Reverie

By Candace Gold

What do you do when a ghost mistakes you for his wife?

Furious with her boyfriend, journalist Nikki O'Connell visits Paris while reassessing their relationship. What she doesn't need complicating matters is the ghost of Claude Debussy crawling into her bed every night. Yet that's exactly what happens when the dead composer believes Nikki is his wife.

Journalists deal in facts, not in the supernatural, and it's that guiding rule that forces Nikki to doubt the possibility her rented apartment is haunted. Instead, she's confronted with the possibility that she's inherited the insanity that destroyed her mother.

48,000 Words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyrical Press
• Release date: Mar 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781616502430

Candace Gold

With nearly 200 short stories, numerous anthologies and 15 published novellas and novels, whether she’s writing contemporary romance as Candace Gold or spicy hot interracial erotica as Candy Caine, her alter ego, Candace keeps her husband, Robert, on his toes in their Long Island, NY home. Supportive with her writing career, he’s always willing to help her add authenticity to the scenes in her stories. And their yellow Lab, Sammy, keeps them both in line. When asked why she began to write, Candace says: “Reading has always been an addiction for me and my biggest thrill is to bring the joy of reading to others. To me, that’s what writing is all about.”

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This book is dedicated to my dad who instilled in me a love for music.

Chapter 1

"Nikki…Nikki, please don’t throw that! Jonathan Greene shouted, ducking to avoid being struck by a crystal vase. Have you lost your mind?"

"Ironic question coming from the likes of you," she fired verbally at him this time, eyes lit with anger and nostrils flaring as she stood there, hands on hips, panting.

Her face turned a bright crimson, nearly as red as her hair, while her blue eyes darkened to the color of thunder clouds. Jonathan had never seen her so angry. His hopes of placating her with some good-old-fashioned psychology had been doused by the cold water from the vase.

You knew how much that damn awards dinner meant to me, she shot her words at him like staccato bullets between ragged breaths. I was counting on you to be there.

And I would have been if I’d not had a last minute emergency to tend to.

Lately, you always have some kind of emergency, she countered, glaring at him.

I’m a doctor, for God’s sake.

You’re a psychologist. It’s not like you’re an obstetrician on call.

Jonathan laughed at her glib reply. "I’m there to save suicidal women, so they live to have babies."

Don’t you dare use my own words against me!

Jonathan moved closer to her, wanting to enfold her in his arms and defuse her anger with kisses.

Stop right there! Don’t you dare come any closer, either, she said, fending him off with outstretched palms.

Can’t we talk this out civilly? Jonathan tried to reason with her.

No! She shook her head, her long red hair whipping about her face like angry tongues of fire. Just get out of here and leave me alone.

Jonathan made one final attempt to reach her, but she shook her head. No! What part of ‘get out’ don’t you understand?

He sighed, conceding there was no way he’d be able to reach Nikki tonight. She was too upset. Perhaps he’d speak to her tomorrow, after she’d had the chance to cool off. He grabbed his trench coat off the arm of the chair and headed toward the door. Opening it, he turned to say something, but she screamed, Get out!

As Jonathan closed the door behind him, he heard her yell, Damn you, Jonathan! The words were punctuated by the sound of glass shattering against the door.

* * * *

Nikki O’Connell collapsed against the kitchen wall and slid to the floor like rain running down the side of a building. Energy spent, her anger was replaced by acute disappointment and hurt. This hadn’t been the first special event Jonathan had missed because some other woman needed him to hold her hand. The man obviously had his priorities screwed up. He should have been with her, holding her hand, not some crazy woman’s. He wasn’t the only psychologist in town. Nor was he some Super Doc out to save the world. Or was he on a mission?

Then her focus suddenly shifted. Fear began to spider down her spine as she realized how irrational she’d just behaved–as if she was crazy. Had she been losing her temper more and more, lately? Was she becoming angry over the simplest of things, like having to wait on line at the supermarket because the cashier needed a price? Was her ability to cope slipping? The mere hint there could be some psychological reason for this happening terrified her.

She closed her eyes tightly, as if doing so could block out those awful thoughts. Could her actions be symptomatic of the onset of dementia? Was this how her mother’s descent into madness had begun? Had her mother become as easily angered and argumentative? No! Of course not! Nikki hadn’t wanted to think about it. The very thought she might have inherited her mother’s defective genes scared Nikki more than anything else. No! she shook her head. I am not my mother!

Taking a few deep breaths to slow down her heart, she thought she was overanalyzing how she’d reacted. There was no comparison to her mother, she reasoned as well as convinced herself. Her actions tonight were merely the result of extreme frustration with Jonathan. She couldn’t help it if she had a short fuse which happened to ignite her volatile temper. No. She mustn’t read more into it, she concluded.

Nikki slowly rose to her feet. It was time to rein in her emotions, and a cup of tea would help. As she prepared it, she could feel herself becoming calmer and more rational. The journalist part of her tried to view things from Jonathan’s perspective. He was a doctor trained to heal sick people. Though his patients’ ailments were mental, rather than physical, they were illnesses, just the same. Therefore, he had gone to the woman’s aid simply because he was doing his job. What kind of psychologist would he be if he had ignored her pleas? Despite this logical rationalization, Nikki still felt hurt. Even doctors had the right to an occasional night off, leaving the care of their patients to associate doctors.

No one likes to sit alone at one important function after another with her significant other elsewhere. That thought brought her straight back to the reason she was furious with Jonathan in the first place. Along with it came the realization that things might never change. There would always be people in crisis. And Jonathan, the self-appointed guardian angel of the mentally ill, would continue to feel compelled to help them all.

Maybe it was time for her to reexamine their relationship and decide if she wanted to remain committed to it. There was no way to tell how many other future disappointments there might be or if she’d ever actually accept them. Being so close to the situation at the moment, was it possible for her to make any rational decisions concerning her future? Perhaps she needed time and space away from Jonathan in order to think more clearly. Maybe she should take a long-overdue vacation and go someplace to relax.

Vacation. Where to? There was a big world out there with hundreds of places she’d never been. Suddenly inside her head, as if an internal radio had been turned on, an orchestra began to play the melody Under Paris Skies. As the music played, images of the Eiffel Tower, the Arch of Triumph and the Louvre appeared in her mind’s eye.

Paris! she shouted. Yes! Of course, Paris! Her tears stopped flowing as more of these happy thoughts came to mind. She’d always wanted to go to Paris, ever since her grandmother had first shown her those wonderful pictures and postcards sent from her vacationing parents. There seemed no better time to go than the present. She had at least a month’s worth of vacation time coming to her. Of course, she’d never actually be able to get away for that long, but she could come pretty close. With Internet access, she could write her human interest column from Paris. It would have a fresh perspective and might even expand her fan base. Enthused with growing excitement, she realized her trip was going to be nothing less than wonderful. However, first she had to plan it.

Nikki grabbed a pen and paper. A firm believer of lists, she wrote down everything she needed to do to make her vacation a reality. Within minutes, Jonathan, and the pain he caused by not attending her awards dinner, became the last thing on her mind.

* * * *

As Jonathan drove home to his apartment in Astoria, he revisited the entire scene with Nikki over again in his mind. He was concerned about her. Though her outburst tonight was a reaction to him cancelling her dinner at the last minute, his psychologist’s intuition sensed there might be some other emotional issue lurking just beneath the surface.

In spite of the fact he’d been seeing Nikki for some time, Jonathan realized he actually knew very little about her. She never spoke of her childhood. All she had told him in passing was her parents died when she was a child, and she went to live with her grandmother in Wisconsin afterward. When her grandmother passed, Nikki sold the house and moved to New York, where she’d found work as a journalist. What he did know was, although she had a fiery temper with a short fuse, her love was just as passionate. He’d be able to speak to her tomorrow. By then she’d have calmed down and be ready to apologize for her outburst.

* * * *

After the last entry on her to-do list was done, Nikki remembered the old shoebox she’d placed on the top shelf of her closet and went to retrieve it. When her grandmother died and Nikki decided to sell the house in Madison, Wisconsin, she sold most of the furniture and those items she wasn’t going to take with her to New York. When she cleaned the basement, she discovered several shoeboxes and photo albums packed inside a large carton. They were stuffed with pictures never put into photo albums. Another turned out to be a treasure trove of keepsakes from her parents. These were among the only things possessing sentimental value she kept before selling the place. When she moved into her Bayside, New York apartment, she’d stuck the box containing her parents’ Paris memorabilia on the shelf of her closet and had forgotten about it. She’d never completely gone through the shoebox to see what was inside. The thought of looking at her parents’ things was too painful at the time, though she’d hoped to be able to do so one day. Enough healing time had passed, and now that she intended to go to Paris, she desired to see what was inside.

Nikki grabbed the box off the shelf and set it down on the bed. Sitting cross-legged, she stared at the closed box a few minutes. She seemed to have a moment’s reluctance to open it, as if it would bring trouble like that of Pandora and nearly put it back on the shelf. Realizing she was behaving like a child, she lifted off the cover and began to slowly sift through the contents.

There were dozens of faded photos, in both color and black and white, of her mother and father. They were captured, forever in time, smiling in front of the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame. Numerous others were taken near the Louvre and other famous landmarks. She pulled out dog-eared picture postcards whose ink had long faded and small keepsakes like a miniature Eiffel Tower and a round metal key chain with Paris, France engraved in script across it.

On the bottom of the box lay the small gold locket on a chain which her mother had worn. Nikki believed it had been an anniversary gift from her father. Their last anniversary. Nikki closed her eyes and remembered her mother rushing into the kitchen to show the necklace to her grandmother.

It’s beautiful, isn’t it, mother? One-of-a-kind. Daniel noticed it in the window of a Parisian pawn shop. Thought it was the perfect thing for me. Oh, don’t you just love it?

Yes, it’s lovely, Nikki heard her grandmother say. Wear it always in good health.

There’s something else that makes this necklace so special. It’s supposed to have some spell cast upon it by a Gypsy.

Sounds mysterious. Enjoy it. Her grandmother stirred the gravy once more before lowering the flame of the burner.

The memory faded. Nikki reached inside the shoebox and took out the beautiful piece of jewelry. When she tried to open the locket, she discovered the hinge was broken. She supposed the pictures inside were most likely of her mother and father. Too bad the necklace, just like her mother who’d once worn it, was defective. Because it was the only possession left from her mother, she put it on. Instantly, an image of a delicate-boned, red-haired woman with the fairest of skin, flashed in the back of her mind, but it was gone just as quickly.

* * * *

Later in bed, as Nikki lay there absentmindedly fingering the small gold locket, she thought about the wonderful things she’d do and see when she reached Paris. Her mother used to tell her stories about her fun adventures there. She described how beautiful the city looked in the spring when all the flowers began to bloom in the flower boxes dotting the apartment buildings and shops along the Champs Elysées. Nikki would often sit on the sofa alongside her mother while she pointed out the places she toured on bike rides or the romantic long walks through magnificent parks with landscaping that could have easily appeared in an issue of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. Trying to recall everything else her mother had told her about the City of Lights, Nikki eventually drifted off to sleep.

She dreamed she was strolling along the Champs Elysées on the arm of a bearded man. The weather was mild and the jacket of his lightweight, three-piece suit was unbuttoned, revealing a handsome gold-braided watch fob. She wore a shawl over her light dress and ruffled white blouse. A large, feathered hat was pulled down low over her forehead. Aside from shading her fair skin from the sun, it allowed her to walk incognito. They stopped at an outdoor café and sat down at a small, black, wrought-iron table with an opaque glass top. A waiter appeared a moment later and took their tea order.

The restaurant’s green and white, striped awning fluttered in the light breeze. Other couples taking advantage of the lovely weather strolled by, but she hardly noticed. She only had eyes for the man sitting close to her. They spoke in French. Every so often he’d pat her hand or gently rub his thigh against hers, exciting her. She wished she could respond with more than a smile. However, one still had to be discreet in public. She listened carefully as he spoke, bewitched by his words. You inspire me, he said. The music flows within me like a river.

I am so glad, my love, she replied, smiling. I only desire to be your every inspiration.

In the distance, she heard the chiming of a church bell announcing the hour. The bell grew louder