Mia Like Crazy

by Cordoba, Nina

  “Mostly,” he said, with a slight shrug. “I wanted to safeguard my meal ticket. How do you feel?”

  I wondered what he’d thought about in the hours while he sat next to my bed. “Better,” I answered. “I just feel kind of weird in the head.”

  “That makes two of us—I ordered you some soup from the diner.”

  “The roach infested one?”

  “Yeah, I figured after staying in the fleabag hotel, you wouldn’t mind.” There it was. That dazzling smile I’d been waiting for. The one he should have shown the cameras when he won all those awards. I felt something catch in my chest. “And they do make the best soup.”

  I smiled back at him. “I am pretty hungry.”

  “I’ll bring it up.” He stood and started for the door.

  “Could I go downstairs?” I asked before he made it across the room. “I’ve been lying in bed all day, and I’d like to sit up.”

  “Sure.” Drew put his hands in his pockets as though he was hoping I wasn’t going to need his assistance this time.

  We seemed to be back to the “no touching” rule. I remembered how effortlessly he’d lifted me into his arms earlier and wished I hadn’t been in too much pain to enjoy it.

  “Um…do you need any help?” I tried not to be insulted at the half-hearted way he asked.

  “No. I should be okay now. I’ll have to thank Meridith for the medicine.” I climbed out of bed and stood up slowly to test out my legs. I was a little woozy, but otherwise fine.

  Downstairs, as I sat at the table and smelled the aromatic soup, I was releived not to feel the nausea that had affected me all morning. Drew handed me a beautiful cloth napkin. The warm colors in it left no doubt this was another of Meridith’s purchases.

  He had transferred the liquid into a deep ceramic soup bowl and had, apparantly, discarded the plastic silverware in favor of the real thing. It was vegetable soup, and it was exactly what I wanted.

  I was sad to think I’d never been as well cared for in my life as I was now, with a virtual stranger. Since this morning, he’d burst into my hotel room with desperately needed medicine, carried me away, tucked me into a room fit for a queen and was now serving me a simple, yet, elegant meal.

  He brought out some French bread, and when he buttered it and handed it to me, it was all I could do to keep from crying.

  Why was I so weepy? It was as though I’d been falling apart at the seams since I met him. Or was it before?

  Was I really so starved for whatever he was offering that I got choked up over a bowl of vegetable soup and some butter?

  I preferred to believe the stress of leaving my job was what had me so off balance and emotional. After all, my career had been my top priority since I was a teenager. Or maybe this was a side effect from the medication.

  After I ate, he offered me the couch and gave me a book and the TV remote control.

  I picked up the paperback and realized it was the same novel I’d bought at the airport. Since I couldn’t stand waiting, I had a habit of buying whatever books or magazines were available in case there was a flight delay and I needed distraction.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked when he came back into the room.

  “It was with your stuff that was brought over from the hotel.”

  “All my stuff is here? Then why am I sitting in this negligee?”

  He shrugged. “Why not?”

  I was surprised at myself for not complaining that he moved me out of my hotel room without consulting me. But I was so comfortable it would have been hypocritical to protest. Besides, I felt as though I owed him a little graciousness.

  “I’d better go over first thing in the morning and pay for my stay there,” I thought out loud. Then to Drew, I said, “When I checked in, I wasn’t sure how many nights I’d be staying. The manager told me not to worry about it, I could pay him later. He didn’t even take a credit card.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  I ignored his sarcastic tone. “He was so nice, I would hate for him to think I had skipped out on him.”

  “He’ll get over it. Besides, it’s all taken care of. I told you your expenses would be paid.”

  “But when did you have time to do that?”

  “I had Meri’s butler go over there and take care of it while you were sleeping.”

  “You seem to borrow Meridith’s staff an awful lot,” I pointed out. “Did you ever think of getting some help of your own?”

  “No, I don’t like people lurking around here.”

  I wondered if what I was doing would be considered “lurking.”

  “I do have a housekeeper, though,” he said. “She comes over once a week. I go to Meri’s so I don’t have to be here when she comes. Of course, with you here we might have to change it to twice a week.”

  “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” I pretended to be insulted, then noticed he was talking as if he expected me to live here now. Had I agreed to his marriage plan while under the influence of the migraine medication?

  “I saw your hotel room,” Drew said with an almost-smile. He laid a throw across my lap. ”Want some hot chocolate?”

  “Yes, please.”

  A few minutes later, he brought me a mug with a dozen tiny marshmallows floating around on top.

  This was the kind of thing I’d seen only on television as a kid. When I was sick, I would imagine someone was taking care of me, but it had never been a reality, until now. From what Meredith had told me, Drew probably had to imagine it, too.

  I noticed he had a second cup for himself, so I invited him to take a seat on the sofa next to me, and he did. Then it hit me that I was sitting on the couch next to the notorious Drew Larson, sipping hot chocolate. Who would imagine he kept mini-marshmallows in his pantry?

  I picked up the remote and turned on the TV. “I’m in the mood for a good movie,” I said. “Will you watch with me?”

  He shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

  We watched one movie and started another. I began to get sleepy, so I grabbed a chenille throw pillow and, on impulse, tossed it in his lap and made myself comfortable.

  The second my head touched the pillow, I felt his entire body tense.

  Although even I didn’t know why I was being so presumptuous, I stubbornly stayed where I was and decided to let him try to adjust.

  After a few moments, I felt him move a bit and was certain his hand was hovering over me, possibly unsure as to where to position itself appropriately. I remembered what Meridith had said about Drew rarely touching anyone.

  I pulled the thick throw over my shoulder so he wouldn’t have to make contact with the nearly bare skin of my arm through the gauzy robe I was still wearing.

  Once I was amply covered, he placed his hand lightly on my arm and I gradually felt him relaxing.

  ~

  I woke up and, again, wondered how long I’d been asleep. It had been a peaceful, happy sleep and I felt wonderful. When I turned my head, I saw Drew looking down at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately, and I guess I’ve been catching up today. I hope I wasn’t snoring.”

  “Only in the most attractive way.” The sarcasm was still there, yet it was somehow mingled with sincerity. His face held an expression I hadn’t seen on him before, and it was so compelling I turned my whole body around so I was lying on my back and staring up at him.

  “There is no such way,” I argued playfully.

  “There is now.”

  I knew that he rarely maintained facial expressions—other than disdain, indifference, or anger—for long, so my mind scrambled to find a name for this one before it disappeared. As he gazed down at me, I knew the soft look in his eyes could only be described as “tenderness.”

  I became aware of his hand, which was resting on my stomach since I’d rolled over. Supposedly, he had an aversion to touching people. Yet, today, he’d carried me in his arms and now his touch felt so hot and intimate I couldn’t help but im
agine it moving a few inches up or down.

  I opened my mouth to speak to him, but wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I became aware of his thumb moving in a caressing motion on my stomach as his eyes held mine.

  Afraid of breaking the spell, I kept myself as still as possible but found I had to suck in some air eventually. When I did, he jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned and averted his eyes.

  “Drew—” I began, but he moved out from under me, allowing the pillow, with my head on it, to drop onto the couch.

  “I guess you’re okay, now, so I’ll see you in the morning and we’ll get to work on a plan,” he said. “Oh, yeah. I’ll carry your stuff upstairs for you.”

  He walked over to a coat closet, pulled out my suitcase and hanging bag, and disappeared up the stairs before I could make sense out of what had happened.

  Realizing I’d broken out in a sweat, I kicked off the blanket.

  Little by little, the heat melted away, leaving only one hot spot, roughly the size of a man’s hand, sizzling on my abdomen. I touched it, then, rolled back toward the television.

  Way too well rested and wide-awake, I lay staring at the muted TV set, wondering what in the world I’d gotten myself into.

  Chapter Six

  I was lower to the ground than I remembered being in a very long time.

  This must be a dream. I’ve never seen this many trees in one place before.

  I skipped along a dirt road, enjoying the sunshine on my face, until I spotted a boy sitting slumped against a tree trunk. I walked over and sat down right next to him.

  “Hi,” I said.

  He lifted his head and peered at me with serious grown up eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I think it’s a dream.”

  “It can’t be. No one has dreams about me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m a nightmare.” He smiled. It was a nice smile. It made me smile.

  “I’m going to be a rich lawyer when I grow up.” For some reason I was dying to impress this boy. “What are you going to be?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t be silly. You can be anything you want to be.”

  “You can,” he argued. “This is just temporary for you.” He glanced behind me, and I looked over my shoulder at the tall, dingy buildings that loomed over us. They were the housing projects I’d always refused to claim as my home, even though I’d lived there much of my life.

  They certainly didn’t belong in my dream. I willed them away and they disappeared. That was the good thing about dreams.

  I turned my attention back to the boy. “I like you,” I said. “You can be something with me. Let’s shake on it.” I put my right hand out toward him.

  He stared at it with longing in his eyes, but kept his own hands clasped together around his knees. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It hurts too much.”

  ~

  I awoke the next morning in Drew Larson’s guest bedroom. I’d finally gone to bed the night before, after hours of questioning myself about my own behavior, and his, without any answers revealing themselves.

  Regardless, waking up in his guest room made me feel like a queen.

  I’d been too sickly to examine my surroundings the previous day. Not only had I never experienced such luxury before, but I wouldn’t have known the first thing about how to create it.

  The room couldn’t have been more perfect. The fabrics were more feminine than in the other rooms of the apartment and had rich, royal colors like wine and gold, yet the decor didn’t seem overstated.

  I caressed the soft comforter and thought about Drew’s older sister. Meridith seemed to have everything. From the chat we’d had at the diner, I knew she lived in the mansion that had belonged to her late father, the great-grandson of the city’s “founding father.” Meridith had spoken enthusiastically about her two children, and it sounded as though she had servants at her—and Drew’s—beck-and-call.

  As if that wasn’t enough, Meridith had exquisite taste and radiated sophistication, sympathy and kindness, simultaneously. I was surprised that, for once, I wasn’t envious of someone else’s good fortune.

  Maybe awakening in this wonderful room had changed my perspective on everything. I turned to one side, then the other, to feel the brush of the expensive bedding on my skin. It was so soft, it reminded me of when I was a little girl and daydreamed of sleeping in the clouds.

  My eyes rested on the ornate little clock on the bedside table. It was seven-thirty. Soon Drew would expect me to appear downstairs and start making our “fake” wedding plans…or tell him I wouldn’t marry him at all. My stomach did a flip, but I wasn’t sure if it was at the thought of marrying him or of having to tell him I wouldn’t.

  What am I going to say? Am I most bothered by the fact it would all be a sham, or the possibility that it might not really be a lie at all?

  Who was I kidding? I couldn’t marry him.

  But I was feeling something. Every time I was in the room with him, I felt him on every inch of my skin. He fascinated me, mesmerized me, and he was Drew Larson, convicted—

  I couldn’t bring myself to finish the thought. Then, the other thought, the one I’d been holding at bay, crept into my consciousness…

  I didn’t believe it.

  I thought of myself as a hard-boiled attorney who was never deluded about people. When I was in college, instead of watching soap operas in the afternoon like my roommates did, I went to the courthouse and sat in on trials. After a while, many of the lawyers, and even the judges, knew me by name. I’d lost count of how many days I’d spent in there, witnessing both civil and criminal trials. I watched with professional detachment, even though I wasn’t a professional, yet, taking mental note of the tactics the attorneys used and telling myself what I would do differently if I were trying the case. Never did I feel one whit of sympathy for the defendants in the criminal cases, no matter how strongly they proclaimed their innocence, or how well their lawyer’s argued it.

  In fact, after everything I’d seen in my neighborhood growing up, I’d pretty much assumed they were all guilty of their crimes. But now, I couldn’t bring myself to believe this convicted felon, who had never once claimed he was innocent of his horrible act, was actually guilty.

  I’d heard enough shrink’s testimonies to know he had experienced everything necessary in his life to mold him into the monster everyone, including Drew himself, thought he was. Yet, when I was with him, I couldn’t see it.

  What’s happened to me? Am I seeing him as he is, or is this just wishful thinking?

  I sat up and buried my face in my hands. Since I was through reveling in my newfound luxury, I decided I might as well get up and take a shower. As I stepped out of my adjoining bathroom a few minutes later, I thought I heard voices downstairs, but decided it must have been the television.

  After I dried my hair and put on some makeup, I was presented with a dilemma. Normally, I would dress in a polished, professional business suit to meet with a client. However, it now seemed silly, considering how I’d been lying in this client’s lap last night wearing only my nightgown.

  I walked over to the closet and inspected the clothing I’d brought with me: professional, very professional, ultra professional, jeans and t-shirts, sexy professional… My eyes rested on the last option. I wanted to wear it for him.

  At first glance, it was a traditional looking black pencil skirt that hit me above the knee, but instead of hanging straight down, it hugged the curves. The blouse I’d bought to wear with it was lavender with a satiny sheen, which I knew was striking against my skin. It had a bigger collar than average and, although it had buttons down the front, the first one was at my cleavage, leaving the top of the blouse open for speculation. I never would have admitted it at the time, but I fell in love with the outfit because I could visualize myself descending the staircase wearing it in the real-life version of Dynasty I had pl
anned for myself. But although I’d purchased it some time before, I’d never had the nerve or occasion to wear it.

  This was certainly not the time. I dismissed the outfit, thinking how ridiculous it would be to choose it when I wasn’t even certain what answer I was going to give Drew yet.

  ~

  Thirty minutes later, I descended the stairs wearing a slim black skirt, low cut lavender blouse and the highest heels I owned, still not sure what had gotten into me.

  Drew was sitting at the table. He had a fork in one hand and the newspaper in the other. When he looked up, the utensil froze halfway to his mouth. I thought he looked like a pop art sculpture: “Man with Fork.” He appeared unable to move or even blink until my feet descended the steps and touched the floor. Then he recovered, looked back at his paper, and murmured a greeting.

  I was flattered, yet not completely satisfied because I was used to getting a little more direct attention from men. Since he hadn’t had the decency to compliment me after I’d gone all out, I found myself trying to goad him into it.

  “Are you all right, Drew?” I asked with mock concern. “For a minute there, you looked like you weren’t breathing.”

  “I was afraid you couldn’t make it down the steps with those shoes,” he replied. “I think shoes like those are only meant to be worn in a horizontal position. You’re not actually supposed to walk in them.”

  A feeling of humiliation washed over me, but I couldn’t let him know it. “Thanks for the tip,” I said. “I’ll keep it in mind next time I wear them.”

  He motioned to the seat across from him, so I sat down. “Do you eat bacon and eggs and stuff, or are you on some kind of skinny lawyer diet?”

  Skinny? I might qualify for “slender,” but “skinny”? That was only one notch away from “scrawny.” Was that how he saw me? Great, I was even more self-conscious.

  “I eat all the normal stuff.”

  “How do you like your eggs?” He stood and picked up his plate.

  “Scrambled.” I was grateful for any reprieve. Anything that would postpone the inevitable discussion. This was the most life-altering decision I’d made since junior high, because that was when I’d planned out my whole life. I’d followed the plan until the day I quit the firm.