XXXII

Richie’s phone buzzed on the table in his dressing room, the screen showed the name “Fred”. It rang five times and then stopped. After a few moments the phone beeped: “Voice message”.

Nikki stood in front of the table, staring wide-eyed with her arms crossed over her chest at Richie’s phone, and pondered her next move. I won’t let him get away this time. She extended her head towards the door to sharpen her hearing and check the voices coming from the corridor: Richie could be coming back from the showers any minute now. She had no time - she had to think and act quickly. Nikki took the phone and containing her breath, in a flash, erased both the register of the missed call and the message.

Then took in a deep breath, she would have to accelerate her moves: the previous time she had waited too long for Richie to make a move that never came, and Frédérique had come along and ruined all her chances, apparently for good. Now that she was finally - or at least temporarily - out of the way, Nikki wouldn’t miss another chance.

They had always been flirtatious towards each other, but then Richie was most of the time flirtatious with probably every woman he knew except for his mother. However, Nikki hoped that their parternship would give her some sort of advantage, and she waited to no avail and only to see Richie fall head over heels in love with that French woman that had come out of the blue. No, Nikki wouldn’t let her ruin things for her again.

She was retouching her lip gloss when Richie opened the door to the dressing room. He went straight to the cell phone and checked: nothing. He sighed and then him and Nikki  shared a couple of comments on the show while he put on his jeans and shirt – they were close enough to share this kind of intimacy and Richie was never a coy one when it came to nudity.

Richie was excited, the possibility of getting Frédérique back had inspired him again, and the show had been more than memorable. The band outdid itself inserting some pearls here and there in the setlist that made the fans go nuts and the general atmosphere had been outstanding.

Only a few minutes later they were ready to go: Jon was anxious to get home and have the next day off with his family and was thus rushing everybody out of the venue and on their way to the after party. At the bar the band did the usual P.R. for the first half hour and then Jon excused himself. He took a final look around the room to check that everything and everyone was in the right place and headed for the door. Richie and Nikki were talking to a woman that had approached them some minutes earlier to congratulate them on the summer collection, Nikki wasn’t as much “there” for Richie as the night before but she did seem a little more anxious than usual. Anyway, Jon was satisfied: nothing to worry about.

As soon as she saw Jon head for the door, Nikki excused herself and Richie and motioned for the bar. Jon had been a pain in the ass since she had arrived, always hovering around Richie like a falcon, and she felt how his eyes observed every one of her movements. Thank God he had left early that night. Nikki sat so she could have good visual access to the entrance across the room: if Frédérique was calling him, who knew if she wouldn’t show up there. It was a tiny possibility, but Nikki wasn’t let any detail escape her tonight. She asked for two beers and opened them then handed one to Richie.

“To a great show”, she said with a grin and clacked her bottle with Richie’s.

“Bottoms up!” agreed Richie before taking a couple of gulps of the beer. It had been a great show, indeed, definitely worth celebrating.

They had barely placed the bottles back on the bar when Nikki’s heart skipped a beat: Frédérique, that French bitch, was walking into the room. Nikki clasped Richie’s head with her hands and gave him a fiery kiss, entangling her fingers in his hair. Richie was caught too much off guard to react immediately, but after some moments he was able to pull away.

“That one’s for the guitar player”, Nikki smirked while she took the remains of her lip gloss from Richie’s lips with her thumb, then took it to her mouth and sucked it.

“Whoa, thanks” Richie replied with a smile, he was more than used to having kisses stolen from him, not that big a deal – though the fact that it was Nikki this time did surprise him in a way.

Then he remembered Frédérique’s lips, the pout she did with her mouth when she spoke French or in laughter. Yes, those lips were something else. The sting hit him again: she hadn’t called back and it was already late. Would she call tomorrow? He didn’t know, but it was Sunday and he had a day off so he would try to get her personally. Then he remembered the look in her eyes. Ow. He finished his beer and asked for another one: all he wanted was to soothe the sting, just for tonight, just enough to get him through to the next morning when he would go and fight for Frédérique.

While he followed his trail of thoughts, he ignored that Nikki kept her sight fixed on the door for a few moments and then turned her head back to Richie, a mischievous look on her face. Ding dong the French bitch is gone.

Two hours and navigable quantities of beer later Richie could barely stand on his feet. Nikki was staying with Richie at his apartment in Philadelphia, so she arranged for their vehicle to take them there. She put her arm around Richie’s waist and his around her neck and they walked towards the vehicle. Richie fell dead asleep on the drive to Philadelphia while Nikki studied the next moves in her plan: it was a no-brainer, she knew exactly what she had to do next, so she held her guard up until they arrived at the apartment.

Once inside the elevator, Richie realized where he was and that Nikki was hugging him.

“Thank God you’re here”, he said chuckling, his voice throaty and raspy, “or Lord knows where and who I’d have ended up with”.

Nikki didn’t answer and stiffened a smile, while she reached with her hands inside Richie’s jacket for the keys to the apartment. They entered and she dropped her handbag on the floor and helped Richie take his jacket off, then dropped it on the floor, too. She put her arm around his waist again and he automatically placed his around her shoulder as they walked down the corridor towards Richie’s bedroom.

Richie dropped on the bed, then rolled over on his stomach and hugged the pillow.

“I think you should get your clothes off” said Nikki softly.

“Nah...Nah” refused Richie, all he wanted was to enter the blackness, the nothingness, the numbness of sleep.

But Nikki insisted and pushing with both her hands on his hips, she rolled him over to lay on his back, then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and peeled them off his legs by pulling from the bottom of the jeans. Then she leaned over to unbutton his shirt, letting her face hover over Richie’s. All he wanted was for her to finish and leave him alone to sleep, he wanted to sleep so bad he was desperate, so he closed his eyes and kept quiet while she worked on the buttons of his shirt.

Then she kissed him, softly at first by just pressing her lips against his but then started licking and sucking on them, while her hands fanned on top of his pecs. Suddenly, in his numb and troubled state of mind, it somehow made sense to Richie: she was a good friend, she was there for him, she cared for him, it was comfortable and familiar, and the sting wasn’t there.

Nikki sighed when Richie started returning the kiss. She couldn't let him get away this time.

XXXI

The drive back to Gaby’s house was, to say the least, tense. Frédérique had barely uttered a word, but Gaby was satisfied nonetheless: she could tell by the muscular reactions in Frédérique’s face that something she had said had breached the wall and she was now processing it. Good. Gaby curved her lips upwards and kept quiet. When they stopped at her house, Gaby kissed Frédérique goodbye and entered the building.

But it wasn’t just Gaby’s words that resonated inside Frédérique’s head: it was one particular line that reminded her of one of Richie's songs. Frédérique’s mind started playing it on a loop, as if it was Richie himself talking to her.

There comes a time in someone's life
when you find the things that matter

In order to brush it off, she tried to play another record inside her head: the one that contained all the reasons why she had decided to end their relationship. You don’t belong next to him, in his world. But after every line, Richie’s words seemed to sound even louder.

And every time we touch
the love runs deep
we realize it's ours to keep
and that's all that really matters

She repeated to herself. He needs to be in California, you can't make him choose between you and his daughter. While she parked her car outside her building, Richie’s words were still there.

We'll share our lives together
yes our flame burns on forever
and at the final curtain call
we can say we did it all.

By this time she was almost screaming in her head. He wants children, and you don’t want to go through all the frustration of trying to get pregnant again only to lose another baby, it’s too painful. She stood in front of the mirror in the elevator on her way up to the apartment.

When you're in the dark
baby don't despair
I'm just a spark away
I will be there
and that's all that matters.

Frédérique reminded herself of yet another reason. Love makes you weak and vulnerable, you’ll suffer, you’ll lose yourself. She wanted to get that mental battle over with before she entered her apartment.

You'll always be my sweet addiction
in this life my saving grace

Girl you're all that really matters
you know it's true

As the doors slid open behind her, she remembered what she had seen on the TV back at the créperie. He’s with somebody else now, he’s moved on. But Richie wasn’t giving up, he wanted to have the last word.

Ain't no me without you

Frédérique stood in front of her door, with her fingers hovering over the buttons to enter the code. Suddenly, all her reasons didn’t seem enough: they all appeared to have a way of working themselves out - what she felt for Richie was different from anything else she had felt before, and she had seen in his sweet, honest brown eyes that he loved her, too. If suffering came their way, they'd be there for each other, they’d pull through. Her stomach twisted in disgust at what she had felt when she saw Richie and Nikki arm in arm on TV, but the two were friends and partners - of course rumors would appear, and Frédérique knew better. They’d deal with distance and pain and whatever karma threw their way. What mattered was that they were together, then they’d be invincible.

“Ain’t no me without you”, Frédérique whispered to herself, visualizing Richie in front of her. She nodded and pressed her lips together to stiffen the smile her realization had triggered. “Who dares wins”.

She took a step back, and re entered the elevator.

On her way down she recalled the band’s itinerary in her head and remembered they’d be playing in Uncasville that night, it wasn’t a long ride and Frédérique was a fast driver. She looked at the time: the show had already started, so it was useless to call Richie then. She ran out of the cabin and into her car in the garage.

As fast a driver as she was, the drive seemed endless and she had no idea how to get to the arena, but soon the signs started to appear and she swiftly followed them until she got caught up in the traffic jam provoked by the hundreds of vehicles trying to make their way out of Mohegan Sun. Patience. Frédérique allowed herself five more minutes before thinking of another course of action. She waited.

Nothing, the traffic wasn’t moving.

She took her phone and dialed Richie’s number. It rang five times and then his voice again, asking to leave a message. “Zut alors!” she swore out loud in her native tongue before the usual bip that allowed her to speak.

“Richie I’m on my way to Mohegan Sun but I’m stuck in traffic. I need to talk to you…”, she said anxiously and paused when she realized the words that were about to come out of her lips, “…I love you”.

After she hung up the traffic started moving but in a painfully slow pace. Twenty minutes later she was able to park her car and run amongst the still swarming crowd outside of the arena, sticking her neck up to try to identify her way in. As she navigated the sea of people, she reached for her phone inside her purse again to try to contact Richie - he was probably back in his dressing room by now – but it slipped from her hands. She juggled to catch it in the air but it finally hit the floor and split open. “Merde! Merde! Merde! Merde!”,  Frédérique repearted, frustrated at her clumsiness again. She picked up what was left of her cell phone and looked around for an entrance, then let out a sigh of relief when she recognized the person she contacted during the shows in Jersey to let her in and ran towards him.

“Someone’s late…”, the man said with a smile, “…and out of the grid”, he finished when he saw the pieces of cell phone lodged in Frédérique’s fist.

“Don’t ask”, said Frédérique as she rolled her eyes. Then they greeted each other warmly and at Frédérique’s inquiry on the band’s whereabouts he answered:

“But they’re gone, honey, they’ve left for the after party”, and at Frédérique’s unspoken question, he indicated where that was. Frédérique secretively thanked her protective gods and started running yet again. This time it was different, though: she wasn’t running from, she was running to.

And still running she was when she bumped into Jon a few yards from the entrance. She was so blinded by her objective on the other side of the door that it was more like a tackle.

“Hey!”, Jon managed to say with surprise, flashing the widest and shiniest of his smiles, and gave her a tight hug. “I’m really glad you came, Fred” Jon sighed, relieved, “he’s in there”. When they pulled apart, he grabbed her waist, gave it a squeeze and kissed her flat on the cheek before entering the van that was waiting to take him home.

XXX

By three in the afternoon and after 3 full cups of strong black coffee together with 2 gallons of mineral water, Richie finally managed to get himself together. Both he and Nikki had stayed at Jon’s house after the first show in Uncasville so the two of them and Jon would be taken in a van to the venue. He took a shower and had something to eat in the kitchen where he was accompanied by Jon, his wife and Nikki.

He still looked like shit, and felt like shit, but positively not as much as some hours before. He had a sense of deja vu. There it was, the story was repeating itself: alcohol made the sting disappear, and now that the effects were gone, the sting was there again, hurting and pulsing harder than ever. And someone was there for him, too, to help him cope with his pain. No. He wasn’t going to let it happen again, this time he’d get it right, he wanted to get it right. He was losing Frédérique and he had to do something. Now. But what? If he knew her at all, she was a determined woman - and a frustratingly stubborn one - and when decisions were taken, there was no turning back. She had made one and was sticking to it.

“Ready to go?” asked Jon and snapped Richie out of his reflections.

“Yeah, yeah”, he said with a sigh after getting up and heading for the van.

It was only after they arrived at the venue that Jon was able to get him alone and talk to him in his dressing room. Jon had previously arranged for his assistant to take his clothes to Richie’s dressing room so they could talk in private while they changed for the show.

“Fight for her, Richie, don’t let her go”, commanded Jon while he buttoned up his light blue shirt, then stood with his hands on his waist and tilted his head to one side, waiting for his friend’s eyes to meet his.

Richie sat down on the black armchair in front of the mirror and combed his hair with his fingers. He let out a blow.

“OK smartass, how?”

“Why don’t you start by calling her?”, asked Jon carelessly.

“Where have you been these past few weeks, Jon?”, Richie answered, chuckling sarcastically.

“Then go to the studio, go to her house, have her listen to you, spank her, whatever, but do somethin'” said Jon in one single breath, his voice firm and convincing.

“She’ll run away, Jon, she’ll disappear and I’ll never see her again”, Richie shook his head in resignation as he reminded Jon of the reasons behind his actions by repeating  his words from the previous day.

“We’ll you’re wrong” said Jon with frustration, “If you don’t want to do anything, then go ahead and loose her, it’s your life” – he said waving his hand at his friend and frowning – “But if you do something there’s always a chance”, he finished in a warmer way. 

Richie remained mute. When Jon finally perceived that his words had effectively entered his friend’s ears, he turned towards the door. “Fight for her, Richie”, he repeated his mantra in a low voice before walking out the door.

Richie sat for some minutes. Jon was a stubborn bastard, and that wouldn’t be that bad if it wasn’t for the fact that he was always right. But taking aside Jon’s words, what really got to Richie was Jon’s impulse and drive: he had been able to channel Richie’s own frustration, and like a clear mirror, had exposed what Richie had been unable to see under the cloud of fear, sadness and pain. “Start by calling her”.

…

That same morning Frédérique woke up fairly late: she had caught up with sleep that night and felt somewhat numb, she always did when she slept that much. She felt, however, the same uneasiness that she had felt since meeting Richie at the office. The sting was hurting. Bad. She looked around the house to see if there was something of Richie’s she hadn’t gotten rid of that might be unconsciously reminding her of his presence in her life. Nothing, she had erased every little evidence. She sat on the sofa with her guitar across her lap and strummed a C note. Yes, it was out of tune again.

Frédérique put on a pair of slim-fit black jeans, round-tip black flats and a loose long-sleeve white shirt with a nice embroidery work on the hem that gave it a gypsy vibe. She combed her hair and put on minimum makeup.

These last few weeks Gaby had increased her presence at Frédérique’s office and despite Frédérique’s reluctance to talk about Richie, their conversations on different subjects had rendered them closer and their meetings outside the office had also increased. It was Saturday and the girls were meeting for brunch at Rockefeller Center, then they would go to Coney Island, a place Frédérique hadn’t visited yet and Gaby promised would be extremely fun. Frédérique grabbed her purse and a brown thin wool jacket and walked out the door. That’s it.

Frédérique remembered she hadn’t changed the code to her door. She paused for a few moments in front of the device: it meant more than just changing the code to her door: it was the last brick that was missing on the wall she had built to keep Richie away. Was she ready? She had to be, for his sake. However, her hands were shaking as she pressed the buttons.

At around 6 in the afternoon Frédérique and Gaby were taking a walk down Riegelmann Boulevard, a hot dog in their hands each: it had been a more than fun day,  Frédérique hadn't laughed so hard for weeks. Gaby told Frédérique about her family and the guy she was dating, but didn't try to get Frédérique to talk to her: she knew the answer she was going to get.  Gaby was telling  Frédérique how the last night's dinner with the new man in her life had gone, when she saw Frédérique reach for her cell phone, stare at the screen while it rang with a frown, and then put it back in her purse when it stopped ringing.

“You’re not answering his calls, are you?”, Gaby accused, then stopped the walk and stood in front of Frédérique. Gaby was 2 inches taller than Frédérique, so she had to lower her head to look into her eyes, but Frédérique’s wouldn’t meet her glance.

Gaby continued with a severe tone in her voice: “Why are you doing this to yourself Frédérique?”, then changed to concern, “What did he do to you?”.

Frédérique wouldn’t answer.

“Look, I’m tired of this”, Gaby continued, frustrated. “Cut the crap, Frédérique”.

Frédérique was still silent, but threw what was left of her hot dog in a trash bin.

“OK”, Gaby sighed and paused to think about her strategy. “Since you won’t talk about it, I don’t know if he did something or not and it’s none of my business”. She paused again and changed to a more conciliatory, soft tone. “What I do know is what I saw, and he loves you,  Frédérique” – Gaby repeated her name constantly as a call out to the person behind the wall – “And you love him”. Gaby waited for Frédérique’s reaction: nothing.

“So unless he did something so terrible that you should be calling the police right now, I don’t see why you can’t work things out”, Gaby’s voice was stern now. “You love each other, Frédérique. That’s all that really matters”. She waited for Frédérique's reaction again.

“I want to go home”, were Frédérique’s only words.

XXIX

“I think you should push, Rich. Fight for her”, Jon told Richie as both men were sitting on an amplifier during sound check.

“No, Jon”, Richie let his head hang down over his chest and shook his head, “if I do that’s the last I’ll see of her, you didn't see the look in her eyes…she’s protecting herself, and I think it’s from me”

“What ya mean?” Jon frowned.

“I mean…can you blame her? She comes from a different world, she sees things in a different way…” Richie paused to find the words, “And she got sucked into this…shit, I understand if she doesn’t want to have anything to do with it". Richie opened his arms and looked around the stage: “This is great, yeah, but the press?…So much for a “normal” relationship, huh?”, Richie said sarcastically, quoting with his fingers.

Jon nodded silently, he had been able to handle press and privacy, but understood that his friend was more exposed due to his previous relationships. Both men remained silent for a minute, reflecting. Jon continued: 

“But what about Nikki?”, Jon ventured to ask, and tipped his head to the blonde woman that was speaking with his assistant on the other side of the stage. Jon was surprised when she had showed up the previous day to join the tour.

“Nikki’s a good friend – Richie nodded and looked down - she’s been there for me these days”.

“There?” Jon asked arching his eyebrows.

“Yeah, there, Jon. Just there”

…

Since Frédérique had made her appearance, Jon had managed to keep his interest at bay, trying to pick on every little detail to find a reason not to be attracted to her so it would be easier for him. Not only had he failed miserably, but had ended up even more attracted to her precisely because of those details. Richie was right: Frédérique was really something else.

But he had been a good boy: for his friend’s sake, he had behaved. After analyzing the situation, he thought it was better if he kept the distance by being “just polite”…and maybe a little intimidating - he knew he could be, a lot, when he wanted to - but somehow couldn’t get himself to do it, he couldn’t but just be nice and friendly with her, Frédérique was such a sweet lady. And she was tough, too - boy had she put Jon in his place a couple times - but carried herself with a kind of zen attitude that reminded Jon of his own wife.

They had also had more than one conversation regarding the foundation: Frédérique had a very refined eye for quality control and efficiency and had told Jon about the methods she used with her design team to achieve optimum results and had thus exposed many mistakes in the machinery and organization of the foundation - specially regarding work teams - input that Jon greatly appreciated. He had even thought about having her give a couple of lectures to the foundation staff.

Jon was thus now also officially concerned regarding his friend’s attitude: Richie was so afraid of loosing Frédérique that he was being maybe too cautious, thus risking loosing her, too. Richie was also clueless about what to do: how long was he going to wait? Jon couldn't make that decision for Richie, however, because it was Richie who had to live with the consequences. Jon reminded himself that he wasn’t going to intervene as long as it didn’t affect Richie’s performance and as long as he stayed out of trouble. Richie would be fine. Jon had to keep a close eye on him, that’s all.

That night during the after party, however, Jon’s alarm level went up a notch: Richie was drinking more than he should, and Nikki was “there” for him more than a good friend should. Worst of all, Richie was playing along with her. But it’s OK, Richie had some rough days and maybe it was OK that he unwounded a little bit with his girl friend. A little bit. By the time the evening was over they each went to their room, alone, and Richie seemed to be, though a little more drunk than usual, still holding it together. Jon admitted that he had himself had a few more glasses of wine than necessary, too, after all.

But why was Jon feeling this urgency? He couldn’t wait to see Richie act, fight for Frédérique, climb over that wall and make her listen to reason. She was a reasonable woman, she’d understand, there had to be way. Then Jon realized he was anxious not just because he wanted Richie to be happy. Fuck. Yes, Jon realized he cared for Frédérique, too. For her happiness, too. Jon couldn’t let that one piece of the puzzle escape his surveillance: maybe she wouldn’t listen to Richie – she was emotionally conditioned – but maybe she would listen to him.

As Jon lay in bed with his arm across his forehead, pondering the situation, he fell asleep.

The next day after he got out of bed, Jon went to check on Richie and knocked on his door, but no one answered. He called for Richie and waited for a few minutes: if he didn’t come out, he was going to find a way to get in somehow, but Richie finally emerged, looking like shit, and just managed to stick his head out. He promised Jon he was OK, he was just hangover and wanted to sleep it over since they had another show that night in Uncasville. 

Nikki.Suddenly Jon's late night ramblings fell into place in his head - Jon knew what came next: Richie would seek the company and comfort of someone familiar, someone close to him, someone that was “there” for him. Yeah, there. And it wasn't precisely him.

It was time to intervene: if Richie wasn't going to do something about it before it was too late, Jon would do it. Richie couldn’t let Frédérique go. Jon couldn’t let Frédérique go.

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.

XXVII

“Everything alright babe?” Richie asked with concern in his voice. He and Frédérique had already spent some days apart when he stayed in California, but their communications had always fallen somewhere in the range between plain silly and steamy erotic, so the dryness in Frédérique’s voice provoked Richie’s alarm. He could hear Hank Williams’ voice in the background coming from the other end of the line.

“Yes, I’m just tired, that’s all”, Frédérique softly discarded Richie’s answer and moved on. “How was the flight?”

Richie told her about their arrival at the airport and how they’d been welcomed by the fans and then continued for a few minutes until Frédérique convinced him that he should go and get some sleep to catch up on the jetlag and get himself ready for the next day’s performance. He agreed – she sounded tired, too.

After they hung up, Frédérique remained sprawled on her bed with her sleeping shorts and tanktop. She hadn’t been able to shake off the uneasiness the question she had asked herself earlier in the day had provoked, but tried to lose herself in the lulling quality of Williams’ melodies and soon, before even being able to tuck herself under the covers, she was fast asleep.

At 5.35 in the morning, however, her eyes snapped open in realization: she could now see clearly what she had done with her life.

Her mind traveled back to before she met Richie – how she had finally achieved peace and happiness, avoiding the turmoil of a relationship by means of pushing away any men that came her way. By the look of things, however, karma had other plans for her, and had put a sweet, beautiful, talented, irresistibly charming man in her way only so she would let her guard down, and make of her life the quintessential irony.

First of all, despite her unwillingness to let a man come into her life to leave her alone licking her wounds, she had fallen for another one yet again - faster and harder than ever. A man who, in defiance to Frédérique’s impeccable professionalism and ethics, was a client. In addition to that, he spent most of his days either traveling around the world with his band or living with his daughter thousands of miles from New York – the city Frédérique had always dreamt of inhabiting and was hoping to settle down in for good.

As if that wasn’t enough, of course, he belonged to a world Frédérique couldn’t be more of a stranger in: a world that seemed to be in exact opposition to the fiercely privacy-protective quality of the life she led. On top of that, this man wanted the one thing she couldn’t give him: children. And finally, as if years of perfecting defensive skills and modeling herself into a strong-willed, focused woman meant nothing, she was, again, feeling weak and vulnerable.

Back to square one.

Frédérique got out of bed, washed her face and brushed her teeth, put on her navy blue jogging pants, her white tanktop and running shoes and tied a sweater around her waist. She wrapped her hair in a tight bun in the crown of her head, grabbed her i-pod and did what every human being is born to do when endangered: run.

…

On Monday back in his house in California, Richie was driving back home. The band had a week off between the shows in Honolulu and the next appointments in Seattle so he had decided to stay in the west coast with his daughter and had just dropped her off at school.

He had tried to contact Frédérique since the previous night, but her cell phone seemed to be off and had left voice messages but she hadn’t returned the calls. He was well aware of the fact that when she was extremely exhausted and finally lay down to sleep she did so until she was fully recovered, so she had probably slept all Sunday long and was now at work.

But Frédérique was there now, seating under the sun on a patch of green lawn in front of his house, next to a parked SUV.

Richie saw her stand up as he approached the front of the house and directed the truck over the gravel road that led to the garage. She was wearing jeans, an unbuttoned red-and-white plaid shirt -with the sleeves rolled up on her forearms - over a white spaghetti-strap tank top. Her hair was down and flapped with the breeze, her hands in her front pockets. She was wearing sandals and a black backpack stood on the ground between her feet.

Richie offered her a huge dimply smile as he pulled over and got out of the truck to meet her in a tight hug. She couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, but her throat tightened.

“What a wonderful surprise, babe!”, he exclaimed before giving her a smooch. “Have you waited for long? Why didn’t you come in?”

Frédérique shook her head and forced a smile, but wasn’t able to utter a word before he captured her mouth again. He pulled apart when he felt her tension.

“Everything alright?” he repeated the words he had said the previous night on the phone with a tint of alarm as he placed his hands on each side of her neck, noticing her tired, sad eyes.

Frédérique nodded, curving her lips upwards, then added warmly: “Let’s go inside”. She took Richie’s hand and motioned towards the door.

Before opening the door, Richie extended his arm to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers and then slid his hand to the nape of her neck, brushing the skin below her ears with his thumb:

“You look beautiful, you know that?”

Frédérique limited her actions to smile gently and take his hand to kiss his palm.

“Is she home?” questioned Frédérique calmly - meaning Richie’s daughter - , as they walked hand in hand through the door and entered the double-height living room with floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Nope” – he grinned – “house all to ourselves”.

She put her backpack on the floor next to the sofa and walked to stand silently in front of the huge window with square panes. She was soon joined by Richie, whose hands snaked under her arms to encircle her waist, then he placed a soft kiss on her cheek and tried to follow the direction of her glance.

“I missed you, baby”, he whispered in her ear, almost as a confession.

Frédérique remained silent for a few moments and then moved to release herself from his embrace, but only managed to turn around and face Richie, while his hands lowered to rest on each side of her hips.

“Richie…”- she began with a sheepish look in her eyes – “…the reason why I came here is because I need to talk to you”, Richie frowned slightly so she continued: “There’s something you need to know”

“What do I need to know, Fred?”, he questioned without changing his expression.

“I can’t do this, Richie”, she confessed after pausing for an instant, looking up at him and hoping that he made it easier for her by understanding right away what she meant.

“What?” Richie pulled apart to better look at her, deepening the frown in his brow, but keeping the tip of his fingers on the sides of Frédérique’s hips, fearing she would run away if he let her lose. “This?”

“Us”, she said tearfully.

Ow. Richie took a few steps back to sit on one side of the sofa, with his legs wide apart and leaning forward, placing his elbows on top of his knees and entangling his fingers in the space between them. His brow was furrowed and his lower lip pushed forward in a slight pout. He finally tilted his chin up high enough to imply that he was ready to listen.

Frédérique stood facing Richie, with her back to the window. She fidgeted with her hands over the waist of her jeans as she forced her mouth to utter the words she had previously chosen. Then, into the thick silence that filled the room, she spoke with a firm but warm voice:

“You are the sweetest, most amazing man I’ve ever met” – she lowered her eyes to meet his – “and you deserve nothing but complete happiness”, she finally managed to state warmly, and when she saw Richie’s lips open again to speak, she raised her right hand up signaling for him to stop.

“I can’t give you what you want,” she said, “what you deserve”.

In a flahs, Richie stood up and circled his arms around her, pulling her tight to him and kissing her crown before speaking, while his hands draw circles in her back, smoothing it:

“You’re crazy, Fred, what are you saying?” he questioned with alarm in a raspy voice.

“I’m saying that I can’t have children, Richie”, she said sharply against his shoulder, sparing him the details. “I’m broken”.

The interview. Richie thought and closed his eyes tight. Shit.

He winced before continuing: “Shhh” he cooed as he felt the tension rise in the body he was holding in his arms, his hand moved to cup the back of her head. He swallowed hard, choosing his words carefully, a lump forming in his throat: “S’alright”, he softly comforted her and then assured: “I got you, babe”. Ironic choice of words, he thought to himself. “That’s all that matters”.

“It’s not just that” she said softly as she struggled to release herself from his embrace. “It’s everything…me”, she shook her head and frowned, struggling with her emotions.

“Fred…”, he winced - surprise and pain in his voice - and tightened his grasp.

“There’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind” – she told him, and when she was finally able to release herself from Richie’s arms she nodded and added – “This is the best for both of us, trust me”. She then finished: “This was meant to end one way or the other, and for once, this time, I need it to be my call”

“What do you mean?” Richie asked, dreading the answer.

“It’s over, Richie”, she said sharply while she locked her eyes with his.

“You can’t be serious”, Richie stated with disbelief and took a step back.

“But I am”, said Frédérique softly, reaching to caress Richie’s face before adding with a soft, warm voice: “I’ve never cared so much about someone in my life before as I do for you, Richie”, she paused, “and this is me caring for you, protecting you…from me”. She tried to blink away the tears in her eyes.

Richie let out a sharp sigh, he couldn’t believe his ears. He raised his arms and entangled his fingers on the back of his head and looked out the window. When it finally sank in, he asked, but mostly to himself.

“What now?”

He could barely see past the pain, his and the one he was seeing in Frédérique's eyes. She looked so vulnerable, so defenseless. He gazed at the horizon, trying to cover the fact that inside, his stomach twisted in response to the sting that hurt him more than it had ever hurt before.

“Now I leave” said Frédérique softly, as she approached him to clasp his face with both her hands and place a soft peck on each cheek. “Then you forget about me. I shouldn’t have happened to you, you don’t deserve this”.

When she was finished, a speechless Richie felt how the air between them thickened, solidified, as if there was a wall that separated the two of them. She was slipping from his hands and he had to find a way to reach in. Now.

Frédérique had barely lifted a foot to walk when Richie suddenly lowered his arms and grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides and moving his eyes from side to side to try to meet hers.

“No, Fred”, he stated calmly, shaking his head “I won’t let you leave, I’m happy with you. Because of you”. He paused before he continued, trying to reason with her and emphasising his words: "I'm glad you came into my life. There's nothing wrong with you – he chuckled softly to lighten the mood – not even your clumsiness”.

“Yes, you will” she replied calmly, focusing on a point somewhere in between his pecs. But Richie didn’t respond to her order, and she ignored his comments. Her eyes were reddish but dry, not one tear.

“Richie, don’t… Please, just let me go”, she pleaded, closing her eyes and squirming to release herself from Richie’s grasp, but he tightened it, and lowered his head to look at her in the eyes, but she turned her head to her side and closed her eyes tight. His tone was strong but hopeful: he had to push.

.

“Fred, I love you”

“No” she gasped.

With a strong pull she released herself and a few quick strides later she was by the side of the sofa, taking her backpack and heading for the door. Richie stood speechless, with his arms hanging by his sides, until he heard the front door closing. He made an attempt to chase her, but a feeling in his gut told him that it was pointless: he's fucked up again. Big time. And Frédérique was gone.