by Minard, Tori
“So have I, but this one was different. It was a lot worse,” I said.
“Yeah, but you’d fallen into a freezing river the day before. I’m healthy. I probably won’t get as sick as you.”
Half an hour later, she was hurling miserably into the toilet. I stayed in the hallway in an effort to avoid embarrassing her. But it sounded awful, maybe even worse than mine. She just kept heaving and heaving. Then she’d pause for a few minutes, and start heaving again.
Even I hadn’t puked that many times in a row without a rest break. I wasn’t much of a worrier, especially about a person I’d just met and didn’t really know. But, again, Nova was different. She’d taken care of me when I needed someone ... I could admit that this morning, since I’d woken up feeling at least half-human and a lot more rational. Now it was her turn to be sick and my turn to care for someone.
I edged my way into the bathroom, a glass of water from the kitchen in my hand. “Nova. You need to drink something.”
“I’m fine.”
I couldn’t help grinning. Our positions were reversed, and she was about to find out just how annoying it could be to have someone nag you about drinking when you felt like puking at the mere thought of food or water.
“You’re throwing up at least as hard as I did,” I said. “And you’re the one who’s so keen on staying hydrated.”
She turned her head and glared at me from her crouch on the floor. She looked like hell, her skin a sickly white with purplish shadows under her eyes, her hair lank and sticking to her forehead. Weirdly, I still found her attractive.
“I’m not done yet,” she said.
“You’re going to start throwing up your stomach lining or something if you don’t put some liquid in there,” I said. I was really working this nurse thing.
In response, she turned back to the toilet and heaved into it. Nothing came out but a thin, yellowish string of bile. The sight and sound turned my stomach, too. I looked away.
“You can’t help me, Gage.”
I glanced at her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Just leave me alone,” she muttered.
“Nope. Can’t do that.” I crouched next to her and held out the glass. “Drink something. Remember, tiny sips.”
She glowered at me. I kept a serene smile on my face, holding the glass in front of her, waiting patiently for her to give in. It took a few minutes of withstanding her nasty scowl, but she finally sighed and accepted the glass.
“Tiny sips,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dr. Gage.”
I pointed at the glass. “Drink, Miss Pennyman.”
Nova tilted the glass. It was such a minuscule tilt that I couldn’t tell if even a single drop had actually left the glass for her tongue.
“Are you drinking or faking it?” I said, as sternly as I could.
“I never fake it,” she said. Then she blinked. Her face turned magenta.
I grinned again. “Good to know.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Okay. Sure.” I pointed again. “Drink.”
She obeyed. Then she settled back against the wall, the way I had the day before, and closed her eyes. “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“I guess I should thank you for looking out for me.” She didn’t sound grateful at all. “You could go to the living room and read or something, you know. You don’t have to stay with me.”
“I know. But I owe you.”
“No, you don’t.” Her voice was getting fainter.
“Drink a little more for me.”
She kept her eyes closed while her brows came down. “I can’t.”
“Try.”
“Jesus, I think I’ve created a monster,” she muttered as she raised the glass.
“I don’t want you to get dehydrated,” I said piously. “We’re out here in the middle of nowhere without a phone.”
“Shut up, Gage.” She took another invisible sip.
I laughed. Strangely, I really was enjoying being with her, even though she was sick. She never simpered over me or tried to make me want her. Sometimes that irritated the shit out of me, but it also gave me room to breathe. Room to be as normal as it was possible for me to be.
You can’t really be normal when you’re constantly pursued by strangers who all want a piece of you, a touch of your hand, a photo, an autograph, and sometimes more. Sometimes things you don’t want to give or that you aren’t capable of giving. People who claim they love you when they don’t even know you. People who love their fantasies of who you are, not the real you.
I’d lived that way since I was a kid, so in a sense I was used to it. But at the same time—and I don’t want to sound all self-pitying or anything, because I know I have a lot to be grateful for, a lot that other people would give anything to have—at the same time, it’s a kind of cage you can’t escape because you carry it with you all the time. When your face is all over some of the biggest grossing movies of your time, you can’t escape your own celebrity.
I’d tried.
There had been a few awkward moments with Nova, but she seemed to have moved on, moved past my celebrity status. It was like she didn’t care, like she didn’t realize I was supposed to be different from everyone else.
I watched her take another careful sip. Her hand trembled slightly. “You’re doing great,” I said, mostly because it seemed like the kind of thing a nurse would say to encourage a patient.
She opened her eyes and peered at me. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
I laughed again. “It’s my special technique for getting women with stomach flu to drink all their water.”
“I’m sure.” She smiled a shaky smile and pushed some limp hair from her eyes.
“Do you mind if I make myself at home in your kitchen?” I said, thinking I’d make myself some breakfast and maybe heat up some broth for her. Wasn’t that what you gave sick people?
“Of course not. I’m going to stay here for now.”
I patted her on the shoulder, the contact sending a shock of desire right to my groin. “Good enough. Make sure you drink all that water.”
I realized my mistake when I got to the kitchen. I had no idea how to manage a wood-burning stove. I’d never even seen one like that before, one that looked like it belonged in a Western or something. Humiliating to admit I was at a loss. I was a guy, and guys were supposed to know all about manly things like heating a house with a wood fire.
After staring at the contraption for a few minutes, I poked around in its doors until I found the firebox. Nova had already started a fire in it, but it was dying a bit. At least, I thought it looked low, although I had no real idea what it was supposed to look like. I was from L.A. We didn’t heat with wood in L.A.
I stuck another piece of wood in there to make sure the fire didn’t go out. Then I located the wire gizmo Nova had used the other morning and stuck some bread in it to toast. She had eggs in her fridge. How hard could it be to scramble some eggs?
Half the eggs ended up getting burned onto her frying pan. The toast charred and I had to make more, but eventually I managed to produce a little food, which I brought to the table to eat. Just as I sat down, Nova appeared in the doorway.
“Did you set the house on fire?” she said, her lips curling up.
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“You should have waited for me.”
I frowned at her. “You’re sick. You should be laying on the couch or something.”
Nova shook her head slowly, like it pained her. “You’re my guest. It’s my job to take care of you.”
“Don’t be stupid. Go lay down.”
“You’re such a charmer,” she said with a roll of the eyes.
“Hey, I’m a big Hollywood star.” I waggled my brows at her. “I know all the moves.”
She laughed. It was weak and raspy, but I put that down to the fact sh
e’d been vomiting all morning. It was a real laugh, and that was what counted. She clearly didn’t hate me anymore.
Yeah, I know we’d already had that conversation, but I’d kept worrying about it. I’d imposed myself on her, even if it had been purely an accident, and she’d let me know. I wasn’t used to that, wasn’t used to feeling unwanted.
Jesus, I sounded like a whiny prick even to myself.
Enough self-pity. I looked at her and made shooing motions. “Go lay down. I’ll bring you some more water in a sec.”
“Fine. I’ll lay down.”
She stomped off to the living room in a mock temper. At least, I thought she was kidding me. It was hard to tell with her.
Chapter 18
Guitar
Gage:
I found her on the couch later and set the water I’d brought on the end table, a pressboard and plastic piece of crap that looked like a relic of the seventies. She’d had another bout of vomiting while I cleaned up my breakfast mess, and now she looked utterly miserable. Didn’t even open her eyes to look at me as I set down the glass.
“I hope you don’t expect me to drink that,” she said.
“Every drop, Miss Pennyman.” I sat cross-legged on the floor next to the couch.
They had a cheap but attractive throw rug there, some kind of Oriental design in blue and red. Very traditional. The floor underneath was wooden planks, wide and clear-coated the natural color of the wood. I wondered how old the cabin was. It had a definite feeling of age to it.
Nova still wasn’t drinking her water.
I tapped the glass. “You’ve got to drink something.”
She groaned. “No.”
“Just a little.”
She opened one eye to glare at me. “I’ll just puke again if I do.”
“Funny, that’s the same thing I said to you.”
“Yes, and I’m deeply sorry for pestering you so much yesterday. Now will you please leave me alone?”
I thought about it for a second. “Nope. Can’t do that.”
“You’re not going to get me to drink that water. Just so you know.”
Okay, fine. Maybe she needed something to distract her from her misery. Maybe I could give her something else to be miserable about.
I glanced around the living room. There was a small bookcase crammed with paperbacks, two elderly club chairs, a fireplace ... and a guitar. The black guitar case stood propped in the corner next to the books, as if someone were trying to hide it.
I glanced at Nova, who looked like she was still trying to sleep. She wouldn’t mind if I noodled around with her guitar, would she? I went over to the case and brought it to one of the chairs. When I opened it, I found a decent quality acoustic. Nice.
There was a tuner in the guitar case. Good thing, because I did not have perfect pitch. I gave Nova a furtive glance as I blew softly into the tuner to get a middle C.
Her head turned toward the sound. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m gonna tune up this guitar, if that’s okay.”
“Oh, sure. Help yourself.” She grimaced and put the water glass to her lips.
I tried not to grin at her. “Good girl; you’re drinking your water.”
“Yep, that’s what I am. A good girl.”
There was something a little bitter about that statement, but this wasn’t the time to examine it. Anyway, it was none of my business. We weren’t a couple. We would never be a couple.
Why did I have to keep telling myself that?
“I didn’t know you played the guitar,” she said as I continued tuning.
“Yeah, it’s a hobby,” I said.
“I haven’t played in years.”
“Oh, yeah? You any good?”
Nova shook her head with another grimace. “Not really.”
“That’s what you said about your art, too. You lied to me. And just for the record, I don’t believe anything you say anymore.”
“Whatever.” She made a little huffing noise and pulled the throw blanket up to her chin.
I strummed some exploratory chords, just to get the feel of the instrument.
Maybe I was still sicker than I thought, because I was finding everything she did ridiculously cute. And that wasn’t me. I didn’t let women in, never got close to them. Friends, fine. I could do friends. And a quick lay was always good. But this combination of—of liking, affection, with hard lust. That was new and different. I had no idea what to do with it.
Besides, he could show up at any moment. I hadn’t sensed the presence since I’d come to in her kitchen, but he couldn’t be far. He never was. He probably already knew I was developing feelings for Nova and that would put her in danger.
No emotional involvement. That was my motto, but I wasn’t sticking to the plan very well.
I chose a commonly played ballad for my first song, one of those soft lovey songs that metal bands put out every so often to get a female audience. It was something that was all over the radio and I was pretty sure Nova would recognize it. The lyrics were kinda sappy. Girls loved it.
“That’s pretty,” she said in a low voice when I finished. “What is it?”
I told her the name, surprised she didn’t know it already.
“Did you write it?”
“No.” I laughed a little. “It’s by World Strider.”
“Oh.” She turned onto her back so she could look at me. “I told you I’m out of date. I don’t know anything.”
“Because you’re so busy studying?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, looking vaguely embarrassed.
“You know, most people I know are really busy, but they still know some of the popular songs,” I said. “Do your parents lock you in a tower or something?”
“No.” She frowned at me. “It’s not like that. They just really want me to succeed. I want to succeed.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I do.”
“Don’t you ever make time to relax, though?” I said, strumming some random chords.
“Well, yeah. I guess.” She frowned more deeply. “No, not really.”
“That’s messed up, Nova. You’re too young to work all the time.”
“I don’t work all the time anymore. I’m on retreat, remember?”
“Okay, sure.” I launched into an instrumental piece to forestall further conversation for a few minutes.
I’d been about to say something she wouldn’t’ want to hear. Her family pressures and life choices were none of my business, anyway. We weren’t really friends, just strangers thrown together by weird circumstances. I had no right to offer my opinions or advice.
And these circumstances were definitely weird. Trapped in a cabin with a girl I’d ordinarily never give a second glance. Before I met her, I would’ve said she was definitely not my type. I watched her from under my lashes as I finished the piece and segued into another one. How could such an ordinary-looking girl be so beautiful at the same time?
There was something about her that just captured my attention and wouldn’t let it go. Even when she was sick from stomach flu. I’d seen it the first instant I opened my eyes, although I couldn’t explain what it was.
She had lovely features. She looked good without makeup, which was more than I could say for most of the women I’d hooked up with. But that wasn’t it.
She was natural inside, too.
Nova didn’t treat me like I was a member of another species. She didn’t treat me like a celebrity, except for those few awkward moments after she’d accepted my real identity. She treated me like I really was just another regular guy.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d met a woman who did that, who wasn’t also in show business.
I liked her in a way that had nothing to do with bagging her. And that was anything but normal for me.
What did that say about me and the fucked-up life I’d been living? Nothing good.
I knew there were people in the movi
es who didn’t do drugs and sleep around. They existed. I’d worked with some of them. They’d never been part of my circle of so-called friends, though. I’d fallen in with Jeremy when we were both kid actors, and he’d already been experimenting with that shit.
Had Jer been a real friend or a so-called friend?
My body clenched all over and my fingers stumbled across the strings of the guitar. He and I had been buddies for so long and I’d never once asked myself that question. He was just Jeremy.
My throat closed up hard. It was a good thing I was still doing instrumental stuff because there was no way I could’ve sung through the pain in my throat. My voice would have come out all wobbly and distorted and I didn’t want Nova to know what kind of shit I was thinking at the moment.
I still believed Jeremy was a real friend, in spite of his self-destructive side.
He’d befriended me when I was the know-nothing dumbass kid from the bad side of town. When I couldn’t act my way out of a paper bag if I’d had a knife and a flashlight. He could’ve used my inexperience as an excuse to bully me. He could’ve ignored me, like so many of the others on that job had done. Instead he’d chosen to help me.
He’d never looked down his nose at me. He’d shown me around the set, helped me learn my lines, explained the business as only another kid could have done. In a way I could understand at the time.
He’d been at it years longer than I had.
Jeremy had been the first real, true friend I’d ever had. Maybe the only one. He’d just had a lot of problems of his own, and they’d gotten him in the end.
I segued from warming up to one of my favorite songs, "Amaki Road," also by World Strider. It had been a while since I’d played, and it felt good to let the music take over, drawing me away from my morbid inner monologue. Just letting it flow through me and the instrument, not thinking about anything, inhabiting the notes, the rhythm. It was a different kind of forgetfulness than acting.
I looked over at Nova when I finished the song. She was staring at me with open-mouthed astonishment. My face burned as I bent my head and studied the strings again.
“You’re really good.” She sounded surprised.