The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (16 page)

Bice laughed. “Apparently, your dinner got mixed-up with
Heaven’s. Sit tight, I’ll take it to her and bring yours back.”

He wheeled the cart out the door and limped away without a
backward glance. He’d put his hunger on hold much too long.

He swung Heaven’s door open and smiled at the girl who lay
quietly on her bed, gazing out the window. Maybe, he too would gaze out the
window, deep in thought, once he finally sank his teeth into Bonita’s fine
meal.

“Hey girl, Thornton got your dinners mixed-up. You’ve got
Harmon’s, here’s yours.” He wheeled the cart to her side of the bed. “ After
you eat, let’s go for a walk in the gardens. A slow walk. Thanks to you, my
toes are not well. But we need to get you out of here for awhile. We will talk.”

Heaven gazed at the man. The same man whom not long ago
called her a freak when she unexpectedly walked into Harmon’s study. Though she
knew he’d slept all day, he still looked bone tired. His dark hair hung
listlessly down his drooping shoulders. She didn’t know why he cared if she ate
or not. She didn’t know why he wanted to talk.

She did know his head would be smashed like a watermelon
fallen from a farm truck, if she’d not stopped his rapid descent on the
staircase. She didn’t know why she’d stopped his fall, only that she did.
Something deep down had beckoned her to save him.

An ache in her very soul, a hole in her existence had
propelled her forward to his aid. Maybe, one day he’d do great things. She
doubted it though. She sighed, and gazed at the covered platter.

“All right, sounds good enough.” She muttered as she lifted
the lid. “What the hell is this?”

“Tomato soup, and bite your tongue, child.”

“Is this some kind of joke? You almost died on the
staircase. Your head nearly wound up the same color of this soup. “

Bice gazed at Heaven. A thousand wings thundered in the
distance. The termites were coming. No, he wouldn’t let them. It was the hunger
pains thundering in his head. His belly yawned and groaned, demanding to be
quenched. No, it was the termites.

This time they were eating him inside-out, and they started
in his belly. A cold frothy ale down the hatch would certainly drown them. If
there were too many bugs, he’d drink a six pack. Maybe even a case.

But no, the Philly Monster was long gone. He’d fought the
battle for this long, and he would win again. He wondered if Bonita thought he
had a fine ass. “Heaven, eat the blasted soup. I’ll be back for you in thirty
minutes.”

He shoved the correct cart out the door, making sure to slam
it. He stomped on his one good foot down the hall toward Harmon’s room.

* * *

After arriving back in his suite, Bice rolled his cart to the
window and took a chair beside it. The TV droned somewhere behind him, but he
wasn’t interested. He peeled his sock off, tossed it across the room and gazed
at his toes.

They were angry red and swollen, as he expected. He wiggled
and flexed them, only to cry out in pain. There’d be no walk on the beach
tonight. He had no choice but to wait until morning, and try to pump Heaven for
information about the origin of the golden coins.

He’d had enough for now. As a matter of fact, he’d had too
much. His battle was hard fought, and he planned to reign supreme over the
Philly Monster.

To hell with it, let the termites dine. He picked up the
phone and called the kitchen. He knew he was a looser. He knew some things
never changed. Apparently, he was one of those things. “Thornton, have Bonita
bring me up a six pack of the finest beer in the house. Right away.”

He slammed down the phone and shoved it out of the way.
Gently, almost hesitatingly, he eased the metal cover from his meal. A sigh of
relief escaped him.

A fresh batch of fried chicken was painstakingly arranged on
the plate before him. Next to it, sat one of the largest baked potatoes he’d
ever laid eyes upon, patiently waiting for him to consume it. A tossed salad
and a peach cobbler topped off the incredible meal. He smiled in contentment
and happily indulged in the meal of a lifetime.

He glanced up at the knock on the door. “Come in.”

Bonita arrived carrying the most beautiful silver and
hopefully unbreakable bucket he’d ever laid eyes on. Fleur-de-lis graced its
gilded rim. The frosted necks of half-dozen amber bottles of fine ale peeked
over the top. He smiled as he realized that very soon, his foot pain would be
but a faded memory.

“Thanks, Bonita.” He smiled and waved her away.

He gazed at the amber bottles. Without a second thought, he
grabbed one and took a long, refreshing drink. Moments later his meal was gone.
He stared at the empty plate, barely remembering eating. He finished the beer
and wiped the foam from his mouth.

He rubbed his quenched belly, and stretched. Yes indeed, his
foot pain was about to be a thing of the past. He carefully studied the
remaining fine imported ales. To hell with a walk on the beach trying to sort
things out with the freakish teenager. To hell with it all.

He gingerly cradled the silver bucket, and slowly limped to
his bed. He pulled off his opposite shoe, skidding it across the floor. He
eased back on the bed and propped his aching foot on a pillow. The lure of the
glittering bucket called to him.

One at a time, he pulled each frosty bottle from their
container and carefully placed them around his throbbing toes and on each side
of his foot. He eased back on the bed and smiled in pure bliss. He hadn’t felt
this good in years.

Tonight, the termites would go hungry.

* * *

Heaven had waited as long as she could wait.

She’d paced from wall to wall in her suite for an hour. She
sighed, twirled on her heel once more and stomped to the opposite wall for what
seemed the hundredth time.

Her patience was gone. As a matter of fact, it was long
gone. Bice had obviously forgotten their walk on the beach. She’d planned on
using this chance to talk to him about taking her to visit Dreams, or perhaps
bringing her best friend to the estate for a visit.

Finally, she quietly padded down the hall to his room and
pressed her ear to the thick mahogany door. A TV droned from within; the
garbled words faded and whirled and went airborne before she could clarify what
he might be watching. Ever so gently, she eased the door open and peeked in.

Bice was fast asleep. An empty plate sat near the window
seat, a lone shoe laid nearby.

Near him, sat a lovely silver bucket. His foot was propped
up on a large pillow. His toes were obviously red and swollen. She gasped as
she realized she must have done more damage stomping his foot than she’d
intended.

She peered closely at his foot. It was surrounded by several
brown colored bottles. The condensation from them had soaked the pillow, and
some of their labels were sliding off. One was firmly adhered to the side of
his foot. She jumped as a loud snore suddenly erupted from him. He smacked his
lips and groaned.

She sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. Apparently the
man had gone mad. She knew she wouldn’t be around to say anything about his
strange behavior to Harmon in the morning. She could only hope the fainting
baboon had sense enough to buy his assistant one of those fancy doctors who
worked on people’s heads.

She quietly closed the door, and trotted toward the
staircase.

The night was hers.

* * *

Harmon opened his eyes and squinted at the bedside clock.

Sleeping at night wasn’t typical of him. He knew he must
force himself to get up, and finish the lyrics he’d been working on so long.
The ones that were ruined in his study downstairs. If he tried, maybe, just
maybe, he could sort some of the words out. Enough to at least get a start on
trying to piece his song back together.

He sat up and gently swung his bandaged foot over the side
of the bed. He flexed his toes and wriggled his ankle in a circle. The pain was
almost gone. He gingerly eased himself to an upright position, and placed a
small amount of pressure on his injured heel.

“Mr. Steel?” A voice from behind him called out.

He whirled around at the sound. A vivacious blonde nurse complete
in a neatly pressed uniform and matching hat, was walking through the doorway
carrying a small medical bag. “Who are you?”

“I’m nurse Browning. Please go back to bed, I was bringing
in a change of bandages for you.” She guided him back to the bed, fluffed his
blankets and laid his foot neatly on the pillow.

“Look.” He muttered. “It’s a simple cut. I don’t need a damn
nurse.”

She leaned over him and delicately pulled the sheet to his
chest. He found himself gazing at the nicest set of bosoms he’d seen in a very,
very long time. Her green eyes bore straight through him.

“Mr. Bice hired me to keep an eye on you. It’s only for a
day or two.” She gently lifted his foot, and before he could argue began
removing the worn bandages.

He watched in awe the slight jiggle of her enormous mounds
as she worked on him. He determinedly fought the temptation to touch one. Maybe
she wouldn’t notice if he copped a quick feel. He felt his face suddenly flush
crimson, as her soft hand caressed his wounded foot.

She carefully bandaged it and gently rubbed his ankle. Her
fingertips were spun gold, they were the strings on a harp, gently coaxing
music from his prickling skin.

She smiled at him. “There you go. Now, I’ve got to check Mr.
Bice. I hear he too, suffered an injury.”

She stood in the doorway, gazing at him with filmy and
serene eyes. Eyes that beckoned him to her bosom.

He met her gaze. He knew that come-hither look well. The
lobes of his ears burned hot with sudden desire, as his skin prickled to life
with intense yearning. A call he had not fulfilled since Heaven had come to the
estate erupted like a volcano in his chest.

The roar of an elephant, deep in the jungle, reverberated
within his spinning mind. A primitive howl surged forth, a battle cry which he
had long ago swept from his thoughts.

He fought the urge to tear his shirt open and pound his
chest.

He knew he could have her, right here in this very spot. Her
emerald eyes burned sultry desire for him. She knew who he was, and she stood
in the doorway, making sure he knew she wanted him.

When her phone rang the day before, she’d been in complete
disbelief she’d be nursing Harmon Steele. Her eyes softly spoke her knowledge
of him, and his fame. His thighs quivered with excitement as he realized she
knew who he was.

But alas, he had been in this very situation too many times.
He must resist. He knew he could never, ever sleep with a fan. It was his fate,
and it was sure to backfire.

The women he’d slept with while on tour had inevitably
fallen in love with him, clinging to him frantically each time he boarded his
jet for the next city. They’d begged him to take them along, to make them his.

He’d been forced repeatedly to leave them standing in their
misery, as the winds of time eventually blew them into his past. Another heart
broken. Another faded lyric in his endless book of sorrowful ballads. His own
wicked game. A game he always lost. There was no glory for him anymore in one
night stands.

He’d finally vowed to no longer do this to any woman. Tears
would cease to fall at the steps of his jet, lying in wait to evaporate in the
plane’s burning passion at take-off.

Women he’d left behind were scattered across the country,
across the world. Petals of dried roses left in his wake, to succumb within the
yellowed pages of time. There was no glory in a heart broken for a simple act
of lust.

Because, he was who he was. A musician who sang his lonely
heart out to millions of fans as they screamed and pounded the stage at his
sweaty feet. Because he could not choose to take a woman back to the hotel for
a one night stand, without suffering the repercussions of an idyllic evening
likened to that of a fairytale. No more women would be left behind drowning in
sorrow.

When the time was right, he’d settle down with one woman. It
wouldn’t be a jump-in-the sack-thing. It would be the old fashioned way. The
way his mom and dad had dated.

He sighed in resignation, and reached for the pitcher of
fresh ice water on his bedside table. He knew of only one cure. A cure this
vivacious nurse certainly didn’t have in her medical bag of tricks. He would
once and for all do the right thing. He’d make Bice and maybe even Heaven
proud.

He gazed once more at the sultry blonde as she beckoned him
with her sizzling eyes.

The pitcher in his hand trembled as he studied her. He bit
his tongue nearly in two watching her hand slip slowly down her side and brush
her thigh. It clung to her already too-short uniform, slowly working the
material upward. Her tongue snaked out and she licked her bottom lip. Perfect
white teeth flashed behind lips of stained crimson.

He held his breath, watching her watch him.

He could stand it no longer. The pitcher shook precariously
above him, threatening to drown out his selfish desires once and for all. Water
dripped from it as he fought to control his trembling hand. Tiny droplets
splattered across the linen sheets. He gasped as he watched each of them become
silvery faces of the many women he loved, and so suddenly, left behind.

He clenched his teeth and braced himself. Finally, he
released his grip on the pitcher. He squeezed his eyes shut against the
inevitable.

The water burst from it in a crescendo of silver spray, and
completely doused him. This time he would win. He’d stop the demon of lust
before it ignited. Which in fact, it already had.

He felt his innermost pride shrivel and wither beneath the
soaked sheet. In the distance, a gasp drifted from the doorway. The flames of
desire were met with a frigid, unstoppable force. They crackled and spat, until
at last, they were swept back into that dark, lonely place somewhere in his
solitary existence.