XXVIII

“Hey Jon…what’s up”, said Richie expeditiously when he answered the phone.

Even before Richie spoke Jon could tell something was wrong by the deep breath he took before talking. “Talk to me, Richie”, Jon commanded without further ado.

“She’s gone, Jon”, Richie quickly told him with resignation, “I fucked up again”

“What happened?” Jon inquired with surprise and alarm.

Richie told him about Frédérique’s visit and words.

“I scared her away. I pushed her too hard”, Richie confessed. “It was too soon…I know…but I couldn’t get enough of her, Jon. She’s really something else”. There was sadness in his voice, but it was calm.

“Did she give you any more details? Maybe there’s a treatment or somethin’”.

“No, and I didn’t ask, either”

Richie heard Jon sigh and pause, he could almost hear the machinery in Jon’s head working, trying to find a strategy, to see how he could fix things.

“And what are you planning to do? Did you try to talk to her?”, Jon questioned.

“Yes”, said Richie, resigned “but she won’t answer, and it will be no use trying her office”. He paused. “But maybe I should just give her some time to think, that’s all. Maybe all of this was just too much for her and she needs some space”.

Jon pursed his lips and arched his eyebrows, acknowledging: “Alright, that sounds reasonable” he paused when another issue came to his mind: “But Rich, but what about the project?”

“If I know her enough already, she’s still on it and she’ll call when she needs to talk about it”, Richie nodded and paused to have a sip of coffee, “I know that…she won’t let this get in the way”.

“I’m sorry man…I hope you two can work things out”, Jon said finally, finding he had nothing else to do but to be there for his friend.

Richie sighed, “That’s what you get for falling in love, right?”

Jon couldn’t help but chuckle at Richie’s quote, and he was somewhat relieved that Richie had been able to pull a little sarcasm - maybe things weren’t that bad. Yet. There was hope in Richie’s voice. Yes, maybe they would work things out.

During the following days before moving on with the tour Richie spent most of his time at the fashion line’s headquarters and the rest at home with his daughter doing the usual stuff, it was good that she was with him those days. He was anxious to talk to Frédérique, but he had already pushed enough, so he forced himself to wait…and hope.

Later, the high the shows provided helped him cope, and he was most of the time surrounded by crew members and most important, by his friends.

Jon, however, started noticing Richie’s teeny tiny faux-pas, mistakes that only his eyes and ears could perceive, but that were there nonetheless. Others were more obvious: an awkward guitar solo, a crack in his voice during the last choruses of Wanted, less interaction with the audience. However, Jon admitted to himself that it was probably a byproduct of the close attention he was keeping on his friends since his alarm system had gone off. Richie was good, he always was, but now seemed to be playing to get it over with and that wasn’t up to Jon’s standards. But Jon understood. He always understood.

…

The next two weeks after her return from California, Frédérique struggled to “reset” her life to the state it was before Richie, she was good at it. And she was patient: she knew the day would come when both the love and the pain would be gone: it had happened every time in the past and this time it wouldn’t be any different.

She started by putting all of Richie’s clothes and other belongings in a box, together with the CDs of the band, and stored it deep inside one of her closets. Out of sight, out of mind.  They weren’t hers to throw away and maybe someday she would be able to return them to their owner.

The first days, she tried to stay at the office for as long as she could or take work home with her, but had desisted after a couple of nights of insomnia due to hyperactivity, and had chosen to increase her exercise schedule instead.

During those sleepless nights, she had gone over her conversation with Richie not because she was having second thoughts, but because she wanted to be sure that she had conveyed the message properly. Then it dawned on her that she hadn’t actually told Richie about her actual condition - after all, he hadn’t asked either – but later convinced herself that it was better that way: if he knew there was the slightest chance, he was going to push, and she would be exposed again to the possibility of being taken back to that place it took years of hard work after her failed pregnancy for her to finally be able to get out of. But most of all, she didn’t want to risk exposing Richie to that same pain.

Those were the only nights she allowed herself to shed a few tears, but wiped them off as soon as she reminded herself that her choice was for Richie’s sake: only good things would come from this, she would get her life back and he would be free to find true happiness. The pain that came from her attachment to him would disappear, soon, she just had to be patient.

Yes, she had made the right thing, conclusion further confirmed by the fact that by the second week Richie’s phone calls ceased. She hadn’t even listened to the voice messages.

Gaby tried to get Frédérique to talk about what had happened at least three times the first week, but had given up after Frédérique closed herself in once and again - she could talk about everything, but about Richie. If she hadn’t known better, Gaby wouldn’t be able to tell that something extraordinary had happened in Frédérique’s life since the day she had arrived in New York. She was as private, as careless and as charming as usual - to any outsider, she was happy.

Regarding the project, Frédérique took inspiration from the fact that it was going to host future moments of happiness for Richie, and she put all the love she had for him in it, as a kind of exorcism. She focused on the day after she gave him the keys - she lived for that day, hoping that by then she would be finally free of pain…and love.

The application for the Building Permit was soon ready and it required the owner’s signature and approval. Frédérique remembered the tour schedule and calculated that the following week the band would be playing in the east coast, but by now they should be in Detroit. She calculated the time zone difference and dialed. She was prepared for the possibility of Richie bringing their relationship up, but hoped that he didn’t.

Richie’s stomach clenched when he saw Frédérique’s name on the phone, he didn’t allow himself to hope. Not yet. Patience.

Of course, Frédérique was charming, professional and expeditious, and he went along with it - he wasn’t going to push. She offered to send a messenger over to have him sign the papers when he was in Philadelphia, but Richie declined – due to the shows’ frenzy he would be hard to find at home. Liar. He promised to drop by the following Thursday when he had a day off between shows, but he didn’t set a time.

…

That day she was supposed to meet with Richie, during lunch at the créperie, Frédérique was chewing a bite of her Kouign-aman and reading the newspaper when Jean-Marc called for her and pointed to the TV set behind the bar.

“Isn’t this the man you had lunch with some time ago?”, Jean-Marc asked in a giggle.

But Frédérique didn’t answer. She swallowed the bite of the pastry and stared at the TV with a blank expression, her lips slightly parted and a single vertical wrinkle between her eyebrows - it was a celebrity news program reporting on some event held in California previously that month, Richie held his left arm crooked and Nikki’s hands surrounded it while a rainfall of flashes covered them. While she listened to the news reporter, Frédérique crooked an ironic smile. Of course.

“…The co-designers and business partners are allegedly dating. The guitar player recently confessed in an interview that he was in a relationship and that he was happy and ready to settle down again…”.

…

That same afternoon, when Richie walk through Frédérique’s office door and despite  her warm welcome, he could still feel the barrier she had built between them. Don’t push. She looked breathtaking in a burgundy, long-sleeved jersey wrap dress and black pumps. Half her hair was twisted in a loose braid that fell down her back, the rest of her hair falling over her shoulders, some tresses sneaking into her cleavage.

Frédérique was correct and focused while Richie limited himself to ask about the deadlines and the following steps of the process. During the course of their meeting, which lasted barely twenty minutes, their eyes hardly met and when they did, it was only for brief seconds before Frédérique turned her glance back to the documents in front of her. Give her space. After she briefly explained Richie the upcoming stances, she sat up to greet him goodbye.

They were giving each other a kiss on each cheek when suddenly they realized they were reenacting the scene in Richie’s house: Frédérique was looking down somewhere in the lower point of the V collar of Richie’s T shirt, his arms pinning hers to her sides. They froze for a moment at the realization and Richie pressed tighter, silently repeating his love declaration. Looking down, he waited for her to lift her face so he could look into her eyes, but he got the same answer.

“No”, she whispered firmly without taking her eyes off her focus point.

He loosened his clutch - he wasn’t going to push.