Claire Ryan smiled. “No problem. I’m always in the mood for pizza – well, almost always – and I could never pass up coming to Leonardi’s.”
Nick nodded. “Yeah, this place is perfect,” he commented.
The small pizza parlor had been Claire’s idea. “You’ll love it,” she had told Nick enthusiastically over the phone when he had suggested meeting at a place that was small and secluded, a place where he was not likely to be recognized or mobbed. “It’s my favorite restaurant in Tampa; I always end up going there when I don’t feel like cooking. It’s not too classy or anything, but the food is great, and it’s cheap. Not to mention, it’s never too crowded. It’ll be perfect.”
Taking another look around, Nick couldn’t help but agree totally with her. Leonardi’s was old and shabby, but clean. It was a no-frills kind of place – sparsely-decorated, paneled walls, simple wooden tables and chairs covered with red-and-white checked plastic tablecloths in the middle and booths along the walls, the wooden tabletops also covered in plastic tablecloths, the vinyl upholstery of the seats torn in various spots.
Nick and Claire had taken the large, wrap-around booth in the very back corner, as far away from the few other diners as they could get. Nick had worn sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his ears, hoping to disguise himself as much as possible.
“I think you’re attracting even more attention to yourself in that get-up,” Claire had teased him good-naturedly when she saw him, whipping the sunglasses off of his face. He had only blushed and pulled his hat down tighter, trying to cover up the fact that he was bald underneath it.
He did this again now, running his hand over the top of the cap and smashing it down onto his head as far as it would go.
“Quit that, would ya?” Claire said, and Nick looked up to see a smirk playing on her lips. He smiled sheepishly, both unaware that he had been doing it and that she had been watching him. It had become a bad habit, the flattening and pulling of his baseball caps, probably a replacement for the nervous habit he had always had of running his hand through his hair. He did it without even knowing now, always unconsciously insecure of his appearance.
“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly and forced his hands into his lap. Maybe if he just sat on them...
“You should just leave it off,” Claire suggested. “People would think you shaved your head on purpose. I know guys who’ve done that.”
“You’re forgetting one thing – I’m famous. The whole world knows what’s wrong with me; no one will think I did it on purpose.”
“True, but if everyone knows what’s wrong with you anyway, why do you care if they see your head? I mean, they would probably expect you to be bald, right?”
He had to admit, she had a point. Still, he was self-conscious and couldn’t bear to be seen in public with a bare head. And apparently neither could she, for she was always wearing a bandana over her head. She must have had a million of them, too, because she always seemed to be wearing a different one. Tonight it was tiger-striped in vivid orange and black. It rather reminded him of AJ and his leopard-print cowboy hat.
“I dunno,” he answered her finally. “I just don’t feel comfortable with it yet, I guess.”
She smiled. “That’s okay. Neither do I, really. I was just giving you a hard time.”
He grinned and studied her for a moment. “You ever considered getting a wig?” he asked her, his eyes following the jagged stripes of her bandana.
“Oh, I have one,” said Claire. “Just never wear it, except for special occasions – it itches my head.”
“Oh what, and tonight’s not a special occasion? Dinner with Nick Carter – I think that’s pretty damn special,” he teased.
“Oh yeah, you would. You and the millions of your adoring female fans. But not me; I have my standards,” she shot back haughtily, flashing him a grin.
He just smirked back at her. “So, what color’s your wig?”
“Guess,” she smiled.
“Blonde?” With her blue eyes and fair skin, she looked like a blonde.
“Nope.”
“Um... brunette then?”
“Wrong again. It’s black. Jet black,” she answered, beaming at the surprised look on her face.
“Black...?”
She giggled. “Yup. It makes me look really goth cause I’m so white...” She held out her arm and looked at it. “Well, not this pasty white usually, but still pretty fair.”
“So what are you naturally? Blonde?” he asked.
She cocked her head at him. “What’s the deal with blondes? You like blondes do ya... Blondie?”
“I like all ladies,” he retorted smugly. “But, no, you just look like you would be a blonde.”
She smiled. “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see if I am or not when my hair grows back.”
“Oh, I’ll look forward to it,” Nick remarked dryly, smiling back.
Finally, a waitress came to take their order. Speaking of blondes, she was very blonde herself, fair highlights accenting her natural golden shade of hair. Add this to the fact that she was young, tall, skinny, and blue-eyed, and Nick thought he had died, gone to Heaven, and met an angel. He wondered if he should try a line like that on her, then decided it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for two reasons - 1) Claire would most definitely laugh her ass off at him, and 2) the waitress would probably just look at him in disgust. If he had looked like the old Nick Carter, blonde and so-called attractive, it might have worked, but there was no way in hell it would work now. He resigned himself to that fact and kept his mouth shut.
“Hi,” the waitress said in a perky voice. “My name’s Jessica, and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you two some drinks to start off?”
Nick motioned for Claire to give the girl her drink order first, and Claire nodded, saying automatically, “Sure... I’ll have a lemonade, please.”
“One lemonade,” Jessica repeated, scribbling it down on a little notepad she clutched in one hand. “And for you, sir?”
Well, he knew there was no way in hell he was going to have lemonade. “Um... I’ll just have ice water,” he said, deciding that would be safe.
“And one ice water. Got it. I’ll be back in a sec,” said Jessica as she walked away. Nick studied her barely-there excuse for an ass for a moment and then decided he preferred the ghetto booty to the bony butt on her.
“Nick Carter, are you staring at her ass?”
Claire’s playful scolding made him jump and quickly avert his eyes. “Of course not,” he answered hastily, trying to hide his smile.
“Oh, you were too. Typical guy,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Jessica returned with two dark red glasses, which she set down in front of them, placing two straws between them. “Are you ready to order yet?” she asked.
Nick and Claire exchanged glances; they had been so busy talking, they had barely even glanced at the menu. “What do you like on your pizza?” Claire asked him.
“Meat,” Nick said automatically. “Pepperoni, sausage, whatever. And cheese – extra cheese.”
She nodded. “Sounds good to me.” Looking at Jessica, she said, “We’ll have a large sausage and pepperoni with extra cheese.”
“Okay,” Jessica said brightly, writing their order down, and walked away.
“Do you think one large will be enough and all?” Claire asked Nick after the waitress had left.
“A large? Uh, yeah, that should be plenty,” he replied.
“Okay, just making sure. I wasn’t sure if you could polish off an entire pizza yourself like some guys I know or not.”
Nick laughed. “Well, technically, I probably could or at least used to be able to, but I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”
“Wow, wish I was you,” Claire snorted. “I guess you got the good drugs, the kind that take away your appetite. I got the ones that make it even bigger. I could probably eat the entire pizza if I let myself.”
“Really?” Nick laughed. “Wow, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard a girl say that. Most of the girls I’ve been out with just order salads for dinner and pick at them and then say how full they are. I’m like, “Yeah... sure you are...’.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ve never been like that. I’ve always had a ‘healthy appetite,’ let’s just say. I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted though without it showing, but the chemotherapy I’m on now has totally been screwing with my system. The appetite thing plus the water weight just makes me-“
“Hey, you think we can change the subject?” Nick interrupted, not really wanting to hear about things like bloating... it reminded him of when girls discussed “that time of the month,” a subject that always made him feel extremely uncomfortable. He knew was just a part of life, but sheesh, he didn’t want hear all the gory details.
Claire laughed. “Sure. Sorry,” she apologized quickly. “Yeah, let’s talk about happy things now.”
“Okay,” Nick said warily. “Happy things like what?” It seemed there just weren’t too many happy things in his life to discuss anymore.
Claire shrugged. “I dunno... like flowers and kittens and shit?” She grinned impishly.
“Kittens? Nah, I’m more of a puppy person.”
“Me too,” Claire laughed. “Cats are too damn temperamental.”
“Yeah,” agreed Nick.
“So...” Claire began, as the conversation faded to silence, “what else makes you happy, Nick Carter? What are you into besides the music thing?”
What else makes you happy, Nick Carter? her words echoed in his mind. It was a good question. It had been so long since he had considered himself truly happy that he almost didn’t know what to answer. But then he thought back to the one thing that had always made him happy...
“The ocean,” he said wistfully. “I’ve always loved the ocean. It’s like my... my sanctuary... the one place I can go to take my mind off of all the crap I have to think about and just chill, you know. It’s my escape.”
Claire nodded seriously, looking him right in the eyes as he spoke. It rather unnerved him; he wasn’t used to getting all deep and thoughtful, and having her look at him so intently made him feel self-conscious.
“Sorry,” he blushed. “Didn’t mean to go all fruity on you.”
Claire frowned. “Why are you sorry? And I don’t think you’re fruity. That’s cool. So I bet you’ve probably spent a lot of time by the ocean recently then.”
“Actually, no, I haven’t,” Nick answered truthfully, realizing just how long it had been. “My poor boat hasn’t been taken out in months.”
“Oh. Well, you should take it out. Clear your mind and all that.”
“Yeah...” Nick said slowly. “Yeah, I should...”
The service at Leonardi’s was much faster than most of the pizza places Nick had been to, and their pizza was brought to them in no time. It looked and smelled delicious, even to Nick. Covered in hot, bubbling cheese, browned to perfection, and piled with layers of pepperoni and sausage, it beckoned to Nick, and he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into a slice.
He slid a slice onto Claire’s plate and then took one for himself. Without hesitation, he picked it up and took a big bite off the end, eager to try it. It tasted like heaven in his mouth. Claire was right; Leonardi’s did make great pizza. He was surprised that in all his years of living in Tampa, he had never discovered this wonderful little place before. It was not until he started chewing and swallowed that he realized he had made a mistake. The hot, zesty pizza burned the sores in his mouth, making it too painful to enjoy. He swallowed with difficulty, grimacing.
Glancing up from her slice, Claire looked at him in concern. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Does it taste funny?”
“No,” Nick choked quickly, embarrassed. “No, it’s really good. Just, uh, a little hot.”
“Oh. Good,” said Claire. Shrugging, she added, “Some of the chemo drugs I’ve been on have screwed up my sense of taste, so I was just wondering if that was it.”
“Oh, no,” Nick shook his head. “No, it’s not that.” He forced himself to take another bite, somehow feeling as if he would disappoint her if he did not eat. Trying not to wince, he chewed carefully, strategically trying to avoid the sores. But that was impossible, for they had cropped up all over the inside of his mouth.
He glanced up, only to see Claire watching him again.
“What?” he asked, swallowing again. “Do I got cheese hanging off my chin or something?” He swiped at his mouth with his napkin.
“No... you just... never mind,” she said, going back to her pizza and chewing in silence.
He just stared down at his own, hungry and wanting to eat it, but dreading it at the same time. God, this sucked. Wasn’t the baldness and barfing enough? Wasn’t it bad enough that he could barely eat for a week because he was so nauseous, and now, when he finally did have an appetite again, he couldn’t eat because his mouth was full of raw canker sores?
After a few minutes of silence, Claire let her half-eaten slice of pizza drop to her plate and looked at Nick. “Is it mouth sores?” she asked, as if she could read his mind.
Nick stared at her. How did she do that? “Yeah,” he admitted. “The pizza’s really good, but I just... it hurts to eat it...”
Claire smiled sympathetically. “Just a minute,” she said. Then she called, “Excuse me, Jessica?”
Their young, blonde waitress, who had just finished taking another table’s orders, hurried over. “Yes, can I get you anything?” she asked Claire.
“Yeah, two large milkshakes please. One strawberry and one-“ She paused and looked back to Nick. “What flavor?”
“Oh... uh, vanilla, I guess,” he answered in surprise.
“Coming right up,” Jessica said with a smile.
“They make awesome milkshakes here too,” Claire told Nick. “And they feel a lot better on your mouth, trust me. I’ve been there.”
She smiled understandingly, and Nick smiled back, reassured. It was odd, but he felt extremely comfortable around Claire, even though he didn’t know her that well yet. He wasn’t even sure if they really had anything in common, except for the fact that they were both battling the same type of disease. But that was enough. It had created some sort of bond between them, and though she was still practically a stranger, Claire Ryan felt like a friend to him. A friend that understood what he was going through in a way none of his other friends could. Because as close as he was to Brian and all his other friends, he had a special connection with Claire that he would never have with any of them.
Jessica returned, balancing two tall fountain glasses on a tray. One was filled with light pink ice cream, the other with creamy white, and both were topped with copious mounds of whipped cream, a single cherry perched on the peak.
“Thank you,” Claire said and pushed her plate of half-eaten pizza aside.
“Do you want a box for that?” Jessica asked, eying the nearly-full pan of pizza.
“Yes, please,” answered Claire. “Actually, bring back two, would you?”
“Sure.” Jessica left and returned right away with two flat pizza boxes. Claire divided the uneaten pizza into halves, putting one half into one box and the other into the other box.
“You take half of it home,” she said to Nick, “so that you can eat it later if your mouth feels better.”
“Thanks,” said Nick, touched by her thoughtfulness. He took a slow sip of his milkshake, struggling to suck the thick substance through his straw, and swallowed carefully. Claire was right; the cold ice cream did feel a lot better swishing around in his mouth than the pizza had, and he eagerly drank some more.
“Hits the spot, doesn’t it?” Claire asked, plucking the cherry off the top of hers by its stem and twisting it around slowly between her fingers.
”Yeah,” Nick said earnestly. “You rule, you know that.”
“I know,” teased Claire with a grin, popping the cherry into her mouth.
Nick smiled, taking another sip from his shake, glad that he had gone out with her tonight instead of with his guy friends. Maybe he wasn’t off in some sleazy nightclub, plastered and surrounded by beautiful women, but he was having a good time just the same.
“What would I do without ya, Claire?” he bantered, but really, he meant it. Thinking back to their talks in the clinic waiting room and her visit to him in the hospital and, of course, tonight, he realized the whole sucky ordeal he had endured thus far would have been even suckier without her companionship.
***
