The Greatest Love Story Ever Written -- Part 4

After Sandra Tilley, Rebecca Grace takes over our story:

      “You live with your mother?” Clarisse’s voice came out almost as a screeching hoot.

       Nick gritted his teeth. Luckily no one could hear her but him, but this was beginning to get to him. He had tried to save her and suddenly his life had careened out of control. He didn’t like that feeling. First there had been that scene with Ricky and then the visit with Veronica, though he wasn’t certain he would have minded meeting her under other circumstances.

      But certainly not like this.

      Should he call her? He reached into his pocket and lightly squeezed the piece of paper where she had scribbled her phone number. Definitely he didn’t want to lose it. He might call her.  And she’d said she was a romance fan.  A romance reader. Maybe he should have told her he wrote in that genre.  Or he should have asked if she would read his work—maybe critique it? He had shared it in his writing groups.  Maybe that could be a reason to call her…

     “How long have you been living with your mother?” Clarisse’s voice brought him back to the present, interrupting his thoughts of Ronnie.  

     “It’s only temporary,” he said, looking away from her ghostly presence hovering near him, focusing his gaze on the street. “She… she’s been ill and she needed someone to stay with her.” But he had his own personal reasons as well. “This gives me the opportunity to write,” he added.

     “Oh, so it’s not that you think she needs some macho caretaker?” she asked.

      Luckily a cab screeched to a halt at the curb at that instant and he was pleased that he didn’t have a chance to answer.  He gave the driver his address, and slid into the backseat. The scent of Clarisse’s perfume followed him and when he turned to look around, she was already settled in, a watching apparition across the seat, holding her big pink bag.

     “Well,” she said with a sweet smile.  “This should certainly be interesting. Are you going to tell your mother about me?” She flashed a delicious smile, lifting and lowering her eyebrows in a teasing manner.

     Nick drew back. “Definitely no. Oh, hell, no!”

     “Does she know you are a romance writer?”

     “No.”

     She leaned forward. “Don’t you think you should tell her?”

     He shook his head. “No. Why?”

    “You talking to me?” the cabbie asked over his shoulder.

    “Sorry,” Nick said. “Just talking to myself.”

    Clarisse laughed as though the whole situation delighted her.

    Nick turned away to look out the window. He wasn’t certain how to explain his circumstances. Actually his brother and sisters had been unable to take her into their small homes and besides they all had families. Moving her out of her apartment to suburban New Jersey or Boston would have broken her heart along with her spirit anyway. Her neighbors who lived just down the hall and whom she had known most of her adult life were still constant visitors at her apartment, so it made more sense to keep her where she was.

    Besides, living with her gave him the opportunity to actually pursue his dream of becoming a writer.  He’d set out to be the next Ernest Hemingway.  But recently he had begun to think he’d rather be the next Clairsse Heartfelt. 

     The cab pulled up to a halt at the curb and Nick reached into his pocket pulled out enough bills to pay the driver along with a nice tip before stepping from the cab. 

     Clarisse looked around the long row of apartment buildings. “Nice older neighborhood.”

     “I grew up here,” he admitted with a smile. “I like it.” He turned and started to walk away but the cab driver suddenly pulled up next to him and rolled down the window.

     “Hey, Mister, you forgot your bag.”

    “Bag?”

     Nick blinked, looking around in surprise. “I didn’t have a bag."

    “Well, it’s on the seat.”

    The driver gestured toward the back seat and Nick looked through the  window. He was surprised to see an oversized bag on the seat. A large pink purse.  How could that be?  But then hadn’t he seen Clarisse carrying that purse on the escalator?

    Actually hadn’t he seen her holding it close just minutes earlier?

    “Get it,” a voice whispered in his ear. “I need it.”

    “But…”

     “Don’t ask questions, just get it. I need it. We need it.  Let’s go meet your mother.”

     Nick wasn’t looking forward to having Clarisse come into his mother’s home, but he saw no alternative. She had already forced him to have that talk with Veronica at the hospital… though he wasn’t certain he might not call her again.

     If only it didn’t have to be a business call. No, no he didn’t have time to think about her. He had another, bigger problem on his hands.

     With a sign he took hold of the purse, wincing at the thought of how he must look, holding the damn pink bag.

     “Is that for me?”

     He jerked back, suddenly realizing his mother was sitting on the long bench that lined the side of the building beside a small park.

    “Mom!”

     She pushed her silver hair behind her ear with a wrinkled hand. “Oh, Nicky, I’m sorry. Did I ruin a surprise?”

     “No.. I mean…”

     Her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh! Wait… that looks like Clarisse Heartfelt’s purse.”

     “What?”

     “Clarisse Heartfelt’s purse. It’s all over the news. The Queen of Romance Writers? She had a heart attack this afternoon. Someone tried to save her. They took her to the hospital.”

     “Mom… I...”

     But his mother rushed on before he could say more. “And while she was there someone took her purse with her latest book inside. They say it could be worth millions. What are you doing with it?”

    “I was there when it happened...”

    “You took it?"

    “No, of course not.” But how could he explain how he had it? For a second he felt like he was ten years old again, and she had just discovered him smoking cigarettes with Ricky in the garage. 

    She blinked and leaned closer to him. “You were at the romance convention?”

    “Well, yes…”

    “Why?”

    He stared at his mother’s earnest face, unable to decide what to tell her, but beside him, Clarisse whispered in his ear.

    “Tell her…”

    “I…”

   “Tell her…” she urged.

     He drew a deep breath, and suddenly felt free as the words seemed to rush out of his mouth. “I write romance, Mom. Those stories I’ve been working on every night? They are romance novels.”

    Her quick laugh shocked him. “You think I didn’t know that? I’ve been cleaning that room for months now. Going in every day, just so I can read what is happening with Jeremy and Ellen. I really think she really needs to just admit she loves him…”

Now Nick faces a new problem…

A. Does he turn in the purse with Clarisse’s book?

B.  Or does she ask him to work with her to finish it?

You have until 11pm Tuesday to post your decision