[ - ]
Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story Microsoft Word Chapter or Story
- Text Size +
“Excuse me.”

Nick leaned on the front desk.

The desk clerk looked up from a computer printout.  “Yes, Sir.  May I help you?”

“Um…I’m uh…meeting a young lady for breakfast.  I was wondering if she had come down yet.  Her name is Abby…”  Nick stopped.  It sounded kind of bad, he guessed, that he didn’t know her last name.  “Um…she’s tall…and thin…”

“Would you be referring to Miss Fremont?” asked the clerk in a frosty tone.  “Miss Abigail Fremont?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Nick.  How many Abigails could there be in the place?

“Miss Fremont went out,” said the clerk nodding at the back doors.

“Thanks,” said Nick, heading in that direction.

The clerk watched his receding back with pinched lips.  Abby, indeed!  Who did this chubby surfer think he was dealing with?

“Hey, man,” said a bellhop, as Nick was pushing open the door.  “She only left a couple of minutes ago.  She was headed for the beach.”  The young man rolled his eyes and tilted his head at the stuffy desk clerk.

“Thanks,” said Nick.  He stepped out onto the terrace.  He scanned the lawns and patios…and the beach.  He didn’t see her anywhere.  How far could she have gotten…?

Suddenly, he was running, taking the steps three at a time, dodging around chairs and tables, leaping over a small hedge.  “Abby!” he called and then louder and more desperate, “Abby!!!”  He stepped onto the beach and his feet responded to the change between the hard grass and the soft sand by hurling him to the ground.  He grunted as he landed on his shoulder, but he rolled up to his feet again in one motion.  He looked around frantically and then raced for the rocks.  “Abby!” he called as he climbed.

“Nick, stop!”  The voice came from behind him.  He stopped and turned around.  She was standing there, breathing heavily, like she’d been running.

“Where were you?” he said, his breath coming in short gasps.  He was out of shape and the hurdling run was the most exercise he’d had in weeks.  He climbed down and sat on the bottom rock, leaning his head forward, trying to catch his breath.

“I was up there,” she said, pointing up the hill toward a terrace with wooden lawn chairs.  “I was reading the paper and having a cup of tea…and then you came flying past…yelling my name…”

“I thought…I thought…” he panted. 

“Yes,” she said softly, “I know what you thought.  And I thought I’d better catch you before you shared that thought with everyone at the hotel…and the Coast Guard.”

Nick looked up at her.  She looked better this morning.  More together.  Well, dummy, she could hardly be less together than she was last night.  “Did you sleep?” he asked.  There were dark smudges under her eyes.  He knew he had some too.

“Some.  How about you?”

His eyes were less puffy this morning.  Maybe he’d been all cried out by the time he hit the beach last night.

“Yeah, some.”

She stood before him, listening to him wheeze.  “Are you okay?”  His face was awfully red.

“Just out of shape,” he said sheepishly.  He rose to his feet.  “Want to get some breakfast?”

“You don’t have to baby-sit me,” she said, putting her head down and dragging a toe through the sand in front of her.

‘I’m not,” he said.  “I mean…I just wanted to…I don’t know…”  He shrugged.  He really didn’t know.  He had gone to the front desk to make arrangements to check out and get the hell away from here – away from the floral nightmare that was Rose Cottage.  He hadn’t realized he was going to check on her until the words came out of his mouth.  “Just breakfast,” he said.  “I’m hungry.  I…uh…I haven’t had food in my stomach for awhile.”

Odd way of phrasing it, thought Abby.  “Okay, sure.  Just breakfast.”

Nick started walking.  She fell into step beside him, but kept her distance.  They walked about three feet apart, both with their hands in their pockets.  Nick was wearing a pair of khakis with a loose-fitting shirt that hung out over the pants.  It was an attempt to hide his stomach, but all it did was make him look square and boxy.  Abby was wearing white pants and a coral blouse with tiny white flowers.  The blouse was buttoned up to the top and the color did nothing for her, making her skin look blotchy.  Not that Nick could see her face anyway.  Her hair was parted in the middle and she kept her head bent as she walked, so her hair hid her face from view.

Like a curtain shutting her off from the world, thought Nick.  He gave her the once over out of the corner of his eye as they walked.  Last night, his first impression had been that she was ugly.  He decided she was not.  She was plain, there were no distinguishing features, no high cheekbones, no sparkling eyes.  Everything about her was flat – her hair, her skin tone, her chest.  She moved gracefully, except for a tendency to slouch, hunching her shoulders forward, maybe in an effort to look shorter, maybe trying to turn herself inside out and disappear.  She wore no makeup, not even lipstick, nothing to draw attention to her face.

“Maybe some day I’ll be able to thank you, Nick,” she said softly, not looking at him.  “…for what you did last night.”

They had reached the edge of the lawn.  They stopped walking and turned to each other.  She looked up at him for a moment and then dropped her eyes.  “…but not yet,” she continued.  Then so softly, he almost couldn’t hear it, “…not yet.”

“Abby…” he began.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she said.  “You were right.  I just have to suck it up and go on.”

Nick groaned.  “I have such a way with words.”  They climbed the first flight of stairs.

“No, they were good words.  They were the right words.  It’s just…”  No! she told herself.  No!  Don’t start down that road.  You don’t need it and he doesn’t want to hear it!  Suck it up!  “What about you?” she asked, switching the focus to him.  “Are you going to follow your own advice?”

Nick grimaced and then nodded.  “Yeah, I…yeah…I guess there’s nothing else to do…”

“Do you want the terrace or the dining room?”  Abby changed the subject.  She wanted the look on Nick’s face to disappear.

“What’s the difference?” he asked, and then blushed.  “I mean, besides the obvious indoor/outdoor thing.”

Abby smiled.  It was the first genuine smile he’d seen on her.  He liked it.

“There’s a buffet in the dining room,” she said.  “If we eat on the terrace, we have to order it from the waiter.

Nick thought about it.  Outdoors was always better, he thought.  Especially when there was a view of water.  “Terrace?” he suggested.

Abby nodded and they climbed another flight to a patio with a dozen tables with yellow and white striped umbrellas.  Abby chose a table by the stone balustrade.  It had a good view of the beach and the lake beyond.  She waited while he held out her chair.

“You like the water, Nick?”  It was more of an observation than a question.

“Yeah,” he nodded.  “It’s my favorite place.  The ocean.  I have a boat back home.”

“Where’s back home?”  Abby guessed California.  The sun-bleached hair and the tan were good clues.

“Florida,” he said, proving her wrong.  “…and California,” he added, proving her right.

“Hmmm,” she said, “Bicoastal.”

He laughed.  “Yeah.  I’m originally from Florida, but I do a lot of work on the West Coast now, so I keep a place in L.A.”

The waiter brought them orange juice and took their breakfast orders.  Abby ordered the fresh fruit cup and a bran muffin, with tea.  Nick ordered coffee and eggs and bacon with pancakes and pan-fried potatoes.  “Make the toast ‘whole wheat’” he said, in the barest nod at nutrition.

“So what line of work are you in, Nick?” asked Abby.  He got a funny look on his face and she backtracked.  “I’m sorry.  That’s kind of a personal question.  I mean, I don’t even know your last name.”

“Carter,” he said.  My name is Nick Carter.”  He watched her reaction carefully.

She furrowed her brow and looked out over the lake.  He watched her mouth the words.  Nick Carter.  She turned back to him.  “I know I’m going to feel foolish.  The name sounds familiar.  I should know it, shouldn’t I?”

He laughed.  “I’m a singer…a musician.”

She nodded but he could tell it didn’t mean anything.

“I…uh…used to be…I mean, I am…I’m in a group.”  He paused.  “The Backstreet Boys.”

Abby’s eyes widened and she shook her head.  “Of course you are.  I feel like an idiot.  I have a couple of your albums.  Good music.”

“Thanks,” said Nick.  Apparently Nick as a solo artist was an unknown entity to her.  This was a humbling experience that he didn’t need right now.

“I guess I should have recognized you, but you seem so much…”

“Fatter?” he asked, with a tinge of something in his voice.

“No,” she said sincerely.  “Older.  But of course, you are.  I mean…Black and Blue, that was the last one, right?  That was…” she paused and calculated.  “…what…about three or four years ago?”

Nick nodded.  He wasn’t going to bring up Chapter One.  “Yeah, it came out in November of 2000.”

“So what have you been doing since then?” she asked, leaning back to allow the waiter to place the tea paraphernalia in front of her. 

Nick dumped sugar and cream into his coffee.  “I’ve released two solo albums,” he said coldly.

Abby turned beet red.  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.  “I should have known.”

“Why?  Why should you have known?” asked Nick, with an edge to his voice. 

There was a lull in the conversation, as the waiter delivered their food.  Nick busied himself pouring syrup on his pancakes.  He scooped a dollop of butter from a silver dish and dropped it on top.  He picked up a piece of bacon in his fingers.

Abby took a spoonful of her fruit – strawberries, bananas and pineapple.  He was upset, but she wasn’t sure if it was at her or at himself.  Or maybe at the woman.  Maybe she hadn’t known about the albums either.

“So are you going on tour?” she asked, watching as he took the lid off a ceramic pot of jam.  He slathered the sticky substance over both pieces of toast, then licked the residue from his thumb.

“I’m going back into the studio with the guys,” he said.  Then his eyes widened.  “Oh shit.  No one’s supposed to know that.”

“It’s okay.  I won’t tell anyone.”

Nick speared a forkful of pancakes and put them in his mouth.  He leaned across the table and pointed at her with his fork.  “It’s just that the fans get all…anxious…and the media tries to turn it into a circus…”

Abby nodded.  She broke her muffin in half and spread a thin layer of butter on it.  “I understand,” she said, “it’s a secret.”

“We want to see where we’re at…what we’ve got so far.  We got a lot of stuff here and there… half-recorded songs…”  He swirled a forkful of potatoes through the egg yolk and into his mouth.  He washed it down with his orange juice.  He ate half a piece of toast in one bite.

Something about this was making him uncomfortable, thought Abby.  Either that or he hadn’t eaten in a week.  She took another spoonful of fruit.  “Well, your secret is safe with me.  Cross my heart and hope to…”  She twitched and looked down.  She spooned the fruit into her mouth and chewed carefully, hoping she could swallow without choking.

“No, don’t hope that,” Nick said gently.  “Don’t ever hope that.”

She nodded, indicating that she had heard him.  But she didn’t raise her head.

They finished the meal in silence, both eating quickly, wanting to bring an end to the awkward situation.  The meals at Brookhaven were part of the package, so thank goodness, there would be no haggling over the bill, thought Abby.

“Is that all you eat?” asked Nick, using his final bit of toast to swab the remaining egg from his plate.

“I’m playing tennis this morning,” she said.  “I’ll eat a big lunch after.”

Now Nick was really confused.  If she’d been planning on killing herself the night before, why had she set up a tennis date?  Surely, she hadn’t hopped out of bed this morning and arranged it.  The sun is up, I’m still alive, who wants to play tennis?

Abby read his mind.  “I didn’t know how long it would take…to say goodbye,” she said.  Her head was bent so low, he couldn’t see her face at all.

“Are you always this organized?” he asked, trying to make his voice light.

She chuckled.  “Yes, pretty much.”  And finally, she raised her head.  “Pretty much,” she said again with a sigh.

“Miss Fremont?”  The waiter glided up to the table and handed her a folded note.  She opened it and laughed.

“It seems that the club pro has strained a muscle and can’t make our match this morning.  Bit ironic, wouldn’t you say?”  She laughed at Nick’s confused expression.  She leaned across the table and whispered.  “All things being equal, I would have been the one standing him up.”

Nick’s mouth gaped.  And then the corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile.  She was going to be okay.

Abby dabbed at the corners of her mouth and dropped her napkin on the table.  “Well, Nick, I…”

“Abby Fremont,” he said.

“Yesss…” she said slowly.

“Maybe it’s my turn to look foolish, but…”  He looked out over the water and furrowed his brow as she had done, “…your name sounds familiar to me too.”  Abby Fremont.  Abigail Fremont.  He mouthed the words.

Abby laughed.  “Oh, you’ve seen that name a lot, Nick.  You just haven’t realized it.”  She picked up the menu card that stood between the salt and pepper.  She turned it over and showed him the back.  He looked down at it.  It was the logo for the hotel – a picture of the lodge with the name underneath – Brookhaven Lodge.  And under that, in smaller print, A Fremont Hotel.

“You own this hotel?” asked Nick in wonder.

“No,” laughed Abby.  “I don’t own it.  I’m related to the people that used to own it.  They sold it a few years ago, and the name went with it.

“So if you’ve got money…”

“You’d think it would be easy for my parents to buy me a husband.”

“No,” said Nick.

Abby rose to her feet.  She wanted to run away, but she was hemmed in by the table.  Nick stood up.  “No, Abby,” he said.  “That’s not what I was going to say.  I just wondered why you weren’t staying in one of the cottages?”

“No, you weren’t,” she said, and walked away, steeling herself to be a lady and not run.  She was tempted to head for the beach, but she knew what he would think and she knew he would follow her.  So she climbed the stairs and disappeared into the hotel.  He wouldn’t follow her there.  They could escape each other.

Nick sat down again at the table.  Phew!  Now that had been a tense meal.  He finished his coffee and waved away the waiter’s offer of more.  He stood up and threw a ten-dollar bill on the table.  He knew it was all-inclusive and you weren’t supposed to, but he didn’t care.  It was the way he did things.  And in the screwy mess that the last twenty-four hours had become, he wanted to have something familiar, something remotely resembling the way he did things.