COUNTERPOINT
An original romantic serialFrom Alina Adams the author of "When a Man Loves a Woman" (DELL 4/00), "Annie's Wild Ride" (AVON 8/98), "Inside Figure Skating" (METROBOOKS 11/00 & 9/99), "Thieves at Heart" (AVON 12/95) and "The Fictitious Marquis" (AVON 6/95)
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CHAPTER 39
Nicole Simonge did not begin her day intending to speak to Victoria Morgan.
Except for that one, fortuitous time, Nicole Simonge never began her day intending to speak to Victoria Morgan.
Nicole Simonge began her day the same way she began virtually every other day. By wondering why it was that, after coming home at six a.m. -- Robin had kept her out, insisting, "It's too early to quit. It's still dark out." -- when all she wanted was a few hours sleep; why that was precisely the time when her kid decided to move about the motel room with all the finesse and peaceful grace of an epileptic elephant.
For God's sake, did she have to buckle her shoes that loudly? Was it absolutely necessary to swipe her brush against the chair she was sitting on with every stroke of her hair? And, Jesus Christ, just because the front door was on springs, did that mean it was against the law to shut it quietly?
Nicole buried her head under a pillow smelling of equal parts detergent and potato peelings, and gave thanks that at least school would keep Eve away long enough for Nicole to catch some shuteye.
Which was exactly when the drilling started outside.
Nicole had been at the motel for over three months now, and, as far as she could tell, the only thing they were doing across the street was digging a hole, then filling it up again. Over and over again. Every morning. At sunrise.
And that they waited for Nicole to climb into bed, to start.
She wanted to scream in frustration, but, Nicole's throat was so scorched from a long night of breathing other people's cigarette smoke, that all she managed was a feeble hack.
This was all Victoria Morgan's fault.
She was the one responsible for putting silly divorce notions in Robin's head. She was the one responsible for Nicole being forced to live here, instead of in a six-star hotel. With Robin. Where she belonged. Hell, as far as Nicole was concerned, Victoria Morgan was responsible for the construction outside, and for the pillowcases smelling funny, and for Eve's croup, too.
The woman would have been pure evil, if not for her single, solitary redeeming value.
Gabriel.
And, anyway, Nicole preferred to look at Victoria as Gabriel's single, solitary flaw, rather than the other way around.
The other way around would give the bitch too much credit.
Gabriel called in the afternoon. He knew better than to risk waking her up in the morning. Nicole had just finished washing her hair, and was sitting, legs squeezed awkwardly in between the edge of the bed and the termite-gnawed nightstand that was the closest thing this flea-bag offered to a table, giving herself a manicure and trying not to smear the maroon polish all over her knuckles as she, ever so carefully, passed the brush from her stronger right hand, to her weaker, left.
When the phone rang, she hesitated before answering, knowing that a smear upon picking up the receiver was inevitable. But, then, Nicole looked at the clock and realized that, seeing as how she wasn't exactly in high social demand these days, there were only two people who could be calling her. Robin, or Gabriel. And Robin slept even later than Nicole did.
Gingerly, Nicole slid her right wrist along the nightstand, and tried to lift up the receiver using on the balls of her thumb and middle finger. Using her elbow to balance, she raised her hand to breast-height, to shoulder-height, to chin --
The receiver tumbled out of her hand, bouncing off Nicole's arm, and, following a moment when it looked like it might land on the bed, on the floor, on the nightstand -- anywhere but wedged between the bed and the nightstand -- wedged itself between the bed at the nightstand.
Oh, happy day.
Now, the only way for Nicole to get it would be to stick her hand, wet nails and all, into that dark, cob-webbed crevasse, wrap her fingers around the receiver, and pull hard. All the while hoping her manicure would survive the rescue mission without a scratch.
Nicole sighed. And Gabriel thought she wasn't as good of a friend to him, as he was to her. Had he ever made such a sacrifice for her? Nicole thought not.
Gritting her teeth, and stabbing the dripping brush back in its bottle, Nicole pried that receiver from its dungeon, feeling her nails stick to the bedspread, leaving behind blobs of maroon clots.
When she lifted the phone to her ear, bits of Nicole's hair stuck to the now streaked and filthy nails. Oh, happy, HAPPY day.
"Hello?" she demanded, half-convinced there wouldn't be any answer after all this time.
But, it was Gabriel. Gabriel would wait for her. He joked, "Were you patenting the telephone?"
"Yes, Gabriel, I was patenting the telephone," Nicole said. Because she didn't really get the joke.
"Listen, sweetheart, I had a brainstorm. How would you and Eve like to join me tonight for -- "
"Oh, tonight, no, Gabriel, I -- I can't. I -- I have plans. I already have plans. I'm sorry. If I'd known, I -- "
"You wouldn't have changed a thing." Gabriel sighed. Not accusatory or condemning, just disappointed.
"No," Nicole conceded. "I guess not."
And she waited.
She waited for Gabriel to tell her how ridiculous she was acting, how she was letting Robin use and abuse her, how she was worth so much more than what she was willing to settle for, and how, no matter what she did, her endeavors were destined, in the long run, to fail.
Gabriel said, "Do you use hair-mousse?"
If it weren't for the fact that, thanks to the smeared nail-polish, Nicole's hand was now stuck to the receiver, she would have dropped the phone.
"Do I...."
"Two of my nurses were having a rather heated discussion on the subject, and I wanted to feel like I was contributing."
"Oh," Nicole said. And wondered if the fumes were getting to her. Why was this conversation suddenly making no sense?
"So, do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Use hair-mousse, and what brand do you recommend for -- let me see if I got this exactly -- tight-ass, curly hair?"
"Uhm.... Gabriel?"
"Yes?"
"Why aren't you -- "
"Because it's none of my business, Nicole. I said my piece, you know where I stand, sit, and lean on the subject, and it's none of my business."
"Then why did you even bother saying your piece, then?"
"I'm only human, sweetheart," Gabriel chuckled. "Man's got to have some outlets."
"I really wish we could go with you, tonight."
"No, Nicole. You don't," Gabriel said. "I wish you did. But, you don't."
Nicole didn't know why, but, she hung up with her soul feeling as smudged as her nails.
She didn't let it bother her for long, though. By the time Nicole was dressed her best (hair -- no mousse -- make-up, and even her nails absolutely perfect) and sitting in the passenger seat of Robin's Ferrari -- okay, so she was scrunched over, trying to keep the wind from his open window from peppering her with cold rain and dead leaves; but, it was the concept that counted, not the reality -- Nicole was hardly giving Gabriel a second thought. Or a third.
Thinking about how she wasn't thinking about him didn't count.
And besides, Robin was acting weird.
Even for Robin.
Which was saying something.
It's not like Nicole couldn't recognize weird when she saw it. Nicole knew that climbing out on roof and sailing into a storm and putting your plane into free-fall were all dangerous stunts. She was shallow, she wasn't a total idiot. But, if that was what Robin wanted to do, who was she stop him? Nicole was nobody. She was nothing. Her function was to look pretty and keep her mouth shut, except for those occasions that required her to open it -- and never let it be said that she was any worse at the former than she was at the latter. Nicole was an ornament to Robin's life. She was an accouterment. She was the trimming. She had no say in what he did or how he did it. She wasn't paid, after all, to think.
Except that, right now, Nicole was thinking, "Robin is acting very weird....."