Phoenix Heart (20 page)

“Don’t you worry, sweetie. We’ll show you the place.” He
grabbed the sleeve of the larger man and pulled him back from the door.

“Tim,” the large man said.

“Oh, come on, Doug. It won’t kill you. Come along, sweetie,
step in. Seventy-five you said?” He smiled and pulled the bills from my hand
and tucked them down in his pocket. “So,” he said, hooking one of those
delicate hands through my arm, “didn’t Doug tell me you had a husband? Didn’t
he come along?”

“He’s waiting in the cab. He’s not feeling too well,
something he ate, I think.”

“Oh, now isn’t that too bad. I have a terrible time with my
stomach, too. The least little thing and I’m worshiping the porcelain god.”

I looked at him, startled, and he grinned and I found myself
grinning back.

The apartment was in the back of the building, directly
across the small lobby. Doug drove the key in the front door, twisted it
sharply and shoved the door open so that it slammed back against the wall. Tim
sailed past him, caught the door on the rebound and calmly pushed it back
against the wall. He flipped the overhead light on, a small, lovely old
chandelier of crystal and brass which flooded the room with a soft, warm light.

“As you can see, we come right into the living room, the
kitchen is to the right, the bedroom to the left, and the bathroom is just off
the bedroom.” He gestured widely, gracefully, theatrically, and somehow for him
it looked perfectly natural. The living room was one step down and was wide and
deep with high ceilings. The hardwood floors were obviously worn, but shone
with a highly polished wax finish. A smoke-darkened brick fireplace was set in
the wall to the right with a deep, carved mantel of some rich, dark wood around
it. Around the tops of the walls were a reprise of the plaster moldings of urns
and wreaths with vines twisting around them.

“Now my favorite part of this place is this.” Tim crossed
the room to a set of French doors, turned the brass handles and flung them
wide. The overhead light lit part of a wide patio and I could see the shadows
of a wrought iron table and chairs to the left as well as some trees and a few
shrubs beyond. “You can’t really see it right now but there is quite a nice
garden that gets the light a good part of the day. And, there is another set of
doors like this in the bedroom.”

I nodded. “Wonderful. It’s just lovely.”

Tim led me out and turned down a short hall to the kitchen. Doug
followed us, standing just behind me, his arms folded tightly across his chest,
his eyes narrow and angry. “As you can see the fireplace comes through into the
kitchen.” The cabinets were of a light wood, the counters were yellow tile. Tim
flung an arm around to point out the refrigerator and the stove. “Nice big room.
The window over the sink looks out on the same garden, of course. Now down this
way.” He led me back down the hall, past the living room to a small bedroom. As
he had said, there were indeed French doors in this room as well, but I barely
noticed them. Along one wall lay a king size mattress. Tim saw me looking at
it. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll have that taken away.”

“No, no. It’ll be fine.”
So
much more than fine.

Tim continued to talk animatedly, pointing out the bathroom
and the closet space, but Doug merely trailed us, his arms still folded, his
lips tightly pressed together.

“Now, I know the bedroom is small,” Tim was saying, “but the
kitchen and living room are large, so there’s plenty of room to do quite a lot
with the place.” He touched my arm. “I really do think it’s got tons of
potential, though the gentlemen who were here before just never did do a thing
with it.”

I smiled trying to quell my nervousness. “It really is
perfect and I would like to take it.”

His head cocked to the side. “Don’t you think your husband
would like to see it first?”

“No, no. He really couldn’t care less. He’s so ill now that
all he can think about is lying down somewhere.”

“Oh dear, poor thing. Where are you staying?”

I swallowed and looked from Tim’s inquisitive face to Doug’s
closed, suspicious expression. “Actually, I was hoping here.”

The two men looked at each other. “Tonight?” Doug asked.

“Yes.”

Tim leaned in and his hand flitted over to touch my arm
again. “Oh, but that wouldn’t be possible. There isn’t any furniture.”

“Yeah,” Doug scowled. “And I haven’t said you can have the
place. You know there are such things as references and credit checks.”

“I’ll give you the money right now. First and last, a
deposit, whatever.” I fumbled in my purse for the traveler’s checks. I looked
from the tall slender man to the stocky man, both now with identical
expressions of rejection and suspicion.

“Please,” I said, stretching out a hand, “I know it’s
unusual but we need a place to stay and Andrew is so sick, I just want to get
him settled, and there is a mattress and that’s all we need really. I’m going
to run out and get some blankets.”

I could feel the tears start again; this time I encouraged
them. It wasn’t difficult to do. I sank down on a crate near the door. “I’m
sorry, but I can’t go anywhere else. I really can’t. I’ll give you anything you
want but you’ve got to let us stay here tonight.”

The two men looked at each other, Tim hesitant and Doug
openly scowling. It was the massive, bald, intimidating Doug who finally walked
over to me. “Stop crying, will ya? Jesus! You can stay here and you don’t have
to go buy blankets. We got some you can borrow until your stuff gets here. The
water and the power are still on so it should be all right.”

I looked up at him, my mouth open, barely comprehending his
words. I opened my purse again to find the checks, trying to see through the
tears. “I don’t know how…”

“Then don’t,” he said gruffly. “And forget about the damn
money. There’s plenty of time for that tomorrow. Come on, Tim. Let’s get the
damn stuff for her and go to bed. Christ! It’s the middle of the damn night.”

He turned and stomped out of the room and Tim followed him. He
stopped at the door and touched my arm and smiled. “See why I love him?”

I ran down the porch steps, afraid suddenly that the street
would be empty, the cab would be gone. But the cab sat at the curb, the motor still
idling, the driver behind the wheel picking at the plastic steering wheel cover.
It could have been my imagination, or maybe just the soft glow from the
streetlamp, but when I pulled open the rear door, Andrew even seemed to look a
bit better.

The driver twisted around in his seat and scratched at his
nose. I ignored him and leaned in across Andrew’s folded legs. His wrist felt
hot and dry but his pulse beat evenly under my finger. “Andrew, please wake up.
I’ve got a place for us to stay.” I put my hand under his cheek and turned his
face into the light. “Andrew, please.”

The driver sniffed. “Is he still passed out?”

“Yes.”

He snorted. “Look, if he pukes in my cab you’re going to
clean it up.”

I’ve never physically harmed anyone, or even really wanted to,
but I had a fight on my hands just then trying to quell my sudden, overwhelming
desire to do that narrow-faced little weasel serious bodily harm. “He’s not
going to vomit,” I said.

The driver dug deep in his pocket and ceremoniously pulled
out his handkerchief. “Well, just get him out.”

I slowly raised my eyes and looked at him over the back of
the seat. The handkerchief stopped, then he briskly rubbed at his nose and
turned forward again. I heard a rather feeble snort and blow from the front
seat as I looked back at Andrew and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Please, Andrew.
Wake up.”

He moaned slightly and his lips parted.

“Andrew?”

His eyes opened and he blinked a few times. “Melanie?” His
voice was barely audible.

“Yes. Yes it’s me. Please Andrew, we’ve got to go.”

He nodded, then his eyes drifted closed again. I shook him
again. “Listen to me! You’ve got to get up.”

He groaned and nodded slowly. “Okay, okay.” He shrugged my
coat off his shoulders and tried to push off the seat, but he barely moved. “I
can’t” His voice died and his eyes closed again.

“Andrew! No! Don’t let me down now. Please.”

This time when his eyes opened, they seemed to focus on me. He
looked from me to the cracked red vinyl seat, up to the slit in the back of the
front seat where the stuffing was coming out, and then, as his eyes scanned
upwards to the back of the driver’s head they widened and flicked back to mine.
“Where?” he whispered.

“The cab brought us to where we’re going to stay, dear.” I
emphasized the last word, making my voice slightly impatient, willing him to
understand the charade. “The party’s over now, mister. You’ve got to get up now
and come inside.”

Andrew blinked again. “Jeez,” he drawled. “What was in that
punch?”

I could have kissed him. “God alone knows. You know how
Larry gets at company parties. Always slipping something in the punch bowl.”

“Yeah. Good old Larry.”

“Can you get up now?”

“I think so.” He reached up to grab the back of the front
seat. Between the two of us we managed to get him sitting up, with his legs out
the door, and then, with considerable effort, standing. The driver sat behind
the wheel, watching us, not moving except to change his position slightly so
that he could see better. The toad.

We took a step, then another toward the house.

“Hey!” The driver pushed his door open and stepped out into
the street. “What about my $98.50?”

I shot a look back at him. “Just keep the blasted meter
running and wait a minute.”

“Yeah but…” Frankly, I believe the look I gave him would
have probably stopped a charging rhino, and therefore was probably overkill,
but it did do the trick. He dropped back behind the wheel. “Just hurry up,” he
muttered. “I got things to do.”

The corner of Andrew’s mouth twitched upward. “Real
sweetheart, huh?” he whispered.

“You have no idea,” I whispered back. “Ready?”

He looked up the cement walk, then nodded and we started
toward the house.

The fifteen feet up that cracked sidewalk was worse than any
mile I’ve ever run. Each step sent pain flickering through Andrew’s face but his
determination never faltered. By the time we had negotiated the porch, the
front door, the apartment door and the hallway to the bedroom, Andrew’s panting
had become an agonized gasp and I wasn’t doing much better. I elbowed the
overhead light switch on, and we staggered to the edge of the mattress. True to
his word, Doug had piled a stack of blankets, sheets and pillows on the end of
it.

“Andrew, this is it. You’re safe.” He still stood, feet
planted wide apart, rocking back and forth. “Andrew! Lie down.” I shook him,
and his eyes at last focused on me. “You’re safe. Safe. Do you understand?”

He blinked and nodded once.

“Lie down then, here.”

He looked down and then suddenly, as if finally hearing me,
his legs buckled and he fell forward on his knees, dragging me down with him. The
jolt as he hit drove a cry from him. His eyes rolled up and he started to fall
forward and I yanked with all my strength, turning him around so that he fell
back against me, and I could ease him down.

“Andrew.”

His eyelids fluttered.

“Andrew?”

His eyes opened and blinked at the weak overhead light.

“Andrew?”

His face turned toward me and after blinking a few more
times, he seemed to focus.
Melanie
? His lips formed my name but there
was no sound. He swallowed convulsively as I reached up to push his thick hair
back from his face. He tried again to speak. “You’re all right?” It was no more
than a murmur, but I heard the words distinctly.

I nodded, completely unable to speak.

The lines etched across his forehead and between his eyes smoothed.
“Okay,” he whispered, and his eyelids drifted closed.

I got him a drink of water, forced him to swallow one of the
antibiotic pills, then I covered him with a sheet and a couple of blankets. When
I was certain he was completely out, I brushed back his hair, kissed his
forehead, and headed back out front.

By the time I made it to the front door, the cab driver had
started up the porch steps. He stopped halfway up, folded his arms across his
chest, and stuck out his chin. “You owe me 106 bucks, honey.”

Oh, yeah. That was it. I took one step down. The high-heels
of my pink pumps cracked loudly on the ceramic pavers. My hand whipped up, one
finger pointing at his chest. “First...” I jerked the finger at his chest and
he flinched. “If you call me ‘honey’ again I’m going to reach down your throat
and turn you inside out.”

I took another step down and he fell backwards a step. His
eyes widened. I thrust the finger at him again. “Second, I’ve got your money.”

I stepped down again and he backed up and stumbled off the
last step onto the front walk. “And third, I need to go to the drugstore for
some supplies and you are going to take me there, wait for me and bring me back
here.” I stopped a few inches from him, glaring up into his startled face. “You
got that?”

“Hey. It’s your money,” he said, and turned quickly and
walked back to the car.

* * *
*

“No!”

The shout woke me from my doze and I rose to lean over Andrew.
He had thrown the covers back and was trying to get up.

I pushed him back down on the mattress, pinning his
shoulders. “Andrew. Andrew, lie back. You can’t get up.” His skin felt dry and
hot. The new bandage showed starkly white against the bare skin of his abdomen.

He swung a hand up and knocked my hand away. “No! I’ve got
to…” I grabbed his wrist and he fell back against the pillow. “I’ve got to go.”