Chapter Twenty-Nine
Spinelli's apartment had a style all of its own... at least as far as Maxie was concerned. Never before had she encountered someone who considered wall to wall shelving stuffed with overflowing piles of what she thought to be junk – spare electronics equipment, video games, comic books, and toy action figurines – to be a legitimate personal statement on style. His living room furniture was a combination of bean bag chairs and blow up, plastic mini-sofas; his dining room table an air hockey machine with bar stools; and his dishes were the freebies that came with so many purchases of select brands of cereal. He didn't even have a single piece of glassware; everything was plastic, and she would know, because she had checked. What the rest of his apartment looked like, she didn't know, and, frankly, she didn't care to find out. Their tour had ended at her insistence before the nerd could embarrass himself further.
"Are you sure the girls are going to be alright back their on their own," she questioned him. Since she had arrived at The Jackass' humble abode – emphasis on both the words jackass and humble, Maxie had been asking her tech support staff (as she liked to think of Damien) the same inquiry over and over again. Because Robin had gone out to dinner that night with friends from work, she had Cate. The problem was that she also had to work on her new business as well.
Luckily, as fate would have it, Spinelli had a niece who was the exact same age as her second cousin and charge, and he had invited both of them over, for he had the little girl for the night while her mother went out, too. Though it chapped her designer jean clad ass that Robin was going out while she was staying in with the geek squadron and that, instead of going out with a guy, she was watching Cate so that Robin could go drinking with female coworkers, she firmly believed that girlfriends were a step in the right direction towards getting her cousin back on the dating market. Now, she wouldn't have to nag and push on her own; she'd have backup.
"Feisty Fashionista, if you believe nothing else about The Jackal, know that he adores his family." Speaking gravely for what was perhaps the first time in his life, he emphasized, "I would do anything for my sister and her daughter. Trust me, the room is secure. I have safety plugs in all the electrical sockets still from when Laura was a baby, there are no sharp corners for them to fall and hit their heads on while jumping on the bed, and I only keep appropriate movies and games in plain sight. Anything inappropriate is hidden."
"A serial bachelor who knows how to put his porn stash away? Impressive," she complimented him cattily.
"Considering the fact that I'm almost positive that was the most masculine insult you've ever offered me, I'll simply accept what you said and not argue with you."
"See, Spaghetti," Maxie ruffled his hair roughly. "You're learning already. Next, we'll work on you putting the toilet seat down."
"Or perhaps I'll just invent one that lowers itself automatically when a man steps away from the commode," he suggested.
"Hey, no side projects! You're supposed to be working on my website right now."
"And I am, Evil Blonde One," Damien assured her. "Now, why don't you tell me why you requested this meeting? Have you changed your mind about something that we've already discussed? Do you need help with an advertising project? Whatever it is, The Jackal is at your service." With this announcement, he offered her a small, fancy bow. She had to curb the urge to kick him in the shin. For some reason, Spinelli had the power to bring out her inner five year old.
"Actually, I unfortunately ran into my Uncle Mac today, and he immediately set in about all the rules and regulations on owning a small business that I hadn't been aware of. I swear, the man just can't forget that he's a stupid cop for five seconds! There I was, excited about actually doing something to make my dream come true, and he has to dump all over me. Talk about being unsupportive."
As the nerd took a seat at his ice hockey table, Maxie wandered about his apartment, absentmindedly picking up loose odds and ends, playing with them, and then sightlessly putting them back down without even registering what it was she had been holding in the first place. "You do realize that your business partner is an attorney, don't you? In fact, she's the attorney. Miss Miller is the be all and end all of litigation. She's simply the best."
"Okay, Tina Turner, I get it. She's your favorite cougar in the whole world." When The Jackass didn't respond, she glanced up to see his brow buried in confusion. "Forget it," Maxie dismissed.
"Anyway," he moved on, following her instructions. "My point is that my intrepid employer has already taken the necessary precautions to ensure that her latest entrepreneurial adventure cannot be derailed because of faulty paperwork or incomplete permits. Rest assured. Your dreams are in good hands."
She winked at him. "Know that from personal experience, huh?"
"Uh... contrary to your obviously high opinion of my business acuity, I have never before attempted to start a corporation with The Brusque Lady of Justice's more than able assistance."
"Yeah, again, Spinelli, so not what I meant." When he went to ask her for an explanation, she held him off by putting up a hand and saying, "if you don't get it already, you probably never will."
"Alright then," he said resignedly. "Why don't you share with The Jackal your news then? On the phone, you mentioned something about a charity event that should – in your own words – 'go a long way to ensure that all the rich bitches in this town never forget my name.'"
Glancing around her, Maxie asked, "do you have any cards around this dump... and I'm talking 52 normal cards with numbers and members of a mock royalty on them. I don't want you to hand me anything with dragons or wizards instead."
Immediately, the nerd hopped to his feet – no wonder Diane called him her Mr. Grasshopper – and began to rummage through a drawer... as in one, for he had several... meant to hold junk in his kitchen. "And may I inquire why the Feisty Fashionista desires such things?"
She shrugged, though she knew he couldn't see her. "They help me think. I figured why we talk about the charity fashion show I'm going to help my cousin throw to raise money for her department at work, we'd play poker or something."
Standing up straight so quickly he knocked his head against an upper cabinet, Spinelli suggested hopefully, "strip poker?"
"Only if you're referring to me stripping you of all your skin and nails if you ever even think of me taking my clothes off in your presence"
"So, there is a chance," Damien persisted with a goofy smile.
Despite herself, Maxie laughed. "No, absolutely not. You'd have a better shot of Diane buying shoes at Payless than you would have of me ever allowing you to see me in anything less than a complete and total ensemble. No, we'll just be playing straight, five-card stud... unless you know Texas Hold 'Em."
"Hold Them?"
"No, Hold 'Em."
"Hold What?"
Throwing up her arms, she exclaimed, "Texas Hold 'Em, Spinelli, like the most famous kind of poker there is right now. Hell, turn on one of the bazillion ESPN's available to all cable subscribers, and you'll probably find a Texas Hold 'Em tournament on right now."
"Yeah... I don't know what ESPN is," he told her. Guessing, he suggested, "Everybody Speaks Poker Network?"
Without intention, she felt her mouth fall open unattractively. "Are you sure you're not gay... and I'm not saying this in an attempt to be cruel, or vicious, or even funny?"
"100%, all systems a go, I'm as sure that I'm straight as a Mac is better than a PC. In fact, if The Evil Blonde One would be kind enough to revisit the idea of strip poker, then The Jackal is positive he would be able to quickly and embarrassingly assure her that he is, in fact, heterosexual."
"Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew!" Closing her eyes and rubbing them frantically, Maxie shrieked once more just for good measure, "and ew again!" Shaking herself in revulsion, she commanded, "shut up, bring the cards, and sit your mismatched ass down so I can show you how to play normal, non-naked poker." He did as she said, handing her the deck of cards once he had taken his seat. Shuffling, she instructed him, "and, while we play, think about possible logo designs. Once the website's up and running, that's your next task."
"You know, I'm starting to think that you believe yourself to be my boss."
"Duh."
"We are coworkers."
"Underling and head bitch," Maxie argued.
"Equals."
"Slave and Master."
"Friends," The Jackass went and suggested hopefully.
Despite her otherwise cold and sometimes she suspected unfeeling heart, Maxie simply couldn't say no to the geek's puppy-dog, panting expression. Rolling her eyes, she countered, "acquaintances. We'll revisit about the whole friends issue afterI see my new logo."
Who knew running a business would require so much coddling!
} ~ {
It was late – in fact, he had been sleeping – when Johnny stumbled out of bed in the dark to answer his door. The only illumination to light his path was the occasional shower of the moon's luminescence when the clouds would shift enough for the lunar glow to shine through his floor to ceiling windows. It made his penthouse apartment appear as though it existed in a world of shadows only, all the color washed away in a sea of black, gray, and white.
Because of how emphatically the person was knocking at his door, he believed them to be one of his father's men, assuming there had been some sort of alarm or important security breach, so, when he opened it to find Nadine out alone in the hall, her face flushed from a combination of exertion, slight inebriation, and nervousness and her purse carelessly tossed down to lay forgotten at her flip flop wearing feet, it was easy to say that he was slightly more than shocked. In fact, he was so rocked by her unexpected visit, Johnny had to lean over and rest against the open door jamb.
"So, Girls Night Out went well," he teased her affectionately, grinning despite all the unvoiced and unanswered questions lingering between them.
"You're not wearing a shirt."
As if suddenly reminded of the fact, he glanced down at himself. Sure enough, she was right. Looking back up to meet her unblinking gaze, he replied, "I was in bed... when you knocked."
"Oh." Nadine blushed further. "Did I wake you? If I did..." Already turning to leave, she said, "I'll just go."
"Wait, no," he called after her, reaching forward to gently take hold of her arm and turn her back around. "I wasn't sleeping, and you're here now."
"I am." To go along with her positive statement, the nurse nodded her head emphatically.
He smirked. "Do you want to tell me why you're here then? Not that I mind," Johnny was quick to assure her. "In fact, you can come by every night at this time and get me up out of bed if you want." This time, it was his face's turn to flush in embarrassment. Returning to the previous topic, he asked, "I mean, is there something on your mind? Nothing's wrong, right?"
"No. Yes. I don't know."
The fact that she was agitatedly wringing her hands and suddenly avoiding his eyes told him that, not only was she hesitant to actually answer his question, but that she was also scared to, and the last thing he ever wanted was for Nadine to be scared of him or scared of anything that had to do with him – whether it was their relationship, how she felt about him, or because of how strongly he suspected he already felt for her. "Just say the first thing that you think of, and we'll go from there."
Again, she blurted out, "you're shirtless." He went to laugh, but, before he could, she continued on, rambling. "And I don't know what that means... to me. Obviously, for you, it means that you sleep partially nude, and that's enough already right now to blow my mind, because I'm tipsy, and you're standing there naked from the waist up, and I have no idea what I am to you. Am I your girlfriend? Although I hate that word, I think I'd love it, too, if that's what I was. Are we dating, or are we just seeing each other, and what is the difference really, and what do those differences mean as far as me kissing you right now while you don't have a shirt on?"
"Wow."
"Yeah," Nadine admitted sheepishly, shuffling a sandaled foot back and forth against the hallway carpet outside his door.
"You've had this on your mind now for a while, haven't you," he questioned softly, tenderly.
"Oh, like... only since the night you walked me home. I guess I just needed a little liquid encouragement to find the nerve to ask you just exactly what we are to each other."
Despite not knowing if it was the right reaction or not, Johnny couldn't help but grin widely. To hear that she cared so much for him and had been thinking about him so much since they had officially met all those weeks before was the best news he had been given in a long, long time. Briefly, he wondered if this was his chance to set her free, to offer her the chance to live her life safe and far away from him. If he lied and said that he thought of her as nothing more than a friend, then he wouldn't have to worry about the ugliness of his father's world ever tarnishing her. But he couldn't turn her away; he couldn't deny himself the pleasure of experiencing his feelings for the single mother.
Before he could respond, though, Nadine was already moving on to another topic. "Fuck it," she mumbled under her breath. The cussing shocked him, because, usually, she was extremely reserved and ladylike, preferring not to use crass words. Once more, her odd, tipsy behavior amused him. Bravely looking him squarely in the eye, she asked, "you have a piano, right?"
"Yes...?"
"Well, I've always had a Pretty Woman fantasy."
Ten minutes later, as the moonlight shimmered through the floor to ceiling windows of his living room once more, Johnny Zacchara saw true beauty for the first time in his life as he slid inside Nadine Crowell, her creamy, alabaster skin melting against the dense, bottomless ebony of his Steinway baby grand piano. In that moment, he fell.
} ~ {
"Where have you been?"
The words so frozen with uncharacteristic and flagrant emotion made her drop her keys in both surprise and astonishment. Or maybe that was just her drunk, uncoordinated fingers refusing to work again. After all, managing the handle of the cab home had been more than tricky for Elizabeth in her soused state. Still, though, as she stumbled into the studio, she had assumed that Jason would be asleep, that she'd be able to fall down and pass out without him ever being the wiser of her less than complimentary condition, and they'd continue to go about their strange limbo together again the next day.
"Uh... out."
"Where?"
Softly closing the door behind her... or as softly as any drunk person can manage to do anything, Elizabeth then stood and observed the still man before her. His back was turned against her as he gazed out the multi-paned windows that loomed over the docks, his shoulders were stiff, and she could see that his arms were crossed rigidly over his chest. It was the classic impatient, annoyed Jason Morgan pose, and it bothered her more than she wanted to admit to see that he was so disturbed by her choice to stay out so late.
"We started at the The P.C. Grill's bar, but the drinks were too rich,price wise, for a nurse's salary, so I suggested Jakes."
"So, you thought it would be a good idea for you, Robin, and Nadine - three small, defenseless, drunk women – to go to a dive bar on the docks?"
"We were perfectly safe," she protested hotly. "Besides, Robin wasn't drunk, and Nadine was only tipsy."
"Oh, so you were the only one being irresponsible. Is that supposed to make me feel better, Elizabeth," he yelled at her.
"Look, I don't get what crawled up your butt and died, but lay off already. I'm fine. See," she asked rhetorically. When he didn't turn around to look at her, she continued, "no gaping, bleeding bullet wounds. No bruises. Not even a scratch. I'm not some stupid teenager anymore, Jason. You don't have to..."
"What, worry about you? Of course I do," he exploded, swirling around in a fit of pent-up aggression. Never before had she seen him so... emotional before. It was daunting, and it frightened her far more than any unwanted come on in a bar possibly could.
"Yeah, well, who asked you to?"
"I can't help it, Elizabeth," he protested, moving towards her. She backed up, but all that accomplished was trapping her against the reinforced steel door he had ordered and installed the first week they had been back in Port Charles. "Don't you know how much you..."
Cutting him off, she warned, "don't do that."
"What?"
"Care about me." With the heat of him, with the sheer strength and size of him so near, she also realized something else. Blushing, she added on a whisper, "and don't want me either."
Jason immediately demanded to know, "why not?"
Lifting her hands to futilely push against his chest, she screamed, "because I'm broken, that's why!" Her bravado, her anger failed her then, though, and she instantly burst into tears. Removing her hands from him and placing them over her own face, she confessed on a sob, "there were complications... with the birth."
Gently, he took her by the shoulders and led her over to the couch. Once they were both seated, their legs casually brushing together, he asked, "what kind of complications."
"The really bad kind," she replied, biting her lip. Blinking away some of the moisture in her eyes, she looked up to meet his concerned yet not pitying glance, and it gave her the courage to add, "Jason, I can't have any more children."
He shocked her when he reached forward to push her hair behind her ears and then cup her face in his large, rough and reassuring with callouses palms. "Elizabeth, no matter what, you've already given me two sons. I've never met them, but that doesn't mean that I love them any less than if I had been there with them since the day you found out that you were pregnant."
"But what'll happen if we don't find them or, if we do, and, for some reason, nothing changes – they stay with their adoptive families? I can't give you any more kids, and you deserve to be a father - not just one in name but a real father who gets to tuck his kids in at night, who teaches his son to throw a ball, who spoils his daughter rotten simply because she calls him daddy."
"What have I always told you, Elizabeth," he patiently challenged her. "I don't deal in what-if's. We'll cross that bridge when and if it happens. There's no sense in living our lives around things that might never happen. Come here," he then encouraged her, dropping her face from his hands and opening his arms wide.
Surprising herself, she didn't hesitate to crawl into his embrace and snuggle down against his chest. It was the first time since the last time she was so close with Jason that she allowed anyone to really hold her. Despite all the years that she had spent with Patrick, she had never allowed him to touch her so intimately. Yes, there had been plenty of sex in their relationship, but it had been empty and cold, a means to an end, meaningless. Patrick had attained physical satisfaction, and Elizabeth had received her own momentary distraction. Eventually, the quiet of Jason's arms surrounding her lulled her, and she relaxed. However, she didn't fall asleep, despite all the alcohol coursing through her system. The moment was simply too special to give away to her dreams.
"I want you to promise me that you'll go and see Doctor Meadows soon."
"What, why," Elizabeth asked without sitting up or letting go of him. Even she could hear the confusion lacing her tone of voice.
"Because, if they lied to you about carrying twins and about losing your child when, in reality, both of our boys survived, then maybe they lied to you about the complications as well. I don't want you to get your hopes up only to be disappointed once again, but I think you need to know the truth once and for all. I think we both do."
Nodding her head yes, she accepted his suggestion and agreed to his requested promise. Between them, for the moment, nothing else needed to be said. Five minutes later, after stretching out together along the narrow, uncomfortable couch, Elizabeth fell asleep.
