Improper English (21 page)

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.

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 would 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.”

“No.”

“Alix, please!”

“I don’t want to.”

“You must!”

“Like hell I must! I won’t sit here and be coerced in my own flat! I can’t believe my mother is paying good money so you can bully me about!”

A mulish expression settled on her perfect face. I snarled an oath, but she just raised one platinum eyebrow at me. She must have had some sort of secret mindray powers that I’d never suspected, because I suddenly found myself with the phone in my hand.

I took a deep breath and peeked at Isabella out of the corner of my eye. She raised her eyebrows even higher. I turned my back on her. Maybe if I made a little Juliet cap out of tinfoil I could withstand her powers, but until then…“If this is Detective Inspector Blackheart, I don’t wish to speak with you. If this is anyone else, I will happily talk to you tomorrow. Thank you for calling. Live long and prosper.”

Before I could hang up, his voice caressed my ear, sending waves of pleasure rippling through my body, the same body that warred with my mind, one wanting nothing more than to fling itself in his arms, the other proclaiming I never wanted to see him again. “Alix? Wait, don’t ring off. Where have you been? Why haven’t you answered the phone? Isabella says you’re upset—”

I snorted.
That
was the understatement of the year.

“—and in hiding. If this is because I’m on a case and can’t be home, I’m sorry, but you know how important this raid is. We ran into a hostage situation, and it’s taking
longer than I anticipated to arrest the suspect. Alix? Are you there?”

An unsure, hesitant note in his voice plucked at my heartstrings, but I tried to ignore it. I wanted to tell him to go do something anatomically impossible to himself. I wanted to tell him I didn’t want to see him again. I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me. I wanted to, but Isabella’s words kept rattling around my head.
Selfish. Vain. Unreasonable.
Was there validity to her accusations, or was she just being overly defensive of Alex? In my muddled mental state I didn’t know for certain, and suddenly I was too tired to care.

“I’m here. I’m tired. I want to go to sleep. I hope your raid goes OK.”

“Sweetheart—”

My eyes closed in pain at that word.
Once
it had meant something.

“—I have to go now. If I ring you up in the morning, will you answer?”

I considered my bare toes. They had no answers for me. “Yes.”

“Good.” Relief was evident in his voice. “Get some rest. Things will look better in the morning.”

I murmured something noncommittal. It was my experience that things always looked worse in the stark light of morning, but I had noticed that Alex had a tendency to a hideously cheerful morning mood no matter how early it was.

“Alix?” His voice dropped until it was a whisper of velvet against my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “You know that I…Christ, I have to go! Take care of yourself. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I nodded at the phone and hung it up, rubbing my ear,
still feeling the brush of his voice against my skin, leaving the entire right side of my body bathed in warmth. Isabella corked the half-empty bottle of wine and took it out to the kitchen.

“Good night,” she said as she passed me, pausing to tip her head to the side in that adorably cute manner that would be affected on anyone else, then pressed a kiss to my cheek.

“Truly good things are worth working for,” she said with a tiny smile. I blinked back a bit of moisture, swallowed, and nodded. “Sleep well.”

“Fat chance of that happening,” I muttered as the door closed behind her. I flipped off the overhead lights and curled up in bed. I wouldn’t sleep, that I knew. I was too emotionally strung out. Whenever I’m extremely fatigued, I don’t sleep, and at that moment I felt as if my nerves had been used on a cheese grater. I wasn’t just tired, I was exhausted. I pulled out a book and prepared to read my way through the night.

Seven hours later I dragged myself out of bed, blinking the sleep out of my eyes. I doubt if I had managed to read even a complete sentence of my book before slipping off to nighty-night land. I was a little surprised by that, but decided while I took a shower that it didn’t matter. What
did
matter was that I get my life back on track. I had some serious decisions making to do, and it was best done soon, before I lost my nerve.

Two pots of Starbuck’s Espresso Blend later, I figured my brain was strong enough to tackle the horrible tangle I’d made of my life. I looked down at the list I had written.

1. Scrap
   Ravening Raptures
   . Burn to exorcise evil spirit that lives within it.
   
2. Cancel death contract on Agent Tully (hit man=great expense).
   
3. Destroy paper voodoo dolls of Alex. Vacuum up all evidences of paper emasculations.
   
4. Purchase three pounds of orange truffles. For medicinal purposes.
   
5. Write new book. Medieval? Need something catchy and clever. Blind heroine? Blind hero? Blind horse?
   
6. Answer phone when Alex calls. Be polite. Be sure not to address him as Detective Inspector Poopy-Pants. Even though he deserves it.
   

Appreciation of such a comprehensive list was interrupted by knocking on my door.

“I’m fine, Isabella, just fine,” I called as I gave the list one last admiring glance and went over to the door. “Honestly, the way you’re worrying, you’d think I was going to jump off a bridge or someth—”

It wasn’t Isabella at the door.

“From the various calls I fielded yesterday from Isabella, Ray, and Bert, you sounded as if you
were
ready to jump,” Alex said. His eyes glittered darkly, almost black with fatigue, the skin beneath them bruised and shadowed. Dark brown whiskers caressed his jaw and cheeks, making him look tired, careworn, and utterly sexy. I fought a little skirmish with my body to keep from pouncing on him.

“Detective Inspector Black,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the little quaver in my voice.

“Miss Freemar,” he replied, not even a hint of a smile quirking his lovely lips. I held his gaze for a few
seconds, then stepped back and waved him into the flat.

“You look like hell.” I closed the door, crossed my arms, and leaned against it.

He made a courtly little bow. “Thank you, I feel like hell. Is that coffee I smell?”

“It is.”

He waited.

I heaved an exaggerated sigh and indicated the table. “Sit. You want cream in it?”

“Please.”

I brushed past him into the tiny kitchen, fighting with myself every step of the way. He looked so wounded! So needy! So
little boy lost!
I wanted nothing more than to peel those layers of sorrow and exhaustion from him and ply his manly body with every part of my womanly body, but I couldn’t. There was item number seven on my list to consider.

7. Tell Alex it was good while it lasted, but now it’s over. Buy superglue. Patch together remains of heart and get on with life.
Again
.