Romeo, Romeo Page 25

  “If she calls—”

  “I know. I'll get in touch.”

  Rosalie worked until eight. She was avoiding going home. She'd called her neighbors, Henry and Wayne, earlier. It sounded as if they knew Nick had left, and they said they'd be happy to take care of Dave. She would have worked later, but by eight, she was dead on her feet. All she'd eaten was… nothing. Unless you counted the milk in her coffee—she'd had a lot of that.

  When Rosalie left the building, she scanned the street, hoping she'd see Nick's car. She didn't.

  When she got off the train at her stop, she looked for Nick. He wasn't there.

  When she got home and found her beloved yellow Beetle parked in front of her apartment, she fell apart. Right there, on the front stoop of her brownstone, she lost it. Nick was gone. He'd come back, but only to return her car. Oh, God, she'd thought it hurt when he walked out. She'd thought maybe, after he cooled off, he'd come home and at least have a fight with her—give her a chance to explain. She thought he cared enough to yell at her. But he didn't. He'd returned her car.

  “Rosalie? Is that you, darlin'? Wayne, come out here!” Henry sat beside her on the stoop, put his arm around her, and pushed her head against his chest.

  “Henry? What is it? I've got dinner… Oh, my Lord, Rosalie. Is she hurt? What happened?” Wayne always reminded her of a hummingbird. He was small, flighty, and never stopped moving, but was amazing to watch. She didn't have to open her eyes to know he was in a full dither.

  “I don't know. Dave was going berserk, and I looked out the window. Wayne, be a love and pick up her things. She must have dropped her purse. There are tampons and God only knows what rolling down the sidewalk.”

  Rosalie tried to pretend that nothing had happened— that Nick was inside waiting, that her car was still gone, that she still had a life—anything to get a grip, but it didn't work. When she opened her eyes and saw her car, reality crashed into her again.

  She tried, but she couldn't stop crying long enough to tell them what had happened. She could only point to her car and do that weird hiccup thing she did when she cried so hard, she couldn't stop to breathe. Henry tightened his hold and pulled her up with him as he stood.

  “I'm taking you inside. Come on darlin', I've got you.”

  They led her up the steps and into their apartment, handed her tissues, and let her cry while they commiserated the way best girlfriends would.

  When she'd run out of tears, they treated her like a sick child. They plied her with tea, made her nibble on toast, and before she knew it, Henry was leading her to their guest room.

  “You'll stay with us tonight. You're in no shape to be alone. Wayne, be a love and go over to Rosalie's and get her a lovely nightgown. She needs to feel pretty. Don't forget her toothbrush. Come on, darlin', let's get this suit jacket off you.”

  Wayne came back a minute later with only her toothbrush. “Henry, she didn't have one decent nightgown. Obviously, she sleeps au natural, because I don't think she would be caught dead in some of the nightshirts I found in her bureau. Rosalie, darling, we really must do something about your lingerie. You need at least a few peignoirs. We'll do a shopping day this weekend. A little retail therapy might be just what the doctor ordered. I know when Henry and I went through a rough patch—”

  Henry groaned. “Wayne, not now. Can't you see she's overcome with grief?” Henry left the room and returned with a T-shirt and sweats. “Here darlin', try these.”

  A fresh rush of tears began. She couldn't believe she was crying again, and in front of people she'd see every day for the rest of her life. Next, she'd start collecting cats—well, only after Dave passed. He went nuts if you even mentioned the word C-A-T in his presence.

  Oh, God, she was going to turn into one of those old women with sixty cats, and she'd live here until the SPCA came to take the cats and Social Services put her in a home for crazy, old people.

  Henry sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Damn it, Wayne. See what you did. She's started the waterworks again, and I just got her calmed down.”

  Wayne left the room in what looked like tears, but it was hard for Rosalie to tell, since she was crying, her eyes were puffy, and she had a tissue covering her red nose.

  “I swear. Wayne is such a drama queen. Rosalie, you go ahead and change while I calm Wayne down. I'll be back in a minute to tuck you in, okay?”

  Rosalie slept for the first time since Nick had walked out on her. She knew that wasn't precisely the way it had happened, but he'd been the one who'd left. He was the one who had to come back. Right?

  She awoke the next morning thinking that she was cuddled up to Nick. When the fog in her head cleared, she found it wasn't Nick at all, but one of those long body pillows. She'd barely kept herself from falling apart yet again. She stretched, and when she saw the time, she screamed. A second later, Wayne knocked and poked his head in.

  “Don't worry. We called Gina and told her you were sick and that we were taking care of you. She's not expecting you in the office today.”

  Rosalie lay back against the pillows. “Thanks, Wayne. For everything.”

  He came in and waved away her thanks. “Oh, stop, don't you worry about it. You just take care of yourself. When that man of yours comes back, you two will work everything out. You'll see.”

  “I don't think—”

  “I know. I heard it all last night. You didn't see how he picked you up and carried you in when you were sick. It was so romantic. He held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And the way he looked at you—doll, if he looked at me that way, I'd melt, that's what I'd do. I'd melt. You listen to me; Nick will be back. It might take a while on account of all that macho mojo he's dealing with. His type needs a way to come back without looking like they're whipped. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I don't know. I guess.”

  “I'll be happy to have him back myself. He is a fine specimen. I swear—all the good ones are either straight or taken.”

  “Wayne.” She picked up a pillow and threw it at him.

  He caught it. “I know. I'm bad. Let's pretend I was talking about Henry. He's definitely taken.”

  “How do you know so much about macho mojo?”

  “Ha! I have to deal with that every day. Henry might be gay, but he's definitely all man when it comes to that macho stuff. Straight guys don't have that market cornered, girlfriend. Thank God.” He stopped and sniffed the air and then checked his watch. “I made fresh scones. They smell like they're ready to come out of the oven.

  You lie back and relax. I'll bring them to you along with your coffee.”

  A minute later, Wayne brought in a tray and set it on her lap. She picked at a scone. The only good thing to come out of the whole disaster was that she couldn't seem to eat. The one time she'd tried last weekend, she had to make a run for the toilet.

  At least she was losing weight. Nick had always fed her; it was as if he wanted her to get fat. She'd comforted herself with the fact that sex burned a lot of calories. Now she was losing weight without even trying. And sadly, without sex.

  After breakfast, she got up the nerve to go home. When she saw what awaited her in the apartment, she was too depressed to shower and dress.

  Nick had left the keys to her car next to the keys to her apartment on the kitchen counter. No note, no nothing. He'd just packed all his things and left. The only traces that he was ever there—except for the neatness of the apartment—was his food processor, his beloved vacuum, and a dog bed and basket of dog toys he must have had at his office. When she saw those, whatever control she'd had over her emotions took ahold. Nick would make someone a great father some day. Which meant that he'd also make someone a great husband, and oh, God, she wouldn't be that someone. She didn't know why that bothered her so. She'd always sworn she'd never marry, but the thought of Nick married to someone other than her made her crazy.

  Rosalie sat in front of the TV watching QVC and buying stuff
she didn't need. She had ordered a pair of earrings and had just disconnected the call when the phone rang. She quickly muted the TV, praying it was Nick. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Rosalie.” Not Nick; it was Richie. “I called you at work. Gina said you were sick. What's the matter?”

  “Hi, Richie. It's nothing, just um… cramps.” She'd learned a long time ago when something was wrong that you didn't want to talk about, all you had to do was tell the guy you had cramps. Once they found out it had to do with plumbing of the female variety, they got off the topic so fast, if they were in a car, they'd have left skid marks. It worked every time.

  “I'll call Pop and ask him to pick me up at the airport. I'm coming in tonight.”

  “No, don't. I'll pick you up. It'll be good for me to get out. What time are you arriving?”

  Rich gave her his flight information and saved her from her shopping spree on QVC. It was just as well. She was buying things she'd never use. How much cubic zirconia could one person wear? Especially someone who didn't wear much jewelry. She'd most likely end up giving it to Mama and Annabelle next Christmas.

  Rosalie was a little late picking up her brother. She would have liked to blame it on traffic, but the truth was, she'd lost track of time. He waited outside baggage claim looking pissed. She pulled up in front of him and unlocked the door.

  “Sorry I'm late.” she said as Rich opened the door.

  “Christ, you look like shit.”

  “Thanks, Richie, it's great to see you, too. Next time you need a ride, call someone else, okay?” She hit the trunk release, hoping he'd stow his bags and get off the topic of how terrible she looked, but he didn't take the hint.

  “I mean it. What? Are you sick or something? Is it contagious?”

  Frustrated, she got out of the car and grabbed one of his bags herself. The jerk.

  “No, I'm not sick. I got dumped, okay? I really liked the guy, and well, I did something stupid, and he dumped me.”

  “I'm sorry, Ro. Do you want me to go beat him up? What's his name?”

  “Dominick Romeo, and no, I don't what you to beat him up. Stay out of it, and whatever you do, don't talk to Mama about this.”

  “Nick Romeo? What the hell were you doing dating Nick Romeo?” He stashed his laptop and garment bag and got into the driver's seat.

  Rosalie couldn't help herself. The tears started flowing.

  “Oh, God. Please don't cry. I hate when girls cry, even you.”

  'Thanks, that's so touching.”

  “Yeah, you know me, Mr. Sensitivity. So, how's that cute little secretary of yours? Does she ask about me?”

  Rosalie buckled up and checked to see if he was serious. He sure looked serious.

  “Whoa, are you talking about Gina? You know she'd fillet you if she heard you called her a secretary—she's my assistant. Why would Gina ask about you? You met her, what, once?”

  “Yeah, but we spent some quality time under the mistletoe at the Christmas party you dragged me to. Then we ran into each other on New Year's Eve—”

  “She never told me that.”

  Richie waggled his eyebrows.

  “You didn't sleep with my assistant, did you?”

  Rich pulled into traffic and adjusted the mirrors. “I don't kiss-and-tell. I told her I was flying in tonight. You're going to lend me your car, right?”

  “You're not going to do anything weird or gross in it, are you?”

  “What do you think? I'm a professor, for Christ's sake. I don't have to use backseats of cars anymore.”

  “Yeah, but Gina's living with her sister and her brother-in-law the cop while they're saving for a house. It's not like you're going to her place. And I'd be willing to bet you still can't sneak a girl into your bedroom at Chez Ronaldi.”

  “I'm not going to discuss my sex life with my little sister.”

  “Fine, I'll keep out of your personal life, if you keep out of mine. Deal?”

  “Sounds to me like you no longer have a personal life.” “Yeah, thanks for pointing that out.” “Hey, what's a big brother for?”

  Nick sat on the cold, hard sand staring out at the waves. The tide was coming in, and soon he'd have to get his ass up, or he'd turn into a human icicle. He couldn't muster the energy to care. He watched as the waves came closer and closer to his feet God, he was a sorry case. He knew he was lame when he started playing chicken with the surf in winter.

  He stood and checked his cell phone for the millionth time. She still hadn't called. With every hour that went by, his hope waned and the pain in his heart increased. It was as if someone were cutting it out. He had heard people say they were heartsick, and he thought it was a euphemism, but this pain was definitely real. No amount of drinking, no amount of running, and no amount of denying made it go away.

  He'd reconsidered groveling, but if Rosalie had wanted him back, she would have said so. Contacting her was against the rules. Why did he have to fall flat on his face in love with the one woman in the world who didn't want him?

  Nick knew he had to make a clean break. He just hoped that he never ran into her. If he did, he'd probably end up on his knees, begging her to take him back—rules or no rules. It was hard enough dreaming about her every night. That same fucking dream over and over and over. He awoke alone in a cold sweat, breathing like a freight train.

  No wonder he had avoided love all these years. It sucked. It hurt. And once it had you in its clutches, it wouldn't let you go.

  Rosalie tore the last four days off her Far Side desk calendar, taking note of the tax-day cartoon.

  “Rosalie, do you want to go to Katz's for lunch? It's supposed to reach seventy degrees today, and they're working at that new construction site. Maybe the guys will take off their shirts. You need eye candy.”

  “It's against OSHA regulations for construction workers to work without a shirt, pants, and hard hat, Gina. No matter how hot it is.”

  “Really? Are you sure? When I walk by, the guys are always taking off their shirts.”

  “Yeah, well, it has more to do with you than with the temperature outside.”

  “Hmm.” She shrugged and sat on the corner of Rosalie's desk. “Come on, we haven't gone to lunch since before you and he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned split up. It's been over a month.

  “What's going on? You haven't been eating, you're losing weight, and I know you're not pregnant. You're not, right? You'd tell me if you were, wouldn't you?”

  “I can't believe you'd ask that. We always have our periods at the same time.”

  “Well, yeah, but the last time I had mine, you never asked to borrow a tampon. What's up with that? You always forget or run out.”

  “Nick put all the stuff lying all over the apartment away. Who knew I had, like, four boxes of tampons scattered around? I had to bring one into the office. There was no room left in the bathroom cabinet.”

  “Makes sense, especially since you seemed to have PMS from hell, though it was hard to tell if it was the breakup, or PMS, or a combination of both that made you act a little insane.”

  Rosalie shook her head and wondered if every assistant talked to her boss like this.

  “That still doesn't explain why you're not eating. You've lost so much weight, even your skinny clothes are hanging on you.”

  “I've lost weight. So what?”

  “So, you look like hell. You look worse than you did when you had pneumonia, and believe me, you looked like shit then.”

  “I did? Why didn't you say something?”

  “Me? I didn't think it was my place—”

  “As if that ever stopped you. Gina, since we're having this little heart-to-heart, tell me something. How'd it go with my brother?” Her jaw dropped. Yeah, Rosalie had gotten her good. “You know, Rich, the tall, good-looking Italian guy you went out with three times the week he was here over spring break.”

  “Yeah, I know who you mean. So, we went out a few times. It was nice.”

  “Nice? It sounds as if Rich thought it
was more than 'nice.' He's been calling and asking about you.” Gina gave her that shrug that meant she didn't want to talk about it. “So, you're seeing my big brother, huh?”

  “We hung out together when he was in town. It's nothing serious. He lives in—where is it—Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire? Somewhere like that.”

  “He lives in Vermont but teaches in New Hampshire.”

  “Yeah, well, he went back home. We had a good time during his visit. Now it's over, and he's doing whatever he does out there in the sticks.”

  Gina rolled her eyes, and Rosalie pretended not to notice. She paged through the notes on her desk.

  Gina slid off the desk and sprinted out, pulling the door closed behind her. Rosalie waited a second to make sure she wouldn't reappear. When she thought the coast was clear, she retrieved the bottle of Mylanta she kept in her bottom desk drawer, took a healthy swig, and chased it down with cold coffee. Yuck.

  By four o'clock, Rosalie was ready to leave. She needed to go shopping. Gina had a point. Even her skinny clothes were hanging on her. Doing the whole safety pin on the waistband thing was getting tedious, not to mention dangerous. As much weight as she'd lost everywhere else, though, none of it was in her chest. She'd always heard women complain that when they lost weight, their bust size decreased, but now that she was thinner than she'd been since college—okay, maybe high school—she still had big boobs. It shouldn't have surprised her; it was all a part of the cosmic joke that was her life.

  Rosalie buzzed Gina and waited for her to answer. Gina didn't. Strange. She checked the phone and saw that Gina wasn't on the line. She waited while she cleaned off her desk.

  A few minutes later, she heard noises in her outer office, and then Gina buzzed her.

  “Rosalie, you have a visitor.”

  She didn't have time to deal with one more problem today. All she wanted to do was hit the sale at Macy's. As it was, she'd have to head uptown during rush hour, which was not fun. The subways started to resemble sardine cans by four-thirty, and cabs were scarcer than straight men on Fire Island.

  She checked her schedule and saw no appointment. Of course, when she wondered who it could be, the first person who entered her mind was Nick. The thought of him hadn't stopped throwing her for a loop. She wondered how long it took for a broken heart to heal. Since she'd never had one before, she hadn't a clue. It wasn't as if she could ask someone, either. It was too embarrassing for words. She'd waited and waited for the pain to go away. She'd waited to be able to sleep without waking up because she'd reached for Nick and he wasn't there. She'd waited to be able to eat more than a little pastina with butter, or half a slice of toast, or a pint of Ben and Jerry's. She knew it wasn't exactly a low-cal diet, but she was losing weight. Go figure.