The Romance of Nick and Layla (Parts 1-3) (11 page)

I closed my eyes. I want to try. More than anything.

"Layla?"

"I’m here."

"There’s a plane ticket waiting for you at LAX."

My eyes opened. "When did you do that?"

"Yesterday."

"How’d you know I’d come?"

"You always do," I could hear him smirking through the phone.

"Are you extra horny or something?" I laughed.

"Kinda."

"You miss me that much?"

"Of course. But not for that reason. I just want to breathe the same air as you."

How could I say no to that? "All right. What time does my flight leave?"

"In three hours."

I sat up and tried to not drop the phone. "Three hours?!"

"Delta. Flight 395. Nonstop to JFK."

"That doesn’t leave me time to pack!"

"So don’t pack."

"What?!"

"Get your purse and leave the house right now. Get in your car, drive to LAX, get on that plane and get your ass over here."

"I kind of need my stuff, Nick."

"No you don’t."

"You’ve gone nuts." I shook my head. "You expect me to just get everything I need there? Right down to my toothpaste and underwear?"

"Down to the hair spray."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Nick!" I whined. "You know I don’t like being spontaneous."

"Exactly. Come on Layla. I’m waiting for you."

"If you’re doing this just to have sex you’re trying way too hard."

"You’re my wife. Of course I want to have sex with you. Over and over and over."

"Nick...."

"Two hours and fifty-eight minutes."

"Nick!"

"You’re running out of time, baby."

"You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days."

"Not if you give me one first. Besides, you’re probably just as horny as me."

"No. That’s why I have a vibrator."

"Why? I’ve got the real thing."

"Pervert."

"Me? You’re the that uses a battery-operated penis."

"The battery-operated penis isn’t annoying."

"And it isn’t me."

True. Damn! "All right. I’ll agree to take this spontaneous trip. But you better have a clean pair of pajamas ready for me!"

"And a warm bed."

"Horny boy."

"You know it. So you’re coming? Pun not intended."

"Yes. I’m going to leave right now."

"Hey Layla?"

Oh my God! "Nick! How am I supposed to make my flight if I’m on the phone talking to you?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I have something waiting for you here."

"I hope it’s some toothpaste."

"No. It’s not toothpaste. This is in a box."

"Soap?"

"No."

"Condoms?"

"Besides that," he laughed. "A velvet box."

"Jewelry?"

"Possibly."

"Goober."

"You love me. Remember?"

"I’m leaving, Nick."

"I love you, Layla."

"I know. I love you too."

"I’ll see you in a few hours."

"Don’t expect much. You know how tired plane trips make me."

"I’ll keep you awake."

"Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of."

"Get going, beautiful."

"I’m going, I’m going. Bye."

"Bye."

I clicked off the phone and stared at it again. So this was it.

Chapter Fourteen

There are few things in life that I hate: People that spit in public. Crazy drivers in SUVs. Missy Page. Insects. And flying.

There’s just something about flying that irks me the wrong way. It’s not like a road trip. On a road trip you can stop and take pictures and go to silly museums dedicated to stupid shit, such as alligators and haunted houses that aren’t really haunted. You can always get out of the car and stretch your aching body and will somehow manage to find a breathtaking view that you’d only previously seen on a postcard.

With flying, it’s a whole other ball of wax. First, you can’t stop. Not unless you have a layover and in that case the only view you’ll have in sight will be a Starbucks and a bunch of planes. And if you get out of your seat, your head is maybe a foot away from the ceiling and your hips are in danger of hitting every other annoyed person on the plane. Plus, the bathrooms suck. If I wanted to pee in a box the size of a refrigerator... well, that would just make me stupid. And to top it off, they never play a movie I want to see. And if, by an act of God, they do show a movie I want to see, the crappy headphones - overpriced at five, sometimes ten dollars - always fall out of my ears. And please, let’s not even start talking about the food.

Per Nick’s instructions, I didn’t pack one single item. Okay, that’s not true. Once I grabbed my purse and keys and put on a jacket, I grabbed my makeup bag. A girl cannot live without her makeup. I don’t care what anybody says. After five hours of flying in a compressed tube, I needed make up pick-me-ups. Of course they searched through my bag when I was trying to get to my gate. And I must admit that I was somewhat amused to find the male security guard picking up all my different pots of eye shadow and tubes of mascara and lipstick and glosses and looking at each item as if it might conceal a bomb or something. Yes, because I always carry a bomb inside my MAC foundation. Never leave home without it.

As soon as I stepped into the baggage claim area I looked for Nick. I looked at all the tall men wearing hats and sunglasses but didn’t spot him. I frowned. Surely he couldn’t be running late. After all that fuss he made earlier? He couldn’t still be recording at this hour, could he? Maybe traffic was bad? Oh Lord. Like I know my way around JFK, or New York for that matter.

And then I felt a pair of hands cross over my eyes, blinding me. I was too tired to protest.

"Hi Nick."

The hands moved away and I could feel his lips at my neck. "Hello Mrs. Hudson."

I turned around and was surprised to see Nick as Nick. No sunglasses. No hat. Just that famous face.

"Isn’t it against the law for you to not wear a disguise?"

Nick shrugged. "Don’t know, don’t care. Hi."

"Hi."

He kissed my lips sweetly and pulled away, smiling broadly. "So how was your flight? No, wait, don’t tell me. It was about four hours too long with crappy food and a crappy movie?"

"Exactly. But this is worth it."

"Oh, so I’m worth five hours of boredom? I see my approval rating has gone up several points."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why are you in such a good mood? You hate airports."

"Not true. I love airports when you’re in them."

"Well I’m here. Do what you want with me."

Nick’s grinned turned evil. Uh oh. "Layla sweetie, I don’t think the other people would appreciate us having sex right here, right now."

"Are you on Viagra or something?"

Nick laughed loudly and I could already see several heads turning in our direction. "No. Have I ever needed help in that department?"

Never. "Well I don’t have any bags so we can leave when you want."

"And what’s this?" he asked, pointing to my makeup case.

"Please. Like I’d leave the house without this thing. You know me better than that."

"Have I mentioned how beautiful you look?"

I rolled my eyes. "Only you would find puffy eyes and disheveled hair attractive."

"Only on you."

"Nick... You’re so..."

"Handsome? Funny? Annoying?"

"Yes. To all three. And especially the last."

"Come on girl. Let’s get out of here. I can already see people recognizing me. And I’m not in the mood to play pop star."

"Oh, but you do it so well, honey!" I grabbed Nick’s hand in mine and let him lead me out into the cold air.

He led me to a black stretch limo. A man in a tuxedo opened the door and looked at me expectantly. A limo? Is he for real?

"You drove here in a limo?" I asked incredulously.

"Of course. Didn’t you hear? I’m rich."

"Hello, why do you think I married you?" I joked.

Nick swatted my ass and gestured for me to get in the back of the car. I slid in and immediately felt at ease. Ah, the joys of leg room and soft lighting. Nick slid in next to me and the door was closed. Less than a minute later we were pulling away from the curb and joining the airport traffic.

Once I was comfortable in my seat I turned to look at my husband. "So, where’s my present?"

"Your what?"

"My present! You don’t think I flew all the way to New York just to see you, did you? Velvet box? Possibly jewelry? Possibly condoms?"

"Which would you rather have?" he asked with that cocky grin.

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Maybe not. But your present is back at the hotel. For now you just have to wait. With me."

"Damn."

Nick played with my fingers as he stretched back into the seat, relaxing into the comfortable leather. "So what’d you do today?" he asked.

"An interview that I should have said no to.”

Nick looked at me strangely. "Since when do you do interviews?"

"Since knowing that if I didn’t the phone calls would never stop. Besides, they were nice enough. A bit over-zealous with trying to make me say something revealing, but basically it was nothing."

"What’d they want to know?"

"What size shoe I wear. What do you think? They asked about you and me and our marriage and Vanessa."

"Oh."

"Don’t worry. I didn’t reveal anything they didn’t already know. But I did clear up the rumor that we’re divorcing."

Nick went tense next to me. Even in the dark I could see the pensive look on his face. The cloudiness in his eyes. "What’d you say?"

"The truth."

Nick looked at me gravely. "Which is?"

I interlocked our hands and crossed my legs. "That we’re not getting divorced."

I could hear him breathe a sigh of relief. Guess he was also wondering about that one. "Glad to hear it."

"So tell me about what you’ve been working on these past couple of weeks."

Nick’s body relaxed again and it made me relax. "Usual stuff. But I’m doing more writing. More producing. Playing more instruments."

"Anything I can hear yet?"

"Maybe in a couple of days. I want to make sure what I have is perfect before I let you listen to it."

"Why?" I asked. Sometimes hearing the unfinished work was more enjoyable than the finished product. Less glossy production. More raw music.

"Just because."

"Nick, why are you so concerned that I listen to your music only when it’s perfect? You know I think that anything you sing is perfect."

Nick smiled and looked at me. "Thanks. So what have you been doing the past couple weeks? Plotting bloody murder on Missy Page?"

"No. That only took a couple hours. The rest of the time I just hung out at the house. Went shopping. Went to the beach. Got some sun. Cleaned the house. Started a writing project."

"You’re writing again?" he asked with sudden interest.

"Yeah. I mean, I have my degree in English Literature, might as well use it for something, right?"

"What are you writing about?"

"Right now, a bunch of nonsense. I haven’t exactly found my solid plot yet. But basically it revolves around a young girl and her relationships in life."

"Autobiographical?"

"Not really. Just based on some things I’ve seen in life."

"I bet you’d be really good at writing music."

I’d be good at writing what?! "Why do you say that?"

"Because you write from your heart. And you’ve been through so much in your short life so far. I just think you’d really be able to write something great."

"I’ve never tried. Never crossed my mind to try. I leave that stuff up to you. You’re the musical genius."

Now it was Nick’s turn to roll his eyes. "Whatever."

"Are you blushing?" I took a close look at his face in the darkened limo and smiled.

"No."

"Yes you are."

"No. You blush. I tint."

I laughed my ass off at that one. "How exactly does one tint?"

"You know!" He made an unclear hand gesture. "Tint."

"Nick you’re too much."

"Oh, before I forget, I do have something for you." I watched as he reached into the tiny refrigerator and pulled out a clear plastic box. He handed it to me after placing a fork on top. "Big gooey chocolate cake."

"Oh my god!" I laughed. "You brought me cake?!"

"I brought you cake. You know, since you love it so much."

I looked at Nick and smiled. "Yeah. I do."

I watched with keen surprise as Nick’s face suddenly welled up with emotion. "That’s what you said on our wedding day. And you said it with that exact expression on your face that you have now."

Is he? I think he’s going to cry. "Nick, are you okay?"

"I’m fine."

"You’re crying."

"No I’m not."

"Yes you are, Nick."

"Guys don’t cry."

"I’ve seen you cry. You’re a guy."

"Thank you for noticing. But no, I’m not crying."

"Okay, then why are you so emotional? And how on Earth do you remember my exact facial expression the day we were married?"

Nick’s eyes diverted down to our joined hands. "I remember every single moment of that day." He took my left hand in his left hand and locked them together, our wedding rings clinking softly against each other. "And I’m not emotional. I’m just.... I don’t know."

"You’re not as good as you think you are."

Nick looked up at me, a questioning look on his face. "Not good at what?"

"Hiding how you feel. At least not with me. Sometimes, Nick Hudson, I think you forget who you’re talking to. Your wife. After the years we’ve spent together I’ve learned how to read you. And right now I’m reading some extreme emotional stuff going on in that handsome head of yours."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "I just can’t believe it’s been a year already."

"Didn’t think we’d make it?"

"No, not that. It seems like longer. But with the time we were separated..."

"Shh." I put my free hand on his leg and squeezed gently. "Let’s not talk about the past, okay? We’re trying to work things out, remember? Let’s rehash the bad stuff another day."

"Good idea."