“Are you sure it was him?”
Though she hadn’t gotten much sleep due to the Drakes’ late departure from New York City, Nicki was up before seven o’clock. It was either that or keep lying in bed thinking through a continuous replay of what happened last night. Instead, she’d been shimmying into a pair of running shorts when Paige called with the critics’ glowing reviews. The conversation had quickly shifted to less optimistic news.
“Paige, I’m positive. It was Vince. I don’t think he saw the show, but he was there waiting on the sidewalk by the stage door. I saw him as soon as we walked outside.”
“Maybe he did see it and came back there to congratulate you.”
“Then why didn’t he? Why is it that he started toward me, but when he saw Julian he quickly turned around and went the other way? I swear I don’t know what’s up with that guy, but his stalker-like ways are starting to freak me out.”
“Did he call you?”
“Nope. But I tried calling him. Went to voice mail again.”
“Did you leave a message?”
“Same as last time. Said I didn’t have money to lend him and to leave me alone or I’d call the police.” Nicki rubbed away the goose bumps that had suddenly popped up on her arms. “I want to believe he’ll do as I asked, but there was something about him when I saw him last night. A desperate kind of look in his eyes...”
“I think you should go to the police.”
“And say what? That a guy asked me for a loan and then came to my show?”
“That’s not how you told it to me.”
“It’s how the police will see it.”
“What about the black sedan?”
“What about it? Other than the license plate number, I don’t have anything to prove that story. Even that isn’t concrete proof those guys threatened me or were even by my house. They could deny it and the police would deduce that I could have written that number down from anywhere.” Nicki’s phone beeped. “Oh my God, Paige. I think this is him. See you tonight.”
“Be careful. Record the call!”
Nicki clicked over. “Hello?” She opened her settings, looking for a record button.
“Hey, Nicki.”
“Vince. What’s going on? Why are you stalking me?”
“Stalking you? What are you talking about?”
She scrolled through her settings, pushed the call icon. Scrolled. Where was the record feature and why hadn’t she tried finding it before now?
“The other night at the show.”
“Yeah, I was there. So were hundreds of other people.”
“You saw the show?”
“Of course. Why else would I be there?”
“Um, let’s see, I can think of about twenty thousand reasons, unless you found someone else to give you the loan.”
“Oh, that. No, I haven’t found anyone, and the guys I owe are stepping up the pressure.”
“Like you did to me by sending over your thuggish friends?”
She heard an anguished sigh. “I didn’t send them over, Nicki. Not how you’re thinking, anyway. I told them you owed me money. I didn’t tell them to go over and collect it.”
“Then how’d they know where I live?” Silence. “Exactly.” Nicki gave up trying to find the record button. It was too hard to search, think and talk at the same time. “What you’re doing is not cool, Vince. And while I’m sorry you’ve gotten yourself into a predicament, there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
“Not even with some of it—say, five thousand, or ten?”
“Why do you think I have that kind of money to loan out, or that I’d give it to you even if I did?”
“Because at one time you cared about me.”
That much was true, Nicki secretly admitted. She’d fallen hard and fast for the tall charmer. Theirs had been a brief romance, but it also had been a whirlwind of intense fun and loving. Before it wasn’t.
“Because even though I was a dog in the time that we hung out, my feelings for you were real. I wish I’d understood what a gift it was to have you in my life, but it took you leaving for me to find that out.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t hate you, and I can’t loan you money.”
“Is that guy the reason you won’t go out, the one with you at the show last night?”
“Look, Vince, I’ve got to go.”
“Just tell me. Is that your boyfriend? If so, I’ll leave you alone, for real this time.”
“You promise you won’t call again?”
“Not even as friends? I like you, okay?”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know what I like.”
“Yes. That was my boyfriend. He and I have been together a very long time.”
“How long?”
“More than five years.” Nicki realized her mistake at once.
“So I’m not the only cheater on the phone.”
“I didn’t cheat. We’d broken up when you and I got together, and you and I only dated a month. New York is full of good women. Find one of them and treat her the way you should have treated me and all of the women who’ve been hurt by your actions. Okay?”
“Okay. Bye, Nicki.”
Nicki hung up the phone, exhausted, depleted. Getting through that conversation without losing it had probably taken years off her life. What was that about? Declarations of love and sincere-sounding compliments?
She walked into her closet, mumbling, “Probably running the same kind of game that got me with him in the first place.”
Minutes later, earbuds firmly in place, Nicki pushed past the gate to her brownstone and hit the sidewalk running. She’d done way too little of it lately, none since what happened the other night. The conversation with Vince had been taxing, but in a way it had also freed her. He’d said he would leave her alone. She believed it.
Running in place, she looked around her. How she loved the borough called Brooklyn. Bright, bustling, colorful, diverse. Nicki knew Julian wanted her to move west. He hadn’t mentioned it on this trip but that didn’t matter. California was beautiful, true enough. But who would ever want to leave all this energy and feel like they were on vacation forever?
The light turned. Nicki jogged across the street, down the block and around the corner. She saw the bike, heard a scream and felt a pain sharper than she’d ever experienced. One more step and she was on the ground. As she fell she screamed again, realizing that the first guttural wail had been wrenched from her own throat.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop. Are you all right?” Nicki couldn’t speak past a jaw clenched against the pain shooting up from her right ankle. On her mind was a single thought—there’d be no dancing tonight.
* * *
Julian shook hands with his colleagues, tired but glad he’d agreed to the last-minute invite to join a San Francisco symposium on holistic alternatives to traditional remedies for mental illness. Most doctoral students couldn’t wait until school was over. But Julian relished the classroom and missed