Five Women (29 page)

The police came to her door later. Kathryn knew them and she knew their arrival meant something was wrong. The two cops took in her damaged face in silence, and then they told her, hesitantly, that her husband was dead. He had been shot in a bar. When they told her, Kathryn screamed, and could not stop screaming. She was free and she did not want to be free; she was safe and the loss of Alastair tore at her heart and she wanted him to be alive. She wanted to wake up and find that this news had only been part of her nightmare, but she knew she was already awake and it was over.

She grieved for him for two years, and remembered him for the rest of her life.

Chapter Twenty-five

T
HE EIGHTIES WERE BOOM TIME
. Yellowbird was doing well and Billie had enough money to support herself and someone else. Her apartment in the high rise around the corner from work had two bedrooms. She feared the jokes time played. At seventeen and unprepared to raise a child, you could make one in one shot in the backseat of a parked car. At thirty-eight, appreciative of and yearning for motherhood, you were likely to be going around to fertility doctors. She was thirty-eight years old, and if she didn't have a baby soon it might be too late.

Sex, she had realized, was in some insidious way imprinted in the genes really for procreation. It was all about having babies. No matter if you didn't want one or couldn't have one; the body hungered. It was why men were attracted to women who were still young enough to be fertile; their unconscious smelled the monthly blood growing in the nest, waiting to nourish their child. The womb called out to them, even when its owner was carefully buying birth control and thought this was just a date. Horniness was nature's trick.

Marriage, she decided, was out of the question for her. She had adjusted to living her life alone and independently, and she never wanted to be hurt again. Besides, to find a man she would be willing to marry and who wanted to marry her would take too long. She had been a single woman in New York City for long enough to know how slim the pickings were. This city, or at least Yellowbird, where she spent her waking hours, attracted too many losers, and she had become all too aware that where bachelors were concerned, interesting and emotionally available seldom went hand in hand.

She needed seed, not aggravation. A sperm bank was out of the question too. She had her own sperm bank at Yellowbird. She could choose a different man to get pregnant with every month if she wanted to. She never wanted to tell a child of hers that she had bought him from an anonymous donor, even if the donor was a genius. She wanted to meet the prospect, see what he looked like, know about his family history, and conceive her child in the heat of passion so at least there would be a story to hand down, even if it was a fantasy.

But if she did it on her own there was the one great risk—AIDS. She had to interview the men carefully to find the right one, because foremost on her mind, since she was a sensible person, was always the fear of the risk of the plague that had equated fun with death and ended all their carefree days. He would have to be straight, square, and as safe as she could be sure of short of asking him to have an AIDS test for something that was never going to be a relationship.

She hoped the child would be a boy.

Now that she knew what she wanted she looked every night for the man who would be the proper father for her unborn son. Even though she would rather it wasn't a daughter, she knew that girls tended to look like their fathers, so his looks were important. She didn't care if he was married; in fact she thought she would prefer it. Married and from another state would be even better. She didn't want him, whoever he was to be, coming around to stake his claim or, even worse, tantalizing her child and constantly abandoning him.

Suddenly she became the perfect listener. She would buy each new, unaware, potential prospect a few drinks and ask him about his life, his childhood, his talents and dreams. Men loved to talk about themselves. What Billie wanted to know was everything about the gene pool she was thinking of jumping into.

“Oh, your sister had a nervous breakdown? How sad. Why?”
Next.
“It's so tragic that your father was an alcoholic. So hard to grow up with that.”
Next.
“Twins run in your family! How convenient to get all your kids in one fell swoop.”
Next.
“Are your parents still alive? And do you still have grandparents? I just love old people, don't you?” She felt that since she was not looking for love or commitment, at least she could try to have a shot at perfection.

When she saw Cal Fortune walk into Yellowbird in the week of her fertility her heart turned over. He had that rangy cowboy look: the jeans, the boots, the blue denim shirt under the expensive jacket—a look many of the men at Yellowbird affected—but on him it seemed natural. She hoped he wasn't taken, that he might be the one. It wasn't that he was more beautiful than any of the other men she had briefly considered, but that there was something about him both electrifyingly sexual and familiar. She wasn't sure what it was. He was her height and wiry, but the golden curls were reminiscent of no one she knew, and his calm, handsome face tantalized her into some kind of memory she couldn't place. It never occurred to her that he might not want to be seduced by her because it seemed predestined.

“Do you have a reservation?” she asked him.

“No, ma'am. I just came into town for a few days and I thought I'd try here.”

“One?”

“Yes.”

“It shouldn't take too long,” she said, looking through the book.

She slid into her customary seat at the bar and gestured for him to sit beside her. “Welcome to Yellowbird,” she said. “I'm Billie Redmond. I own this place.”

“I'm Cal Fortune.”

“You're from Texas.”

“You could tell.”

“Takes one to know one,” Billie said smiling at him.

“Dallas,” he said.

“Not Houston?” And then she knew whom he reminded her of. He was Harry Lawless if Harry had never been in a bar fight, if his life and past had been wiped clean off his face. Harry Lawless . . . so the pull continued, just when she thought she was rid of him, when she thought that the memories were dead.

Although she had had many lovers through the years she had not been so physically drawn as this to any man since Harry, and it occurred to her as she felt the warmth radiating from Cal Fortune's knee, which was not even touching hers, that it would serve Harry right if she had a baby with someone who looked just like him, only better.

“Buy you a drink?” she asked.

“Thank you.”

He had a beer, she had a vodka. He didn't look like a man who drank a lot. They both smoked.

“And what are you doing here in town?” she asked.

“I've never been to New York. I thought it was time.”

“It
was
time,” she said. He didn't know what she meant, of course.

“I've been to some shows, a couple of museums.”

“You just came alone?”

“I'm getting over a bad divorce. The decree came through last week. I thought I'd celebrate or commiserate with myself, as the case might be. She did take the house and the kids.”

He put the house before the kids, Billie thought. He'd never come bothering me if he ever found out, which he won't anyway.

“How awful,” she said. “Divorce is so difficult. How many kids?”

“Two. A boy and a girl. Three and five.”

“Young.”

“We should never have gotten married in the first place. People do stupid things sometimes, trying to make a marriage work.”

“Better not to marry,” Billie said. “I didn't.”

He appraised her admiringly. “But you've been asked, many times, I'd bet.”

“Oh, a few.”

He glanced around the room. “You're an independent woman, and doing well, it seems.”

“I am. And what do you do?”

“I'm a lawyer.”

Intelligent. She approved. “Not a divorce lawyer, though?”

“Corporate. For the Dallas Oil Consortium.”

She figured him to be her age, maybe a little younger. Virile. Well-rounded, since he was a lawyer who came to New York to forget his troubles and went to museums. Everybody went to shows. “So you just found Yellowbird off the street?”

“It wasn't easy.”

“It isn't supposed to be.”

“I was wandering around. I must have walked ten miles a day since I've been here. It's new for me not to be in a car.”

I hope you didn't walk in those boots, she thought. “You must be tired,” she said.

“Not really. I run ten miles every morning at home. Different shoes, of course.”

She smiled. “Did you take up running for health or fun?”

“I'm a pretty healthy person,” Cal Fortune said. “Nobody in my family gets really sick and we all live to be ninety. I just wanted to be sure to keep the line going.”

And so do I, Billie thought. “Another beer?”

“That's very kind of you.”

“Hey,” she said, “I'm sorry there's such a long wait for your table, but those empty ones are reservations.”

“Of course, I understand.”

They talked for another hour and then she let him eat. Since it was late and the restaurant was not full he asked her if she might sit with him for a few moments and she of course agreed. She sat there while he consumed a plate of fried chicken and everything that went with it and said it reminded him of his mother's cooking, which he meant as a compliment. Billie had a salad. She wasn't hungry. She wanted to run her palm across the oddly familiar planes of his face, devour his mouth, and, more to the point, open his fly. She imagined her fingers at Cal Fortune's heavy silver belt buckle and remembered the times when Harry met her on the road and their clothing was on the motel room floor before they even began to talk. It wasn't the same now, she knew, not really. Nothing would ever be the same as it had been with Harry. But this was close enough, and this one was nice. She was not a child anymore. She didn't need him to take care of her.

Just give her a son.

When it got late she told one of the waiters to put on the night tape, as she often did when she was feeling mellow, and she told Cal about her brilliant career. He was impressed, as all of them were. Of course she didn't tell him what had ended it.

“Nodes on my vocal cords,” she said. “I started singing too young and too loud and never had voice training. But that can happen anyway, even if you protect yourself. It's a risk singers take. I'm glad it segued into Yellowbird. I'd hate to be still on the road.”

“But what memories you have!” he said. “Most people never have a tenth of what you had, and you're still so young.”

He put his hand on hers and all the little guard hairs on her arm stood at attention. He looked into her eyes and it was as if Harry were back. If I were a fainting woman, Billie thought, I would faint.

She left before the place closed, as she often did, and she took him with her. When she got him in her bed he wanted to wear a condom and she was pleased that he was so careful. She wouldn't let him wear one, of course. He didn't really mind.

They were all over each other in the rush of their mutual attraction. He wasn't afraid of her or of his performance; it was as if his genes knew what she wanted even if his mind deceived him. The accordion of her orgasm sucked him in, and as she pressed her cervix to receive the warm gush of his seed she felt this was both a sensual and a sacred moment. After it was over she wouldn't get up, not to smoke, not to pee, not to drink water, imagining the beginning of her child's existence swimming toward the completion of it, like a shooting star.

Cal brought water, he lit her cigarette. He stroked her skin. She liked this tenderness, that he hadn't just gotten up and tried to leave. It would be too poignant to have conceived their child and be instantly abandoned; this was a moment to be savored and shared. She was not as heartless as that, she was still sentimental, because this was the story she would have to tell:

I had a brief, passionate affair with a beautiful man. He was wonderful in every way, but he was just passing through. I didn't know until later that we had made you, and by then he was gone, like a phantom, like a memory. If he had stayed it would not have worked between us. Our lives were too set in two different places. It was too late, and we were too unalike. But I will always be grateful that he left me you, because you will be better than both of us.

But maybe she wasn't pregnant after all. “When are you going back to Texas?” Billie asked.

“In three days. I know it's my vacation and you're working, but can you spend some time with me?”

“As much as you want,” she said.

They spent three days and nights together. He had theater tickets and she had to run Yellowbird, but except for those hours apart they were inseparable, attracted, overwhelmed. They made love as often as possible and neither of them spoke of love or commitment. She realized he thought she was exotic. He told her New York was a great place to visit but he could never live here. He probably had a girlfriend picked out by now back home, maybe already in place and being cheated on here in the anonymous city, and many more women there waiting for the chance to snag him. Cal Fortune would be a catch for someone. Billie knew she would never let herself love him. He would remind her of Harry Lawless every day of her life, in some ways better than Harry, in other ways less than he, and Harry was someone she needed to forget. Or maybe that was only an excuse and she just couldn't love anybody anymore.

She knew she would love her child.

“Do you come down to Texas to visit your family?” Cal asked when he was leaving.

“Sometimes.”

“You could come to Dallas. I'd like to show you around.”

In maternity clothes? she thought. “Maybe I will,” Billie said. “But usually my parents come up here. It's a treat for them.”

“I wish I could think of some way to thank you for these wonderful days together,” he said.

She stroked his hair, the golden curls that would be so remarkable on either a daughter or a son. “It was wonderful for me, too,” she said.

Just before Cal Fortune left town Billie looked into his eyes for a long time. She didn't really know him, but maybe what she did know was all there was to know. She was glad she wasn't twenty anymore, willing to follow him anywhere, to give up everything for love. Even as she kissed him goodbye she felt him floating away from her.