I wasn’t sure for how much longer.
Chapter 21
The weeks started flying by, and the days started getting warmer. I was occupied with school and spending the evenings working on Michael’s house. I was getting less and less sleep every night, and seeing even less of my father.
Valentine’s Day came and Michael took me to a trendy, expensive restaurant and gave me two-dozen red roses. He even used the “L” word on his card.
Happy V.D., Love, Michael.
Dad saw the note and complained about my getting too involved with the shrink.
A week after that, Mardi Gras descended on the city with all its fervor. By the time the first parade rolled, I was in bed with a fever.
All the activity between school and Michael’s renovations—along with very little rest—had completely worn me out. I had lost weight and was physically rundown. Michael came over and played doctor. He diagnosed pneumonia, put me on antibiotics, and restricted me to bed for a week. He even stayed in the guest bedroom for two nights to watch over me.
He would read my assignments to me so I didn’t fall behind in school, or run to the store when I had cravings for ice cream. My father sat by and watched as Michael came and went at all hours of the day and night. I started to improve quickly, and within a few days, could sit up on the sofa downstairs, watching television.
One night, I had just sent Michael home and was going back up to bed when my father followed me into my bedroom. He sat down on the edge of my bed and examined me for several uncomfortable minutes.
“Nicci, do you know what you are doing?” he eventually spoke out. “This boy is in love with you, but I don’t see the same gaze in your eyes for him as he has for you.”
“Dad, I’m very fond of Michael and—”
“But you don’t love him,” he said, cutting me off. “We both know your heart is with someone else.” He stood up next to the bed. “You have to make your own decisions. If you choose to marry this boy, then I would go along with it. However, I would have serious reservations about your future happiness.”
“I don’t know if I’m going to marry Michael, or any man for that matter. Michael is good to me, but it’s not serious.” I paused and took my father’s hand. “Why are you always bringing up David? I have let go of him. Why can’t you?”
“You can’t fool me, kiddo. You are not over David.”
I let go of his hand. “It’s time I move on.”
“Moving on to you means finding someone else, maybe even marrying them.”
“No.” I shook my head. “It means leaving the past in the past and making a new future. Nothing will ever be like it was with David.”
“You mean no man will ever be like David, and it doesn’t matter if you end up with the quack or someone else.” Dad’s green eyes were filled with concern. “Just think about a lifetime with someone you don’t love. That’s all I ask.” He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
I didn’t have my father’s faith in love. I was convinced it was time to move on. I had accepted that fact, or at least I hoped I had.
***
As graduation approached, I started interviewing at several area hospitals, but I found the job market to be tough for new graduates with little experience. When Michael found out about my dilemma, he told me about a position at a small psychiatric hospital in his neighborhood and insisted I apply. He said he could put in a good word for me. I was still not particularly interested in working with psychiatric patients, but I figured I would appease Michael and investigate the opportunity. I reasoned that I could easily decline any offer I might receive, without upsetting him.
On the afternoon I was to interview at the psychiatric hospital, Michael came to my house and picked out the appropriate outfit. He told me how much makeup to put on and to pull my hair back in a simple ponytail. Once I was ready, Michael drove me to the interview. He said he had some business to take care of at hospital and could wait for me in the lobby.
“It will be fun,” he affirmed. “After, you can tell me how your interview went. So I won’t have to sit by the phone biting my fingernails.” He laughed. I didn’t.
I soon found myself waiting in a rather Spartan looking office. There were a few pieces of well-worn, black and chrome furniture. Along the wall was an assortment of posters, highlighting employee rules and benefits. A stout, black-haired receptionist—who told me to call her Ruby—escorted me into an adjoining office.
This office was also filled with the same black and chrome furniture. There were a few scattered diplomas, and what looked like family pictures, on the far wall. I took a chair across from an empty desk and was told to wait.
A short while later, a petite woman with long blonde hair, dressed in a tailored gray pantsuit entered the room. She looked very out of breath, but still managed to give me a warm smile.
“I’m Ellen Kirby, Director of Nursing here at Coliseum Psychiatric Hospital.” She shook my hand and then took a chair bedside me. “Dr. Fagles has told me a great deal about you.”
“He is a very good friend,” I clarified.
“Well, he said you would fit in well here.” She looked me over with her blue eyes. “I’ve known Dr. Fagles since he started here during his residency.”
“Michael…I mean, Dr. Fagles works here?”
“Of course. He’s been on our staff for some time. He is a prominent advocate for our facility and I trust his judgment. When can you start?”
I looked at her feeling more than a little bewildered. I hadn’t filled out an application or even handed anyone my resume.
“I, ah, graduate next month on the fifteenth. I was planning to take some time off before I start working.”
“Good, that will give me some time to set everything up. I can call you later with a start date once I get your schedule for orientation organized. Michael, however, told me you would not be working nights, so we will put you on the day and evening shifts.” She sat back in her chair and glimpsed her desk. “We will start you out on the third floor with our minimal level patients, and work you up to crisis level. Your orientation should take about three months. By then, you should have your state board results for your license.” She shifted her eyes to me. “Any questions?”
I wanted to ask a thousand questions, but all I could say was, “No, that sounds great.”
Ms. Kirby shifted in her chair and checked her watch. “Thank you for coming, Nicci. I am sure you will like it here. Many of our staff are like family.” She stood up and showed me to the door.
I was again standing in the receptionist area when Ruby came up and tapped me on the shoulder.
“Here are all the forms to fill out. Just drop them by in the next few weeks and we’ll get you your identification card and your schedule. Congratulations. We get a lot of people applying to work here, but they don’t take just anybody.” She showed me out of the waiting area and back to the lobby.
All around the lobby, people were coming and going from the elevators to the front entrance. I took a seat on one of the benches close by and waited.
“Hey, how did it go? You met with Ellen?”
I looked up to see Michael standing over me, smiling. “I got the job. She’s going to let me know when I can start.”
“Great.” He was beaming, as he took a seat beside me. “I’m here almost every other day, so we can have lunches together. I don’t want you working nights. I told Ellen that.”
I glared at him. “When were you going to tell me about that?”
“Look, don’t be angry. I wanted to make sure everything went smoothly for you. You know that it’s not safe to be in this area of town late at night. I just want you to work days and evenings. I’ll pick you up on the nights you have to work until eleven. But I don’t think that will be too often.” He kissed my cheek. “This will work out perfectly, you’ll see.”
I carefully weighed his exuberance while a sick feeling of anger rose in my stomach. “Ms. Kirby said
you two were old friends.”
“Yeah, she started as a nurse on the floors here when I was a resident. I recommended her to the board for the position she has now. So she kind of owes me.”
“I guess she paid you back, in full.”
I tried to pacify the burning in my gut with the rationalization that I had just been given a great opportunity. An opportunity I should take full advantage of, even if it was all Michael’s idea.
***
To celebrate my new job, Michael had made reservations at the Versailles Room for dinner. Still wearing my interview outfit, I hadn’t had time to give my father the news. Michael had simply swept me away to his office, where he made a few phone calls and checked his schedule for the next day. Before I knew it, we were sitting in a private booth in one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants.
He ordered an expensive bottle of champagne and oysters for an appetizer. I downed three consecutive glasses of champagne and skipped the oysters.
“I was thinking about having a little get together next month after your graduation at my place. The renovations are almost done and we can invite a few people over,” he suggested between ravenously slurping down oysters.
My head spinning from the champagne, I should have carefully considered his offer, but decided to just go along with his plans. “Sure, if that’s what you want, Michael.”
“I thought I would order a cake and maybe have it catered, nothing too fancy. Don’t want everyone making too big a mess at our place.” He refilled my glass of champagne. “Nicci?” His tone changed and he gave me a thoughtful glance. “I want to talk to you about something.”
I picked up my glass. “I’m listening, Michael.”
“I was thinking about after you graduate from school. Do you plan on spending all of your time working? I mean, when you get married did you plan on working full-time or part-time?”
“I’ve never really thought about it. I always figured I would work and learn how to be a good nurse. Maybe go back to graduate school in a year or two and eventually teach. I’ve never considered marriage.”
“Never? Come on, Nicci. All girls think about getting married someday. You’ve never thought about being Mrs. So-and-so?”
“No. I don’t want to be Mrs. So-and-so. I’m sure, even if I got married, I would keep my name.” I took another deep gulp of champagne.
He appeared confused. “What? You mean you don’t want to take your husband’s name?”
I didn’t understand what his problem was. “No, I want to keep my name.” I downed the rest of my glass, eager to feel the warmth of the alcohol in my system.
“For goodness sakes, why?” He raised his voice, sounding perturbed.
It seemed that I had hit a nerve.
Putting my glass down, I gathered my thoughts. “I like my name. It’s who I am, not who I marry that matters. I never could understand why just because you’re married to someone, you have to change your name. It’s like changing your identity. It’s not very practical from a woman’s point of view.” I took in his downturned mouth and knitted brow. “Would you take your wife’s name?”
“Absolutely not,” he refuted. “What has that got to do with anything? Nobody takes their wife’s name. The wife is supposed to take the husband’s name for the sake of the children.”
I reached for the bottle of champagne and poured some more of the golden liquid into my glass. Before I had finished filling my glass, Michael snatched the bottle from my hand. He set it back in the ice bucket and then moved the ice bucket closer to his side of the table, out of my reach.
“That’s a lame argument,” I admonished. “How many people remarry and get a new last name and their children still have the first husband’s name? Or what if they don’t know the father’s name? It’s not the fifties anymore, Michael.”
“Well, my wife is going to take my name.” He stuck out his chest, resembling the dominant male of the species.
I shrugged, already bored with the conversation. “That will be her choice.”
He scowled at me. “What if I ask you to be my wife, Nicci?”
I comprehended the idea and then, without warning, I started giggling uncontrollably. Thanks to the champagne, my nose was numb and the room was spinning. I had to keep my feet on the floor to stay balanced.
Michael grabbed my arm. “Let’s get you home.”
I couldn’t help laughing at Michael. He had the silliest look on his face. His nose was crinkled up and his lips were drawn together, like he was suffering from a severe case of constipation. The image of his expression was riveted in my mind, and the laughter came and went in waves.
I don’t remember leaving the restaurant. I don’t remember the drive to Michael’s. The next thing I remember is waking up on Michael’s sofa with a blanket thrown over my waist and my head pounding like a pile driver. I was disoriented, and it took me a few minutes to clear the fog from my head. I groped around in the dark for my purse. Unable to find it, I got up and made it to the kitchen to look at the clock there. It was just after two in the morning.
I walked back, as silently as possible, to the living room. Just when I thought I had made it back safely, I tripped over something and fell against the banister, taking some heavy metal object to the floor with me. The crash must have jolted Michael out of bed; he was down the stairs almost the moment I hit the floor.
“Hey, why are you up?” Michael helped me unwind leg from a brass lamp.
“I went to the kitchen to see what time it was. Where’s my cell phone? I have to call my Dad.”
“Your phone is in your purse by the sofa. I already called your father and told him what happened.”
I limped over to the sofa. “I’ll never hear the end of it from him. He always has this fear that I’ll end up like my uncle. What did he say?”
He sat down next to me and held my hand. “That he would see us in the morning when I brought you home, and to take care of you. I told him that you hadn’t eaten all day and were nervous about the interview. Which you were.” He nodded at me, then paused and gave me the strangest look. “It’s all right, Nicci. I’m not angry with you.”
“Angry with me!” I yanked my hand away. “I swear sometimes, Michael, you can be the most condescending asshole I’ve ever meet.” His nostrils flared. “Sorry,” I quickly amended.
“You’re not yourself.” He sat very still and didn’t say anything. When he finally turned to me, he had the strangest look in his eyes. “Who’s David?” he softly asked.
I almost fell off the sofa.
“You called me David when I carried you in from the car. Obviously, he was someone special. I can see that in your face.” He stood and strutted to the fireplace. Resting his arm on the mantle, he admitted, “There was always someone else there, between us.”
Oh crap! “Look, Michael. David was…you’re right. He has come between us in some ways, but not completely. I told you I needed time. I did. I still do.”
Michael was standing with his back to me, staring into the hearth. I could tell by the tension in his shoulders that my disclosure about David bothered him. When he eventually faced me, his eyes were swimming in pain.
“Prove it to me. Prove that you are over him,” he implored.
I placed my hands against my throbbing temples, unsure of how to proceed. “What do you want? A sworn testimonial?”
He moved rushed toward me. “I want you. I have always wanted you. If you are over this David, we don’t have to wait anymore.”
I arched away from him. “After David, I was very hurt. I swore I would never be with another man again until I knew he loved me.”
His hands caressed my shoulders and then he kissed my cheek. “I love you. I understand and respect you. Show me how much you love me, Nicci.”
Michael’s lips were suddenly all over me. His hands started pushing the hem of my dress up my thighs. His teeth were nipping at my neck.
I shoved him away. “Not here, Michael.”
“I don’t want to do it on the sofa.” I took his hand. Knowing I could not hold him off any longer, I said, “Take me to bed.”
His eyes lit up and he lifted me into his arms. Kissing my neck, Michael carried me up the stairs to his bedroom. With a little too much enthusiasm, he threw me onto the bed. I had to stop myself from bouncing over the side. Instantly, he was kissing me and mumbling words of love in my ear. He removed his blue pajama top and I ran my hands down his smooth, muscular chest. I couldn’t help but notice how different he felt compared to David.
David’s skin had been supple, almost electric beneath my fingers. Michael’s skin was flat and felt dull. A whiff of Michael’s heady cologne accosted my nostrils. I remembered how David had always smelled of an exotic mix of paint and sweat, making my stomach do flips whenever he drew near. I pushed the comparisons from my mind and concentrated on the task at hand. I reached around and explored the well-proportioned muscles in Michael’s back and shoulders.
Michael groaned loudly in my ear. “Slip out of those clothes,” he ordered, as he undid the front of my dress.
Not wanting to strip in front of him, I rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. Taking off my clothes, I caught sight of my naked body in the vanity mirror. My reflection astounded me. I looked so thin and pale. I wondered when I had become this shadow of my former self. It seemed like only yesterday I had been the vibrant Jenny in David’s paintings.
“Do you really want to do this?” I mouthed to my reflection.
But there was no reply. I reached for a towel, wrapped it around my torso, and headed back into the bedroom.
Michael was already lying under the covers, waiting for me. An open box of condoms was sitting out on the night table next to him.
“I approve,” he purred.
He reached for me and then pulled me down on to the bed. His lips kissed my right shoulder and then my left. The towel slipped away and he tossed it to the floor.
“Get under the covers,” he directed.
I climbed in and nestled against his naked body, playfully stroking his chest. Before I knew what was happening, he had rolled me over to my back and pinned both of my hands over my head. His kisses were covering my face. His mouth came down on my right nipple and as his tongue teased my flesh, I shivered with uneasiness. He must have thought I liked it because his tongue began to tempt my flesh more forcefully, causing me to gasp with discomfort. His hands were probing me, traveling the length of my body. One hand dove between my thighs to pry my legs open. I closed my eyes and pretended he was someone else. Someone who had touched me and made me feel alive. Someone I had wanted. I imagined myself lying there like a motionless lily, the kind so many men make jokes about, but never understand.
The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series Page 25