I laughed at that and texted him back.
Yes, Sir.
I put my cell away and stood by the front window, watching as big fat flakes of snow fell outside.
Then the landline rang. I went over to where the phone sat on a small table in the dining room. The phone had an old answering machine and I saw that there was a flashing light, indicating that there were unanswered messages waiting.
The machine clicked on after three rings and a female voice came on the line.
"Drake? It's me. I tried your place in Chelsea and got no answer. I don’t have your new cell number. Listen, sorry to bother you after all this time, but Steve told me you were leaving New York Presbyterian for a year. If you're going away to Africa, we need to talk ASAP. Call me at my mother's. The number's still the same. "
I frowned as the message ended and the caller hung up.
Who was she? Obviously someone who knew Drake well enough to say 'it's me' and think he'd recognize her voice and knew her mother's phone number. Was it his ex? Why would she be calling him now, five years after they split?
I waited at the window, my stomach starting to tighten, the nice mood I was in from Drake's texts dissipating. I stared at the street below, watching to see Drake drive up. The streets were pretty busy but soon I saw his car approach from the south.
As I waited for his text, I wondered who this mystery woman was and what she wanted from Drake. His car drove up and double-parked on the street below the apartment. My cell buzzed and I read his message.
Ms. Bennet, your chauffeur awaits…
I texted him back, trying to match his playful tone, despite my sense of unease about the woman who contacted him.
Ha ha! Should I start calling you Mr. Darcy? Or was it Heathcliff?
There are a few voice messages on your phone and while I was here, a woman called and said you should call her before you leave. Should you come up and listen to your messages?
There was a noticeable pause before he responded.
Hmm. Maybe I should pop up and check. Let me park and I'll be right up.
I remained standing by the window, watching him drive to a parking garage down the block. I tried to squelch the jealousy threatening to break through as well as the guilt I had for hearing his voice message. I couldn’t help it, but I still felt embarrassed that I heard a private message of his.
His key turned in the deadbolt and then he entered the apartment. Dressed in his camel coat and a plaid scarf, his hair peppered with a few snowflakes, Drake was gorgeous. He smiled when he saw me, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners, and instantly, my heart melted.
Before doing anything, he came right to me and wrapped his arms around me, kissing me, and it made my heart swell that he wanted to give me attention first before listening to his messages. He really did seem happy to see me whenever we'd been apart.
When he released my arms, he turned to the answering machine and stood beside me, looking at it as if he was reluctant to listen to his messages. As curious as I was, I didn’t want to intrude.
"If you want, I can wait downstairs in the entry while you listen."
He shook his head and went to the ancient machine, hitting the play button to listen to the messages. The first one was a message from a band member named Brent, indicating he'd left a message at Drake's home but wanted to leave one at his hideaway as well. The man wished Drake a great sabbatical, inviting Drake to get in a jam session before he left for Africa if he hand time. Several sales people tried to interest Drake in carpet cleaning or renovations and then we came to the final message from the woman asking Drake to call her as soon as possible, before he left for Africa.
I said nothing after the message was over, trying not to appear too interested. Of course, I was dying to know who it was.
"Maureen," he said. He ran his fingers through his hair and I could sense the unease in him as he heard her message. "I should call her, see what she wants to talk about."
"I can leave if you need privacy…"
He shook his head quickly. "No, you don't have to leave."
Then he dialed a number and held his cell up to his ear. He waited, standing beside me, running the backs of his fingers over my cheek, smiling softly at me. Despite the smile, I could see a bit of tension in his jaw, in the way he held it tightly shut.
Finally, she must have come on the line.
"Hey," he said. "It's me. What's up?"
He listened, and then frowned, his frown growing more intense with each passing moment, his face actually blanching. He turned from me, staring out the window, one hand on his forehead. Finally, he exhaled heavily, and then sat on the edge of the couch, holding his head in his hand.
"Why didn’t you tell me?" A long silence followed. "Why?"