thermometer in my mouth.
Finally he pulled it out and held it up to the light. “A hundred and one point seven.”
“Yikes. So is it feed a fever, starve a cold, or the other way around?”
“No idea. In this household we just feed everything.” My eyes were already at half mast and he noticed. “You wanna sleep now?”
I nodded.
“I hate to ask this, but do you need me to carry you to the bathroom before I turn out the light?”
I started to laugh. “No, I’m good in that department.”
“Okay, just yell if you do.” He pulled the covers up under my chin and tucked me in. A memory of my dad doing the same thing flashed through my mind, generating more warmth than the blanket. “G’night.”
He turned out the light and started to head out when a twinge of guilt hit me. “Vincent, I’m sorry I’m putting you out.”
He was backlit by the hallway light, but I could see him shaking his head. “You’re not putting me out.”
“Where are you sleeping?”
“The sofa is a hide-a-bed. Very comfortable. I’ll be fine. G’night.”
“Good night. And … thank you.”
He shut the door behind him. The sun, what little there was one of it, had gone down and taken the last remaining light in the room with it. The only noise was the sound of rain steadily hitting the window.
I closed my eyes and instantly fell asleep, feeling safe, protected …
And confused.
***
I cracked open one eye and saw the clock on the nightstand with the red digital numbers. Nine-thirty.
I had slept fourteen hours straight.
I stretched my eyes open and yawned. A look out the window told me it was still overcast and raining pretty hard.
I started to wake up, and became aware of my horrible trench mouth and achy joints. My back was absolutely killing me.
And I needed the little girl’s room. I threw back the covers, hoping the swelling on the ankle had gone down so I could hop to the bathroom. But it was just as swollen as the night before.
Dammit, I needed help. And there was only one port in this storm.
I heard the talk radio station playing in the other room and knew he was up. “Hey, Vincent!” I yelled, still hoarse.
I heard footsteps and then a tap on the door. “You decent?”
“No, I’m a wanton harlot.”
He was laughing as he opened the door. “Belinda, you have a visitor.” He looked back into the other room. “C’mon, she’s right in here.”
Oh, shit. The last thing I needed looking like this was company. I quickly grabbed the covers and pulled them up to my neck as a very familiar cat bounded into the room and jumped on the bed.
“Gypsy!” I relaxed immediately as the cat moved toward me and started to purr. “I’d forgotten you adopted her. She looks great.” I started t
o pet her, as she nuzzled my arm and looked at me with those beautiful pale-green eyes.
“Well, she’s a little ticked off at me. She usually sleeps in here at the foot of the bed, but the door was closed.” He ducked back out of the bedroom and returned carrying crutches. “Sleep okay?”
“Like a rock. Where’d you get those?”
“I remembered my neighbor had a broken leg last year, and turns out she still had these. She’s about your height, so these should work. I assumed you wouldn’t want me carrying you back and forth to the bathroom.”
“Yes, even the damsel in distress has her limitations when it comes to accepting help. Thank you.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “How you feeling?”
“Everything hurts. Not just the ankle. My back is one big knot.”
“Well, you’ve got the flu, so you’re gonna be achy.” He looked at the ankle. “Looks like you need some more ice. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Protein is good when you’re sick. Bacon and eggs?”
“Bring it on.” He got up to head to the kitchen. “Oh, can you bring me my purse?”
“Sure thing.” He left the room, then quickly returned with my stuff, which he placed on the bed. “Hey, your phone was buzzing last night but I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Okay, let me get breakfast started. You’re okay on crutches?”
“I’ve had ‘em before. Thank you, Vincent.”
He left the room and closed the door behind him. I pulled my cell phone from my purse and saw I had missed one call.
From “unknown number.”
Sonofabitch.
Scott had called.
***
After a terrific breakfast in bed Vincent returned wearing a jacket and holding an umbrella. “Off to work?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I took the day off.”
“What for?”
“I wasn’t going to leave you here all alone. Somebody has to take care of you.”
“You didn’t have to burn a vacation day on my account.”
“Hey, I’m tight with the boss. Anyway, I gotta run to the store. You need anything?”
“I think I’m good. I’m gonna call Roxanne and have her bring me some clothes. My laptop. She’s got a spare key to my apartment.”