Decadent Desire. Zuri Day

she slept through?

      She read the extensive note, written in his neat, slanted penmanship.

      Morning, beautiful. You slept so peacefully as I prepared to leave I hadn’t the heart to wake you. Breakfast is in the fridge, a credit card on the table. Please go online and order whatever you feel will make the town house a home. For ideas, call Mom. For company, call Quinn. Both cannot wait to see you. Or not—your choice. The main thing is to feel better. Restaurant choices don’t compare to Times Square but all deliver. Call when you read this. Loving you...

      She looked down and noticed that beside her toiletry bag was a bottle of water. So naturally thoughtful. Innately kind. Julian had always treated her wonderfully, with the sweetest adoration and the deepest respect. Hard to admit, but sometimes she took it for granted. It had taken a break and a few dates with Vince to remind her how good she had it, how special Julian was. And here he was showing her again.

      She took a pain pill. After a quick shower during which she more than appreciated the double shower’s built-in bench, Nicki wrapped a fresh bandage around her ankle, slipped on a loose mini and the Aircast and after a last-minute hop back to grab her cell, made her way downstairs with the aid of one crutch. She hadn’t felt hungry, but a growling stomach let her know that nourishment was needed.

      She opened the fridge and pulled out the lone white sack that sat next to bottles of water, orange and cranberry juices, and a variety of flavored coffees. She opened one of the coffees and drank almost half of it with the first swig. Inside the bag were pastries, a bagel and a breakfast sandwich. Forgetting Julian’s warning, she opened a cabinet door to grab a plate. The cupboard was literally bare. She improvised a plate from the top of the paper container, scooped out the sandwich’s insides and nuked them in the microwave.

      While reassembling the sandwich it came to her. The reason she’d tossed and turned last night. The feeling of isolation she’d felt that morning. She slowly looked around the room and wondered if she’d ever before experienced life quite this way. No noise. Total silence. So quiet she felt she could hear herself think.

      For a woman who’d grown up in the hustle and bustle of Prospect Heights, with traffic and trains, the conversation of close neighbors floating through her window, and a dozen other sounds, the quiet was strange, almost eerie. She rapped a line from the musical. Her voice bounced against the walls, evaporated into the eighteen-foot vaulted ceiling.

      Last night she’d barely noticed, but against the bright morning, the beauty of the home’s architecture stood out. Tan-colored ceilings and Tasmanian oak floors were a nice and different accent against ivory walls and complemented an ultramodern, dual-stone fireplace that served both the living and dining rooms. Chandeliers, modern fixtures and recessed lighting all added to the home’s warm yet sophisticated style.

      Nice, she thought. Who was she kidding? The place was beyond nice. It was stunning. Like those she viewed in magazines and fantasized about owning. What was its value, she wondered. In Brooklyn such a home would go for two or three million. In Manhattan, five at least.

      She reached the sofa, settled against the soft cashmere cushion and looked around her, thinking she could get used to a luxury lifestyle. Then she remembered why she was here. Not in New York. What the freak bicycle accident might cost her. The bright mood quickly faded.

      Just as she was about to head to a pity party, her phone rang. She answered and put the call on speaker.

      “Hey, babe.”

      “Good morning, love. How are you?”

      “I’m okay.”

      “Did you get my note?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “Then why haven’t you called me, as the note instructed?”

      “Listen, Doctor...”

      The sound of Julian’s chuckle made her smile. “I knew that would rile you. My next appointment is due any minute, but I wanted to let you know that Quinn might be calling you. She asked and I gave her your number. Hope you don’t mind.”

      “No, that’s fine. I hadn’t planned to get out, but after coming downstairs and seeing how empty this place really is, I might not have a choice. At the very least we need dishes and silverware.”

      “And towels. The two hanging in the bathroom are the only two in the house.”

      “Oh my God.”

      “Hey, I tried. It was either an empty house for just us or a fully furnished wing at my parents’ house.”

      “I appreciate what you did for me, babe. This place is beautiful.”

      “Katie’s calling. Appointment’s here. Love you.”

      Nicki eased off the couch and took her now-empty containers into the kitchen to throw away. Not used to having downtime, she felt strangely out of sorts with so much of it now on her hands. A plan, that’s it. A plan and a few projects. That’s what she thought could help the time go quickly until her foot healed and she was back on stage in New York, where she belonged.

      Back on the couch, she pressed the note icon on her phone and began to make a list. First: find a yoga studio. Nicki couldn’t dance or put pressure on her ankle, but a yoga class, especially hot yoga, would help her stay limber and maybe even help her ankle heal, too. What else? Furnish Julian’s house. That project alone could take four weeks. Four bedrooms—three unfurnished—three bathrooms, combined living/dining space and a patio, too? She’d keep it clean and simple, safe earth colors, Julian’s style. But on what kind of budget? Sure, the black card on the table had no monetary limits, but did Julian? Did she? It had taken her almost a year to personalize her two-bedroom walkup. Just as a sense of anxiety began to creep in, her phone rang.

      “Hello?”

      “Nicki! It’s Quinn. I’m so sorry for what happened to you!”

      “Thanks, Quinn. I’m pretty bummed about it.”

      “I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling. You were so great in the show. Several scenes with the lead. Sold-out crowds.”

      “Hey, I don’t need reminding.”

      “You’re right. I’m...stupid and inconsiderate is what I am. Would you believe I was calling to cheer you up?”

      “Ha! You meant well.”

      “How’s the ankle?”

      “Still swollen. Still throbbing.”

      “Is it broken?”

      “Worse, the ligaments are torn and the tendons are ruptured. The doctor said a clean break would have healed faster.”

      “Tell you what. Why don’t I come grab you, show you around our cosmopolitan...uh, town.”

      “I’m glad you didn’t say city.”

      “I started to, but the lie wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I don’t know if you’re up for it, but I knew you were here and wanted to offer.”