Hurts So Good (22 page)

Just when she thought he meant to tear the pages into shreds, he folded the stack over once, twice, and pocketed it.

"How generous. Rest assured I'll put it to good use."

"Then you'll read it?" she asked eagerly.

"In a pig's eye. Christine's off the wall, and I need something to practice on."

"You jerk. You
damn
jerk."

"I've never denied it. But at least I'm an honest jerk. And quite honestly, Andrea, as an artist, I can understand your need to write. We're not so different that way. I hear notes, you hear words, and we put them on paper. And being somewhat ambitious myself, I can even understand what drove you here to get the goods on me. But what I can't understand, and what I
cannot
accept, is that once we shared a bed and I confided in you, you didn't abort your original mission. Look at yourself through my eyes. You are one cold-blooded bitch."

She winced, seeing herself as he did, her mistake for what it was. If only she'd trusted him sooner, she would have told him the tale of a woman who came for a story but ended up with her own happy ending. He might have even laughed, the joke being on her.

Neither was laughing now. She was crying openly, and he looked suspiciously close to joining her.

"I don't suppose there's anything I can say or do to convince you to give me a second chance?"

"As much as I wish there was, no. The trust is gone, and there's no getting it back. Even if we tried to patch ourselves together, it wouldn't be the same. I learned an important lesson from my sorry excuse for a marriage. The loss of trust between two people, whether they love each other or not, is the start of a slow death. Maybe I am a coward, since I'd rather go quick than watch us die slow. What we had was too good. Let's take the memories,
chere,
before we end up destroying them and each other."

But Neil, I'm carrying your baby,
she silently wept. How she longed to tell him that, tell him she loved him even now. And yet, could he be right in this? So much damage done. So wrong to bring a child into a relationship devoid of trust. No, she didn't dare tell him of the baby, unless, by some miracle, they could mend. She wiped her eyes and notched up her chin, determined to gather what remained of her dignity.

"Then it's really over."

Neil pulled out his top drawer and withdrew a handkerchief with his initials in red. A present that she'd carefully stitched while they watched
Father Knows Best.
He tenderly stroked her cheeks with the linen, then wiped her nose before placing the hankie in her palm.

"Last time I'll be doin' that,
chere,"
he said gruffly. And then sternly added, "This isn't easy for me to say, but it is really over. Therefore, you are not to call me. And as of today, you are banned from the club. It's best for us both."

"You sound like that old song, Neil. Cruel to be kind." Damn, why couldn't she quit crying? She had something important to say. Andrea impatiently rubbed her wet cheeks and got it out.

"Even if it's too late for us, it's not too late for you. You have a wonderful gift that you Scrooge away because you're terrified of losing it. And countless others pay the price for your fear. Your money, your rules, they're an illusion of security, the substitutes you cling to because you can't go home. The funny thing is, you've taught me that home can be found in the least-expected places, and it's a lesson you can't grasp yourself. But you could. If you'd only let go of your rage and quit blaming your mother for deserting you."

"She
did
desert me," he insisted angrily.

"No, Neil, she died.
Died.
It wasn't her fault, and it wasn't desertion. Let her go. You can't climb into the casket with her, so forget your rules and join the living."

He shook off her earnest grip on his arm and stalked to the door. There, he turned.

"You and Mama have a lot in common, Andrea. She
did
desert me, as you did in your own way. She didn't have to die any more than you had to kill us. Just as you could've switched your subject, she could have chosen another way out. Mama killed herself. I'm the one that found her. Stayed with her till the neighbors complained about a smell, and the police carted her off. A local newshound shoved a mike under my nose while I hung on to the stretcher. He wanted to know how I felt, why I was clinging to a stiff."

"No," she moaned. "God, no."

"Don't tell me you're not impressed. Anything for a story, right? What worked for him certainly served
you.
Anyway, that was my first encounter with a journalist. Left a bad taste in my mouth, though not half as nasty as the one you've given me. Damn juicy copy,
chere
, an exclusive scoop. Not even Lou knows. Stick that in your article for a sure sale."

Chapter 17

Twenty days, twenty of the most horrible days of her life, had passed since Neil shut the door. Softly. With the same finality that marked his refusal of her calls, the letters begging for a reconciliation. All sent back unopened.

She couldn't eat. She couldn't sleep. And since she was pregnant, unfortunately she couldn't borrow Neil's old escape in drink. If he looked half as bad as she did, he'd pass for a walking corpse. No amount of concealer could hide the dark circles ringing her eyes.

Wasn't she supposed to be filling out, at least a little? Her clothes hung so loosely, she'd had to dip into her limited savings—
savings
since she was out of a job—to buy a few things that were two sizes smaller.

She was shrinking and so were the few days remaining in the month she had left to live in the empty palace Neil had given her, where they'd made love. Laughed. They'd christened this
their
home. Their now-silent home.

The buzz of electric saws and pounding of nails had ceased the day he left. Not even a roach was there to keep her company. If not for Liza—
thank
God for Liza
—she would be even more isolated than she already was in this mausoleum of memories.

Andrea ground her fists against her eyes as the questions came. Where would she go? How would she support the baby?

Bartending was okay income—at the right place, better than a newspaper wage. But club hours were usually lousy, and writing had become a needling reminder of her misjudgment. No longer a delight, it was a chore.

She couldn't be choosy, not with a baby to support. Andrea clasped her stomach. Tears welled as she looked at her concave belly. Liza had actually said that the mother-to-be was in better shape than the father-who-didn't-know.

What a pair she and Neil made. Two adults victimizing each other with their fears and selfish needs. They were even victimizing their own baby, thanks to their stupid mistakes.

And here she sat pitying herself instead of seeing to the welfare of her child.
Where's your fight, gal?
Andrea was suddenly furious with her own apathy. She clung to that and marched to the closet.

His clothes were still next to hers, and defiantly she tugged off the cashmere cape she should be wearing in New England by now if the tickets she'd found were any indication. Next, she opened her top drawer and took out the jeweler's box.

"Neil, may I?" she gritted out as she opened the top and gazed at the ring. "Guess what, Slick? Maybe you're right, and we'll die a slow death. But for the present, my only concern is making sure this baby lives."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Ms. Post, but I have strict orders that you are not allowed in."

"In that case, you've got two choices. Either call the police or get Mr. Grey to this door."

"He's uh... uh—he's busy. He won't come."

Andrea gripped the teller's window and commanded herself not to lose control. "In that case, I want to see Lou." Andrea dug into her pocket and extended a bribe she couldn't afford. "Here's a little incentive."

"Keep your money, Ms. Post. I'm glad to get Lou without it."

As she tapped her foot against the concrete sidewalk, Andrea clenched her teeth to stop their chattering. She prayed she wouldn't lose what she carried in her belly if the confrontation with Neil got too ugly.

In a few minutes Lou swung open the glossy black doors and wasted no time in hugging her like the big daddy he was.

"You look like death warmed over, gal."

"You look good to me too, Lou."

"I never felt worse than I do with one look at you. Liza told me you wasn't holdin' up so good. I see she was right."

"Liza's always right. The advice she gave me was the best I could've taken. But I didn't, and it's too late. I need your help, Lou. And by the way, I miss you something awful."

"Same here, but nothing like Slick's missin' you. Lawd, chile, but this is one awful mess, and me and Liza would do anything to help clean it up. Tell me what it is you want."

"Get me in to see Neil. Escort me to his office or wherever he is now. Please, Lou. It's urgent."

"You don't
wanna
see him. Not the way he is now. He ain't been sober in almost a month. He ain't shaved or written a new song either. I seen him bad before, but never like this."

Andrea began to shiver. And then she began to cry. Damn hormones, didn't they realize that people were passing while Lou patted her back? She was still struggling to pull herself together when the entrance door banged open.

"Get off my sidewalk."

Her distress turned to shock. Neil bore no resemblance to the vital man she'd known. His eyes were sunken and glassy, and his hair was uncombed. His shirt and pants were wrinkled. The trademark red suspenders flapped loose by his sides. He looked like a bum. An outraged bum who devoured the sight of her even as he raised his voice to a bellow.

"Did you hear me? Evaporate! Lou, are you leavin' with her or coming inside where you belong?"

"Don't take your anger at me out on Lou, Neil."

"Still preachin' at me, are ya? Save your breath, 'cause any lies you've got to say I don't wanna hear."

Her heart contracted at the sound of his voice, the rough, scratchy voice she hadn't heard in forever. And as long as she could keep him talking, just maybe he'd give in and listen.

"Look at us, Neil, what we've done to each other. We can't go on like this. Please, let me in."

"I let you in once, and you abused the privilege. Now
scram."
He reached into his pocket and thrust a wadded-up tissue into her hand.

The door closed with a swish.

"See what I mean?" Lou picked up the rumpled tissue that had fallen to the sidewalk. "I'll do what I can, but in the state he's in, it ain't much."

Andrea wiped at her cheeks with her forearm while something hard balled up inside her. She needed it, desperately, and she willed the hardness to grow.

"I think you should go in, Lou. Don't worry about me, I'll be okay." She took the ring from her purse and handed it to Lou, who woefully wagged his head. "Would you please give this to Neil? And tell him that I'll be out of the house this time tomorrow."

"But, chile, where will you go?"

"I'm not sure, but even if I were, I wouldn't want Neil to know. I'll call Liza after I get settled. Maybe the two of you can come visit someday. I'd like that. If I could thank Neil for anything, it would be for him sharing you with me."

A single tear rolled down Lou's cheek, and he dabbed it away with the tissue she didn't need anymore. Her own tears had stopped. A sense of calm took hold. Tonight she would eat, pack, and sleep. Tomorrow she'd catch the first plane out—somewhere far away from here.

"Move in with me and Liza," Lou urged. "He won't have to know. After the way he's treated you, he ain't welcome there till he get his head out of his butt, and his mouth off that bottle and onto a cup of coffee."

"Thanks, Lou, but I can't. I have—" She'd almost said that she had to make a clean break for her health and that of the baby. Liza had sworn herself to secrecy, and as much as Andrea wanted to stay, she knew she couldn't survive if she did. "I have to get on with my life. New Orleans has too many memories. I have to leave. I won't be back."