Improper English

  Ray jumped up to offer me the box of tissues. For lack of anything else to do, I took them.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Freemar, but your story does not fit my needs at this time. I wish you the best of luck with it, however. I will return your manuscript with the check. Good day.”

  She didn’t want my story? She thought it was lacking in promise? My stomach roiled as the putrid stench of yet more rejection hit me.

  “Alix?”

  I blinked to clear my eyes and stared wordlessly at a worried Ray, then handed her the phone receiver. She hung it up gently, frowned at it for a few seconds, then squatted next to me. She prodded me with the tissue box.

  “Erm…I brought them for you to use. Bert’s better at this than I am, but she’s in the bath. She should be along presently, so it would be best if you could hold off the histrionics until she’s here.”

  I stared at the box, then realized that my mouth was hanging open. I closed it, swallowed back a big lump, and handed the tissues back to her. “Thank you, but I don’t need these. I have my toilet paper rolls all lined up and ready for use.”

  She shot me a look of disbelief. I gave in and took one of her tissues and blew my nose.

  “I take it that was not good news?”

  I shook my head and mopped at my damp eyes. “No, it wasn’t good news. It was bad news. Exceptionally bad news. My agent has dumped me.”

  “Dumped you?”

  “Dumped me. As in, she doesn’t want me. As in, she thinks my story isn’t good.”

  Ray grimaced as she patted my hand. I patted her arm in return. “It’s OK, I’m no stranger to rejection, especially not today, not on the single worst day of my whole, entire life. Daniel rejected me today, too.”

  Ray glanced nervously at the door. “Daniel? Who’s Daniel?”

  “Alex’s friend. He’s a writer. He looked over my story and told me it was crap, utter crap.”

  She patted me again.

  “Utter and complete crap without any redeeming value whatsoever.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t that bad. Bert was quite taken with it. I thought it sounded very colorful.”

  I shook my head. “No, he’s right, it is crap. I see that now.” Another painful lump arose in my throat. I swallowed it back and plucked two more tissues from Ray’s box. “But that’s not the worst of this hideous day.”

  Ray nodded sympathetically. “Black.”

  “Exactly. He dumped me, too.”

  Her eyes widened. “Doesn’t sound like Black to me.”

  “Well, it is. He’s an insensitive, selfish, self-consumed, workaholic boob who doesn’t care about anyone unless they happen to fulfill a purpose for him. He’s so caught up in himself, he can’t bother with anyone else.” Tears welled up at the thought of what a selfish beast he was, and how much his lack of concern about me hurt. How could I have been so wrong about him? How could I have been so blind to the fact that he was no different from any other man? Why couldn’t he be perfect?

  She frowned. “You’re upset with him. Emotional. You’re not thinking rationally. Black isn’t like that.”

  “He can’t even take the time to support me when I’m having an emotional crisis!” I grabbed more tissues and mopped at my streaming eyes. “I called and told him what happened with Daniel, and all he did was tell me he was in some stupid car going on some stupid job and that I should just go home and he would call me later.”

  She watched me blow my nose again, her eyes warm with concern. “His job is important. You know that.”

  “I know it’s important, but I want to be more important to him than catching some dirty old man! If the shoes were on the other feet, I would drop everything to comfort him! The truth is…” My voice caught on a breathy sob. I pushed my way up the wall and locked my knees until they stopped shaking. “The truth is, he just doesn’t care enough about me. Not really. I was wrong when I thought he might love…” My throat closed on the word. I snatched the box of tissues and opened the door. “I’m sorry, Ray, but I can’t talk to you now. I am determined to see to the items on my list, and I can’t indulge in sobbing and wailing and rending my clothing in front of you.”

  I closed the door on her protest and started toward the bed, drying my tears en route. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it properly, and that meant a full-fledged hissy fit rather than the silent, hot tears that had been etching their way down my face. I threw myself down on the bed and waited for the bawling to commence. It didn’t happen. Instead I lay on my back and stared up at the interesting network of cracks in the plaster ceiling, my eyes hot but suddenly dry. I found that if I squinted, the cracks morphed themselves into the shape of a heart with a dagger plunged into its depths.

  A knock at the door disturbed my contemplation of the murdered heart.

  “Alix, Ray said you’re having a bit of a blue day.” Bert’s look of sympathy wrapped around me like a warm coat. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just here sobbing my eyes out. It’s the first item on my list.”

  “Is it?” She hesitated, sneaking little glances around the flat. She sniffed delicately. “You’re not…er…doing anything rash, are you?”

  “Rash?” I leaned one hip against the door and considered the question. I wasn’t being rash, I was being orderly and productive. I had been dealt three horrendous blows, each blow capable of crumpling me singly; together they had enough destructive power to level a midsized city. And yet, despite all that, I had gathered my wits and come up with a list of productive tasks that would push me well into the recovery zone.

  Or so I hoped.

  “No, I’m not doing anything rash. I’m just taking care of item number one of my list. Crying.”

  “I see.” Bert pursed her lips and glanced over her shoulder. Ray was hovering in the shadow of the stairs. I waved a hand at her. She waved back. “May I come in?” Bert asked.

  I shook my head and propped my arm out against the door frame at an obstructive angle. “Thanks, but not right now, Bert. I’ve got all this crying to do, you see, and it’s always embarrassing to be swollen-eyed and snarfy-nosed around people.”

  “But…” Bert shifted to the side and cast another glance over my shoulder. I swore I heard her sniff again. “But you’re not crying now.”

  I blinked at her. “Yes, I am.”

  She bit her lip, then laid a gentle hand on my arm. “No, Alix, you’re not. Your eyes are dry. Bloodshot, but dry.”

  I blinked again. Trust my body to turn against me along with everyone else. Now that I wanted to sport a few tears, where were they? “I’m…uh…I’m crying on the inside.”

  Her sympathy almost undid me. “Oh, Alix, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry your agent has turned out to be unreliable, and I’m sorry that Alex’s friend didn’t care for your book, but I’m especially sorry that you’ve had an argument with Alex.”

  I debated going into the situation with her, and decided I didn’t have time. If item one was completed, and it appeared from my dry-eyed state that it was, item two loomed up large on the horizon.

  “I’m sorry, Bert, you’re a dear to be so concerned, but since I’m evidently finished with the crying, I have to go wallow in self-pity, and it’s not a pretty sight. Perhaps we can get together a few days from now for dinner? Oh—” I stopped myself, remembering the extent of my plans. “Silly me. I’m planning on being depressed and sick and busy with voodoo dolls for the next few days, but perhaps next weekend? Yes? Good. Thank you for stopping by.”

  I closed the door gently and turned to consider the flat. What would be the best spot for a wallow in selfpity? The chaise? The three-legged stool? The tiny two-person dining table?

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Go away,” I yelled, not unkindly. I perched on the stool. It wasn’t comfortable.

  “Alix? It’s Isabella.”

  I should have known. Ray and Bert probably called her in as reinforcement. I made a second mental list and added to it
a notation to thank them all for their support and friendship.

  “Hello, Isabella. How are you?” I bellowed at the door as I hauled the ladderback chair over to the table and sat. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as the bucking stool, but I wasn’t sure I could get a good wallow going with the table sitting bleak and barren in front of me. On the other hand, what was my life if not bleak and barren? The table seemed fitting.

  “Alexandra? Won’t you open the door?”

  I rose and plopped down on the chaise. The pillow was an uncomfortable lump in my back. I moved it and lay down. My nose, still stuffy from the tears, filled up and prohibited breathing. I sat up and straddled the end of the chaise. My hip joint made an ugly popping noise as I stood up.

  “No, I don’t think I will, but thank you for asking. I’m a wee bit busy now with my pity party. It’s the second item on my list, you see. I kind of hurried the first one, so it’s important I do the second one properly. Why don’t you come to dinner with Bert and Ray and me next weekend? You can be nice to me then.”

  “I must insist that you open this door, Alix. Bertrice says you are in a desperate mood, and I’m very worried over this disagreement you’ve had with Alexander.”

  I kicked aside a floor pillow and sank down into a pool of sunlight beneath the open window, leaning back against the wall and stretching my legs out before me. My legs needed shaving, I noticed. My toenail polish was starting to chip. The scab on my knee from the rug burn looked like it was ready to come off.

  “Alix? Please open the door.”

  “I’d rather not, Isabella. I’m fine, honest. I won’t do anything rash. I won’t try to kill myself or anyone else, I won’t nail unlucky omens on Alex’s door, I won’t even send him a tersely worded e-mail. I just want to be alone for a bit to think things through.”

  Silence. I brushed a hand down my linen shorts, picking off a few bits of carpet fuzz. Amazing how that stuff procreated. I bet a thousand years from now this orange shag carpet will look the same as it does now.

  “As you wish. If you need to talk, I’ll be home all afternoon.”

  “Thank you. And thank Bert and Ray, too.”

  Faintly I heard the sounds of her shoes tapping their way upstairs. The usual Beale Square noises drifted in from the open window, along with the scent of the mimosas from Ray and Bert’s window box. I closed my eyes and let the sounds and scents and air waft over me as I leaned against the wall, the upper part of my body sizzling in the sun while the lower half enjoyed the shade. It was restful there in that corner of the flat, conducive to calming thoughts, peaceful and relatively quiet. I clutched the floor pillow to my chest. Oddly enough, even the heartbreaking sounds of sobbing didn’t disturb my newfound peace.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the end, the list failed to keep me from thinking too much.

  “This sucks,” I told my spiky little plant later that evening when I was fretfully picking balls of orange carpet fuzz and making a pyramid of them. “I don’t like wallowing in self-pity like this. I’m tired of crying. I don’t even want to torture Alex. Well, I do, but not as badly as I did earlier. I’m going to scrap my list and just deal with my horrible life. After all, it’s not like I haven’t done it before. God knows I have, all too often for my sanity, which, I must admit, is extremely questionable right now given the fact that I’m talking to a pot plant.”

  The plant’s cute little spiky leaves trembled in the breeze from the window.

  “Sorry. Alleged pot plant. I really don’t believe Alex’s unfounded slurs against you.

  I grunted a little grunt as I hoisted myself off the floor and padded barefoot over to where my novel lay. “I have to decide what to do.” I waved a hand at the stack of manuscript papers. “About this, that is. And everything else. Alex. My life. My heart—or at least the shattered remains thereof. That stuff. Oh, hell, now I’m crying again. That’s it! I give up! I’m taking a shower. Maybe I’ll drown in there and end my suffering.”

  Twenty minutes later I emerged with my skin wrinkled and pruney, red as a geranium, accompanied by a billowing cloud of lemon-scented steam. I was just reaching for the Mickey Mouse oversized T-shirt that I sleep in when movement from the kitchen almost scared the crap out of me.

  “Jeezumcrow, Isabella,” I snapped, clutching with both hands the part of my chest housing my heart. “Just give me a heart attack, will you? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry, Alix, but Alexander and I were worried about you. Is that a tattoo?” She peered with interest at my pubic bone.

  I slapped a hand over it and the accompanying terrain. “No, it’s…uh…just a little love bite.”

  “But it’s indigo. Almost purple.”

  “It was a very involved love bite.”

  She raised both brows, made a little moue of understanding, then glided back into the kitchen. “I brought wine. Or would you prefer tea?”

  I hustled over to my T-shirt and pulled it on. “What I’d like is for you to go home, Isabella.”

  She paused in the act of uncorking a bottle of wine.

  “Damn. I didn’t mean to make it sound that way. I’m always happy to see you, you know that, but right now I’m a bit emotional and I really would rather be alone so I can deal with things in my own way and in my own time.”

  She finished uncorking the bottle. One eyebrow rose in question as she held up a glass.

  “You’re not going to leave me alone until you’ve had your say, are you?”

  “No.”

  I sighed and held out my hand. “OK, but just one glass. I got ripped with Bert and Ray last week and made a fool of myself with Mr. Emotionally Stunted. I don’t care to repeat the experience.”

  Isabella took the bottle and her glass to the chaise. I followed and plopped not very gracefully down onto the floor pillow, tugging my T-shirt over my knees.

  “Alexander is very concerned about you. He said you’re not answering your phone.”

  “Alexander doesn’t give a damn about me, and you know it,” I corrected her. “No, I’m not answering my phone. I have no desire to speak with him. I have no desire to listen to his excuses. He has been put to the test and he failed. What more is there to say?”

  She sipped her wine with a steady, unreadable expression. I shrugged off the cool look and took a healthy swig of my wine. It burned nicely going down.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  I took another swig. “Because I like wine.”

  A faint frown creased her brow. “No, why are you being so unreasonable with Alexander? You know the nature of his job, and you know how important it is to him. Why are you making him feel guilty for having commitments he is unwilling to break just to satisfy your vanity? Why are you being so selfish?”

  I reeled backwards as if I’d been struck. “Selfish? My vanity? Well, thank you very much, Miss Holier Than Thou! Maybe you and Alex had a such a perfect relationship that you know the answers to everything, but I don’t recall asking you for your advice!”

  “Now I’ve hurt your feelings—”

  “Of course you hurt my feelings!” I bit back the desire to shout and tempered the volume of my voice. “If I told you that you were selfish and vain, wouldn’t you be hurt?”

  “Not if it was the truth,” she said, her gaze holding firm to mine. “Alix, I consider you more than just an amiable tenant, I consider you a friend. Alexander is very dear to me, and I dislike seeing anger and pain between you, especially when there is no purpose to it.”

  Probably due to the fact that I hadn’t eaten all day—and my notoriously low tolerance of alcohol—the wine hit me with a wallop. I struggled to my feet with as much dignity as possible when clad only in a thigh-length T-shirt. “I’m sorry to distress you over your precious Alexander. I’m sure he’d welcome as much comfort as you would care to give—and yes, that means exactly what you think it means.”

  I stalked to the door and threw it open dramatically, standing with a stony face that I hoped w
ould inspire her to take her damn pity and understanding and kindness and leave. I didn’t want them. I didn’t need them. I didn’t need her. Life had pounded into me over and over and over again the fact that no one needed me and I needed no one. It was about time I stopped fighting fate and admitted that truth. I was a rock! I was an island! I could get by well and fine without anyone!

  I burst into tears.

  Ten minutes later I was sitting beside Isabella on the chaise. She looked curiously at the toilet paper before tearing off pieces and handing them to me while I wept.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized as soon as I was able to speak. “I ran out of tissues. All I have is toilet paper.”

  She raised her silver-blond brows. “I have a handkerchief, if you would prefer.”

  I waved away the offer. “No, I’d just get it all blubbery. I’m very sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean any of those terrible things.”

  She handed me a fresh piece of toilet paper. I blew my nose.

  “You are having a trying time right now. I understand what you were doing.”

  I let that go. I had no desire to psychoanalyze my latent feelings of jealousy whenever I thought of her and Alex. Sniffling wetly, I mopped up and gave her a watery smile. “What do you say we start the evening over again?”

  She returned my smile with one that was bright enough to light up Beale Square. “That sounds like an excellent idea. But before we do”—she glanced at the watch on her slim wrist—“I think I should warn you that…ah, there he is.”

  I glanced from her to where my phone had started ringing. “There who is? Alex? I don’t want to talk to him.”

  “Alix, please, he’s worried about you.”

  “Ha! Fat chance. He’s probably only worried that he’s ticked me off enough so that I won’t want to play squishy-squishy with him anymore!”

  She slid a sidelong look at me as one graceful hand fluttered about in a gesture of distress. “I’m quite sure his feelings for you are deeper than those for a casual sexual partner. He is very worried. Please answer the phone.”