Hurts So Good

by Mallory Rush

  "I'm waiting," he said quietly. "Can't play by myself. C'mon, chere, be a good sport. I have a surprise for you, but you have to be game to get it. Are you in?"

  His voice was smooth as glass, the smile he flashed her chilling. Or was guilt causing her to imagine it?

  "Okay, I'm in," she hesitantly agreed. "I suppose you have rules."

  "Of course. You know how I like to play everything straight. And, like you, I never cheat." He picked up the bottle and took a long swig, then lit another cigarette from the butt of the previous one and rose. Standing at the chest of drawers, he caught her gaze in the mirror, then his eyes glanced down to rest on the polished wood top. Andrea followed their path and saw the tiny wrapped box.

  Of course! Why hadn't she guessed? Leave it to Neil to turn an ordinary proposal into a game complete with rules.

  "This is how we play. I give you a command, but before you follow it, you say, 'Neil, may I?' If I say, 'You may' then you may. If I say 'You may not,' then you may not. Like 'Mother May I?' Sweet and simple as my command that you take four steps forward."

  Andrea stepped forward, meaning to throw her arms around him and call his hand. Her own hands were eager to open what had to be a jeweler's box with a ring meant for her finger. But first she had to confess.

  "Neil, I—"

  "Wrong!" He laughed. "It's 'Neil, may I?' Return to your place and stay there till you understand the rules." He blew a smoke ring and winked in the mirror. "Let's try it again, chere. Take four steps forward."

  "Neil... may I?"

  "You may. Very good. Now, you may say, 'Neil, I love you and I trust you, just as you have loved and trusted me, and more than anything I want to kiss you and never stop.'"

  "I love you and I trust you, just as you do me, and more than anything I do want to kiss you and never stop."

  "Then what are you waiting for? I would so like a kiss."

  As he turned to face her, she rushed to him and wrapped her arms around his bare waist. Why did he feel different to her touch? And why were his lips hard and remote as he possessed her mouth and his hands moved over her body? He undressed her quickly but not with the same white-hot heat that usually consumed their patience with loving preliminaries. There was a cold efficiency in his disrobing of her now, and she felt no emotion in the fingertips that roved over her nakedness.

  "You may lie down on the bed," he softly commanded. "Facedown and palms up." When she hesitated, he reached for the box. He tossed it in the air, then caught it as he stared at her with a teasing, taunting smile.

  "Neil, I—I don't think I like this game anymore. We need to talk."

  "Later. You know what's in here, don't you? I do so want you to open it. C'mon, chere. Let me have my fun."

  Never taking her eyes off Neil, she cautiously moved to the bed and lay down as he'd instructed.

  He held the box just out of her reach while he traced her spine with his fingers, then patted her behind. Several times, very tenderly. Andrea flinched as if he'd struck her.

  Finally, he placed the box on her palm. "Unwrap what I bought just for you."

  With shaking hands she started to untie the ribbon.

  "Uh-uh-uh. You forgot... Neil, may I?"

  Dear God how she wanted this horrid game to end. She realized then what it was. A calculated game of cat-and-mouse designed to trap her for her wrongdoing. He knew.

  "You found it, didn't you?" she said, forcing the words from her lips.

  "Found what, chere? Have you got a surprise for me too? No, don't tell me, or you might spoil mine. Hurry up now, you may open my surprise so you can give me yours. Let's get this over with, so we can quit playing and get to business."

  She couldn't get it over with soon enough. Tearing off the ribbon, she glanced up at Neil. His grim, hard gaze raked over her prone body as he drank freely from the bottle, then swiped his forearm over his lips.

  "Open it."

  "Neil, may—"

  "Dammit, yes."

  Her hands like ice, she unwrapped the jeweler's box and lifted the top. And then she was gazing at a stunning heart-shaped five-carat diamond set in gold. The gemstone had a pink cast, which contrasted with the crystal-clear teardrop-shaped diamonds that radiated from it like sunbeams. It was breathtaking. One of a kind.

  "You may now say, 'It's beautiful, Neil, and I wish I could wear it, because you had this made just for me.'"

  "It is beautiful, Neil. And yes, I wish I could wear it. Only you would have had this made just for me."

  "Couldn't have said it better myself." He took the ring from the box and held it over her finger. "One final command, Andrea, and we'll get to your surprise. But first I must hear you say, 'I know this ring is a symbol of your love and the trust I would never destroy because once I did you'd never trust me again. Please be my husband, and let me be your wife. For now and forever.'"

  "Stop it," she cried. "Stop it!"

  "Wrong reply. But that was quite a mouthful, so let's make it simple. As in, 'I want to marry you. I want to wear your ring and have your babies.' And you say...?"

  "Neil—" She stared from the brutal line of his mouth to the cutting censure in his eyes to the gold-and-diamond promise of a dream. "Neil... may... I?" she sobbed out.

  "No, Andrea"—he flung the ring across the room—"you may not." Before she could roll off the bed, he pinned her down with his body.

  "Let me go. Please, Neil, I'm begging you. Let me go."

  "Not on your life. You're not about to throw me off and get away. I do the walking, and I say when."

  "You have to listen to me. I can explain. Five minutes, just give me five minutes to make you understand."

  "I understand one thing and one thing only." He gripped both her wrists in a single hand. "You lied to me, dammit. Lied."

  "I admit it. Okay? I'm guilty. But, Neil, I wasn't—"

  "Going to send it?" His mocking laughter filled her ear. "Aw, no no, chere, of course not. That's why you hid it from me, right? Now let me guess when you were gonna tell me. Today, I'll just bet."

  "Yes! Yes, I swear to you. God's truth, I was."

  "Uh-huh." His hips brushed a whispered caress over her buttocks. "Sure you were. And I do believe you, chere. The same way I believe you haven't already passed the goods on to the highest bidder. How am I doing so far? That was gonna be your next claim to innocence, wasn't it?" When she whimpered, he roared. "Wasn't it?"

  "Yes. But Neil, it's true. I wrote it only for me. And for you. Not for anyone else. No one's seen it and—"

  "Shut up! Shut your lying mouth up and quit insulting me with such predictable tripe. The way it was between us could've been for good if you hadn't ruined us."

  "I didn't ruin us, Neil. It's—"

  "Too late, that's what it is." He turned her around beneath him, softly kissed her mouth. "You have been a very bad girl. Such a bad girl that I want you to beg me to make love to you. And you will. Again. And again. And... well, you get the picture. Tonight's the final act, chere. We're making it count."

  * * *

  "I loved you, Andrea. God, how I did love you." Neil tenderly stroked a fingertip over her swollen mouth as he studied her tear-streaked face in the midmorning light.

  And then he couldn't look at her anymore. If he did, he'd be a bigger sap than the one she'd played him for with a maestro's touch. And all for the sake of a scoop. Journalists. How he did hate them. But never more than now.

  He got up, feeling her eyes on him. Even with her betrayal ripping him up, he could still feel the heat of hunger her body sparked in him. He was certain it would never go away. Such was the price of a grand passion cut down in its prime by treason.

  "If you really loved me, Neil, you would listen to my side of the story."

  "And if you'd really loved me, you never would have written one." He turned to her then. "You came for an exclusive, and that's what you got. I've seen the proof. What proof have you got to deny it and convince me your lies is God's truth?"

 
More than anything he wanted her to. He'd give up what was left of his life for a half-baked excuse he could swallow.

  Her answer was a pregnant silence, a shuttered stare.

  "You got what you came for, Andrea, and I hope you're happy, 'cause I've never been more miserable in my whole miserable life. You've given me one helluva wonderful, wild ride, but this is where I get off. You've got one month to pack your bags and get out. As of now. I'm moving back to my private quarters in the club. If you need more time, call Lou to arrange it. Fair enough?"

  "It's not fair at all, Neil. I'll move out today. This is your house, not mine."

  "It was ours," he said in a battered voice. "We could've had it all if you hadn't violated me. Ever since I found that article, I've felt a certain kinship with rape victims. That's how I feel. Raped. Mentally and emotionally violated by a trusted family member. Excuse me while I puke?"

  Andrea lunged from the bed after him, but he slammed the bathroom door in her face. She listened to his heaves and muted groans. A flush was followed by the sound of running water. Then the door opened.

  "What a final bow, huh?" he said with a bark of laughter. "Thanks for everything—well... almost. If a buyer hasn't bitten yet, one's bound to soon. I won't give you my endorsement. But I won't take you to court for it neither. Don't have the stomach for it, chere. No more than I do to have whatever the hell you've written made public. I'll pay you for the article. Send me the bill if you so wisely choose and... and I need to get out of here."

  He turned, and all she could think was that he was walking out of her life, just as he'd walked out on his mass audience. She wasn't only desperate, she was suddenly angry and refusing his refund to a ticket she'd pay for the rest of her life.

  "You know what, Slick? You've got a bad habit: quitting. When the world doesn't play by your rules, what do you do? You quit! You're a sore loser, and so you take the easy way out. It's a child's game for a little boy in a man's body. Go ahead and fly. Fly, Peter Pan, fly. Take to the air and leave the truth behind you. It's in my drawer that you breached my trust by entering."

  He swung around at the moment she jerked out the drawer and frantically dug to the bottom. As she waved the papers at him, he came at her and grabbed her wrist.

  "Lady, have you got nerve," he bit out. "Get that out of my sight before I tear it up."

  "Go ahead, Neil. Tear it up. Quitting doesn't make any of it go away, but like with everything else, you're afraid to deal with it. And do you know what that makes you besides a quitter? A coward. Read it, Neil. I dare you." She thrust it at him, and he glared from her to the pages he took from her. "Go ahead and read it. Or don't you have the guts?"

  "Anything you've written is something I've told you in confidence. I don't need to read my regurgitated secrets."

  "Then why not take it to remember me by?" she taunted him. "Keep the article, read it when I'm gone."

  Just when she thought he meant to tear the pages into shreds, he folded the stack over once, twice, and pocketed it.

  "How generous. Rest assured I'll put it to good use."

  "Then you'll read it?" she asked eagerly.

  "In a pig's eye. Christine's off the wall, and I need something to practice on."

  "You jerk. You damn jerk."

  "I've never denied it. But at least I'm an honest jerk. And quite honestly, Andrea, as an artist, I can understand your need to write. We're not so different that way. I hear notes, you hear words, and we put them on paper. And being somewhat ambitious myself, I can even understand what drove you here to get the goods on me. But what I can't understand, and what I cannot accept, is that once we shared a bed and I confided in you, you didn't abort your original mission. Look at yourself through my eyes. You are one cold-blooded bitch."

  She winced, seeing herself as he did, her mistake for what it was. If only she'd trusted him sooner, she would have told him the tale of a woman who came for a story but ended up with her own happy ending. He might have even laughed, the joke being on her.

  Neither was laughing now. She was crying openly, and he looked suspiciously close to joining her.

  "I don't suppose there's anything I can say or do to convince you to give me a second chance?"

  "As much as I wish there was, no. The trust is gone, and there's no getting it back. Even if we tried to patch ourselves together, it wouldn't be the same. I learned an important lesson from my sorry excuse for a marriage. The loss of trust between two people, whether they love each other or not, is the start of a slow death. Maybe I am a coward, since I'd rather go quick than watch us die slow. What we had was too good. Let's take the memories, chere, before we end up destroying them and each other."

  But Neil, I'm carrying your baby, she silently wept. How she longed to tell him that, tell him she loved him even now. And yet, could he be right in this? So much damage done. So wrong to bring a child into a relationship devoid of trust. No, she didn't dare tell him of the baby, unless, by some miracle, they could mend. She wiped her eyes and notched up her chin, determined to gather what remained of her dignity.

  "Then it's really over."

  Neil pulled out his top drawer and withdrew a handkerchief with his initials in red. A present that she'd carefully stitched while they watched Father Knows Best. He tenderly stroked her cheeks with the linen, then wiped her nose before placing the hankie in her palm.

  "Last time I'll be doin' that, chere," he said gruffly. And then sternly added, "This isn't easy for me to say, but it is really over. Therefore, you are not to call me. And as of today, you are banned from the club. It's best for us both."

  "You sound like that old song, Neil. Cruel to be kind." Damn, why couldn't she quit crying? She had something important to say. Andrea impatiently rubbed her wet cheeks and got it out.

  "Even if it's too late for us, it's not too late for you. You have a wonderful gift that you Scrooge away because you're terrified of losing it. And countless others pay the price for your fear. Your money, your rules, they're an illusion of security, the substitutes you cling to because you can't go home. The funny thing is, you've taught me that home can be found in the least-expected places, and it's a lesson you can't grasp yourself. But you could. If you'd only let go of your rage and quit blaming your mother for deserting you."

  "She did desert me," he insisted angrily.

  "No, Neil, she died. Died. It wasn't her fault, and it wasn't desertion. Let her go. You can't climb into the casket with her, so forget your rules and join the living."

  He shook off her earnest grip on his arm and stalked to the door. There, he turned.

  "You and Mama have a lot in common, Andrea. She did desert me, as you did in your own way. She didn't have to die any more than you had to kill us. Just as you could've switched your subject, she could have chosen another way out. Mama killed herself. I'm the one that found her. Stayed with her till the neighbors complained about a smell, and the police carted her off. A local newshound shoved a mike under my nose while I hung on to the stretcher. He wanted to know how I felt, why I was clinging to a stiff."

  "No," she moaned. "God, no."

  "Don't tell me you're not impressed. Anything for a story, right? What worked for him certainly served you. Anyway, that was my first encounter with a journalist. Left a bad taste in my mouth, though not half as nasty as the one you've given me. Damn juicy copy, chere, an exclusive scoop. Not even Lou knows. Stick that in your article for a sure sale."

  Chapter 17

  Twenty days, twenty of the most horrible days of her life, had passed since Neil shut the door. Softly. With the same finality that marked his refusal of her calls, the letters begging for a reconciliation. All sent back unopened.

  She couldn't eat. She couldn't sleep. And since she was pregnant, unfortunately she couldn't borrow Neil's old escape in drink. If he looked half as bad as she did, he'd pass for a walking corpse. No amount of concealer could hide the dark circles ringing her eyes.

  Wasn't she supposed to be filling out, at
least a little? Her clothes hung so loosely, she'd had to dip into her limited savings—savings since she was out of a job—to buy a few things that were two sizes smaller.

  She was shrinking and so were the few days remaining in the month she had left to live in the empty palace Neil had given her, where they'd made love. Laughed. They'd christened this their home. Their now-silent home.

  The buzz of electric saws and pounding of nails had ceased the day he left. Not even a roach was there to keep her company. If not for Liza—thank God for Liza—she would be even more isolated than she already was in this mausoleum of memories.

  Andrea ground her fists against her eyes as the questions came. Where would she go? How would she support the baby?

  Bartending was okay income—at the right place, better than a newspaper wage. But club hours were usually lousy, and writing had become a needling reminder of her misjudgment. No longer a delight, it was a chore.

  She couldn't be choosy, not with a baby to support. Andrea clasped her stomach. Tears welled as she looked at her concave belly. Liza had actually said that the mother-to-be was in better shape than the father-who-didn't-know.

  What a pair she and Neil made. Two adults victimizing each other with their fears and selfish needs. They were even victimizing their own baby, thanks to their stupid mistakes.

  And here she sat pitying herself instead of seeing to the welfare of her child. Where's your fight, gal? Andrea was suddenly furious with her own apathy. She clung to that and marched to the closet.

  His clothes were still next to hers, and defiantly she tugged off the cashmere cape she should be wearing in New England by now if the tickets she'd found were any indication. Next, she opened her top drawer and took out the jeweler's box.

  "Neil, may I?" she gritted out as she opened the top and gazed at the ring. "Guess what, Slick? Maybe you're right, and we'll die a slow death. But for the present, my only concern is making sure this baby lives."