Crazy For You (26 page)

In all her madness she didn’t want any of the pills
to feel slighted. She knew what that was like. Very soon she would
get to them all. She refilled the glass with vodka and returned to
the pills, grabbing another handful from a different saucer. Once
again, she did as she’d done before, throwing a few pills into her
mouth and washing them down with vodka.

After she finished the third handful she started
feeling queasy. That was not good. Getting sick wasn’t part of the
plan. If she got sick, that meant she could vomit. That was the
last thing she wanted to do. Maybe she should give the pills a
rest. She wondered vaguely how many she’d taken. Maybe one-third of
each prescription...was that enough to get the job done?

She was feeling lightheaded now, and concentrating
was getting harder and harder to do. She glanced around the bedroom
and decided to go to her study. That’s where she wanted them to
find her tomorrow, resting peacefully in the chair at her desk.

She made it to the hallway before she had to stop to
try to recall which way to go.
That way
, she thought,
pointing to the left. “I think,” she said softly. Heading down the
hallway, she felt like she could float if she really tried.
Everything seemed to be going in slow motion but she made it to the
study, went inside and sat down at her desk.

Roxanne was feeling pretty fantastic at the moment.
Mainly because she realized she had succeeded. She was dying.

Candy crossed her mind. No doubt about it, she was
going to be hurt by this. Maybe Roxanne should leave her a note and
tell her how sorry she was that things had turned out this way.
Taking a pen and paper, she prepared to write a goodbye letter to
her best friend.

She hadn’t realized how dizzy she was until she
started writing, and didn’t get much further than,
Dear
Candy
. Looking at the paper, she only saw it as
“Deeaarrr
Ccanddyyy”
.
She squinted her eyes to see if
that would help. It didn’t.

Roxanne remembered the knife. She’d put it inside
her desk drawer in case her dear, sweet husband decided to come
home early for a change. Her vision had deserted her, and she had
to feel around inside the drawer for the weapon. She took it from
the desk and tucked it between her leg and the edge of the chair.
With a triumphant smile, she rested her hand on the desktop and
felt a faint throbbing in her forefinger.

She could see the blood—well, at least the redness
of it—trailing down her palm and over her wrist. The notion that
she was bleeding didn’t really register. She shrugged, feeling no
pain. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now. She was at peace with
the world. Better yet, soon she’d be rid of Frank. Or he’d be rid
of her. Either way, it didn’t matter so long as she got out, which
was becoming more and more of an actuality as each moment slipped
by. As it did, reality flittered away as well. And it felt
good.

Draping her arm over the chair’s armrest, her blood
dripped slowly to the carpet. Somewhere in the darkest recesses of
her mind it registered, but she couldn’t hang on to the
thought.

F
rank parked his Ferrari in
the driveway at Roxanne’s house. He was eager to talk to her. His
battle was over. His love for her had won out over his hatred.
Again. But this time she’d be here. This time, she wouldn’t run
off, because she was his wife. This time it was different. It had
to be. He’d go upstairs, take her in his arms and make love to her.
He’d tell her that for the next thirty days they’d do absolutely
nothing but get reacquainted with one another. And when they did
return from their trip, he’d help her deal with her problems. He’d
give everything he had, and then some, to make the marriage work.
Ultimately, Roxanne and Frankie were the only things that truly
mattered to Frank. Not the fame, not the fortune, not the music.
None of it mattered without her.

Frank unlocked the door and went inside. “Roxanne…”
he called out her name with a gentle sweetness.

No answer.

“Roxie…” his voice trailed off as he sprinted up the
stairs. Heading into their bedroom, he expected to find her
packing. She wasn’t there. His eye for detail caught sight of the
vodka on the nightstand. Then he saw the tray and the saucers of
pills. He knew what to think. He just didn’t want to believe
it.

“Roxanne…!” Frank’s powerful voice shot through the
walls like a speeding bullet.

Just hearing it stiffened her like a statue.

Oh, shit
! This couldn’t be happening.
What’s he doing here
? He wasn’t supposed to be here tonight.
Then it hit her—it really didn’t matter if he was here or not.
She’d already taken the pills. The damage was done. Nothing he
could do would change what had already happened. There was nothing
anyone could do. Frank could call every paramedic in the city, if
that’s what he wanted to do, but they couldn’t change what had
happened either. Roxanne would see to that—her and that knife she
had buried under her leg in the chair.

Waiting quietly at her desk, she didn’t utter a
word. Frank would find her soon enough. She consoled herself with
the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything to stop what she’d
started.

Frank rushed into the room and when he saw her he
stopped abruptly just inside the doorway. She looked pale, really
wasted. The possibilities filled Frank with unease. “Roxanne,” he
said weakly. Words were hard to come by. “What have you done?” he
asked, ill-prepared for the truth.

“What have I done?” She wished she could see his
eyes. “What I’ve done is…I’ve managed to escape.” She had no idea
Frank wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

“What?” He knew what she’d done. He just didn’t know
what in the hell she was talking about.

“I know you thought I couldn’t do it.” A smirk
narrowly touched her lips. “But I fooled you, didn’t I?”

“Roxanne…please, let me help you.”

“Thank you,” she said briskly. “But you’ve done
enough already.”

“I’m not going to let you do this.” He rushed toward
her.

Roxanne’s reflexes had slowed, but the thought of
Frank touching her set off a thousand warning signals in her head.
Quickly, she reached for the knife and wrapped her hand firmly
around the handle. She whipped the blade up to her neck. “Don’t you
come near me!” Voracious hatred oozed out in her tone.

The knife was poking into her skin. Blood was
rising, but as of yet she hadn’t done any real damage. At least not
to her neck.

“Okay, baby...” he bargained swiftly. “Please, just
put the knife down. I’ll stay back. I promise.”

Frank backed up, taking a step or two out into the
hallway, Roxanne lowered the knife. She breathed a sigh of relief,
but she wasn’t so wasted that she’d forget just who she was dealing
with. “If you come near me again…somebody’s gonna get hurt.”

“All right.” He gave in quickly, fearing she’d slit
her throat in front of him. “I’ll do as you say. I’ll leave you
alone.”

Frank walked away, out of Roxanne’s blurry view. She
blew out a deep sigh. Dealing with him tonight hadn’t been part of
her plan. The last thing she wanted was to spend her final moments
justifying herself to him.

Roxanne had other things to concern herself
with—like the fact that she was growing tired. She laid the knife
down and massaged her forehead, trying to figure out how to stay
awake. Thinking was becoming an increasingly hard thing to do. With
a sudden urge to lie down, she lay her head on the desk. Just for a
few minutes. That’s all she needed. A couple minutes of rest.

F
rank went downstairs and
called the paramedics, then Jerry. He didn’t know what else to do.
He didn’t know how many pills she’d taken, but he could guess it
was too much for her own good. And since she wouldn’t let him near
her, there was nothing he could do but call for help.

Hearing Jerry’s voice on the other end of the line,
he didn’t waste time with formalities. “It’s Frank,” he said,
breathless. “It’s Roxanne…she took a bunch of those pills you gave
her.” A hint of reproach accompanied his words as he secretly
blamed Jerry for what was happening. She couldn’t have taken the
pills if
he
hadn’t given them to her.

“How many did she take?” Jerry asked, his voice
filled with calm anxiety.

“I don’t know. A lot.” Frank paused, biting back his
frustration. “Get over here now. She won’t let me near her. She put
a knife to her throat when I tried to get close to her.”

“Call the paramedics. I’m on my way,” Jerry said,
and the line went dead.

Frank went to the front door to wait. He paced the
foyer, hoping someone would arrive soon. He didn’t particularly
care who got there first, so long as someone got there fast. He
wanted to go back upstairs and check on Roxanne but he was afraid
she might hurt herself if she saw him again.

The paramedics arrived before Jerry, but Frank knew
that for all their good intentions they wouldn’t be of much use.
Not if Roxanne had anything to say about it.

“She’s upstairs. Third door on the left,” Frank told
them. “I’m going to wait here for her doctor.”

The paramedics moved swiftly up the stairs, unaware
that they were about to face an unwilling patient.

They entered the room and Roxanne sat up abruptly.
She couldn’t exactly see them, but the warning signals inside her
head tipped her off that someone was there to help. That notion
woke her up fast. She didn’t want help. She wanted everybody to
leave her alone. Just let her die in peace. Intuitively, she
wrapped her hand around the knife handle beneath her leg. She
wasn’t afraid of these guys any more than she was Frank. The
difference was, she wouldn’t cut herself over them. But she could
cut one of them if they didn’t give her a choice by getting too
close.

“It’s okay, Miss.” One took the lead, but neither of
them saw the knife. “We’re here to help you.”

“I don’t need any help,” she said, slurring her
words. “All I need is for everybody to just leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” the lead medic told
her.

“What’s your name?” asked the other.

“Roxanne.”

“Well Roxanne…it’s our job to help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” she said coarsely. “So
just go away. Go find somebody that wants your help. I don’t.”

“Roxanne,” the lead medic spoke up again. “Do you
realize that what you’ve done is a crime?”

“Who gives a shit?”

“Don’t make it harder on yourself,” he coaxed her.
“Let us help you.”

“Do yourself a favor—” Roxanne’s thoughts were
wandering everywhere. It was getting harder and harder to
concentrate on one thing. “I can commit crimes. I can commit lots
of crimes.” She waved the knife in the air.

“Come on…” The junior paramedic laughed. “You
wouldn’t cut us.”

“I can cut…” Roxanne lost her train of thought and
grabbed at something inside her mind. Anything. “I can.”

Jerry rushed in, interrupting the altercation
between Roxanne and the paramedics. “Excuse me,” he said, politely
pushing his way past them, “I’m her doctor.”

“Oh, Jerry…” she muttered, glad to see him. “Make
them go away.”

“Go on,” he said, “Get out of here.” Turning to the
paramedics, he added under his breath, “I’ll handle it.”

Reluctantly, the paramedics moved out into the
hallway.

“Are we alone now?” Roxanne asked.

Alone? Jerry realized she must be so out of it that
she couldn’t see any longer. “Yes. We’re alone.”

She put the knife on the desk. Roxanne was so tired,
but she didn’t know if she’d taken enough pills. Common sense told
her that the longer she stayed awake the better her chances of
success. She wanted to minimize the likelihood of waking up after
she finally did lose consciousness.

“Roxanne...” Frank’s pleading voice engulfed
her.

He was back. Again. Wasn’t he ever going to go away?
This was not the picture she’d imagined when she dreamed up this
little scheme. It hadn’t included Frank. Not onstage anyway.

Roxanne had been longing for months to look into his
eyes. Daily he’d denied her wish by hiding behind his sunglasses.
That hardly seemed fair. She closed her eyes. If she couldn’t see
his, he wouldn’t see hers. “Jerry,” she said, barely above a
whisper, “Please, make him go away.”

“Go, Frank. Leave us alone.”

Frank stepped reluctantly back into the hallway to
wait with the paramedics.

“Do you want to go for a ride?” Jerry asked.

A ride
. That would be nice. “Jerry,” she
said, “would you take me to the beach?”

“You want to go to the beach?” he asked, as if
it was an easy feat. “Then we’re out of here.”

Roxanne stood, wobbling, and reached out for Jerry.
He wrapped his arm around her, offering much-needed support. Even
though she was shaking, she felt amazingly calm—until she got to
the hallway. She might not have been able to see Frank, but he was
there. She was sure of it. She wished she could see into his eyes.
Damned sunglasses.

She looked in Frank’s direction. “You...” Contempt
oozed from her tone. “You never cared about anybody but yourself. I
never did anything to you except love you. But that was never
enough. You only wanted to punish me for trying to help you. I
married you, thinking our love was something special. What a joke.”
She laughed at herself. “It was all a joke. A stupid, silly little
joke. One that you thought you’d get the last laugh on.” She gave a
triumphant smile, hoping he’d see it. “So tell me…who’s laughing
now?”

“Roxanne…please don’t do this to yourself.” But
Frank’s pleas had no influence over her.

“Since when have you ever cared about me?” she
asked, skeptical.

“Baby, I’ve always cared about you. You know that.”
He sounded convincing, but she didn’t buy it.