Lonely One: Chapter 5

Someone was knocking on the front door.  “Answer it, Nicola,” Greg called from his room.  I rinsed out my mouth, rubbed my face, and proceeded to open the door.  Jenna stood before me.
“Nicole!  You look terrible!  Are you alright?” She asked with concern.
I let her in and closed the door.  “No,” I said.  “I feel exactly as I look.”
“Scarla told me about what happened.  I tried calling twice yesterday but there was no answer.  I called this morning too, but you didn’t answer then either!  What’s been going on?” Jenna asked.
“Come, sit,” I said, gesturing to the living room.  She and I sat adjacent to each other.  
Jenna was the only person I’d ever confide in.  She was about the same height as me, but had long brown hair and soft blue eyes.  She never judged me or anyone, and for that I was grateful.  She had a certain air about her that put one at ease and she was incredibly sincere.  No wonder her husband loved her so much.
“Well?” Jenna asked.
“What did Scarla tell you exactly?” I asked.
“She said you were serving a party of twenty and accidentally sliced your hand open,” Jenna replied.  “Jim took you to the hospital and you got your hand stitched up.   That’s all I know.  How bad was it exactly?”
“Well, it wouldn’t stop bleeding,” I said, holding up my hand.  The bandages were starting to get dirty.  I needed to change them soon.  “It hurt like hell.”
“May I see?” Jenna asked.
I nodded and pulled at the medical tape.  The gauze stuck to the wound.  I had to peel it off carefully.   The skin under the wrap was white and moist.  The wound it self looked disgusting.  A long, red and black line extended from the bottom right side of my palm to the area between my thumb and index finger.  The stitches made it look even worse.
“Oh, nice,” Jenna said.  “You got yourself good.”
“That’s what I get for not paying attention,” I said.  My hand felt cold now that it was uncovered.
“So, did your not paying attention have anything to do with the people you were serving?” Jenna asked.
I sighed.  “Yes,” I admitted.  
“Jim told me about the Beatles.  Does that also explain yesterday’s disappearance and also this morning?” Jenna prodded.
“What are you implying?” I asked with a laugh.  I was glad she was here.  It took my mind off of my memories.
Jenna raised a curious eyebrow at me.  I noticed a small smile on her lips.  “Why are you so tired?” she asked.
Apparently, Jenna knows everything.  I sighed.  “They left me a tip even though I had to leave half way through their meal.  Turns out they left me one hundred dollars and two tickets to their show.  I spent most of the money on stuff I needed as well as a super sexy dress that I hated.  Greg and I went to the show and I ended up wanting to leave soon after it started.  As we were leaving we ran into the Beatle’s roadie, Mal Evans, and he invited us to an after concert party at the Radisson.”  I paused for effect.  Jenna’s mouth was half open in surprise.  I pressed onward.  “So I hung out, had a horrible time, danced with Ringo Starr, made faces at John Lennon, almost got f***** by Paul McCartney, and spent the night with George Harrison,” I finished.  I watched Jenna’s face change from shock to disapproval to shock once more.  “I’ve got the pajamas in my dresser to prove it,” I added.  “His name is on the tag.”
“Well, seems you’ve been busy, Nicola,” Jenna finally said with a laugh.  “Is this how you lived before you came to Chicago?”
I shook my head.  “This is all new to me.  I can barely believe it happened.  And when I say I slept with George Harrison, I mean we just slept.  Nothing else,” I added.  
“That’s all?  How boring,” Jenna said.
“I’m not like how you used to be, Jenna,” I said, mocking her adolescent years.
“Why won’t you tell me what you’re doing here in Chicago?” Jenna asked.
I shot her a look of disapproval.  “Jenna, every time we see each other you ask about my past.  It doesn’t matter,” I said.
“You can’t tell me it doesn’t matter.  Look at yourself!  It’s got to be the thing that’s been bothering you,” Jenna pried.  
I rolled my eyes.  “George did the same thing last night.  He tried to get me to tell him, too.  Even Paul asked.  Look, it doesn’t need to be said, okay?”  I was starting to get very annoyed.
“Someday, Nicola,” Jenna said, waving a finger at me.  “Someday you’re going to wish you’d given in.  Someone here can help you, you know.”
I rolled my eyes.  “Help me how?” I asked.  “With what?”
Jenna gave me a stern look.  It was almost as though she were a mother glaring at an undisciplined child.  “You’ve got something wrong inside of you, Nicolette.  If you don’t resolve it soon, you’re going to have a rough future.  Why won’t you open up?”
“I’m a stubborn mule,” I said crossly.
“Got that right.  Come on.  What of your family?  Your parents?” Jenna asked.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.  Finally, I stood.  “I don’t want to talk right now, Jenna.  Thank you for coming over,” I said.  I walked over to the door and stood by it.
Jenna gave me a disapproving look as she got off the couch.  “You can’t avoid it forever, Nicola.  I’m worried about you,” she said.  She hugged me before leaving.
I closed the door behind her, thinking over her words.

I spent the next few days in a sleepy haze.  I’d only get out of bed to eat or use the restroom.  I felt miserable.  Greg checked on me once or twice.  
“Get out of bed, Nicola.  I’m worried about you,” Greg said, sitting next to my bed on a chair.
“Leave me alone, Greg,” I said tartly.  I had my head buried under my pillow.
Greg put a hand on my shoulder.  “This isn’t good for you.”
I didn’t respond.  After a long silence, he left.
My mind wouldn’t allow me to think properly.  As long as I was asleep, I wouldn’t think of what went before.  I missed my family, and my home.  I wondered whether I should open up to someone like Jenna.  However, every time I thought of that, I’d mentally kick myself.
I found myself missing George and the rest of the Beatles.  I didn’t want to grow attached, but that one night with them was amazing.  Who cares of Paul McCartney is a horny bastard?  He’s remarkable when he’s sober.  Ringo’s a sweetheart, John’s hilarious, and George is just plain nice.  I missed them all.
Thursday afternoon I finally emerged from my pit of despair.  I was wearing George’s pajamas again.  They were comforting.  I found Flicka asleep in a sunbeam she’d found in the living room.  I collapsed on the couch next to her and began to stroke her fur.  She looked up at me with her bright, amber eyes.  Animals always make me feel better.
I took the bandages off of my left hand.  It seemed a good time to take the stitches out.  I went to the tiny kitchen and fished a pair of scissors out of a drawer.  The task took only moments, but forced me to re bandage my hand.  I returned to the sofa and gladly accepted Flicka on to my lap.
Greg awoke soon after I did.  He’d been up until three the other night at a gig.  He entered the living room looking surprised.  “Well, she finally came out of her room,” he said.
“Good afternoon, Greg,” I said haughtily.  “My you look well.”  Actually, he didn’t.  All he was wearing was a pair of dark blue pajama pants.  His dark hair was a mess and his face was quite unshaven.  His eyes were very bloodshot.
“As do you,” Greg replied sarcastically.  “What brings you to the real world this day?”
I shrugged.  “Something, or someone, told me that spending an entire week in bed wasn’t a good idea.  I need to go on a walk or something,” I said.  “I think I’m getting fat.”
Greg was about to respond, but was distracted.  “Someone’s coming up the stairs,” he said.
I turned around so that I could see out the window.  I almost yelped when I saw who it was.  “Wait!” I yelled as Greg made for the door.  I leapt off the couch and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him back.  We both fell.  He landed on top of me, his elbow digging into my gut.
“Nicole!  Damnit!  Why’d you do that?” Greg asked irately.  
“Don’t answer the door, Greg,” I said severely.  I was doubled over from the pain in my stomach.  My heart was going a mile a minute.
Greg stood and then helped me up.  “Well, they probably heart that thumping sound.  Way to go. They know we’re home.  Why don’t you want me to answer?”
“Because...” I struggled to find the words.  “Those men are... after me for something,” I said at last.
“What, did you lose a bet?” Greg asked.  The doorbell rang.  
“I don’t live here!” I said loudly before running down the hall to my room.  I dove for my closet and closed the door quietly behind me.  The dark enclosure made me feel claustrophobic.   I waited with baited breath holding my arms over my head.
Minutes passed.  Gradually I heard footsteps enter my room.  I clung to the far wall of the tiny space.
The door opened.  I squinted in the bright light.  Greg stood before me, offering me a hand.  “They’re gone,” he said, hoisting me from the floor.  I couldn’t speak, I was shaking so much.  Greg looked at me intently.  “Are you okay, Nicola?” he asked.
I shook my head.  “No, Greg.  They’ve found me.”
“Who the hell are they?” Greg asked.  He had both hands firmly on my shoulders.   I shook my head.  He seemed frustrated.  “Why won’t you tell me?  They kept demanding if I knew who you were, threatening to call the cops on me if I didn’t comply.”
I looked up at him, pondering whether to tell him or not.  “Did you tell them?” I asked.
“Of course not.  What do you think I am?” Greg replied.  “Tell me, Nicole.”
I shook my head.  “No, Greg.  Nobody needs to know.  You’re just my roommate.”
“Stop saying that!  I’m not, Nicole.  I’m your friend,” Greg said earnestly.
“Oh God, Greg.  Don’t say that.  I can’t afford friends at this point,” I said.  I could feel tears forming in my eyes.
Greg’s grave face changed to compassion.  He released my shoulders and stared at me for a moment as though he was seeing me for the first time.  “Okay, Nicole.  You don’t have to tell me.  But, I want one thing from you.”
“Oh Greg, not again,” I said, thinking of his previous attempts to get me in bed with him.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around me in a sincere hug.  He held me tight for what seemed like minutes.  I couldn’t take it any longer.  I began to cry on his shoulder, hugging him back.
“I have to leave,” I said desolately.  “I can’t stay here knowing they’ve found me.  They’ll be back.”
“Don’t go,” Greg said, releasing me.  “I’d miss you too much.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.  “I’ve really enjoyed being your roommate.  I just can’t risk it.”
Greg seemed sad.  He was also very thoughtful.  “Okay, Nicola.  I’ve got a suitcase you can use.”
I hugged him again.  “Thank you, Greg.”
Greg ran to his room to grab the baggage.  I began opening drawers and throwing clothes on my bed.  I then pushed the dresser aside and lifted the loose floorboard.  
Greg returned with the suitcase and set it on my bed.  He started putting clothes inside.  I picked up the box and envelope out of the hole and set it in the case as well.  Before zipping the suitcase shut, I opened the box and pulled out one of the ten dollar bills.  I handed it to Greg.
“Here, take this,” I said.
“What for?” Greg asked.
“The suitcase,” I replied.
“No, keep it.  You need the money,” Greg said, taking the bill from me and putting it back in the box.  He zipped the suitcase shut and hoisted it from the bed.
“I need to run to La Scarla’s first,” I said.  “Hold on to my things.  I’ll be right back.”
“Why don’t you just call over there?” Greg asked.
I shook my head.  “I want to say goodbye in person.”
“Be careful, Nicole,” Greg said.  
I ran to the bathroom, freshened up, and changed into a pair of jeans and a shirt.  I was out the door in a matter of minutes.  The pavement was covered with fresh slush from the previous night’s snow.  It didn’t take much wind for me to remember I’d forgotten my coat.  Running kept me relatively warm.  La Scarla’s was almost deserted when I got there.
“Nicolette!” Scarla said upon my entering.  There were no customers inside.
“I’m leaving,” I panted.
Scarla looked shocked.  “What?  Why?”
I took a moment to catch my breath before continuing.  “I can’t stay here.  Do I really have to explain?”
Jim appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.  “Hey, Nicky,” he said with a small wave.  “What are you doing here?”
“Nicolette is leaving, Jim,” Scarla said.  “Non capisco.”  I was grateful for her lack of questions.
“Leaving?  Leaving where?” Jim asked.  He approached me.
“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging.  “Anywhere.  I came to say goodbye.”
Scarla cupped my chin in her hand.  “I will miss you,” she said.  She hugged me.  Her hug reminded me a lot of my mother.  I pulled away quickly.
“What happened?” Jim asked.
I paused.  “Nothing,” I said unsurely.  
Jim didn’t buy it.  He was about to respond when the shop door opened.   I screamed.
Mr. Wright and his right hand man entered the dimly lit restaurant.  The former had a large grin on his face.  “Good to see you again, Ms. Nicolette,” he sneered.
“Get out of here!” I yelled, backing away.  “How did you find me?”
“We watched you come here.  We knew your idiot roommate was lying.  It was only a matter of time before you left the safety of your apartment,” the other man said.
“What’s going on?” Scarla asked.  “Who are you?”
“Ma’am, my name is Douglas Wright.  This is my associate, Thomas Becker.  We’ve come to settle some business with Nicolette,” Mr. Wright said.
“I’ve no business to settle with you,” I spat.  
“Oh yes you do,” Mr. Becker said.  “This time you’ll comply.  For you see, you are the lone owner of your father’s business.”
I gaped at him.  “No I’m not.  Ryan owns half,” I retorted.
Mr. Wright grinned coldly.  He pulled a newspaper clipping out of his jacket and held it out.  I approached him cautiously and took the paper from him.
I felt my jaw hit the floor.  There was a picture of my brother with another young man.  They both were standing near a fighter jet.  The headline read, “US Plane Shot Down Over Saigon.  2 Presumed Dead.”  I felt like I was going to pass out.
“So,” Mr. Wright snickered, holding out a stack of papers and a pen.  “Shall we get this over with?”
I looked up at him, shock and rage filling my entire body.  I crumpled up the paper and threw at him.  “OVER MY DEAD BODY,” I yelled.  Tears ran down my cheeks.
“That can be arranged,” Mr. Becker threatened.
“I must ask you to leave,” Scarla said boldly.
“I don’t think so, lady,” Mr. Becker said, pushing her aside.  He approached me menacingly.  I backed away.
“Listen to her,” Jim said angrily, placing himself between me and Mr. Becker.  “You’d better go.”
“Or what?” Mr. Wright mocked.  He got right in Jim’s face.  
Jim’s hand connected with Mr. Wright’s face in half a second.  He stumbled backward in to one of the tables.  
“Jim, get Nicola out of here,” Scarla yelled.  
Mr. Becker was helping his comrade up from the fall.  Jim grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the back kitchen.  There was a door in the far corner.  He wrenched it open and dragged me down the cement steps to the basement.
I couldn’t see a thing.  Not only was it dark down there but I was crying.  I couldn’t believe my brother was dead.  It couldn’t be true.
“This way, Nicky,” Jim said encouragingly.  He groped along the wall until we reached another set of stairs leading up.  At the top of the stairs was an old wooden door that led out to the back of the restaurant.
We ran around the building to Jim’s truck.  He shoved me in through the driver’s side.  He got in himself, pushed me over, started the engine, and raced out of the parking lot.  I looked back and saw a sleek black car in the parking lot.  It probably belonged to Mr. Wright.
I was completely incoherent.  My audible sobs filled Jim’s vehicle as we tore down the road to my apartment.  He had a comforting hand on my shoulder the entire time.
“I understand why you’re leaving now,” Jim said.  
“I sure hope so after all this,” I replied between sobs.  “They’re going to kill me if I don’t sign the company over.  I can’t believe it!”
“Then do it!” Jim said.  “What have you got to lose?”
I looked up at him with my puffy red eyes.  “The only thing I have left of my father,” I said solemnly.  “I have to find my sister before any of this can be done, Jim.  I’m going to put her as the second owner if Ryan really is dead.”
“And how do you plan on finding her?  Do you know where she is?” Jim asked.
“No,” I said quietly.
Jim pulled up in front of my complex.  He helped me out.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“Can you take me to the train station?” I asked.
“Yes.  We’d better hurry.  I’ll bet those thugs are on their way here,” Jim said urgently.
I nodded and climbed the stairs to my door.  Jim followed.  Greg opened the door for us.  He was now fully clothed and shaven.
“Where’s the suitcase?” I asked immediately.
“Right here,” Greg said, lifting the heavy parcel from the ground.  “What happened?  Who’s that?” He nodded to Jim.
“This is Jim, my... former co-worker,” I replied.  “He’s taking me to the train station.”
“Can I tag along?” Greg asked.
“Sure,” I replied.  
Jim ushered us out the door.  I ran a hand over the sleeping Flicka before going through the door.   Jim stopped short ahead of me. “Shit.”
“What?” I asked, looking in the same direction as him.  The black car from the parking lot was speeding down the street toward us.
“It’s probably them,” Greg said, almost pushing me down the rest of the stairs.  We haphazardly piled into the truck, Greg on top of me.  Jim started the truck as fast as humanly possible.  We were out of there in seconds.
The black vehicle slowed for a moment before speeding up after us.  I felt like I was going to throw up.  Greg and I sat up, me in the middle.  He put his arm around me.
“So, Nicole,” Greg said in a clam voice.  “Why are we being chased?”
“Because those men are after her dad’s company,” Jim replied for me.  “They’ve just told her that her brother’s dead and that they’ll probably kill her to get the company for themselves.”
Greg looked at me with somber eyes.  “I’m so sorry,” he said, hugging me.
I didn’t reply.  I had too much going on inside of me — rage, sadness, panic, and confusion.  
Jim kept turning sharply trying to lose the tailing men.  “I’ve got a plan,” he said through grit teeth.  “We’re going to drive to Von’s.  My buddy Chuck works there.  We’ll run in there, grab his car keys and some uniforms, and run out the back door.”
“You mean dress up like grocery store workers?” Greg asked.  “Good plan.”
“I’ll drive up to the curb and let you out,” Jim said.  “Hide in the back by the deli.  I’ll find you.”
We rounded a few more dangerous corners before the old grocery store came in to view.  Jim skid to a halt right in front.  Greg shoved the door open, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me out of the truck toward the doors.  He had my suitcase in his other hand.
We ran through the store.  I caught sound of a young girl pleading to her mother to buy her a Hershey bar.  Another noise was a group of teenage girls were idly chatting about the Beatles concert.  I felt a pang of longing.
Customers watched us imploringly as we rushed over to the deli.  There was an employee entrance to the back near the counter which we went through.  Rows and rows of boxes filled the large ominous space.  Greg chose a big stack near the wall to hide behind.  We sat huddled together on the floor, waiting.  Greg had his arms around me protectively.  
After about five minutes we heard Jim’s voice.  “Nicky, it’s me,” he said.  
We emerged from our hiding place.  Jim had brought his friend with him.  He had an armload of red apron’s, red baseball hats, and striped shirts.
“Here, put these on,” Chuck said, handing out the clothes.  He wasn’t quite as tall as Jim and had sandy blonde hair.  His cheeks were red and his face bore a finely trimmed moustache.
I pulled the shirt on over my own and buttoned it up.  It was too big.  Jim helped me pull my red hair up in to the cap to hide it.  The apron was also very large.  
“Ya’ll look like grocers to me,” Chuck said with a grin.
“Thanks, man,” Jim said.  “I’ll bring your car back in one piece, I promise.”
“Which way should we go out?” Greg asked.
Chuck led all three of us through the maze of boxes to a back door.  “My car’s to the right and down a ways with the rest of the worker vehicles.  It’s the dark blue Dodge.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Chuck looked at me kindly.  “Ain’t nothin’,” he said with a smile.
Jim went out first to make sure the coast was clear.  It seemed to be until the black car came around the corner.  Quick as a flash Jim pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.  He handed one to each of us.  
“Why?” Greg asked, setting down the suitcase and taking the cigarette.
“We grocers are on our smoke break,” Jim replied, lighting his own.
We blocked the suitcase with our legs and hid our faces as the car drove past.  I hunched my shoulders and slouched.  Jim lit my cigarette.  
“Don’t really inhale any if you’ve never smoked,” Greg said, taking a drag of his own.
I didn’t even put the thing in my mouth.  I was trembling too much to even bring my hand up to my face.
The car moved on.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  All three of us threw our cigarettes on the ground and stamped them out.  Greg took my hand and we followed Jim to Chuck’s car.  The interior smelled like old French fries and body odor.  I wrinkled my nose at the repulsive aroma.  Greg put the suitcase in the back seat and climbed in after me.  All three of us sat in the front together again.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Jim breathed.  He cautiously drove out of the parking lot, double checking if the black car was anywhere near.
I pulled off my cap and shook my hair loose.  Then I took off the apron and unbuttoned the shirt, shrugging it from my shoulders.  I leaned my head on Greg’s shoulder as we drove.  
I tried to think of places I could go from here.  All I had was forty three dollars and a bunch of clothes.  Any hotel would cost much more than that.
The train station was busy with travelers.  Jim and Greg helped me through the crowded station to an empty ticket desk.
“Destination?” the woman behind the counter asked.
“When’s the next train out?” Jim asked.
The woman checked her records.  “The next train leaves for Boston at two thirty.  That’s in fourteen minutes.  Travel time is approximately six hours.”
I turned to Jim, my mind buzzing.  “Boston?  Really?  Isn’t that a bit...”
“One ticket, please.  One way,” Jim said, forking out six dollars and fifty cents.  The lady printed the ticket, took the money, and handed the small piece of paper to Jim.  He handed it to me.  
“Boston?” I asked again, dumbfounded.
“Yes, Nicky.  Boston.”  He put the ticket in my hand.
“That’s so far!” Greg protested as we walked to the platform.
I kept my head down as they argued.  Apparently Greg was going to miss me.  Jim was too, but he knew it was for my own good.  I thought over my past endeavor of running away.  Colorado was just as far away from Chicago as Boston was.
“Guys,” I said to break up the fight.  “I’m fine with it.”
“Oh, good,” Jim said smugly.
“Nicola, are you sure you want to go that far away?  You have a home and a job here!” Greg said intently.
“Do you even know where I’m from?” I asked him.
Jim knew, but Greg didn’t.  He shook his head.
“Colorado, Greg.  I’m from Colorado.  That’s nine hundred miles away.  Boston is just another nine hundred.  I’ll be fine,” I replied.  “I’ve run away once and I’ll do it again.”
“I had no idea you were from that far away,” Greg said.  “What made you come to Chicago?”
“Them,” I said, referring to the two men.
“So, your parents...”
I nodded.  I didn’t want to say it, and I knew he understood.  
A voice on the intercom system announced boarding for my train.  I turned to Jim.  “Thanks.  For everything,” I said.  “I owe you six fifty.”
Jim pulled me in to a tight hug.  “Any time,” he said.  “Call La Scarla’s when you make it to Boston.  Don’t even think about paying me back.  I make much, much more than you.  I work construction, remember?”
Greg was next.  He held me even tighter and longer as though he never wanted to let me go.  “I’ll miss you,” he whispered.
I nodded, trying to keep back tears.  I gave my luggage to one of the conductors.  With a heavy heart I boarded the train.  I left behind yet another life I’d become familiar with.
I chose a seat next to a woman who had her two young daughters with her sitting across from us.  I sat near the isle.  When the train started, I felt sick.  I couldn’t believe I was running away again.
So much had happened in the last few days.  I focused on some of the better things.  For instance, I tried to recall every bit of conversation that I’d had with George Harrison.  I brought back the feeling of being kissed by Ringo.  I longed for the touch of Paul and the humor of John.
“What’s your name?” one of the little girls asked me, snapping out of my trance.  She was sitting across from me.  I snapped out of my memory and focused on her.  She was very small with dark curly hair.  She was grinning at me from across the way.
“Nicolette,” I replied.
“Nick-olt,” the girl said with difficulty.  “I’m Tessa.  I’m four years old.”  She held up three fingers.  “We’re going to see Gramma!”
I smiled. “Nice to meet you, Tessa.”
“I’m sorry, is she bothering you?” her mother asked, setting her book aside.
I looked at her.  “Oh, no.  I love kids.  It’s okay.”
“Let me know if they get to be annoying,” the mother said before returning to her novel.
The girl’s sister, who was much younger, leapt off her seat and came toward me.  She had the same dark hair as her sister but it was much shorter.
   “What’s your name?” I asked her.
She responded with a shy smile.  
“That’s Penny,” Tessa said.  “She doesn’t talk lots.  She’s two and a half.”
“Hello, Penny,” I said sweetly.
The young girl held up her arms, asking to be picked up.  I lifted the young child in to my lap.  The simplicity of the matter made my heart warm.  She began to play with my hands.
“What happened to your hand?” Tessa asked.
I still had the bandage.  “I accidentally hurt it,” I said.  “It was a mistake.”
“Looks ouchie,” Tessa said in awe.
“It doesn’t hurt very much now,” I said.  “It’s getting better.”
The duration of the trip was spent playing with Tessa and Penny.  I was grateful for the distraction.  Soon, the youngest was asleep in my arms.  Tessa was sprawled across two seats, snoozing.  This left me alone to my depressing thoughts.  I avoided getting food.  My appetite was obliterated.
The train began to slow.  I handed Penny to her mother and stood.  When the train stopped, I was one of the first to get off.  I collected my one piece of luggage and roamed around the station in search of a payphone.  I found a line of them along a far wall near the ticket counter.  I dug some change out of my pocket and dialed the restaurant.
“La Scarla’s Italian Cuisine.”  It was Jenna.
“Jenna, it’s Nicolette.”
“Nicole!  Dear God, girl!  You sure took off in a hurry!”
“Jim told you, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, he did.  I’m sorry.  I wish you could have stayed,” Jenna said sadly.
“Me too.  Is he around?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’ll get him.  Miss ya, girl.”
“I miss you too,” I said.  It was silent for a few moments while Jenna called for Jim.
“Heyyyy Nicky.  How was the train ride?” Jim asked.
“Long and boring,” I replied.  “I’m just doing what you asked.”
“Glad to hear you made it there alive.  Those two idiots came by at about five demanding to know where you’d gone.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Los Angeles,” Jim laughed.
“Bravo, Jim,” I said, laughing a little.  “I’d better go.  I don’t have much time on this stupid payphone.”
“Before you leave that train station, look inside your suitcase,” Jim said.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.  Good luck!  Bye!”
The line went dead.  I hung up the phone and carried my suitcase to the nearest bench.  Inside I found a few crumpled up five dollar bills.  I cursed Jim and his sneakiness, but was thankful as well.
It was nearing nine in the evening.  I flagged down a taxi and headed to the nearest cheap hotel.  I got out, paid the driver, and proceeded to the rundown inn.
A sign in the registry window caught my eye.  I shifted the suitcase from one hand to the other. My mouth hung open as I approached the taped up page.