Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) (37 page)

“Have you tried asking his mother to help?”

“Yes, I’m ashamed to say, I have asked for her help on Sunday. But he won’t listen to her, only responds with texts.”

“Then go to him.”

I
tsked
, new tears of frustration ebbed near the surface. “I can’t. I can’t fly out to New York, ask him to marry me, live through his rejection, then make it back here in time for my next shift.”

“Yes you can
and he won’t reject you,” Janie said.

I turned my
attention to her hazel eyes. “Really? How?”

“Take Quinn’s jet.” She shrugged.
“He can have it ready to go in an hour.”

“He wouldn’t do that for me.”

“But he’d do it for me.” Janie glanced up, her gold eyes sparkled.

“I can’t—”

“Yes. Yes you can.” Sandra abruptly stood, pointed at everyone in the room with a sweeping motion. “From the sound of it, you were miserable before the fancy stalker episode. I know you’ve been through a lot, Elizabeth, but if you don’t do this you’re just going to continue to be miserable with regret. And to make sure that you do, we’re all going with you!”

“Yes! I love it!” Ashley smiled for the first time that night. “Call Quinn, Janie. Let’s go now!”

“Wait—”
What?
I felt like I was being slapped awake from a trance.

“I’ll text him to meet us at the airport.” Janie pulled out her cell phone, which she was still getting used to, and began to tap
the screen.

“This is madness.
” I shook my head. “He’s probably taping his show, how am I ever going to get past security?” I shook my head again. After four days of moping and waiting I couldn’t quite follow the conversation, couldn’t quite believe the swiftness with which my knitting group had decided my future.

“We’ll worry about that later.” Marie, and everyone else, had already started packing up their knitting bags.

Fiona reached for my hand, squeezed it. “Go to him, Elizabeth. Go to him and tell him you want to marry him, that you can’t live without him.”

“
Right now, I feel like I can’t even breathe without him.”

“Good.” She wink
ed at me. “Men love that kind of stuff.”

~*~

The next hour was a blur.

I had to hand it to Quinn, though. The man had mad skills and was, honestly, a bit of a badass. The plane was ready and waiting to depart by the time we all arrived. Quinn gave us an overview of the plan—his plan—as soon as we were buckled up.

There would be a limo waiting for us at the airport. It would drive us directly to where Nico filmed his show; I would have one hour to find, talk to, and resolve things with Nico before I had to be back in the car on the way to the airport to make it back for Angelica’s infusion and my 11:00 p.m. shift at the hospital.

At one point Sandra asked, “What about security?
Nico’s security? How do we get pass them?”

Quinn’s mouth hooked to the side
, he raised a single eyebrow, and he pinned her with his steady icicle gaze. “I am security,” he said.

I think everyone
—but me—swooned a little, even Fiona. I rolled my eyes and scoff-snorted.

Typical Quinn.

Everything was going according to plan except me. I was freezing up with anxiety. I played the words I would say to him over and over in my head, working through the moves like a chess game, continually changed them. In my mind the conversation ended in disaster each time, with him wanting space or telling me I was too late.

I realized there were a million ways he could reject me and only one way to accept me.
The odds were not in my favor.

I was also feeling a little ridiculous. I could just wait till he returned from New York in a week, have this conversation with him then. But part of
me felt like it would be too late; if I waited then he might not believe me, he might force us into relationship limbo because he was afraid of pushing me.

Waiting
would be rationale and reasonable and completely suffocating.

We pulled up to the giant skyscraper that held Nico’
s studio. My fingers were talons, gripping the leather bench. I glanced around the car—Janie, Quinn, Kat, Marie, Sandra, Ashley, Fiona—they were all watching me, waiting for me to move.

“Go get him
,” Fiona whispered on my left.

“We’ll run interference!” San
dra smiled; it was a big, goofy grin followed by two thumbs up.

I almost choked.

“Let’s go.” Quinn exited the car first then pointed to me. “You. Out. Now.”

I released an unsteady breath and allowed my friends to push me from the car. They filed out soon after.
Quinn was already walking, and I jogged to keep up with him. I shook my hands, opening and closing my fingers. My heart was racing. There was no turning back now.

He led us past a pair of armed guards then through a back door then a series of hallways. We sounded like a disorganized army or gang, clomping through the sterile passage. Quinn stopped at an elevator
; we took it to the fortieth floor; we exited.

I was lost in my own head and allowed myself to be guided through the maze. We stopped while Quinn engaged in a discussion with a tall, intimidating
-looking man wearing a black suit. Another man walked up in a flannel shirt, he had a large headset—the double headphone kind—strapped to his ears. He was shaking his head.

Quinn pointed to me. The man glanced at me, frowned, then shook his head. I stepped forward so I could hear the conversation.

“I can’t let you on the set, it’s a live taping and the audience is full.”

“When my people called they said Mr. Moretti would be free until eight.” Quinn’s voice was deadpan.

“The schedule had to change, one of our guests had a conflict. I’m sorry, but we can’t let anyone out or in for the next ninety minutes. I’ll be able to take you backstage where you can wait till the show is over.”

My heart dropped to my feet
, and I wanted to scream,
“Oh the humanity!”
But felt, obviously, that use of the phrase would likely be inappropriate and an overreaction by a hormonal and irrationally in-love female.

I could feel Quinn gathering his scariness around him like
a weapon. He stood a little taller, his eyes grew a little colder—if possible—and his air became a bit more menacing. I held out hope that he would be able to bully us into the studio, and I’d find a way to talk to Nico, get him alone.

Meanwhile
Mr. Headphones glanced at me again, did a double take and a once-over—obviously absorbing my scrubs, braid, lack of makeup, smudges under my eyes. “Wait a minute, are you . . .” He crossed his arms. “Aren’t you Elizabeth Finney, Nico’s doctor lady?”

I nodded, unab
le to stem the verbal geyser that spewed forth. “Listen, I just need five minutes. Five minutes. I need to talk to him, now. Right. Now. But it’s okay if you can’t make that happen. And it can’t wait, it’s an emergency. Well, not a real emergency, just an emergency to me. I know I’m acting like a crazy person but I’ve flown in from Chicago and I can’t believe I’m asking you to interrupt his show and it’s very selfish of me and unprofessional so I completely understand if you have to say no—no pressure or worries—but I have to see him or else . . . or else . . . or else I might die, not actually die just die a little, everyday, on the inside knowing I could have done something, but didn’t. Which will likely make me die sooner—but it won’t be your fault, but in a way I guess it would be.”

I wondered if he followed my path of mixed messages
, because I didn’t. During my nonsensical tirade the ladies had huddled around us, and I felt all their eyes behind me, watching the man with the headphones, waiting for his verdict. He surveyed me for a long moment, his face a scrunched up mess of amusement and confusion.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want to talk to Nico about?”

“I want to ask him to marry me.”

He nodded thoughtfully.
He stroked his chin. If he was surprised he didn’t show it. “You’ll have to do it in front of everyone.”

I thought about this
for a split second then nodded my head. “Okay. I can do that.”

“And you’
ll have to get his attention as part of the show. I have no way of letting him know you’re out there.”

I twisted my fingers. “What can I do?”

“Have you watched the show?”

I shook my head.

“You have to get naked.” The answer came from Sandra on my right. Everyone looked at her, their expressions serious. “Remember, I’m a fan of the show. First of all, you have to be wearing your underwear just to be in the front-most audience section. If you want to make it on stage then you have to get naked, or at least mostly naked, or be a crazy good dancer. The dancers pick out members of the audience to come up and dance with them.

The man spoke up again
, “But even then, you’re still in a crowd of people about thirty feet or so from Nico.”

I clenched my teeth, inhaled and exhaled through my nose, then started to undress.

“Oh my god.” Ashley and Sandra held hands. Everyone else watched me with stunned disbelief.

“It’s like our panty parties.” Janie tugged on my arm. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No!” Quinn shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“She has a point, actually.” Marie gave Quinn then me a practical smile. “If we all go in there we’ll have a better chance of getting his attention.”

Quinn looked at the ceiling as though appealing to a higher power. “This is ridiculous.”

“That’s true.” The man nodded at Marie. “Most people are just trying to get attention for themselves, but if all of you went in there and tried to help Elizabeth
, Dr. Finney, get on stage, she’d have a higher chance of success.”

“That means you too, Quinn.” Fiona lifted her eyebrows at him even as she pulled off her shoes. “If I have to go out there and dance in my underwear after having two kids, then you better start stripping.”

Quinn released a breath through his nose that reminded me of a horse, but I knew he would be undone by one pleading look from Janie. Some of my frayed nerves were calmed by the realization that my girls would be going with me; I would not be alone, and that—at the very least—I would be able to tease Quinn Sullivan about this moment for the rest of my life.

I was down to my lacy black bra and matching, thankfully modest, boyshorts first.

Ashley was next. “Thank god I shaved yesterday!”

Sandra was stripped
to her underwear soon after. “I didn’t, but I need to. No one look at my downtown.”

“I need to take you all to get waxed.” Marie sashayed out of her jeans.

“No thank you, waxing is medieval. Do my stretch marks look terrible?” Fiona pointed to a nonexistent mark on her side.

“You look beautiful.” Kat folded her clothes and handed them to
the headphone guy.

“Can I leave my shoes on? Or do I have to go barefoot?” Janie’s red shoes matched her fire
-engine-red panty and bra set.

“Does it make a difference?” Quinn, we all tried not to notice, filled out his g
ray boxer briefs exceptionally well.

She nodded.
“With my shoes on I’m almost as tall as you. Between the two of us I’m sure we can draw some attention.”

“Lady, you’re going to draw attention
, but it will have very little to do with your height.” Mr. Headphones regretted his words almost as soon as he said them as he found himself face to neck with Quinn.

“Watch your mouth and keep your eyes to yourself.”

“Okay.” Fiona pulled Quinn back a little. “Okay. We’ll measure testosterone levels later. Let’s just get in there before the hour is up.”

Sandra explained the typical order of the show: opening monologue, sketches, celebrity guests, live musical performance or comedy bit, celebrity guest, dancing, then Jell-O wrestling. 

We snuck in during
the live musical performance to cover the sound of our entry. The audience relegated to the front was absolutely crazy, but fun crazy. They weren’t pushing or shoving. It was more of a club atmosphere rather than a show or a concert. Two other sections of audience were further back—in seats and fully dressed. If I hadn’t been so keyed up I might have enjoyed myself. As it was, I had only one goal: get noticed by one of the dancers to get on the stage.

The group of girls surrounded me and Quinn helped us push to the front. The stage where the dancers were located was closer to the audience. Nico and his celebrity guest were further back. There was no way for me to get close enough for him to see me.

The dancers, however, walked back and forth during the live performance, pointing to people in the audience and motioning for them to come up on stage. People who were chosen were few and far between. I noted that only seven or so audience members had made it thus far, and all but two of them were completely naked.

I made to unclip my bra
, but Fiona stilled my hands. “Not yet! I have an idea!” Fiona pulled me to Quinn then hollered something in his ear. His eyebrows jumped, looked at me, then shrugged.

Before I was quite aware of what was happening, Quinn had picked me up. “Climb on my shoulders
,” he bellowed over the music.

I nodded and cli
mbed up his hard torso and bicep with the help of Janie and Sandra. I sat on his shoulders, dually balancing and trying to get the attention of the nearest dancer.

I placed my thumb and forefinger to my lips and made a loud whistle, perfected after years of hailing cabs in Chicago
, then waved my hands in the air as one for the girls approached.

She was a short, curvaceous brunette and, at first
, laughed at my antics. But then I saw recognition flicker across her face. She stilled, squinted at me, then pointed.

She mouthed the words
Elizabeth Finney?

I swallowed, nodded. She smiled. She waved me up and, even over the loud live performance, I could hear my group of girls squee. Ashley gave Quinn a high
five as he deposited me back to the floor. I wobbled up to the stage and was immediately permitted entrance. The brunette crossed to me and offered her hand.

“I’m Erin. What are you doing in the audience? Why aren’t you backstage?” 

I held Erin’s hand like it was a lifeline. “I only have an hour and I need to talk to Nico.”

“What? In front of everyone?”

“Yes. I don’t know. I don’t care. I just need to tell him.”

Her brown
gaze moved over me, a question on her face. “I won’t be able to get you to the other stage, they don’t connect. But I can get you a microphone.”

The live music ended
, and the crowd thundered with applause. I glanced up briefly and noticed that I was standing, in my underwear, on stage, in front of a live, studio audience of maybe over five hundred people—if not more—and a viewership of millions.

I nodded, squeezed her hand as the applause receded. “Do you think it will be ok
ay? Okay for me to interrupt the show?”

She smiled
. “Yes!” Her voice quieted to a whisper. “Nico loves surprises! Just wait till the part where we’re supposed to dance, after the next interview. It’ll only be another five minutes or so. Let me get the microphone.”

She winked at me
, left me in a crowd of maybe fifteen naked people and ten dancers in bikinis. But I didn’t notice any of them because Nico was speaking, and I wasn’t the only one watching him.

The entire studio hushed. He commanded their attention with his twinkly eyes and easy smiles. But, I noted, he didn’t look like my Nico. He looked like
The Face
. He even sounded a little different. He introduced his next guest. Everyone was enraptured. I craned my neck, tried to find my girls, and found them watching the show.

They laughed at his jokes, magnetized and transfixed by his charisma, and I wondered why this man—this talented, amazing, generous, smart, funny, kind, sweet man—was at all interested in me. Self-doubt turned in my stomach
, but then I reminded myself that the self-doubt, my questioning the veracity of his feelings, was why he’d left me four days ago.

I steeled my resolve. By the time Erin returned with the microphone I was ready. I was ready to lay it all out there
; I was ready to believe in him and us.

The music started, which signified the end of the last celebrity interview, and Nico stood to shake the hand of his guest. I watched on the big screen as he turned to the camera and the audience
, wagged his eyebrows.

His voice resounded over the speakers. “I don’t know about you, but I think
I could go for some Jell-O.”

H
igh-pitched female screams and catcalls filled the studio, and I couldn’t help but laugh at this caricature of himself. He wore a figurative mask, was playing a part, looked like a naughty little boy who was asking for dessert, and the audience was eating it up.

The main camera switched to the stage where I stood and focused on all the dancers
while Nico turned his back to the audience and started to take off his suit. Those audience members who were previously naked had been given some underthings for minimal coverage, likely so the show would make it past censors.

Erin and the other dancers did a little routine
, and I wondered when I should interrupt. I kept looking to her for a sign. I didn’t have to wait very long. Before I knew what was happening they surrounded me and said—in unison, into their headsets—

“Cut the music!”

The audience
wwwwooooo
-ed and clapped, obviously thinking this was all planned. Abruptly, not three seconds later, the music stopped. Erin met my gaze, a big grin on her face, and she nodded, whispered, “Go for it!”

I stole glances at the rest of the dancers and found them issuing me equally reassuring smiles.
I gulped, breathed out, and stepped to the front of the stage, switched on the microphone. The audience was still applauding.

I endeavored
to speak over them, knew it was now or never. “Can I—” I winced at how I sounded; hearing my voice over the microphone caught me by surprise. The crowd started to quiet down, and their attention shifted to me. I felt the full force of two thousand or more eyes upon me. I gathered another steadying breath and planted my feet on the stage. “Can I have a moment of your time, Nico?”

The studio fell into a hush
, and I watched as he turned around, completely perplexed, his shirt half-unbuttoned.

“I’m over here, on the other stage.” I lifted my hand and waved. A few stragglers moved to the side so he could have a clear line of sight.

From thirty feet away I saw the crack in his façade, I detected his confusion, my Nico. He leveled me with stunned green eyes. I pushed down my doubt and gained a step toward him, as far as I could manage without jumping off the stage.

“I promise this won’t take very long. I just wanted to ask you something and it couldn’t wait. But first
,” I tried to swallow, failed. “I need you to know that I love you. I love you so much, being without you hurts like . . . getting Tasered or punched in the stomach. I know this because recently I was punched in the stomach.” This sentiment elicited a good amount of laughter from the audience, but Nico’s mouth didn’t move, and his expression didn’t change.

I gave him a nervous smile then continued.
“I can’t stop thinking about your smile. I want to keep it in my pocket, keep it just for me, and take it out and look at it a hundred times a day.” A few women
aaawwwwed
and one or two guys yelled out something less than polite, but were quickly hushed by a nearby neighbor.

I
could discern the heavy rise and fall of his chest, even from my position and the distance between us. His eyes were tangled with mine, beautiful thorny vines. I couldn’t read them, but I could see that he was as singularly focused on me as I was on him. The crowd, now silent, completely faded away. It was just him and me, Nico and Elizabeth, and I was cutting myself completely open.

I hoped it would be enough.

“But the thing is, Nico . . . I need you. I can’t do this unless I know it’s going to be forever. I’m not going to do this half-assed. I can’t try this out or try this on like it’s a pair of shoes I might want to buy. If we’re going to do this, you have to be all in, because I’m not willing to settle for anything less than all of you for as long as we can, for as long as we have. You, us, we’re worth the risk. . . I need you.”

I tried in vain to wipe the
sweaty hand not holding the microphone on my bare thigh. “And, therefore and in summary,” I said, my voice shaking as I got down on one knee, thankful I’d chosen boyshorts as my underwear selection for the day. I was vaguely aware that people around me gasped. “Nico Mang-gan-aniello.” I winced a little as I butchered his last name. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my hus—”

“Yes!” He yelled his response before I could finish
, and his microphone carried the answer like a gunshot. “Yes, Elizabeth Finney I will marry you.”

I exhaled and immediately closed my eyes, overwhelmed by relief, ready to collapse with it. A smile I was powerless against and tears of joy—the traitors!—brutally ransacked my face. My hands were shaking and so were my knees. At first I was only dimly aware of the deafening cheer that had erupted from the audience; but soon it crashed over me like a wave, engulfed me like an undertow.

I was lifted off my feet by hands, and my eyes opened to find that Nico had jumped off his stage, run through the seated audience, jumped the railing into the crowd then climbed onto my stage. He wrapped me in his arms and held me tight, so tight I thought I might break. But I didn’t care.

I didn’t care if
I broke because I had a forever with Nico to mend, and forever started now.