Total Rush (30 page)

When Frankie failed
to show up for their diner date four days later, even stretched as she was to the limit, Gemma knew something was wrong. Phone messages left for her at WROX and on her home machine yielded nothing. Gemma knew she was going to have track Frankie down in person to get to the bottom of her sudden disappearance.

Leaving the store to Julie in the middle of the day, she trekked over to Frankie's. She knew her friend was there: Frankie had been on the air overnight and had to be sleeping. It was just a matter of waking her up, then annoying her enough to get her out of bed to let her in. To achieve this, Gemma leaned on the intercom buzzer relentlessly. After what felt like forever, the intercom crackled and Frankie's cranky voice could be heard loud and clear.

“It's Gemma.”

She pulled at the door, assuming she'd be buzzed in immediately. Instead there was silence.
What the hell was going on here?
She spoke into the intercom. “Frankie?”

“Yeah, okay, come on up. I guess.”

You guess?
Not good. Not good at all.
Gemma slipped inside and headed for the elevator.

She arrived to find Frankie's door open a crack, a clear indication to let herself in. The apartment was shrouded in darkness, a necessity for someone who slept during the day. She could hear Frankie bustling in the bedroom, and took off her cape, taking the liberty of turning on the living room lights. She kept the shades down.

Frankie finally emerged, looking like what she was: someone who'd just been woken up. Her flannel pajamas were crumpled and her hair hung in thin, unruly sheets. There was no mistaking the unhappiness on her face as she stood in her bedroom doorway, regarding Gemma warily with her arms folded across her chest.

“Yes?”

Gemma looked at her like she was nuts. “What do you mean, ‘yes'? I've been calling you for days and you haven't called me back. You also stood me up at the diner. What's going on?”

“You tell me,” Frankie said tersely.

Gemma scowled. “What?”

“Didn't you get my phone message?”

“What, about the mole?” Gemma asked cautiously.

“The mole and Uther. You never called me back about that.”

Gemma looked away from her friend. Painful as it was, she knew she had to tell Frankie the truth. “I didn't listen to your whole message,” she confessed quietly. “I thought you were being your usual hypochondriac self.”

Frankie appeared stunned. “Oh.”

“I'm so sorry.”

Frankie looked mortified. “Am I really that bad?”

“Honey, you know you are. Admit it.”

Frankie hung her head. “I know. I'm sorry.”

Gemma went to her. “No, I'm sorry. I was wrong, I should have listened to the whole message. What's up with Uther?”

Frankie sank down on the couch with a heavy sigh. “I'm not sure you're going to want to hear this. God knows I didn't.”

Gemma braced. “What?”

“Well, things were getting a little hot and heavy, you know? We were rolling around and I thought, ‘What the hell, I'll sleep with him.' I haven't had sex in so long I'm getting cobwebs between my legs. So I asked him if he wanted to spend the night, and he said yes, but then he tells me”—Frankie pressed her lips together—“that he prefers to do it with his helmet on.”

Gemma recoiled. “That pewter soup bowl thing?”

“You got it. Which is fine. I've dealt with much kinkier things than that.”

“You have?”

“Oh yeah. Remember that guy in college who wanted me to pretend to be Eleanor Roosevelt?”

“I must have blocked that out. Go on.”

“So he put the soup bowl on his head and we rolled around some more and then guess what happened?”

“He insisted on pinning you to the headboard with two arrows from his quiver?”

Frankie frowned. “I wish. No, in the heat of passion he called me ‘Gemma.' ”

Gemma sank down onto the couch feeling dizzy and nauseous all at once. It was if someone had knocked the wind out of her. “That's awful.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Needless to say, I told him to put on his jerkin and with a hey nonny nonny to get the hell out of here. I don't think I'll be seeing him again.”

Gemma nervously raised her eyes to her friend's. “Frankie, I'm so sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.”

Gemma could see she was trying to brush it off, but it had to hurt.

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah. I mean—was it a blow to my ego? I'll say. But it's not like I imagined this relationship really going anywhere. I just wanted you to know so you can be on your guard. Seems Robin Hood wants you to be his Maid Marion.”

Gemma groaned. “This is the last thing I need.”

Frankie smiled sadly. “Guess it's back to me and Russell Crowe.” Russell Crowe was Frankie's pet name for her vibrator.

Gemma laughed. “Who needs men anyway?” She relaxed a bit. Then she noticed Frankie, who'd been chuckling with her a moment before, was now staring at her worriedly.

“Gemma, no offense, but have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror lately?”

Gripping her shoulders, Frankie steered Gemma into the bathroom, turning on the light. Gemma gazed at her reflection: Her complexion was sallow, there were dark circles ringing her eyes, and her hair was dull as weak tea.

“It's the light in here,” she told Frankie.

The look Frankie flashed her clearly indicated she thought Gemma was delusional. Gemma looked again. It had nothing to do with the light, and everything to do with trying to do it all.

Gemma turned away. “Take me away, spirit, I've seen enough.”

“You have to take care of yourself, Gem.”

“Look who's talking.” She followed Frankie out of the bathroom. “I should let you get back to sleep.”

“Forget it. I'm up now. I'll go put some coffee on. Go sit down.”

Doing as her friend requested, Gemma sat back down on the battered couch. She felt awful about deleting Frankie's phone message before it was done. She was her oldest and best friend, and the fact that she didn't even have the patience to listen to it in its entirety spoke volumes about the life she was leading—or wasn't, depending on how you chose to view these things. She knew Frankie's hypochondria made her partly culpable, but still . . .
I should have been able to tell by her voice that something was up. I should have had the patience and consideration to play her entire message.

But she hadn't.
What is happening to me?

 

 

It was crazy to be here, Sean knew, as he walked through the door of the Golden Bough. She had told him she didn't have time for him. She had made it clear she didn't understand firefighter culture, nor did she care to. She'd intimated to his face that she thought he was emotionally stunted.

So why did he care so much that Gemma be clear about his relationship with JJ?

The issue had been haunting him ever since he'd visited the Golden Bough last time and she'd asked him about “his girlfriend.” He wasn't here because he thought he could talk Gemma into giving him another chance. He was here because, when all was said and done, it was important to him that Gemma be clear on what kind of man he was: the honorable kind. JJ had stayed at his apartment right after he and Gemma broke up. He didn't want Gemma thinking he'd been fooling around behind her back. He wanted to set the record straight. He wanted her to know he didn't have a girlfriend.

The store smelled vaguely of cinnamon, while the haunting lilt of a tin whistle keened from the sound system. A smile twitched at the edge of Sean's lips as he recalled their disastrous first date going to see deValera's Playground. He could almost hear Gemma's voice in his head:
That wasn't Irish music.
This
is Irish music.

He was dismayed when he saw it was Goth Girl Julie behind the counter, not Gemma. Julie looked about as thrilled to see him as he did her.

“Gemma's not here,” she announced before Sean even got the chance to ask.

“At her grandmother's?”

“Where else?”

“Is everything okay?”

“How should I know?” Julie sniffed, scratching the two-headed snake tattoo on her left forearm. “I just work here. I thought you were her friend. Don't you know?”

“Actually, I don't. We're kind of running on opposite schedules right now.”

Julie smirked. “I could tell.”

Sean ignored her. “Could you do me a favor? Could you tell her I stopped by?”

“No prob,” Julie said, surprising Sean. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” Sean said, heading back in the direction of the door. “Have a good one.”

“Yeah, right,” Julie muttered gloomily, cranking up the music.

Sean fought the disappointment growing within him as he emerged back into the bright sunlight. He'd missed her. They were always missing each other in one way or another, weren't they? Perhaps it was a sign.
Why should it matter that she knows you're not a bad guy? It's over between you anyway.

Even so . . .

He'd nearly reached the corner when he recognized a blond, skinny-bearded guy he'd seen hanging out at Gemma's store. He was barreling down the street at a furious pace, his normally hang-dog expression now a scowl. He wondered what the guy was so pissed about and if it had anything to do with Gemma. Sean hoped not. The woman had enough on her plate already.

“
Mayhap I can
try the Celtic Cross spread?”

There was no way Uther was ready to read such a complicated tarot spread, but Gemma told him to go ahead and try it anyway—anything to help diffuse the subcurrent of tension between them. She'd heard from Julie that Uther had come looking for her the day before, and that he'd seemed very agitated. When he arrived for his lesson today, he immediately wanted to talk about Frankie, but Gemma put him off, telling him they'd talk during their ten-minute break. She watched as he stared down at the ten cards spread before him. He looked befuddled.

“What's puzzling you?”

He pointed to the sixth card. “I can't remember what it signifies.”

“Influences in the future,” Gemma prompted.

“Right, right.” His eyes traveled the circuit of the cards again. Now he looked pained.

“What?”

“I really need to speak my piece now,” he pleaded. “Until I do, my brain is but a sieve.”

“Can you please speak like a normal human being?” Gemma asked irritably.

Uther looked cowed. “I need to talk to you.”

“That's better.” Gemma scooped the cards back into a pile. “I'm all ears.”

“I'm sure that vixen told you what happened.”

“What ‘vixen'?”

“Francis,” he spat. “Frankie. Lady Midnight. The trollop! The camp follower who should get herself to a nunnery hence!”

“Hey!” Gemma pointed at him. “That's my best friend you're talking about! You watch your language.”

“Yes, m'lady.”

“Go on.”

“I'm sure she told you of her foul seduction.”

“Language!”

“Did she tell you?”

“Yes,” Gemma replied, growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Uther looked at her with moist eyes. “Then you know the reason for my accursed state is that I'm in love with you.”

Shit.
“Uther, I'm very flattered—”

“Nay, say not ‘flattered.'” His bony hand reached out to cover hers. “You know we're meant to be together. Surely you must feel it.”

Gemma politely slid her hand out from under his. “Look, I'm flattered, I really am, but I already have a boyfriend.”

Uther flashed a knowing smirk. “Liar.”

Gemma blinked. “Excuse me, what did you just call me?”

“Okay, fibber, you're a fibber,” Uther hastily amended. “Frankie told me all about you and the firefighter, and how it's over now.”

Double shit.
It never even crossed Gemma's mind that Frankie might casually discuss her relationship with Sean. She'd never told her not to.

“Well, it is over now,” Gemma admitted, trying to recover from her fumble, “but we only broke up very recently. I'm not ready for another relationship.”

Uther's eyes shone with either lunacy or unrequited love, Gemma wasn't sure which. “Madam, what I'm talking about goes beyond the bounds of relationship. We're soul mates, you and I.”

“I don't think so.”

“Stop playing the saucy minx and succumb to thy destiny.”

Lunging at her, he tried to plant a kiss on her mouth. Gemma jerked away, horrified. “How dare you!”

“I want you, Lady Faire!” He lunged at her again. “And I won't live without you!”

“Better learn!” Gemma snapped, scurrying to the other side of the counter. “Because we are done here.” Shaken, she took his cards and stuffed them into his leather satchel.

“What dark dealing is this?” Uther cried.

“I just told you: We're done here. You've made me very uncomfortable with both your words and your actions, and I don't want to be your teacher anymore. Not only that, but if what you say is true”—she could hardly bring herself to say it—“that you care for me, then you were using my friend, and that's despicable. There are lots of good tarot teachers in the city. I'm sure you'll hook up with one.” She slid his cash for that day's lesson toward him. “Goodbye, Uther.”