Unlucky in Love
Chapter 6She'd told him to be home at six-thirty. After the aborted walk in the park he couldn't go back to work; he tried but he couldn't think of anything but her. There was no sense trying to talk to clients or conduct business when there was only one thing on his mind, and it didn't have anything to do with being a private investigator. He'd loved her from the first moment he saw her – was he about to lose her?
He didn't think he'd ever marry . . . there was just something about being tied to one woman for the rest of your life that he couldn't abide. But when he thought about marriage to Connie it was a risk he was willing to take.
Instead of a return to the office, he went for a walk . . . three times around the park and all the way down 42nd street and back. He was halfway to Penn Station before he realized where he was and headed back to his apartment. When he got there it was only three o'clock, and he started cleaning to keep himself busy. The rooms were small, and he was a tidy kind of person, so it didn't take much to make it shine. Five o'clock . . . he thought he'd go crazy before it was time for Connie to get there. He took a shower and shaved, changing into casual clothes, and sat down to wait.
She didn't knock on his door until almost seven o'clock. By that time he'd practically worn a hole in the floor from pacing and chewed all his fingernails off, a habit that would follow him the rest of his life. She looked surprised when he opened the door for her; she almost hadn't expected him to be there. "Hello Connie. Won't you come in?" He kept his voice soft and even, a way of speaking he'd developed in his work as a P.I. It required his concentration and kept his attention focused on the task at hand.
"Uh . . . thank you." She looked around the apartment. Neat as a pin, as always. He was going to make someone a spectacular husband, if they could put up with never having any disposable income. Connie had come to Stuart's to tell him what she hadn't been able to this afternoon . . . she couldn't marry him. Oh, she loved him – that was never in doubt. But love wasn't enough. At least it wasn't enough for her.
"Won't you have a seat?" he offered, in that same maddening tone of voice she'd heard him use on the phone when he had clients in his office. Maybe this would be easier than she thought.
"Stuart, there's no sense in prolonging this," she began before he interrupted her, as if that would delay the inevitable.
"Would you like something to drink?"
No, she thought. Stop stalling. "Stuart, I . . . I can't marry you." There. She'd finally said it. She might as well have put a bullet in him, from the expression on his face.
That's just what it felt like to Stu, only a thousand times worse. She'd said yes to his proposal of marriage because she loved him; he was certain of that. For her to reject him now could mean only one thing . . . she didn't love him anymore.
He didn't say a word, just collapsed into a chair. The wind had been knocked out of him. He needed time to think, time to wonder why she was lying to him like this. Oh yes, she was lying; he could feel it. Every word she'd said, every move she made told him she was lying. He'd learned to read people pretty well over the last year, it was something that was almost necessary if he was going to be a successful P.I. And it came in handy in his personal life, too. Like now. He wasn't going to say anything to her, but he couldn't help himself. He had to know.
"Is it . . . is it because of the man you had lunch with yesterday and were out with last night?"
Now it was her turn to be surprised. "How . . . ?"
"How do you think? I'm a private detective, after all." He paused for just a moment while he let that sink in. "Though not a very good one, according to you."
"No," she answered at last, "no, it's not because of him. He's a friend, that's all."
"Tell me, why did you suddenly decide you couldn't marry me? And don't tell me it's because you don't love me."
"It's not because I don't love you. I just can't marry you. Can't you let it go at that?"
He looked at her and smiled, and there was something both triumphant and pitiful in the smile. He'd gotten her to admit she loved him. Half the battle was won. This was war, as far as he was concerned, and he was fighting for his very life. The life he wanted with Connie Falconari.
"No, I can't. If you love me why can't we be together?"
That's when she did something unexpected. She took off her engagement ring and set it down on the end table next to her. "Give it up, Stu. I'm not going to marry you. There is no more to say." She rose from her seat and bent over to kiss him on the cheek. "Goodbye, Mr. Bailey." In less than a heartbeat she was gone.
He sat there for more than a minute, stunned into silence. Then he reached over and picked up her engagement ring, turning it over and over in his hand. At first he was tempted to throw it away, then he thought better of it. Besides a few photographs, it was all he had left of her. He picked up the ring, got the photos from his dresser, and put them all together in a small box. He put a rubber band around the box and put it in the bottom of his desk drawer. He knew the day he could throw the box away, without opening it, he would truly be over her.
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Six weeks later he was packing all his personal items to be shipped home to California. For now he was going to stay with his parents while he looked for an office and an apartment. He'd already checked with the bonding and licensing bureau in California and, with a minimum of paperwork, found that his P.I. license could be transferred.
He looked around the apartment. There were several boxes stacked neatly along one wall; those were the ones he was having shipped. His clothes were in his suitcase, which was still standing open on the bed. The UPS man was due tomorrow morning and he was flying out of La Guardia tomorrow afternoon. There was just one more thing to put in the suitcase, and he removed it from the bottom drawer of his desk. It was the first time he'd seen the small box since the day she walked out on him. He placed it underneath his clothes in the suitcase as his mind drifted back . . .
The first hour after she left was the worst hour of his life. He was in so much pain he had no idea he was crying until the tears began to slide down his face and onto his shirt. He was numb with grief and it slowly dawned on him that she was gone; really gone. What happened? What had he said or done that drove her away? He broke every rule with her; he'd fallen in love with her, and she loved him back. For a while. He'd asked her to marry him, something he thought he'd never do, and she'd accepted. And then, suddenly, it was over, and he was sitting in his New York apartment lost and alone.
He was so worn out from stress and grief and so tired from not sleeping the night before that he fell asleep where he sat. When he woke the next morning he was stiff and sore; his body felt almost as bad as his heart did.
He remained in the apartment all day, thinking of nothing but her. By the time dusk fell he'd come to a conclusion . . . he couldn't stay in New York. Even if he moved to a different part of the city there was always the chance he would run into her. It would kill him if he saw her with someone else, and he wasn't sure he was strong enough to live with fear like that every day.
He called his parents and told them what he wanted to do; he didn't tell them why but that didn't matter. He was coming home to California, and they were thrilled. A reason wasn't necessary. They were happy that he'd no longer be three thousand miles away.
Next he talked to the private investigator he'd been working for. He wasn't pleased to see Stu go; the business had been steadily building and Bailey was earning a reputation for being a straight shooter. When that was agreed upon by both parties he went downstairs and told the building manager he was moving out, sometime within the next forty-five days. That's when the packing began.
And now his New York odyssey was coming to an end. He only had to be here one more night, and there was something he wanted to do. He grabbed a jacket and walked down to Chow Ling's, to have dinner with the old man that had become his friend. Chow Ling knew he was leaving, but he'd asked Stuart to come down and share a final meal, and Stu had agreed.
The owner greeted him the same way every time he came in. "Any word, Stuart?" As always, Stu shook his head no. "You sure I didn't cause rift?"
Stu gave him the same answer as he had since that day only six weeks ago. "I'm sure, Chow Ling. You had nothing to do with it."
There was a bottle of plum wine on the table, and Chow had the kitchen prepare all of Stu's favorite dishes. When dinner was finished there was just enough wine left for a toast. "To you, Stuart; I will cherish this friendship we have built forever."
Stu stopped him from drinking. "My turn. To Chow Ling, one of the wisest men I have ever known." Both finished their wine, and Stu pulled out his wallet. Chow Ling put his hand on Stu's.
"No, my friend, not tonight. I will miss you for a very long time, and I offer this meal as a small gift to you in your new venture, whatever it may be. And I hope that you will find real love; someone to cherish you the way you deserve."
"Thank you, Chow Ling. Thank you for everything." Stuart left the restaurant for the last time, and walked home.
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Life goes on, and so it did. Several years later Stu was involved in an attempted robbery at Dino's, right across the parking lot from the Bailey and Spencer, Private Investigators offices. The restaurant was closed for a gala charity auction to benefit the children's hospital, and Stu was more than a little disturbed to find one Connie Beck, formerly Connie Falconari, as one of the crew involved in the heist. The night was painful for him, even all these years later. But when what was left of the robbers was taken away in handcuffs, including the girl Stu Bailey was once going to marry, he knew she'd done him a favor that night in his apartment.
He'd fled New York and started over in Southern California, where he was successful and reasonably happy. When everything was over at Dino's and he went home that night, he pulled a small box out of the bottom drawer of his dresser. Without opening it, he threw it in the trash.
The End