Decadent Desire
Julian loved observing the laid-back Ike, almost as much as the fact that California’s next senator sat on his other side. After serving as mayor of Paradise Cove for several years, another brother, Niko, two years younger than Ike, was on a tireless campaign to represent the Golden State in the next election. He and attorney wife Monique crisscrossed the state tirelessly, so much so that the family staged a mock intervention to force a weekend of rest. The bribe? Tickets to Nicki’s sold-out show. A Monday morning meeting with a political think tank had been thrown in also, but Julian chose not to focus on that. His brother was here, relaxed, laughing with Terrell, Julian’s next oldest brother, in town with his wife, Aliyah. All in attendance to support his girl.
Their gesture was much appreciated. For almost a decade, his focus had been on getting his PsyD and completing his internship. Everything else had taken a back seat, including Nicki and his family. He blamed that fact on why Nicki turned down his marriage proposal. As for the people around him who shared his name? He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed them until just now.
He nudged Ike. “Ready to get the party started?”
“What I’d start would more likely be a mass exit.”
“Honey!” Quinn smacked his forearm. “That didn’t sound very supportive.”
“Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes, with a pair of earplugs in your pocket.”
Julian leaned forward toward Quinn. “You’re kidding, right?” She shook her head. “Bro, really?”
“Guilty as charged.”
Julian and Quinn shared a sigh of exasperation. She watched him idly tapping the chair arm with his fingers. “Nervous?”
“Excited.”
“When’s the last time you saw her perform?”
New Orleans, Julian thought with a smile, remembering their secret family reunion getaway. “It’s been a while.”
“London’s going to hate that she missed it.”
Niko’s wife, Monique, sat next to Quinn. “All London is thinking about is fashion week. She and Ace are busy tightening up next week’s show-stopping finale.”
Julian’s youngest sister, London, was a superstar model, her husband, Ace, a model turned fashion mogul.
“Fashion week is impressive,” Quinn said, her eyes sparkling as she eyed the stage. “But this is Broadway.”
As if on cue, the lights dimmed.
The stage went completely black. A single drumbeat burst out of the darkness. Boom cha. Boom cha. Then several more percussion instruments along with a sequencer delivering an old-school scratch over syncopated beats, building with every note. Lights, like stars, began to flicker everywhere. On stage and off.
A group of dancers appeared, Nicki among them, lithe, graceful, beautiful, twirling and gyrating and skipping across the stage. Julian watched. Focused. Entranced. Her body seemed a mass of barely contained energy mixed with soulful joy and childlike timidity, personifying the young character she portrayed. A bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, the crystals covering it catching the light, mixing with the twinkling orbs around her that made her a star as well. His heart swelled with pride and, but for strong discipline, another body part would have also grown in size. She was beautiful and talented, amazing and perfect. And she was his girl.
The dance ended. For a second no one moved, then as one, the theater erupted in a round of earsplitting applause mixed with whistles and yells. The second song in the act began, a solo by Rapunzel, and ninety minutes later the audience had to catch their breaths from the wild, exhilarating ride on which they’d been taken. Shortly after the show ended, an assistant came to escort the Drake family backstage.
Behind the door was a crush of sponsors, reporters, actors and their family members, all vying for space in the close, humid quarters. Julian spotted Nicki across the room. She posed with the actor who’d played Rapunzel. Camera flashes temporarily brightened their drab surroundings. A dozen conversations happened at once, a din that made talking at length impossible. He motioned for the others to follow him. Nicki saw his gesture. She whispered to Rapunzel, who looked their way and joined Nicki as she walked over.
Nicki hugged Julian before turning to Paige. “You remember Julian.”
“Of course. Hey, handsome!”
“Hey, Paige. Excellent show.” They shared a brief hug and air-kisses.
“And this is part of the Drake family.”
“My pleasure to meet everybody.” Paige smiled as she took in the beautiful tableau. “I’ve heard so much about all of you.”
“All good, I hope,” Niko said.
“No, she told me the truth.”
Amid the laughter, Nicki introduced Paige to the rest of the family before leading the way through a narrow, dimly lit hallway to the door with a star that bore her name. Once inside, Julian allowed the others to offer their congrats before once again pulling Nicki into his arms. “You were amazing, baby.”
“You liked it?”
“I loved it.”
She pulled away to look at him. “Thanks for the flowers and the champagne. They’re wonderful.”
“So are you.”
Niko stepped up to the couple. “I hate to break up this lovefest, but it’s hot as heck in this shoe box. A star like you can’t command a larger dressing room?”
“This is a larger one,” Nicki deadpanned. “And I’m not a star yet, but thank you. Now get out of here. Give me a few minutes to change, and I’ll meet you by the side exit. Except you,” she finished, reaching for Julian’s hand as the others exited. “You can help me undress.”
“I haven’t seen you in a month, girl,” Julian whispered, running a hand down her back and cupping her butt. “Seeing all that loveliness and not getting a taste will be a pretty tall order.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. Gave him a peck on the lips. “It’ll be worth the wait.”
He kissed her back, deepened it with a swipe of his tongue to part her lips as he reached behind her and undid her zipper. Her last costume, a long, frilly number of sequins and lace, fell to the floor as Julian ran his hands along her torso, searching for and finding pert nipples ready to tweak. He lowered his mouth and pulled one in between his teeth, walked them toward the dressing table.
“Julian!”
“Just a little bit...”
He lifted her with the finesse of a dancing partner, set her on the table and positioned himself between her legs. The belt buckle was unfastened. Pants came unzipped. He reached for his ever-hardening shaft, rubbed the tip along her leg as he eased it toward her quivering folds and...
Knock! “Nicki? You in there?”
“Don’t answer it,” Julian whispered.
“It’s not locked.” Nicki shimmied off the table and reached for her robe. “Yeah, I’m in here.” She cracked the door.
An assistant peeked her head in. “A reporter from Variety is here for you. A bunch of fans, too.”
“Out in five minutes.”
Shortly afterward, Nicki emerged from the dressing room looking fresh and effervescent, as though she’d emerged from a nap, not just performed a nonstop, high-energy show. Hair pulled into a topknot, face nearly devoid of makeup and eyes glowing, she wore a long, loose maxi with bold geometric prints, clunky jewelry and sandals. One could have easily mistaken her for a model instead of a dancer, and many had. Julian walked beside her, a strong but quiet presence amid the crowd.
“Nicki! Nicki!” Fans and the press clamored for her attention. She spent a moment with the reporters, then walked over to where dozens of fans held out programs and other memorabilia for her to sign. While she posed for a couple selfies, Julian texted Niko and requested the limo be brought around to the side entrance. When he turned back, she was rushing toward him.
“Let’s go,” she muttered, not stopping. “Where’s the car?”
Julian quickly spotted Niko standing beside a white stretch limo and waving. He reached for her hand. “Come on.”
He helped her into the limo. She fell back against the seat, clearly relieved.
“Looks like they didn’t want to let you go back there,” Niko teased.
“Yeah.” Nicki glanced out the window, then turned to Julian. “Where are we eating? I’m starved.”
“I’ve handled that,” Terrell said. “Driver, we’re ready.”
The limo pulled away from the curb. Julian put an arm around Nicki. “What was that about?”
“What?”
“You left as though you were running away from someone.”
Quinn overheard him. “What, someone freaked her out?”
All other conversation halted. Eyes turned toward her. “Julian is overexamining my hasty exit. I was simply ready to go.”
He leaned over and spoke softly in her ear. “Ready to go, or trying to beat another light?”
She laughed off the remark, and in the familiar surroundings of New York City interacted more confidently with Julian’s powerful family. She regaled them with stories of life in the city that never slept, including some memorable college moments with Julian before she’d dropped out to pursue dancing. Anyone looking on would see a beautiful, carefree woman out on the town. But Julian wasn’t fooled. He was not only a doctor of behavioral study who’d graduated with honors, but a highly observant man who’d seen every side of Nicki. Something was going on with her. Something she obviously didn’t want to share. They were in the city to celebrate her opening night, so he wouldn’t push. But he wouldn’t forget, either. It looked like he now had two problems—how to get Nicki to leave New York and move to California, and how to find out what was behind the urgency in his gut that made him want to hasten that move.
Chapter 4
“Are you sure it was him?”
Though she hadn’t gotten much sleep due to the Drakes’ late departure from New York City, Nicki was up before seven o’clock. It was either that or keep lying in bed thinking through a continuous replay of what happened last night. Instead, she’d been shimmying into a pair of running shorts when Paige called with the critics’ glowing reviews. The conversation had quickly shifted to less optimistic news.
“Paige, I’m positive. It was Vince. I don’t think he saw the show, but he was there waiting on the sidewalk by the stage door. I saw him as soon as we walked outside.”
“Maybe he did see it and came back there to congratulate you.”
“Then why didn’t he? Why is it that he started toward me, but when he saw Julian he quickly turned around and went the other way? I swear I don’t know what’s up with that guy, but his stalker-like ways are starting to freak me out.”
“Did he call you?”
“Nope. But I tried calling him. Went to voice mail again.”
“Did you leave a message?”
“Same as last time. Said I didn’t have money to lend him and to leave me alone or I’d call the police.” Nicki rubbed away the goose bumps that had suddenly popped up on her arms. “I want to believe he’ll do as I asked, but there was something about him when I saw him last night. A desperate kind of look in his eyes...”
“I think you should go to the police.”
“And say what? That a guy asked me for a loan and then came to my show?”
“That’s not how you told it to me.”
“It’s how the police will see it.”
“What about the black sedan?”
“What about it? Other than the license plate number, I don’t have anything to prove that story. Even that isn’t concrete proof those guys threatened me or were even by my house. They could deny it and the police would deduce that I could have written that number down from anywhere.” Nicki’s phone beeped. “Oh my God, Paige. I think this is him. See you tonight.”
“Be careful. Record the call!”
Nicki clicked over. “Hello?” She opened her settings, looking for a record button.
“Hey, Nicki.”
“Vince. What’s going on? Why are you stalking me?”
“Stalking you? What are you talking about?”
She scrolled through her settings, pushed the call icon. Scrolled. Where was the record feature and why hadn’t she tried finding it before now?
“The other night at the show.”
“Yeah, I was there. So were hundreds of other people.”
“You saw the show?”
“Of course. Why else would I be there?”
“Um, let’s see, I can think of about twenty thousand reasons, unless you found someone else to give you the loan.”
“Oh, that. No, I haven’t found anyone, and the guys I owe are stepping up the pressure.”
“Like you did to me by sending over your thuggish friends?”
She heard an anguished sigh. “I didn’t send them over, Nicki. Not how you’re thinking, anyway. I told them you owed me money. I didn’t tell them to go over and collect it.”
“Then how’d they know where I live?” Silence. “Exactly.” Nicki gave up trying to find the record button. It was too hard to search, think and talk at the same time. “What you’re doing is not cool, Vince. And while I’m sorry you’ve gotten yourself into a predicament, there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
“Not even with some of it—say, five thousand, or ten?”
“Why do you think I have that kind of money to loan out, or that I’d give it to you even if I did?”
“Because at one time you cared about me.”
That much was true, Nicki secretly admitted. She’d fallen hard and fast for the tall charmer. Theirs had been a brief romance, but it also had been a whirlwind of intense fun and loving. Before it wasn’t.
“Because even though I was a dog in the time that we hung out, my feelings for you were real. I wish I’d understood what a gift it was to have you in my life, but it took you leaving for me to find that out.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t hate you, and I can’t loan you money.”
“Is that guy the reason you won’t go out, the one with you at the show last night?”
“Look, Vince, I’ve got to go.”
“Just tell me. Is that your boyfriend? If so, I’ll leave you alone, for real this time.”
“You promise you won’t call again?”
“Not even as friends? I like you, okay?”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know what I like.”
“Yes. That was my boyfriend. He and I have been together a very long time.”
“How long?”
“More than five years.” Nicki realized her mistake at once.
“So I’m not the only cheater on the phone.”
“I didn’t cheat. We’d broken up when you and I got together, and you and I only dated a month. New York is full of good women. Find one of them and treat her the way you should have treated me and all of the women who’ve been hurt by your actions. Okay?”
“Okay. Bye, Nicki.”
Nicki hung up the phone, exhausted, depleted. Getting through that conversation without losing it had probably taken years off her life. What was that about? Declarations of love and sincere-sounding compliments?
She walked into her closet, mumbling, “Probably running the same kind of game that got me with him in the first place.”
Minutes later, earbuds firmly in place, Nicki pushed past the gate to her brownstone and hit the sidewalk running. She’d done way too little of it lately, none since what happened the other night. The conversation with Vince had been taxing, but in a way it had also freed her. He’d said he would leave her alone. She believed it.
Running in place, she looked around her. How she loved the borough called Brooklyn. Bright, bustling, colorful, diverse. Nicki knew Julian wanted her to move west. He hadn’t mentioned it on this trip but that didn’t matter. California was beautiful, true enough. But who would ever want to leave all this energy and feel like they were on vacation forever?
The light turned. Nicki jogged across the street, down the block and around the corner. She saw the bike, heard a scream and felt a pain sharper than she’d ever experienced. One more step and she was on the ground. As she fell she screamed again, realizing that the first guttural wail had been wrenched from her own throat.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop. Are you all right?” Nicki couldn’t speak past a jaw clenched against the pain shooting up from her right ankle. On her mind was a single thought—there’d be no dancing tonight.
* * *
Julian shook hands with his colleagues, tired but glad he’d agreed to the last-minute invite to join a San Francisco symposium on holistic alternatives to traditional remedies for mental illness. Most doctoral students couldn’t wait until school was over. But Julian relished the classroom and missed the sometimes passionate discussions around another’s point of view. He reached his car, slid inside and fired up the phone. After trying unsuccessfully to use it from several different locations inside during the day, he’d turned it off and placed it inside his briefcase. No hesitation in doing that. Julian lived a life that was consciously predictable. Which was why he was surprised to hear several pings as soon as his phone turned on that indicated missed calls.
He tapped and scrolled. Natalie? Couldn’t imagine what she wanted. He’d hired a capable assistant, a forty-seven-year-old single mother named Katie. At their luncheon he’d made it clear to Natalie that he was not in competition with her father, and that she’d provided the only assistance he would ever need from her. There was a call from Katie and one from his mother. The other was from Nicki. He clicked on her number and was surprised to see she’d called multiple times. As he started his car and rolled out of the parking lot, he tapped the steering wheel to engage her number. Ready to leave a message, surprised when she answered the phone.
Confused, he glanced at the dashboard and then at his watch. “Babe, why are you answering the phone? You should be...what’s wrong?”
It was after eight on the East Coast. She should be on stage. Something was definitely not right.
“Babe...”
Sniffles and then, “I’m hurt.”
“What happened?”
In halting, pain-filled detail, she told him. “Tomorrow I’ll see a specialist who’ll determine exactly how long I’ll be down. I pray that it’s only a couple weeks. But it could be longer. Julian, I’m scared. If my ankle is broken, they’ll replace me. What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to be okay,” he replied quickly, his voice calm and firm. “No matter what happens. And you’ll come here, to Paradise Cove, so that I can make sure you get the very best care available. So that I can take care of you.”
Chapter 5
Julian had factored a good six months into getting his practice up and running with a stream of regular patients. Until that happened, he felt he’d have time on his hands. He’d hired an agent to book college talks and professional speaking engagements. Had set up a schedule with the Drake Community Center’s director to offer free counseling to the troubled youth it served. The first month was understandably slow. In August, following an article featuring him in a national medical magazine, he began getting referrals from medical doctors in neighboring towns. Some from as far away as Sacramento and San Jose.
Last week, a former patient of Dr. Johnson had walked into his office. He’d been treated for ten years and felt it wasn’t working. At first Julian refused outright, but after a thorough interview, he’d decided to treat the man. People regularly changed therapists. For the patient, the change proved beneficial. For Julian, it had been fateful. The satisfied patient had obviously been talking. Barely into September and a stream of Johnson’s patients had called for appointments. He turned most of them down, but agreed to see the ones he felt would benefit from his counsel. One was in his office now, engaging in a pattern most likely developed in childhood and perfected throughout her adult life.
He stole a glance at the clock on the wall behind where his patient Vanessa sat. Nicki’s plane would arrive in just over ninety minutes. To leave right now would be cutting it close, and Vanessa’s time would be up in sixty seconds. But she was in crisis. He could not in good conscience end the session before her emotions stabilized.
He watched her twist a tissue to shreds as she recounted an incident from her abusive childhood. Tears for moments she’d probably relived thousands of times. It was neither healthy nor productive, but he knew why she did it. Why millions of people relived the very situations they’d most like to forget. How one could at first hate and then—after depression became the new normal and sadness felt sane—relish the pain.
In psychology it was called destiny neurosis, a form of repetition compulsion. The term was coined by Sigmund Freud in 1914 and expanded after further research. As she had during each previous session, Vanessa lamented over the beatings endured at the hands of her parents, and later a foster mom after the parents lost custody, yet was despondent that a physically abusive third marriage was ending. In the past, a cocktail of antianxiety and antidepressant medication had been prescribed as the cure for her chronic depression. Masking the pain, not fixing the problem. Prescription drug abuse was an epidemic in America. Seventy percent of the country was on some type of prescribed drug. A quarter of them were like Vanessa—depressed, abused, hurting. It’s one of the reasons Julian had chosen psychology over psychiatry, to push himself toward holistic, drug-free healing and make prescribed medicine the absolute last resort.
“I just want to be loved without being beaten. You know?” She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Not at all, Vanessa. Being beaten is not love. It is what you have come to associate with love, because the abuse you suffered was done by people who said they loved you, those who professed to care about you. Do you understand that?”
“What am I doing wrong, Doctor? How do I keep attracting the same type of man into my life?”
“By repeating the same thought patterns and the same actions that brought you to my office. But that’s why I’m here. To help you replace toxic thoughts and actions with positive, productive ones.” Julian looked at his watch and stood. “I have a couple things I’d like to give you.” He continued talking as he walked over to a wall unit. He pulled a card from a drawer beneath the shelving and a blank journal from a stack on one of the shelves. On the front was a message in large, bold letters: Focus on Good Thoughts and Good Things Will Happen.
He walked back to Vanessa, who had stood as well. “I want you to begin keeping a journal. Every day, write at least one page of what you are thinking. It can be anything, any thought that comes to mind. How you’re feeling. How you slept the night before. What you watched on TV or ate for dinner. Doesn’t matter. The point is to get in touch with yourself and become conscious of the storyline that’s playing in your head.”
He held up the five-by-seven card. “Here is a list of questions to help get you started. Your first journal entry can be answering these questions. There are no wrong answers. Just write how you feel.”
“But, Doctor—”
“No buts.” He took her arm and gently guided her toward the door. “You can do this, Vanessa. It’ll help you get better, okay? See you next week.”
Traffic was light, and the gods were kind. Forty-five minutes at mostly ninety miles an hour helped him reach the airport within minutes of Nicki’s arrival. Jennifer had suggested he send a car service. Much too impersonal for his queen, and for someone who’d experienced a career-threatening injury less than a week ago. He wanted to get her himself.
He parked the car and went inside, hoping she’d take his advice and use a wheelchair instead of trying to navigate the busy airport on crutches. So independent, his private dancer. A trait that over the years had often put them at odds. It had taken less coaxing than expected for her agreement to recuperate in Paradise Cove. And while he’d not promised that the specialist he’d lined up could cut her recovery from six weeks to four, it was a carrot he’d gladly dangled to bring her home.
Once inside he looked at the monitor for her flight number. The plane had landed. Most likely, she was on her way down. He checked his phone. There was a text from his mom.