Walk Away, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 1) (12 page)

"What kind of clothes?"

"Nick, you’re such a perv
sometimes."

"I know. So what are you
wearing?" Wow. He really must be lonely.

"What are
you
wearing
Nick?"

"Shirt and jeans."

"Me too."

"No you’re not." Damn. How’d he
know?

"No, I’m not. I’m wearing one of your
old shirts and a pair of expensive sweat pants."

"Did you make a knot in the shirt in
the back?"

Whoa. "How’d you know?"

"You always do that when you wear my
clothes."

"Well you’re bigger than me."

"True."

"So are you going to sing to me or
not?"

"I can’t."

"Did you forget how to sing?"

"No."

"Thought so." I stared at the
picture of us on our wedding day. We looked so happy. "What’s your song
about?"

"You."

I dropped the picture on my chest.
"Me? Really?"

"Yes. You. Really."

"Don’t make me ask you again."

"Ask me what?"

I rolled my eyes. "Cut it out."

"Cut what out?"

"I’m going to hang up!" I warned.

"No, you’re not." Well, that’s
true enough.

"How do you know?"

"Because you love me."

"Like cake. Big chocolate, gooey
cake."

"Sounds good."

"It is. That’s why I married you
Nick."

"Hey Layla?"

"Yes Nick?"

"I love you."

And my heart broke. "I love you too,
baby."

"Come out here."

"To New York?"

"Yeah. For our anniversary."

I paused.
He’s mine. I’m his
.
"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

"Smart ass."

"Dumb ass."

"Be serious, Nick."

"I am serious, Layla."

"I’ve been thinking about something
you said. About me being yours and you being mine. Is that how you feel?
Because, honestly, I never thought of it that way."

"No?"

"No. I never thought that I owned you.
We just.... were. You know?"

"No. I’ve always belonged to
you."

I turned over on my side and held the phone
close to my ear. "You’re amazing Nick."

"Amazing?"

"Amazing. You’re so... I just love
you."

"You said that already."

"I know. But I have to say it over and
over again or else I’ll feel like it doesn’t exist, you know?"

"Well come say it to my face."

"I don’t know..."

"Why not?"

"Because..." I sighed and laid my
head on a pillow. "I think being apart is doing us some good."

"I know. I agree. But..."

"But?" I prompted.

"But I need you here. I want to see
your face. I want to touch your skin. I want to be with you."

If I was honest with myself, I’d realize
how much I wanted to be with him, too. Physically. Sexually. Emotionally.
Spiritually. "When do you want me there?"

"Yesterday."

I felt my heart swell and tears brimming in
my eyes. "Nick," I whispered.

"Can we work this out?"

"I want to. So badly."

"Then let’s work it out."

"Do you really think it’s that easy
Nick?"

"We’ll never know if we don’t
try."

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.

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
dishevelled
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?"