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Nicola Prescott glanced at her phone's screen. "Elysian Fields Delayed," the text stated.
Surreptitiously, she kicked the luggage waiting beside the door. Although she realized the long-awaited trip was off, she felt disappointed. Almost nine months had passed since the last time she saw Ollie. For one reason or another, they sidelined all their recent attempts. But, with the plague raging worldwide, she already realized another delay appeared on the horizon.
Turning away from her expectant bags, she decided to unpack later on. There was not much she could do about it. Returning the message with a lament would not alter the situation. Nicola would just have to wait it out—again.
Although Beatrice Talbot claimed Nicola did not fully understand the military protocol, Nic begged to differ. She had given Ollie her complete patience. When a mission interfered with their plans, she never complained. A kind word softened her lover's disappointment. Often, she railed inside but rarely showed it. She knew her weaknesses and let them out into her pillow at night. Then, she showed her brave face to Oliver.
“Another time,” Nic whispered to herself. Then she went into the kitchen and poured a mug of coffee.
Nicola Prescott lived alone. She kept an apartment in Manhattan to remain close to her literary agent and publisher. Two bedrooms with a bath and a half suited her requirements. It was not her permanent address. However, it came in handy. Her actual address was in Spring Hill, Florida. She remained at her NYC home until the lifting of the current restrictions.
Remaining on lockdown did not cause a predicament. Nicola saved half an unedited manuscript to MS Word. While she had ample free time, Nic intended to prepare it for her agent. However, it would have to wait until her emotions calmed down. She longed to see Ollie this time around.
"Where are you, Ollie?" she asked her mug. Absently, she spun it on the sleek rosewood table. 'Cat Mom,' it said on the front. A brown-haired woman perched on a couch with three cats surrounding her. A grey named Muffin, an orange name Tangerine, and a tuxedo named Samantha made up her little family.
During her weakest moments, Nicola lamented not having a real family. In her youth, she longed for children. As they walked along the Champs-Elysees, she spoke to Oliver about four little ones. Placing his arm around her waist, he pulled her close. Kissing her temple, he laughingly agreed. Four would suit him fine, as long as they were hers too. She delighted in those long ago plans.
Nicola only had thoughts of Oliver. After their sudden break-up, she'd shut herself off from society. The idea of masculine company put her hackles up. When she finally accepted a date with a fellow novelist, she spent the evening comparing him to her lost lover. It was entirely unfair, but she couldn't stop herself. Finally, after a dozen similar failures, she stopped accepting invitations.
In her worst moments, Nicola despised Oliver for his vulnerability. They both craved peaceful situations. Their relationship had been easygoing and relaxed. When they could not meet, she brushed it off with promises of another time. Ollie appreciated her efforts. When he felt he had failed her, she calmly reassured him. She never berated him. They both agreed to stand aside when a critical mission arose. She could not recall a single argument between them.
Nicola could not recall any adverse situations arising with Oliver. Then, his mother became involved. Their relationship took a swift downhill turn after they announced their engagement. Suddenly, the entire position turned belly up. Once Beatrice Talbot sunk her teeth in, she did not let go. All the plans Nicola made with Ollie disintegrated.
Bea filled Ollie with misinformation. Nicola corrected it until it tried her patience. No matter what she said to the contrary, his mother was always right. It never occurred to him to doubt the steady flow of misinformation. Finally, after six months of distress on both sides, her fiancé called it off.
Lt. Col. Oliver Talbot used his mother's misstatements against her. It continued to irk her. If he had only understood, the situation might have resolved itself differently. However, he'd caved.
The break-up destroyed her, and Nicola allowed it to rule her life. She thought of all the happiness she and Ollie shared. The long walks on the beach, kissing as the orange Florida sun sank beneath the gulf horizon. She longed for the eagerness she felt when they planned to see each other again.
Nic began writing the novel she planned in high school to distract herself. Deeply involved in character development and plot twists, she pushed Oliver Talbot from her mind. She told herself she had seen his true colors. He never made a move to defend her against his mother. All the discussions they had concerning the future wafted away into thin air. She had to move away from him and move on with her life.
After completing her first manuscript, Nicola approached several agencies. The uphill battle began, and the rejection slips poured in. Time after time, she felt pangs of disappointment. Yet, she continued sending out query letters. Finally, The Jake Markham Agency picked it up.
Delighted, she agreed to the terms presented to her. Then, within six months, she sold her book.
"The Blytheville Massacre" became an immediate best seller. Following a whirl of book readings and signings, she traveled across the United States. The promotion succeeded, and she went on a similar tour of the United Kingdom. A movie studio picked up the rights to bring her story to the big screen.
Nicola Prescott followed "The Blytheville Massacre" with "The Alberta Ripper." She moved into the New York City apartment with another novel on the top of the book charts. She continued to write by splitting her time between Spring Hill, Florida, and Manhattan. Due out in another three weeks, "Molly's Revenge" was set to become her next best seller. "Cricket Madison" was saved in MS Word. She was only four chapters in, but with the plague keeping everyone on lockdown, she felt sure she could complete it ahead of schedule.
The Manhattan shutdown did not bother her. Keeping to a writing schedule, Nicola Prescott and her laptop became best friends. When her food stock ran low, she ordered online. Exhausted by a steady flow of words, she had her meals delivered.
In the early morning, Nicola walked in the park for exercise. The city promoted the clean, fresh air of Central Park as a means to get outside. Few people mingled along the paths. She crossed out of their way if she encountered another walker or jogger. Or they crossed.
Keeping a good social distance, her friends waved as she passed. Then, they shot her a text to say hello.
Meetings in the coffee shop ground to a halt. Nicola missed her group of literary friends. Steph Malone and Gabby Sanchez were her besties. Sitting at a sidewalk café, she bounced plot twists with Milt Kromesky. The elderly writer gave good advice. However, she rarely utilized it.
Unnerved by the empty sidewalks, Nicola quickened her pace. The slap of her tennis shoes against the pavement echoed back. For a moment, she imagined Oliver strolling beside her.
Manhattan suddenly depressed her. Without the pretzel and hot dog vendors, the city seemed empty. Silence reverberated between the canyons of skyscrapers. Nicola longed to retreat to Florida, but the airlines remained shut down. She considered renting a car to take her home. Dragging three cats along might cause difficulties.
Nevertheless, she thought she could manage it. It was a straight run down Interstate 95 to Daytona Beach. I-4 would take her through Orlando to Tampa. Then, it was only a short jog to Spring Hill. Nicola pondered the possibilities. It meant a lot of solo driving, but it would get her out of NYC.
Her phone tinkled to the tune of "Girls Just Want to Have Fun." Nicola glanced at it, then back to her laptop screen. She'd been a million miles away. Allowing the phone to jingle the Cyndi Lauper tune, she returned to her protagonist, Cricket Madison. Steph could wait; Cricket had troubles of her own.
When Cricket Madison discovered her live-in boyfriend was a psychopath, she decided to move out. Swiftly packing her suitcase, she never heard the apartment door click shut. The thick carpet muffled stealthy footsteps. Chadwick Mars loomed behind her. Clicking her case closed, she grabbed it, turned, and walked straight into his broad chest.
"And then…" Nicola muttered to herself. "And then…what?" Leaning forward, she pushed her hands through her chestnut hair. Her fingers massaged her scalp—a brick wall formed in her mind.
The Cyndi Lauper tune jangled again. Nicola stared at her smartphone and decided to ignore it. Then, changing her mind, she snatched it up. Since the plague began to spread, Steph never failed to call her. She wanted to check in and make sure her friends remained safe.
“Hey,” Nic cheerfully answered.
“Hey, yourself,” Steph chuckled. Then her voice turned serious, “If you hadn’t answered, I was going to call 911.”
“Am I worth all that?” Nicola retorted, smiling to herself. Steph knew her sense of humor.
"Are you worth… Oh, hilarious." After a moment's pause, she continued, "You know I call every day because of the plague."
"Yeah, I know. So how is everyone?" Nic asked. Her friend kept daily track of all their acquaintances.
Stephanie chatted about all the friends they had in common. Steph and Gabby Sanchez frequently met since they lived in the same building. They had coffee together that morning. Steph chatted about Gabby's new poetry anthology due for release in the week following Nicola's "Molly's Revenge."
After mentioning several others, the conversation dragged to a standstill. Nic held her breath, knowing bad news hovered between them. Finally, Steph sighed heavily.
"Milt was rushed to the hospital last night," she stated, a sob catching in her throat. "He's got it, Nic. Poor man. He's eighty-four, so I doubt he'll make it."
Nicola caught her own sob. The elderly fellow had been her friend since she arrived in NYC. They had initially met at her publisher's penthouse and forged an everlasting companionship. Ever gallant, Milt made a point of introducing her around. Later, he stuck to her like glue.
"I'm an old fossil man clinging to my misspent youth," Milt whispered confidently. He'd brought her to her door following a late-night party. "If I weren't exhausted, I'd take you dancing. No, I change my mind. I'd take you to bed."
Nicola laughed at the memory. She might have accepted his offer if he'd been thirty years younger. However, he had been a good friend. She hated to lose him in such a miserable way. Closing her eyes, she angrily dashed away her tears.
“So what’s up with Cricket?” Steph broke into her morbid thoughts. Both women longed to turn the subject.
“Oh, Cricket. She got fed up with Chad and packed her bags,” Nicola answered, returning to her manuscript. “But he caught her leaving.”
“Oh no,” her caller responded, shock filling her voice. Naïve Stephanie believed storybook character actual people. Nic smiled to herself. “What’s she gonna do?”
"Don't know yet." Nicola leaned back in her kitchen chair. "She'll probably knee him in the nuts or baseball bat his balls."
"Baseball bat his balls," Steph decided for her. "One of those big chunky wooden suckers. They make them out of ash or something like that. Give him a good whack with that, and he'll sing Soprano for the rest of his life."
“You got it, chickadee.” Nicola chuckled despite the bad news about Milt.
“Is Chadwick gonna kill her, do you think?”
“Nah, he can’t. Cricket’s the main character. Can’t kill her off.”
“No, of course not,” Steph conceded, her hopes of a bloody death dashed. “Well, I gotta go. More calls to make, folks to check up on.”
“Sure. Talk soon.” Nicola rang off. She had to find an ash baseball bat somewhere in Cricket’s bedroom.
******
Nicola Prescott became reacquainted with Oliver Talbot in Washington, DC. Her research into Capital Monuments brought her there. “Molly’s Revenge” reached its denouement on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial. Checking into the same hotel, they dumped into each other in the elevator.
At first, Nic attempted to keep a low profile. The car held a crowd of hotel guests, but Ollie noticed her. Pushing his way to her, he gave her a brisk hello. She pretended she didn't recognize him but couldn't keep up the charade. Finally, she agreed to meet him in the bar.
Donning a sleek, black strapless dress, Nicola entered the hotel bar. She chose the outfit on purpose. Like Molly, she wanted revenge. She would show Oliver Talbot precisely what he had been missing. Her eyes traveled over the setting, missing him the first time. On the second swipe, she located him in a corner booth. He wore civilian clothing.
"Hello, stranger," Nicola greeted her long ago lover. Politely he rose, and she slid in opposite him.
“Nic, I’ve missed you,” Ollie began.
“Save it, Oliver Talbot,” she snapped. She had not meant to; it came out. Quickly, she bit her tongue.
"Look, I…" He paused; the air thick between them. "It wasn't going to work between us. There were too many obstacles."
“Obstacles your mother threw between us,” Nicola flung back.
"My mother had nothing to do with it," the Army Officer hotly responded.
“Really, Ollie?” Nicola retorted, waspishly.
"Yes, well…" His mind raced for an answer. Time had not erased his past excuses. Caught in the moment, he finally understood the truth. "I'm sorry, Nic."
Ashamed, Oliver lowered his eyes to the table. The single rose in a vase between them seemed incongruous. Lifting it, he moved it aside. Its red face reflected his embarrassment. Slowly, the minutes ticked between them. Too many mistakes separated them. He recalled all the happy times they shared and the distress of ending a loving relationship. If only he could make it up to her, he would.
“I guess you know I’m married,” Ollie confessed, still not meeting her eyes.
“Elizabeth Ann Amberley,” Nicola snidely stated. When the engagement announcement appeared in her newspaper’s society column, she hatefully shredded it.
Liz Amberley had a terrible reputation. Her picture often appeared in the news, followed by another catastrophe. Nicola wondered what happened with the drug case. The General's daughter deplaned from Acapulco with a brick of cocaine. The authorities detained her. Serious charges followed her. Then, suddenly the case fell from public view. The following articles proclaimed her engagement to Oliver Talbot.
“Yes.” Ollie scrunched down in his seat. The marriage furthered his discomfiture. Half-heartedly, he looked for an escape.
Across from him, Nicola Prescott's heart softened. Attune to her companion's moods, she suddenly felt sorry for him. Reaching across the table, she grasped his hand. Her kind sapphire eyes forced him to look up. Weakly, she smiled. After a second, he returned it.
"I thought you invited me for a drink," Nic commented, breaking the ice.
Oliver signed the server and ordered a rum and coke and a scotch on the rocks. Nicola unstiffened a little more. He remembered her favored cocktail.
"What brings you to DC?" he finally asked, sipping his drink.
"Research," Nick responded, smiling over the rim of her glass. "I have a lying, cheating Senator I'm going to knock off."
For a moment, Oliver Talbot believed she meant it. Alarmed, he raised himself into a military posture. Then, he relaxed.
“Your next book?” he inquired, feeling relieved.
“Yes, ‘Molly’s Revenge.’” Leaning forward, she avidly filled him in on the details.
“Wow! You had me fooled for a minute.”
“Yeah, you and Stephanie Malone.” When Oliver mouthed ‘who?’, she continued, “Friend of mine. Believes my characters are real.”
“Oh.” Oliver laughed. He, too, began to relax.
Three times their server reminded them of closing time. The couple reminisced about their fun together, lost in the past. They grasped their hands, remembering their first meeting on the Champs Elysee to their final bike trip through the Cotswolds. Both wished to grab their memories and hang on for dear life. However, they had to relent and separate.
Oliver Talbot escorted Nicola Prescott to her hotel room. Outside the door, he lingered. Finally, Nic invited him in. They chatted for another hour, liberally utilizing the wet bar. Neither recalled who kissed who first. In the morning, they awoke enfolded in each other arms. It felt like old times.
When he attempted an apology, Nicola hushed Oliver. Then, they merged as one. Separating, Nic traced her finger along Ollie's profile. She adored him still. After such a wild night, how could she let him go? She knew she could never leave him.
“Elysian Fields Forever,” she breathed, turning dreamy eyes toward the ceiling. “I have to see you again, Ollie. I can’t live without you.”
“I can’t leave you either,” her lover remarked. Leaning on his elbow, he gazed lovingly down at her. “I was a fool--a stupid, idiot fool.”
“I concur.” Nicola grinned. Raising her arms, she encircled his neck. “You’re a stupid, idiot fool.”
"What shall we do? I have a wife," Oliver lamented. Disentangling, he rose and stood in front of the room's window. Then, he turned back to his lover. "I hate her, Nicola. God help me, I hate Liz. I made a mistake—a terrible, hideous mistake."
“We’ll run away,” Nicola supplied, warming up to the idea. “We’ll escape to Elysian Fields. We’ll use it as our code word. When you can get away, text Elysian Fields. I’ll do the rest.”
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******
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“Elysian Fields Delayed.” Nicola Prescott read the text message for the second time. Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. She guessed Oliver’s cancellation had something to do with the plague outbreak. Pouring another cup of coffee, she set it beside her laptop. Disappointment overwhelmed her.
“Message received,” Nic typed and sent her return text. She did not have another recourse. Hold the fort down and wait, she grimly told herself. Soon, oh soon, she would see Ollie again.
Hand in hand, they would stroll amongst the forbidden fields. Elizabeth Talbot, a forgotten shadow figure, lurked in their wake. Blithely, Nic’s mind pushed her unknowing enemy away. She would deal with Liz only when forced to do so.
In the meantime, Cricket Madison had Chadwick Mars to handle. Nicola bent over her laptop and wielded her imaginary baseball bat.
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