“I’ll check back with you later,” I whispered to her. “I’m really not hungry and I need to see a few others.”
She nodded her head. I got up to visit some of the newly admitted patients and then checked in with Paul to see where to wait for my turn to sing.
After lunch was finished and the room cleaned, we filtered into the rec room. I took a seat in the back with some of the others who were going to perform. Ula touched my shoulder to say hello.
"Hi!" I stood and embraced her.
"Heard you're singing today." She strummed a chord on her guitar.
"I am. You, too?"
"Yep." Her smile was infectious. "Hey, I wanted to let you know the music program I told you about last year has been approved."
"Congratulations! How did you get the funding? Paul was just telling me . . ."
"The money comes in bits and pieces and my piece is a go! I'd love it if you could help me out sometimes and join in the fun."
"That would be great! Thank you for asking me." Maybe I should do something with music at Stanford.
“Would you mind if I taught Johnny a song, so you guys can do something together on your next visit?” She nodded to someone who passed by and said hello. "I hear him singing in his room sometimes. He's got a good voice and the outlet might help."
“I think he’d love that. Of course I would, too." I was already thinking of songs that might work for a duet. "We were just talking about practicing a duet the next time I visited.”
“Perfect. Can’t wait for your song today. You starting Stanford this fall?"
“Spring." My shoulders dropped.
"Expensive, huh?"
"Very. I wish there was some way, but it's ridiculous to spend thirty grand for Gen Ed classes, you know?"
"You're gonna rock the world, Nicky Young."
"If I can be even a little like you? I'll be good."
A man wanting to speak with Ula interrupted us. She patted my back and smiled as she turned away, focusing on the veteran who wanted her attention.
As I waited for the program to begin, I texted Ryan: M singing S/where Over Rainbow 4 Johnny & his mama. I miss U.
He texted back: O baby, take U in my arms, thinking of U, miss U, luv U, xxoo.
I replied: XXOO
He texted again: Talk 2 U L8R, game starting.
“Some of you already heard her sing last year, but today she’s performing for all of us." Paul introduced me near the end of the program. "Nicky Young, everyone.”
The butterflies in my stomach were flying all over the place, especially since I was one of the last to perform. After a polite applause, I stood at the microphone.
The band waited for my cue.
I took several deep breaths.
I wondered if magic waited inside the walls of the Yountville Veterans' Hospital the way I thought magic was inside of Ryan.
I wished he were with me.
I turned to the band and nodded. The music began.
You can do this. Remember the national anthem, you were nervous at first, but you were okay as you went along. One more note and it's my cue.
I began.
Worry about forgetting the words plagued me. It hadn't happened yet, but the fear was there. One stanza in and my nerves began to settle. As I sung the last word and released a long sigh of relief, I opened my eyes.
“Yaaay, Nicky!” Johnny cheered.
Samantha whistled and clapped, laughing at her son's rapid applause, perhaps having one of her lightest moments in many months. His brain injury made him like a young boy in so many ways, but in others, he seemed to observe and appreciate moments that I often took for granted.
Before I could walk off their stage, another veteran asked if I could sing her favorite song, then Ula wanted to sing a duet with me. In the end, I sang for over an hour.
As for Ryan’s gift, the Goliaths' jerseys, the staff thought it was special enough to save for the end of the program. Many of the vets put them on immediately.
Originally, I'd planned to leave after my performance, but Paul had arranged a special dinner for the vets and performers alike. I knew it would be disrespectful if I didn't stay.
During the day I'd taken quite a few pictures, and several were taken with me. As I sat at the table eating and listening to stories, I thought Ryan would enjoy seeing them. I sent some to his phone.
Finally the long day was over and I drove home. I looked forward to a good night’s sleep. While driving, my cell phone rang. I hoped it was Ryan. When I pulled over to answer I saw it was my friend, Alexandra Flowers. She was a model and the fiancé of Darrell Sweet, one of the Goliaths' pitchers. I'd also met her good friend Tara Summers last year, wife of Matt Summers who also pitched on the Goliaths. The three of us had gotten close.
“Hey, Alex. What's up?”
“Pack your bags, girlfriend." Her voice rang with excitement.
“Why? Where are we going?” Oh no.
“LA, baby. Just for two days. We leave in the morning for my photo shoot at Newport Beach.”
Damn.
“Oh, I'm . . . I’m exhausted. I should stay home this time. I’ve been doing so much and . . . I’m sorry, but I really need the rest. So . . . have a great photo shoot and don't forget me the next time.”
“Bullshit! It’s the perfect time for you. Besides, I've got a whopper of a surprise for you that you'll never forget. Now pack and be ready tomorrow—no excuses. You need to get the hell out of your house and keep me company. Ben wants me to be happy and relaxed and I told him, that’s Nicky’s job.”
“What time are you picking me up?”
I'm sure she did say that to Ben, her photographer. I might as well get ready. She won't take no for an answer.
“Nine,” she insisted. “That'll give you the sleep you need.”
“See you then.”
I should have slept like a baby.
The pillow hit me at nine-thirty.
But I couldn’t sleep.
Sitting up, I pulled out my journal and wrote a few pages.
Put the journal away.
Texted Ryan: Everyone loved your gift. Did you get my photos?
Left three phone messages, asking that Ryan call or text me.
His game should be over. He's been done for hours.
I got no response to any of my messages.
Ryan's voicemail greeted me each time I called.
Face it . . . he's out with or in bed with a woman, and he doesn't want to be disturbed. He tells me what I want to hear on the phone, but behind the scenes where I can't see him, it's a different story.
I had no right to expect him to wait for me or be faithful when I hadn’t committed to him, but after his insistence he wasn't seeing anyone or partying, it shocked me he was being so evasive.
My fears were out of control—I knew they were.
The worst scenarios played in my mind.
Vivid scenes of Ryan with another woman in his hotel room, their naked bodies enjoying each other, or him sitting in a bar flirting—perhaps with a woman or two on his lap as he touched her or them—all of these came to life in my head. I knew his reputation.
By the time I was through, I had convinced myself the paranoia residing inside me was really happening. I went more deeply into my dark corner, and began the fear-driven, negative self-talk from my youth.
I tried to stay away from it, but my anxiety constantly kept me within the temptation of engaging.
I knew I’d never be able to adjust to a relationship with Ryan.
He needed to come and go every week—that fact alone stroked my fear of being abandoned.
From the crunch in my gut when walking to Walter's office, listening to the jocks whistle and holler at me, I was certain he would be too much to handle. I could only think of how in ignoring my calls, he’d covered up what he was really doing—having sex and making future connections.
I’d just fallen asleep when Ryan finally called me.
"I go
t your pictures." His voice was light and exuberant. "Looks like you had fun."
“I tried to reach you so many times.” My voice shook as I ignored his comments.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wanted to call you, but we had a team meeting in the clubhouse for hours, and then a mandatory dinner meeting . . . it went forever. God, it was torture. I tried to get away, but they wouldn’t let any of us go—not even the married guys could call their wives.”
Yeah, you call when it’s convenient for you because you're accustomed to women dropping everything at your command.
“Not even a quick text hello? Come on, Ryan. You could have sent me a message. You had to go to the bathroom, didn't you? It's been hours."
"They made us turn our phones off."
"Yeah, okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Whatever. I don't believe you. “I’m going to LA with Alex, so I don’t know when I’ll be available. Anyway," I yawned. "I need to go. I feel like I haven’t gotten any sleep all week.”
“Are you okay?” Worry threaded his voice.
I hear beeps coming through his phone. Did he just turn it on? Maybe he called me first before checking his other messages? No, he saw my pictures, so . . . who are the people behind all those beeps?
“Just tired. I'm sure you've got a lot of messages to return, judging from the beeps I hear coming through your phone. Night, Ryan.” I hung up, not in any mood to talk or listen to his stories. I didn’t want to hear what he was doing, the voices or whispers in the background, or how happy he was in his career of baseball.
We occupied two different worlds—I understood that now.
Neither was compatible with the other.
Just that quickly I was beginning to give up on the idea of us.
You know that's why you couldn’t reach him, Nick. Isn't it obvious? It’s all lip service until he can get you in bed.
Something was changing and stirring inside me.
My restless spirit, the Evil Twin I’d given birth to a few days earlier, wouldn’t let me relax.
Or maybe, it was that I wasn't going to take the consequences of remaining passive any longer.
Chapter 11
LA Style
It was a few minutes after 6:00 a.m. when phone rang. I had only gotten to sleep a few hours earlier, flipping positions dozens of times while worrying and struggling with the disappointment of losing Ryan to a quick night of satisfaction with another woman.
“Alex?” I answered in a slow, groggy voice.
“We’re taking an earlier flight. Be at your place in thirty! The taxi won’t honk the horn since it’s early, so hurry up!”
“Oh damn, Alex. Bye!” I threw off the covers, showered quickly, and pulled together a few basic things in a small overnight bag. I woke Jenise to tell her what I was doing and then raced downstairs to write a note for my parents. Just as I finished, the taxi pulled in the driveway.
I grabbed my backpack and carry-on, turned out the lights, and locked the door behind me. The driver opened the trunk and put my bag inside while I scooted next to Alex in the backseat.
“Morning.” I wiped my eyes.
As usual, she looked gorgeous. Even when I slept over at her house it seemed she woke up that way.
Her reddish-brown hair hung as if it were a perfect wig—shining and bouncy. Cut in a bob, it was short at the back of her head, tapered so that it curved toward her face and neck and fell on the top of her shoulders.
Alex's big, brown eyes were striking. They seemed to have golden specks in them that were like little lights that blinked when she looked at me. She often left both men and women open-mouthed when she passed them with her long and lean five feet, ten inch tall body and legs that went forever. That morning, I was certain her Stella McCartney ripped hem, skinny ankle jeans and white silk blouse, had been designed just for her.
“Hey there, girlfriend.” She gave me a hug and a big smooch on the cheek. “Ooh, no sleep, huh?” My eyes showed the obvious. “We’ll get coffee at the airport and add a few extra shots. I have some cold packs in my bag that will do wonders for your red eyes. What were you doing last night, you bad girl?”
“It’s really more like the last week.” I rubbed my eyes. “I have too much going on.” As I said those words, I remembered my mother had asked me to slow down. I'd brushed her off because I thought she was meddling.
“Oh, babe. Are you spending any time with your friends or has it been all business?”
“Mostly with friends.” Please don't ask me to explain anything further.
“I worry about you."
“I’m fine,” I tried to reassure her.
"You don’t get enough down time, Nick."
"Yes I do."
“Boy, you’re a wealth of information this morning,” she was obviously irritated with me.
Yeah, well, I don’t want you to know about Ryan.
“I’m still asleep.”
“When we get down there, we’re going right to the shoot at
Newport Beach. You’ll need energy today, sweetheart.”
“What’s your photo shoot about this time?” I was always interested in the many themes Alex was asked to portray, via her svelte body and jaw dropping looks.
“Winter in LA. Now that’s an oxymoron, right? Pretty lame, but . . .” she laughed.
“What are you modeling? You’re going to melt!”
“Evening gowns on the beach. Makeup will definitely have their challenges," she laughed. "One more thing, when we get to the site, let the staff handle you.”
“Oh crap, I know what that means. I hate that.” I really didn't mind the makeup and primping, but I was deathly afraid they wouldn't find any clothes for me. I was much larger than the models, and never fit into the size 0-6 clothes offers by the boutiques my friends liked to frequent.
“Please, girlfriend. I need you to look a certain way. You’ll be running a few errands and meeting prominent people. You can’t be in jeans and a T-shirt. A polished, professional look is essential. Some of the people you meet could be contacts you’ll want for your career.” Her voice rose higher as she teased and taunted me. It was as if she'd sung the last few words.
“Well, you know you just got my attention.” I was already scheming, plotting, and visualizing possibilities.
“I know!” Her eyes shone with a speculative gleam. "I know how to get you."
At the airport, we grabbed a couple of strong, black coffees and boarded our plane. After I downed the much-needed java, Alex placed her eye treatments on my lids. They were similar to tea bags and were cool to the touch. I kept them on the entire forty-five minute flight.
“Okay, let’s take them off so I can look at you.” She lifted them just after the captain announced we were descending into LAX. “Perfect! They did the trick! We’ll go to makeup and wardrobe right away. Penny will get you the day's agenda and we’ll rendezvous tonight at the Fairmont for dinner. When you check in the hotel, go to the front desk. They’ll give you a key to our room. I should be there but don’t panic if I’m not. Sometimes, I get called away for impromptu meetings because of schedule changes. After dinner, we’ll get a little downtime.”
“I’ll hardly see you today?” I made a pouty face with my lips. Well this isn't any fun at all.
“Trust me, you’ll be too busy to worry about it.” She patted my back. “We’ll see each other tonight.”
After stepping off the plane and walking through the secured area, we saw her driver. He held a sign with “ALEXANDRA FLOWERS” written on it. Immediately texting and checking her messages when we got in the van, I wanted to do the same.
I hesitated a few seconds, wondering if I should text Ryan at all. It might be the only time I’d get a private moment—then I stopped again. Should I text him? Why should I bother? He couldn't even take two minutes to send me a quick message yesterday.
In the end, I sent the message: In LA, talk to you later.
Ryan immediately texted back: Call me ASAP, xxxooo.
>
Now you text me back within seconds. What happened yesterday?
My first instinct was to respond with sarcasm. I wanted so badly to write: "Sorry, Alex's modeling agency is making me turn off my cell phone and I won't be able—even the married women couldn't get a message off to their spouse."
I fought my internal struggle of learned tendencies and stayed rational. In the end, I returned the message: Will be late.
Ryan texted back: Want to talk to you! Miss you very much!
I wrote: Me too. Talk to you later.
When we got to the site at Newport Beach, the staff quickly whisked Alex away. A woman named Penny introduced herself and we headed into a tent where people scurried everywhere.
“Sit here,” she said, pulling out one of the many chairs in a row, placed in front of a long mirror.
“What about my suitcase, Penny?”
“It’s already been sent to your room. May I have your backpack?”
“I’ve got my wallet and journal in there and I'll need my I.D."
“We’ll take good care of them.” She handed me my wallet. “Empty it, please. Anything else?”
“My makeup.”
“We’ll put some new things in a purse that’ll match your outfit, including a new wallet and makeup,” Penny comforted. “You’ll love it! You can’t buy it off the shelves . . . it's exclusively for the models." She leaned closer and whispered, "Covers their imperfections really well."
I laughed at her attempt to mock the lovely women she was surrounded by every day.
"Laura," she straightened and raised her voice to get the attention of a subordinate. "Get this over to Alex and Nicky’s room at the Fairmont right away.” She handed my backpack to a young intern who seemed eager to do whatever was asked of her.
“I might want my journal. Sometimes I need to write down—”
“You won’t have time,” Penny interrupted. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
When my hair and makeup were completed, I followed an assistant to a changing room. Waiting for me were a caviar and porcelain-colored suit made by St. John, and a red and white iconic flap bag with thinly patterned stripes from Chanel. The sleeveless knit dress had a V-neck and a matching jacket with an open front and ribbon trim accent. A pair of Prada front-zipper, ankle-cut, black high-heeled boots finished the look.
Fire Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 2) Page 9