Chapter 6 #3
“Yes. You need to hire yourself some security.” I nodded at the assertion. “I don’t think those women were going to stop until they had you naked—”
He closed his eyes briefly, shook his head, and interrupted me. “Forget about that—what about the child?”
“The child?” I frowned at him. “Nico…there is no child. I said that so those psychos would back off.”
He blinked at me and seemed to be holding his breath; his eyes were impossibly large. He released the lapels of the jacket on my shoulders and took a step back.
“There is no child.” He sounded skeptical and surprisingly angry.
“Of course there is no child. I was trying to keep twenty crazy females from tearing your clothes off.” I straightened my dress needlessly before adding. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
His voice rose and he tucked his shirt back into his pants with jerky movements. “Then why didn’t you yell ‘FIRE,’ or, ‘Look—the aliens are here!’ Or anything else that wouldn’t have given me a heart attack! Why did you yell ‘the child is yours’?”
The vehemence and volume of his voice took me by surprise. I didn’t respond immediately, but when I did, I tried to sound soothing and calm. “It’s illegal to yell ‘fire’ in a crowded room. I didn’t want them to freak out. I just wanted them to stop—”
He turned away. He stuffed his fists into his pants pockets and stomped to the slanted wall created by the bleachers. He turned. He glared at some unknown spot beyond the slats.
“I didn’t think…I wasn’t trying to—did I—did I embarrass you?” I thought I might suffocate on guilt.
“No. I wasn’t embarrassed at all. It’s just, for a minute I thought…
.” He shook his head as though to clear it.
In the shadow and half-light of the moon, face in profile, his features appeared as though carved from granite.
I allowed myself to look at him and really see him.
He looked tired. In school, when I knew him, he never looked tired.
He’d been bursting with restless, aimless, infectious, enigmatic energy.
As an adult, I was discovering that he radiated a level of magnetism that was difficult to ignore, but it felt more controlled, directed, harnessed. The effect was potent and heady when he focused the laser beam of charisma on a single person, as he’d done with me earlier.
Nico stirred and crossed the space with measured steps until he was just inches from me, his attention focused on the dirt at his feet. “If there is a child, then I want you to know that we would get married.”
It took me a moment to comprehend his words; when I did, I choked, “What?”
“I will marry you….”
“What is this, the nineteen fifties? Are you for real? Are you seriously…?” I released an exasperated sigh then rubbed my forehead with cold fingers. “No. We would not get married, and there is no child, so there is no reason to have this conversation.”
“Yes. Yes, we would get married. I could move to Chicago.”
“Oh, my God, no. We would not. Your show is in New York. Why would you move to Chicago?”
“I could move the show for a few years. We could always go back to New York, or even LA, if you wanted to.” He made it sound like it was all so obvious, like I was an idiot. He’d always done this to me.
I pointed at his chest. “This is so typically you, Nico—male chauvinism with a truck load of arrogance.”
“It’s not arrogant to want to take care of my family.”
“We are not your family. You don’t even know me, and the child would be ten by now and likely—GAH!
” I threw my hands in the air, determined to end this ridiculous, pointless argument before we started picking out china patterns and debated the merits of Le Creuset bakeware.
“I don’t know why we’re discussing this.
We’re not getting married, and THERE IS NO CHILD. ”
A muscle ticked at Nico’s temple; his jaw flexed. He was silent for a moment, and then said, “We would talk about it.”
I blinked at him, momentarily speechless, then found the words. “You are an insane person. You were just assaulted by a group of raging female horn dogs, and all you want to do is argue with me about a theoretical marriage and a non-existent child. You need to get a grip.”
Nico shifted a step away. He returned his gaze to the dirt and released an audibly shaky breath. “Damn.”
I studied him for a moment. He appeared to be genuinely upset, and it occurred to me that perhaps the groping from earlier had truly affected him.
Instinctively, I touched him on the elbow then withdrew my hand.
“Hey, hey…are you ok? Those women really were crazy, and they had no right to touch you like that.”
He nodded; his eyes met mine for an instant then darted away. “Yeah. I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”
“Worse?”
“Groping.”
“Oh.” For some reason, the thought of women, or men, groping Nico made me want to shoot a machine gun. “How much worse?”
I didn’t know what possessed me to ask the question; I was obviously an anger-masochist.
“Well,” he gathered a slow, deep breath; his chest visibly expanded before he said, “a few years ago, I was charged with assault when three women in a club stuck their hands down my pants.”
I choked on my own breath. “Wait—what? Why were you charged with assault?”
He appeared to be stalling, as though struggling to avoid telling me something unpleasant. “I elbowed one of them in the face and broke her nose.” He swallowed and didn’t precisely roll his eyes. “It was an accident.”
My eyebrows shot upwards. “Were you convicted?”
“No, but she won a civil suit.”
“What a freak.”
“She’s crazy.”
The comment, seemingly offhand, sounded strangely meaningful and loaded, especially because he said she is crazy, not was. “How crazy?”
He wiped a hand over his face. “She actually…she’s a bit of a stalker.”
“A stalker? You have a stalker?”
Nico grimaced, obviously uncomfortable discussing the subject. His tone was flat. “She hasn’t attacked me, but she has….”
“Except for sticking her hand down your pants.”
“Mostly she sends a lot of hate mail.”
My mouth dropped open. “Your stalker sends you hate mail?”
He shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“Only you would have a stalker that sends hate mail. Is that why you just stood there tonight instead of tossing those crazy ladies off of you?”
Nico kicked a soda cup to one side.
Just when I thought he wasn’t going to respond, he said, “I wanted to, believe me I did, but I don’t hit women.”
I studied him; his expression was stern, and he was seemingly unwilling to say anything further, as though that were explanation enough for not administering a smackdown on the pack of she-wolves.
I studied him as I brought the sleeves of his jacket to my cold nose and breathed into them to warm it. His jacket smelled like him—his expensive cologne and light traces of cigarette smoke and mint—and, of course, the headiness of the scent aggravated my muddled mind even more.
I loved the smell of his cologne; I hated the smell of cigarette smoke; the mint was unexpected, and I didn’t know how to feel about it.
“I’m going to have to insist that you hire some security to deal with the nutters, especially the hate mail whack-job.”
“I have. I do.”
“Where are they tonight?”
“They were there.”
“What the…? You should fire those assho—er—clowns. Or I can do it if you want.”
He did meet my eyes then, and his mouth was curved in a quizzical smile. “You want to fire my guards?”
“Yes.” I answered honestly.
I enjoyed firing people when they were bad at their jobs. It felt somehow satisfying to be the angel of darkness, the necessary evil, the harbinger of doom. Someone needed to do it, and I didn’t mind dirty jobs.
“No, that’s ok.” His smile grew but the bemused expression remained. “But thank you for the offer. It’s…it’s hard finding a good team. I like my privacy, and security guards know all your business whether you like it or not. I’ll just call the agency and get new ones.”
I glanced at my feet and considered the scene on the dance floor and my reaction to it. What bothered me almost more than the grabby ladies were all the people who witnessed what was happening and just stared and did nothing, like it was ok for Nico to be groped without his consent.
What a bunch of freaks.
“I will do it, you know. I will fire them for you if you want.”
“I know you will. But I don’t want to have to find another trustworthy agency.”
“You’re going with the same agency?” I shifted on my feet, bracing them apart. “Why do you think the next team they put on you will be any better? You should go with a different agency.”
Nico’s eyes narrowed, a smile dancing over his expression. “You’re just as bossy as I remember.”
I echoed his narrowed eyes, but not his smile. “I’m not bossy. I’ve never been bossy. I’m just always right.”
“Not always.”
“Mostly always.”
Then, he laughed. It started as a small burst of laughter that turned into a tumbling landslide. It rolled over me and did lovely things to my stomach. I felt lighter and heavier at the same time. I brought his jacket sleeves back to my nose to hide the curve of my mouth.
His display of merriment receded, leaving him with shining eyes and a wide smile; his teeth looked stark white, likely due to the dark beard framing his mouth. I liked his beard. It made him look a little wild.
“Ah…Elizabeth.” He shook his head, then lolled it to one side. His eyes moved over my face. “I’ve missed you.”
“How could you miss me? This is the longest civil conversation we’ve had since I was four.”
“I even miss our conversations that were arguments.”
“They were all arguments.”
“Not all of them.”
“You’re right—sometimes we didn’t talk.”
“I miss those times the most.”