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The sound of the drapes being whisked open was shrill in Nick’s ears.  He pulled a pillow over his head to shut out the light.  The insides of his eyelids scraped roughly over his eyeballs.

“Come on, Nicky…are you going to stay in bed all day?”

Tamara. 

It took Nick a second to figure out who was talking.  “Don’t call me Nicky,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“Really?  I thought that was just for the fans.  I thought you liked it when I called you that.” 

Tamara used her little girl voice, soft and wheedling.  It was like fingernails on a chalkboard to Nick.  He mumbled something unintelligible and started doing inventory of his body.

First, his brain.  It was pretty much dead.  He had a blinding headache.  His throat hurt too.  He had a vague recollection of throwing up the night before.  That might explain that.  His stomach… that didn’t seem too bad; he’d be able to judge that better, when he stood up.  But he didn’t want to do that for a few hours yet.

“Water,” he croaked. 

Tamara made a disgusted sound and stomped across the room.  Nick heard the fridge open. 

“Here,” she said, laying the cold bottle against his cheek. 

That felt good.  Nick opened one eye.  He took the bottle and sat up.  “Thanks,” he murmured. 

Tamara opened her hand to reveal two white capsules.  Nick took those from her too.

“God, Nick, you stink,” said Tamara, with a scowl.  “Get in the shower.”

“In a minute,” said Nick.  Going from horizontal to vertical was going to be a slow process, he realized.  He’d already done the first stage too quickly by sitting up.  He waited for the room to stop spinning before he tipped his head back for a drink.  He blinked his eyes and looked at the other bed.  It was rumpled.  “You sleep there?” he mumbled.

“Yes, I did,” said Tamara.  “There was certainly no point in getting into bed with you.  There was no way you were going to be able to get it up.”

Thanks for your bluntness, thought Nick.  Tamara’s ‘refreshing candor’ was wearing a little thin.  A person didn’t have to say exactly what she was thinking all the time, did she? 

Nick watched Tamara walk back to the armchair.  She was wearing jeans that rode so low on her hips, Nick couldn’t figure out how they stayed up.  She had on a tank top that didn’t quite reach the top of her jeans.  When she moved, Nick could see little flashes of skin.  Her long blonde hair was in a pony tail.

“What time did we get back?”  Nick took a swig of the water.  His mouth tasted like shit.  He lumbered to his feet and headed for the bathroom.  He was dressed in his boxers.

“It was getting on for three,” said Tamara, critically examining her fingernails.  She found one of them wanting and began to rummage through her makeup kit in search of a nail file.  “That’s how long it took you to drink Italy dry.  Jeez, Nicky…Nick, you were on a mission last night.”

Nick could barely remember any of it.  He took another swig of the water and swished it around his mouth before spitting it into the marble basin.  Then he threw the white capsules into the back of his throat and swallowed some more water.  He hoped his stomach would keep the pills down long enough for them to help his head. 

He looked at his face in the mirror.  Holy crap!  He looked awful.  His skin was pasty, and his eyes were bloodshot.  And Tamara was right.  He did stink.  He pushed the door shut and relieved himself.  Even his piss smelled awful this morning.  He flushed the toilet and grabbed his toothbrush.  He brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth, trying not to swallow any of the water from the tap.  He ran his tongue over his teeth and then he brushed them again.  Why did he do these things to himself? 

He opened the bathroom door.  “I’m going to take a shower,” he said.  “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly one o’clock.  Jeff and I had breakfast ages ago.  Do you want me to order something for you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great…coffee and toast or whatever…something breakfasty…NO EGGS!”  Nick knew instinctively that that would be a bad idea.  “And juice.  Orange juice, if they’ve got it.  A large one…no, a pitcher.”

“Feeling a little dehydrated, are we darling?” said Tamara sarcastically, rasping away at her fingernail with the file.  The sound went straight to Nick’s brain…like a red-hot wire.

“Did I throw up?” he asked.  He looked around the bathroom.  If he had, he’d been neat about it, or… the alternative was too embarrassing to think about.  He should have known better.

“Jeff took care of you.  You owe him a bonus,” said Tamara.  “He practically had to carry you up the hall, you were so drunk.  And you wouldn’t shut up…just kept singing ‘alias me, alias me…’  You okay, Nicky?” 

Nick lost what little color he had.  Alias me.

“He got you in here and put you on the bed and you said ‘sick’ and he had you in the bathroom in no time.  He held your head for you and made sure you were okay.  Hey, he gets paid for it, not me.  I guess it’s actually Toby’s job,” said Tamara, nastily.  “He would probably have loved doing that for you.”

“Well, I’m going to get in the shower then,” said Nick, wondering what Jeff must have thought of him.  He was going to have to apologize, that was for sure.  He wondered what had made him drink so much. 

Tamara enlightened him without knowing it.  “I’ll order your food.  Let’s hope it doesn’t get stuck in the elevator.”

Nick closed the door and stood with his back against it, staring at his face in the mirror as the memory of the elevator incident washed over him.  Aw crap! he thought.  Someone else to apologize to.  Although, when he thought about it, Mel hadn’t seemed to mind too much.  If it was one o’clock, she was either at the airport or already in the air, so he wouldn’t see her for a couple of weeks.  He couldn’t do anything about it now.

Nick climbed into the shower and let the hot water cascade over him.  His mind pushed Mel to the back.  He couldn’t deal with that now.  He’d think about it later…maybe when he was on his boat.  Which is where he damn well had wanted to be twenty-four hours from now.  But instead, he was stuck in Rome with Tamara.

C’mon now, Nick, he chastised himself.  Stuck?  In Rome?  You’re always saying you never get to see any of the places you go, and now, here’s a chance.  Make the most of it.  He turned the tap so that the water became colder.

And stuck with Tamara?  What’s up with that?  When did you ever feel ‘stuck’ with Tamara?  It’s not her fault.  Blame Rafe if you’re going to blame anyone.  Nick wondered why he felt he should blame Rafe instead of thanking him, but that’s how he felt.  He flipped the shower back to hot water and soaped his body all over.

He couldn’t remember if it was three or four days that they would be here.  Jeff would know.  Toby would have given him all the information.  Toby had done a mad scramble while they were on stage last night and had arranged for the hotel rooms.  He’d made some reservations at some restaurants and provided a list of events and theater offerings. 

Yeah, thought Nick, like I want to go to see a play in Italian! 

Toby had also included a list of hot night spots, but Nick knew he was going to have to feel way, way better than he did right now before he could face another drink.

Tamara rapped on the door.  “Nick?”  She sounded worried. 

Nick turned off the water.  “Yeah, I’m coming.”  He toweled himself off and then wrapped the towel around his waist.  He opened the door and stepped from the steamy bathroom into the air-conditioned bedroom.  He liked the coolness.

“The food’s here,” said Tamara.  She handed him a glass of orange juice.  “You smell way better,” she added.

“Thanks.  I feel better.”  He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I know what will make you feel even better,” she said.  “A nice massage.” 

Tamara climbed onto the bed behind Nick and started kneading his muscles in his neck and shoulders.  It did feel good, and he gave out little whimpers and moans of contentment.  Tamara moved her hands up and down his back.  Nick swiveled his neck and sighed.  He tried to listen as she prattled on about the night before, but he found it took all his strength to pick a spot on the carpet and stare at it.  Because he knew that, if he let go of that spot, he was going to throw up again.

He took another sip of orange juice.  He wondered if it was the right thing to be drinking…acid and all that…but it tasted good…soothing and cold. 

“…and then you just passed out.  I would have worried about you being dead except that you snored like a bloody bull elephant the entire night.”

“Sorry,” muttered Nick, holding his gaze tight on the spot on the carpet.

Tamara wrapped her arms around him and kissed his neck.  Her hands slid down inside the towel and she caressed him.  “It’s okay, Baby.  We’ve got time.”

Nick straightened up and moved away from her.  “I’m not ready for that yet,” he said half-apologetically.

Tamara sighed in frustration.  What the hell did he think she had come all the way to Italy for?  It sure wasn’t for the pasta.  She wasn’t allowed to eat any.  And it sure wasn’t for his sparkling personality.  That left a lot to be desired at this moment.  Tamara sighed again.  She wondered how long it would take Nick to recover enough for a serious conversation.  By the look of him, it might be quite a while.

Nick chewed on a slice of Italian bread.  It was crusty on the outside and soft in the middle.  It was delicious…maybe the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten.  He poured some more orange juice into his glass.

“Well then, Nicky,” said Tamara, filling the name with all kinds of meanings, none of them complimentary, “what do you want to do?”

“I want to take a bus tour,” he said.  “I want to see Rome.”