Walk Away, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 1) (6 page)

"On one condition only." I turned
so that I was facing Nick for the first time. His face was drenched in tears
and his eyes were puffy. And I could only think of one thing. He’s not lying.
He’s not lying.

"Name it."

He’s not lying, Layla. "Make me your
wife Nick. Truly your wife. Let me believe that you love me."

"I promise."

"That can’t possibly be right. Check
it again." I felt like a spool of thread and I was slowly unravelling into
nothingness. This can’t be right. There has to be an error. It’s just
impossible. "And you’re absolutely sure?" Fuck. I clicked off the
phone and dropped it to the floor. This has got to be a sick joke. Someone is
playing a cruel joke on me. And I don’t like it. Not one bit.

The phone rang again and I looked at it,
completely disgusted. Just ring. Whoever you are, go the hell away. Just leave
me alone. But it kept ringing. So I picked it up and clicked it on.

"Hello?" I asked, none too
friendly.

"Good morning, Layla."

"Who is this?"

"Missy Page. How are doing this
morning?" What the hell does she want? Why the hell is she calling right
now, of all the fucking times?

"What can I do for you, Missy?" And
how the hell did you get my phone number?

"I just wanted to talk to you about
the mix up we had last time we spoke."

"I don’t care. It’s not my fault your
readers make grand assumptions about my life."

"Actually, I meant YOUR mix-up. Or
should I say your flub?"

"I beg your pardon?" Who the hell
does this chick think she is?

"Check your email. You might be
interested in some information I sent to you this morning."

"I don’t care about gossip?"

"No, but you care about the truth.
Have a nice day."
Click
. Just like that. Bitch hung up on me. I
threw the phone across the room and walked out, not even caring that the phone
broke into pieces. I headed for my computer and fired up my email.

‘Happy reading,’ followed by a link was all
her email said. I clicked on the link and waited for the page to load. Missy
Page’s disgusting blog loaded in an instant, a picture of Nick and me with a
drawn-on broken heart between us taking up most of the screen.

‘
Trouble in Pop Paradise. Don’t call it
a blind item. Photos of Nick Hudson out with his new squeeze
.’ No. She.
Didn’t. I skimmed through the post, not believing what I was seeing. And then I
saw the picture. It was Nick. My Nick. ‘
Nick Hudson with Hollywood’s latest
It-girl Ashley Burnett last night in NY.
’ And there it was. Nick’s latest
accessory: an actress in a push-up bra.

‘But Nick’s long-time girlfriend, Layla
Garrett, was nowhere to be found...’

How smart and clever can this woman really
be if she hasn’t even figured out that my name is Layla Hudson?

‘So what does all of this mean for the
suspected-to-be-pregnant Layla? Is this the end to one of Hollywood’s most
notorious couples? Only we have the inside scoop!’

I picked up the portable next to the couch
and speed-dialed Nick’s cell.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Where the hell were you last
night?"

"Layla?"

"No it’s the Tooth Fairy. Where were
you?"

"Packing up my apartment in
Manhattan."

"You son of a bitch. You might want to
check the newspaper before you think of lying to me again." I hung up on
him. I don’t believe I have to go through this again.

The phone rang.

"What Nick?"

"What the hell’s going on with
you?" he sounded utterly confused.

"I could ask you the same. Who the
hell is Ashley Burnett?" Silence. "Because according to Missy Page she
is your new girlfriend. That’s funny Nick. Especially considering that one,
last time I checked we’re still married, and two, you promised me you wouldn’t
fuck around anymore!"

"Layla she is obviously lying.”

"There are photos, Nick."

"Baby, you need to calm down."

"I know this is asking a lot but I
need you to be honest with me. Just once. Were you out at a club last
night?"

I could hear him sighing over the phone. "Yes."

"And who is this girl that your hands
are all over?"

"She’s just a friend."

"Stop lying to me!" I screamed.
Here we go again! He’s doing it all over! And I believed him when he said he
wouldn’t!

"I’m not lying, Layla!"

"Yes you are! And I had to find out
about it through Missy fucking Page! Not only did she personally deliver the
link to my inbox, but she had the nerve to call me about it beforehand."

"Honey I can’t talk right now. We’re
about to enter JFK. I’ll be home in a few hours and you can scream at me then,
all right?"

"Good!" I clicked off the phone
squeezed it in my hand. Two weeks! For two fucking weeks he made me believe
that we could make it work. ‘I promise you,’ he said to me. But the lying sack
of shit couldn’t even make it more than two weeks without fucking it up again!

I went to the kitchen and poured myself a
glass of vodka. Two hard gulps and tt burned down my throat. How did I fall for
it again? Why did I believe him? I always believe him and then he just screws
with me all over again!

I threw the still-full glass against the
kitchen wall and watched as it exploded, sending drops of liquor all over the
kitchen, shards of glass splaying in every direction. I walked out of the
kitchen, stepping over the glass with my bare feet; I threw on a pair of shoes,
found my keys, got in my car and started driving.

"Miss Garrett?" I looked up at
the nurse in the doorway. "Your boyfriend is here to pick you up."

I nodded my head and sat quietly as I was wheeled
out of the emergency room and into the patient check-out area. There was Nick,
looking jet-lagged as all hell, looking at me.

"Doctor Hamilton has prescribed her
some mild pain pills which the pharmacy will guide you on how and when to
administer them. If further swelling occurs or the stitches come undone, come
back in."

"Thank you," he smiled kindly to
the attendant. Nick looked down at my bandaged feet and frowned. "I gotta
tell you Layla. There’s nothing I love more than getting a phone call on an
airplane from the Santa Monica emergency room asking me to come pick you
up."

I didn’t say anything. I just looked at
him. And he just nodded his head. He signed some release forms and took hold of
my wheelchair, guiding me out of the hospital and out into the crisp afternoon
air. A male nurse followed us. I guess it was to make sure we didn’t steal the
damn wheelchair. Take it. I don’t want it.

Nick rolled me out to his SUV and stopped
at the passenger’s side door. He unlocked it, opened it up and, without me
protesting, picked me up and carefully placed me inside the car. He leaned over
me to buckle me in. He rolled the chair back to the nurse and got behind the
wheel.

"Mind telling me how on earth you
managed to get pieces of glass embedded into your feet?" We were heading
back home, to my home, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for long.

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah. It matters."

"I walked on broken glass."

"And how did the glass get broken in
the first place?"

"I threw it against the kitchen
wall."

Nick drew in a sharp breath and out of the
corner of my eye I could see him shaking his head. "And why did you do
that?"

"Because I could."

"Layla..." I could feel him
looking at me.

"I was upset Nick."

"Because of Missy and all that trash
she wrote about you on her stupid, insignificant blog?"

"That bitch is really starting to piss
me off."

"Tell me about it."

"She will get what’s coming to her.
You just stay away from her, Annie Lennox."

We pulled into the driveway of the house
and parked the car. Nick got out and walked around, opening my door and started
to unbuckle me.

"Don’t. I can do it on my own," I
protested.

"Just shut up and let me help you. You
can’t walk on your own."

"I said don’t touch me, Nick." I
gave him a warning look and he backed off. He watched as I lowered myself to
the ground. It hurt like a bitch but I wasn’t about to let him carry me over
our tarnished threshold. I took big steps towards the front door, trying to
remain strong and self-sufficient. But I could feel the sensation of something
warm and sticky gathering around my toes and I knew that I was bleeding. I felt
Nick catch me as I fell off my feet. He was a lot stronger than I realized.

"I got you. Come on. I’ll take you up
to bed and then I’ll get you some ice for your feet."

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Fine.
Are you hands clean?"

"Are my hands clean?" he
reiterated, clearly confused.

Damn I hate it when people answer a
question with a question. "Who knows who you got busy with on the
plane."

"Oh for Christ sake Layla! I don’t
even know why I bother explaining myself to you in the first place. You never
believe me anyway."

"I don’t want to fight with you Nick!
Now either carry me to my bed or drop me on my ass and let me crawl in the
house myself."

"Fine."

Fortunately it was a soft bed of grass, and
not the rock hard concrete, that met my ass as he dropped me.

"Layla, have you ever thought that
maybe Nick isn’t the only one creating the rift in your relationship?"

Oh great, now my own therapist is turning
against me. What the hell am I paying you for anyway? If I wanted to feel bad
I’d go home and spend time with Nick.

"Doctor Brown do you actually listen
to me or are you just doodling on that legal pad?"

"Both." At least she had a sense
of humor.

"Look. Nick cheated on me. Several
times over. He doesn’t even deny it!"

"That’s right. He’s never denied
cheating on you. So if he tells you the truth about his unfaithfulness, why is
it so hard to believe that he’s not telling you the truth about everything
else?"

"Because he’s not telling the
truth."

"But you don’t know that."

"Yes I do."

"No. You never give him the chance to
believe him. You don’t listen to his side of the story; you just automatically
assume he’s lying and you cut him off at that."

"I don’t understand. I thought you’re
supposed to be on my side?" I must have sounded as petulant as I felt.

"No, my job is to remain objective in
order to help you." Well fine job you’re doing at that! You’re on Nick’s
side! How objective is that? "And with that said, how did it go with Nick?
With your assignment?"

I’d almost forgotten about it completely. "You
mean to be the victor, not the victim?"

"Yes."

"Well, we definitely broke some new
ground. And furniture."

"Furniture?"

"Dining table." The memory was
still fresh.

"How did you break it?"

"We got a bit rough with the
sex." It occurred to me then that some people might be ashamed of their
habits, or at the very least a bit more discreet with the details. I was not
one of those people.

"Layla?" her tone was borderline
admonishing.

"What? You told me to be the victor! I
got him all hot and bothered and walked away. I was the victor. And then he
threw me on the table and we broke it."

"That’s not what I told you to do,
Layla. Our time is almost up for now but I’d like you to do something for
me."

Great. "What’s that?"

"For your next appointment, if you’re
willing, I want Nick to join us. I want to hear what he has to say about this
situation."

Was she crazy?! "I don’t think
so."

"You want to save your marriage, don’t
you?"

Doctor Brown’s words kept looping through
my mind like a broken record. They made me nervous. And when I get nervous I do
two things. I bake. And I smoke. The kitchen was a mess with mixing bowls and pans;
flour powdered mixing spoons, and an ashtray brimming with cigarette butts on
the counter. During the last three hours I had mixed and baked three loaves of
bread, three dozen chocolate cookies and I was just putting a large batch of
meringue cookies in the oven as Nick entered.

"Mmm. Nicotine bread. Smells
good."

"Where’ve you been?" I asked
nonchalantly. It didn’t really matter to me that much.