Maybe Baby (9 page)

***

Nick sat on his sofa, staring at the box he’d carried back up after Dana left. He’d stood on the sidewalk watching her until she’d disappeared into the subway. He must have looked pretty pathetic; even Oscar didn’t say anything. By the time he was done standing and staring, the thought of making a post office run was beyond him. He simply picked up the box, carried it back upstairs, and sat, running their conversation over and over in his mind.

What had she actually said? That she was sorry. That it was a mistake. But she didn’t say she wanted him back, she didn’t say she still loved him.

Gain closure. Follow our bliss. Like Oprah says.

What did that mean? Did it matter? He was finally about to put Dana behind him, get a fresh start, a clean slate. That was what he wanted.

Wasn’t it?

No. What he wanted was to find Dana and kiss her until neither of them could see straight. He was fooling himself to think he was over her. He’d never be over her; he knew that. No matter what he told himself, no matter what he tried to be, the simple and ugly truth was that a part of him would always be hers. That’s just the way it was.

So what were they going to do? Do you just get back together after six years? And what would happen when he told her that he hadn’t slept with Melanie, that he’d let her believe that out of bitterness and spite? Would she still think she’d made a mistake then? And what about when she found out that he was going to California to work for Melanie? He couldn’t play the hero on that one and pretend he’d done it to keep Melanie away from Dana. He couldn’t lie to her even if he’d wanted to. But the truth—that he’d used saving her winery from Melanie as an excuse to accept the job—didn’t shine very brightly on him, either.

Dana might think she made a mistake now; there was no guarantee she would once she knew the whole truth. Chances were good she’d want nothing to do with him.

He let out a bitter laugh. The irony was so tight it was almost poetic. He’d managed to screw up his second chance before he even knew he might get one.

His cell phone rang. His hand flew to it, and he had it open and to his ear before the first ring ended.

“Dana?” he said.

“Nick?”

Babs. Oh. Hell.
He sat forward. “Yeah, Babs, what’s up?”

Babs sighed. She sounded irritated, and Nick remembered about the flubbed job the night before.

“Look, sorry about the bird thing,” he said, “but I think it’ll probably be okay. Your friend just seemed happy the bird was gone and—”

“Get it back,” a man’s voice said. Nick blinked.

“Hello?”

“Get it back, or she dies,” the voice said. It sounded like a teenage kid disguising his voice to be deeper, and it grated on Nick.

“Put Babs back on the phone,” he said.

“You have until tomorrow at… ” There was a sound, like the guy was muffling the phone with his hand, and Nick could hear him say in a higher, more effeminate voice, “What do you think? Ten?” Nick rolled his eyes. He heard the guy move his hand away from the phone and clear his throat before saying in a deep voice, “Tomorrow at ten. Bring us the bird.”

“Put Babs on the phone.”

“No police, or she dies,” the voice said, then added, “Oh. And no conservationists.”

No conservationists?
What the hell was this guy talking about?

“Put Babs on the phone, or when I find that bird I’ll fry it up for dinner.”

There was a pause, then Babs got on the phone.

“I’m so sorry, Nick,” she said.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Babs’s voice faded, like she was holding the phone away from her face, as she said, “What?”

“Babs?” Nick said. The back of his neck was going cold. Whatever was going on here, even if Babs was being held by a psychotic fifteen-year-old as it sounded, he didn’t like it. He heard Babs sigh into the phone.

“He says to tell you he’ll kill me,” she said flatly. She sounded more annoyed than scared.

“Who?” Nick asked. “And does he realize that I’m gonna rip his throat out when I find him?”

“Nick, I’m sorry. I really am. But I need your help. Please… do you think you can locate the bird?”

Nick remembered the receipt he’d found with the sticky note instructions. He knew he was looking for a bald guy with some sort of accent, possibly staying in the Lower East Side. Of course, there were probably over a million people in the Lower East Side alone. Forget the nine million in the rest of the city.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. But I can definitely come over there and beat the hell out of this guy. Just tell me where you are.”

“I can’t,” Babs said. “He’s got a gun pointed at my head.”

Nick felt his gut take a tumble. “What?”

“I think it’ll be okay, Nick,” Babs said, “but the easiest way out of this is just to get the bird. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” he said, injecting more certainty in his voice than he actually felt. “Now put him on the phone.”

There was a shuffle, and the guy came on with the fake-deep voice. “Yes?”

“Listen, asshole,” Nick said. “I’m getting your bird because Babs asked me to. But if you touch a hair on her head, I will kill you. You understand me?”

The voice cracked slightly. “Yes.”

“Now, where are we meeting tomorrow?”

There was another shuffle, the sound of the guy asking a question in his real voice, and a woman, not Babs, answering. Nick raised his eyes to the ceiling.

This is fucking ridiculous.

“South Street Seaport,” the guy said.

“You want to trade out a ransom at the South Street Seaport at ten o’clock on a Thursday morning?” Good God. Leave it to Babs to get kidnapped by Boris and Natasha.

“Rockefeller Center?” the guy said in his regular voice, which was high-pitched and a bit nasal. Nick didn’t recognize it, but it didn’t sound like the voice of a killer. It sounded like the voice of an accountant.

Nick rattled the address of an empty business property on Fifth Street that Murphy had talked to him about the week before. “We’ll meet you there at five Thursday morning.”

There was a pause, a phone shuffle, more muffled consulting, and something from the guy that sounded like, “But that’s so early.”

Nick gritted his teeth.

The guy came back on the phone. “Okay. Fine. Bring the bird.”

And he hung up. Nick pulled his phone away from his ear and checked the Caller ID. Babs’s cell phone. Well, it looked like Boris and Natasha weren’t quite as stupid as they seemed. He disconnected and dialed Babs’s home number, which went straight to voice mail.

Of course.

He sat for a minute and thought about what he should do, but he already knew. He grabbed his coat and headed out the door, hoping he got to tell Dana the news before the kidnappers did.

He owed her that much.

Ten

Dana leaned forward on Babs’s couch and reached for another tissue.

“Okay,” she said out loud as she wiped the newest tears from her cheeks. “This is just stupid.”

She’d started crying on the subway back from Nick’s place and had yet to stop. Most people had ignored her, but then this woman with a tremendous bag full of knitting needles—no yam, just the needles—sat next to her. The woman began knitting an imaginary sweater and said she was making it just for Dana to cheer her up.
It’s a special brand of pathetic, when the crazies take pity on you,
Dana had thought as she gratefully accepted the imaginary sweater before getting off two stops early. As nice as Imaginary Sweater Lady had been, there was only so much humiliation Dana could stomach in one day.

What had she been thinking? That Nick’s life would be on hold, waiting for her to come back, just because hers had been? That was stupid. He was going to California. Better, he’d been planning on going without even telling her. That’s how over they were. O-Ver.

That was it. As soon as Babs got back, they were going to the bank, co-signing the loan, and she was getting the hell out of Dodge. She’d go home, get the winery on track, and start her life over again. No more waiting for men to seek her out. She was going to get out there, start her life, lose her second virginity. Hell, she might even have a one-night stand. She might have a few. Dante from the Blockbuster had been making eyes at her lately, and there were worse prospects out there.

She sighed. Even if Dante from the Blockbuster was a dynamo in the sack—which she kinda doubted—no one’s touch would ever do to her what Nick’s had. She knew that, as sure as she knew anything. She’d had her chance, she’d blown it big-time, and she was just going to have to settle for… whatever was left.

“Well,” she said as a fresh well of tears sprung from her eyes. “I hope Dante likes Italian.”

She reached for another tissue as the elevator dinged. She sniffed and swiped at her face, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice. One glance in the mirror over the sofa shot those hopes to hell, though. Her face was red and streaked. She looked like the Sta-Puff Marshmallow Man’s suicidal housewife.

Well. Maybe Mom won’t say anything.
Dana smoothed her hands over her orange turtleneck sweater and jeans—the best going-to-the-bank outfit she could muster from what she packed—and started toward the elevator to meet her mother.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she sniffed, picking a fuzzy off the bottom of her sweater. “I think we should run right to the bank and get the paperwork started because I really have to get back to the—”

She glanced up and froze in her tracks. It wasn’t Babs.

It was Nick.

And the hits just keep on coming, she thought.

“Dana,” he said, moving into the penthouse, stopping when he saw her face. He exhaled and looked almost as tom up as she felt. “Oh, hell, Diz.”

He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. Stunned, she let him, although a small voice in the back of her head was protesting the use of the pet name for her and railing against the mixed signals and the unfair play and…

And then he kissed the top of her head, his breath falling warm over her scalp and down her neck to her shoulders, and she didn’t give a crap about pet names or fair play or California or her future with Dante from the Blockbuster. It felt too good to have Nick hold her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him tight to her.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get her back. She’s gonna be just fine.”

“Mmmm,” Dana said, snuggling her face into his chest. Then her brain processed what he’d said. She opened her eyes. “What?”

Confusion flashed on Nick’s face, and he stepped back, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes. “Didn’t Babs call you? You looked so upset, I thought…”

Dana shook her head. “No. Mom has been gone all morning. I was just…” She motioned vaguely toward the couch, where she’d wept away much of the past hour. She sighed and turned back to Nick. “It doesn’t matter. What’s up with Mom?”

Nick ran his hand through his hair, watching her warily. She could see the wheels turning in his brain as he took in the crumpled tissues sprinkled on the floor by the couch.

“Diz…” he said softly, shifting back to her in all her Sta-Puff glory.

“I’m fine,” Dana said, her anger rising anew at the mixed signals and the unfair play and the nerve of him even pretending to care if he’d ripped her heart out. “What’s going on with Mom?”

Nick’s jaw muscles clenched. “Maybe we should sit down.”

Ice crawled up Dana’s spine, and she felt nauseated. Whatever Nick had come here to say, it wasn’t good. She could see the tension in his eyes, and his fists were clenched. Something was very wrong.

Something with her mother.

“I don’t want to sit down,” she said. “Something’s wrong, and you’re going to tell me what it is. Right now.” Nick started to say something, then stopped and sighed. Dana’s lips started to tremble, and she could feel the tears fixing to make an encore appearance.

“Is she okay?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Nick said. “She’s just been… well… kidnapped. I think.”

Dana blinked. “Kidnapped? You think?”

Nick nodded. Dana stood motionless, trying to take it in. Babs was kidnapped? Who got kidnapped anymore? Didn’t that go out of style in the seventies?

“By who?”

Nick shook his head. “Not sure.”

“What do they want?”

“A bird.”

A bird.
She squinted up at him, sure she’d heard him wrong. “A what?”

Nick put one hand gently on her arm. “Why don’t we sit down, and I’ll tell you everything I know, okay?”

Dana nodded and allowed him to guide her to the kitchen table. She sat and stared at her hands as he made tea and told her the story of apparently inept kidnappers and Babs’s plea that they find some bird. At the end, Nick was sitting across from her at the table, his fingers running absently over the mug of tea he hadn’t touched.

“So… let me get this straight. She’s been kidnapped by Boris and Natasha? From
Rocky and Bullwinkle?
”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t know who they are. But they sounded like Boris and Natasha.”

Dana blinked. “Russian?”

“No. Stupid. Which works in our favor, although I don’t want to take any chances. Babs said the guy had a gun, and I have no reason not to believe it.”

A gun. Great. Super. “So we have until tomorrow morning to find a bald British guy living in the Lower East Side with a smelly bird?”

“He might be from Australia. Maybe New Zealand. One of those countries where men call each other ‘mate’,” he said.

“So, Irish, possibly?” Dana felt her breath catch in her throat. “Do they say ‘mate’ in Ireland?”

Nick put his hand on her lower arm, leaning closer to her. She stared at his hand, amazed at how strongly she felt it through the general numbness.

“Hey,” he said. She raised her eyes to his. He gave her a soft smile. “I can find this guy. I can get that bird. It’s all going to be fine.”

Dana’s vision blurred under the tears as emotion found its way through the fog.

Her mother was kidnapped. With a gun to her head. Possibly scared, but Nick said she was pissed off, but how could she not be scared?