Perfect Harmony (20 page)

After so many years of waiting, the sex blew me away.  It
opened my eyes to a world I’d been missing and filled me with a rapturous joy
that, from that moment on, I found impossible to live without.

And then a week later, she told me she was pregnant.  It was
a shock, especially since I had to cope with mountains of debt left by my
missing father.  I was forced to drop out of Harvard and get a job as a
personal assistant in a local record store.  But it didn’t matter - I was to be
a father - and that alone made me happier than I ever thought possible.  Sure,
times would be hard, but I’d scrimp and save and work harder than I’d ever
dreamed, and I’d love that child more than my father ever loved his own.  I
promised Sylvia that one day we would live like kings, in time.

I bought a cheap ring at a pawnshop, and brought her back to
that karaoke bar where we first met.  She was so much more silent than she’d
been up until that point, and I knew something was pressing on her mind, but I
was an idiot and kept silent, hoping whatever the problem was, it would
disappear and we’d be together and happy.

I began to sing to her, fell to one knee and reached into my
pocket, but she stopped me all of a sudden.

“Don’t do this, Chase,” she said, a tear in her.  “Please,
don’t.”

“But why?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, you’re so sweet and nice, but I
can’t marry you.  I can’t live like this.”

“It won’t always be like this,” I said, “You’ll live like a
princess, I promise you.  Just give me time.  Money will come, but we’ll always
have each other.  And the little one.”

She started to cry.  “You don’t understand.  You’re not the
father.”

It felt like a wrecking ball had smashed into my chest and
blown all the wind from my lungs.  “What?”

“You’re not the father.  I lied.  I was pregnant when we
first slept together, and the guy - he’s married and he won’t leave his wife,
and you were so sweet and nice, and I knew you’d be the perfect dad to my baby,
so I lied and I’m sorry.  But I can’t lie anymore.  With everything you had
going on a Harvard, I was sure you’d graduate and have lots of money, and I’d
have nothing to worry about, but you’ve fallen for me, and you’re happy to be
poor.  But I’m not.  I can’t bring my child up like that.”

I had no idea what to say.

“I need to find someone else.  I’m sorry.”

And with that, she was gone from my life forever.

And I swore to myself, I’d never be made a fool of again. 
I’d never allow myself to be the victim of lies.  I’d never let love make me
its bitch.  I’d never sing again.

I’d never trust another woman.

That was, until I met Melody.

“Chase?”

I spin round and see Melody at the door to the study.  “I
thought you were by the pool, playing with that kitten?”

“Keeping tabs on me,” she says, strolling up to me in the
most sensual walk I’ve ever seen.  Her hips jut out and her plump breasts spill
out over her tiny bikini, and I’m hard instantly.  How could I not be when I’m
confronted by those curves?

She smiles in such a way as if she has no idea of how her
body affects me, but she knows.

“Of course,” she says, “there are other things I’d like on
me.”  She strokes my hand and brings my index finger to her lips.  She gives it
a slow and deliberate lick with the tip of her tongue and I find it impossible
to breathe.

It’s only been a week since we married, but she’s become
quite the sexual minx.

She throws me a trickster’s grin, as she guides my hands
over her swelling pregnant breasts.

My erection feels like it’s going to break through my jeans.

“If you’re finished with work,” she says, “I can think of
something we can do to pass the time.  Again.  And again.”

She bites her lip and it’s the last straw.

I cup her face and pull her mouth against my own, taking her
lips in a soft passionate kiss, the warmth of her tongue gliding and stroking
and touching, and my body is alight.

I throw her on to the desk and her hands grab my belt.  We
scrabble at each other’s clothes until they’re nothing but a pile on the
carpet, our naked bodies grinding and writhing against each other.

She guides me into her and throws her head back, mouth open
with a muted gasp.

“Oh, Chase,” she says, as she takes me.

Her fingers tangle through my hair, gripping and pulling,
almost to steady herself as the force of our bodies makes the hard desk rock
back and forth with each furious burst.

I bury my face in her chest, breathing in her heavenly
scent, blood pounding in my ears.

I bring my head up and I see the most beautiful and carefree
smile across her lips.

That look of pure joy - I would do anything to make that
possible, to make sure it never leaves her face.  Her pleasure is the only
thing that matters to me.

Not only her pleasure - but the pleasure we experience,
together and as one.  Our two bodies, like this, entwined, is how the world
should be.  Everything makes sense.

And I never want it to stop.

***

“W
hat you do to me...” I say, pulling up my pants.

Melody is lost in thought, staring at the wall.

“Melody?”

“Your phone - it’s in bits on the floor over there.”

“It’s nothing.  A business matter back home went awry.  It’s
none of your concern.”

She sits up and pulls me closer to her, our gazes fixed. 
“If something’s wrong and we need to go back to New York...”

“It’s nothing, like I said.  Duncan Callaghan up to his
usual tricks.”

There’s a hint of something in her look, but I can’t place
it.  A sense of unease, perhaps.  I don’t blame her - the mere mention of
Duncan Callaghan makes me want to wretch.

“We should go back,” she says firmly.

“Not yet.”

“But you’re business is in trouble.  And I know how much it
means to you.”  She climbs off the desk and straightens my tie.  “Plus, I want
to go back.  Things are getting a bit boring here.”

“You know, most people would give everything to live here.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No,” I say, “No, you’re not.”

She takes a step back and admires my fully dressed form. 
“Plus,” she says casually, “I’m really looking forward to meeting your
friends.”

“We’ve talked about this, Melody.”

“No, you’ve talked about.  I’ve sat by and shrugged, but I’m
not shrugging anymore.  Unless you’re afraid I’ll embarrass you.”

“Of course not.”

Her eyes fix to the floor.

I take her hands in my own and she glances up at me.  “My
friends are bastards.  Horrible horrible bastards.”

“Don’t sugar coat it,” she says with a half smile.

“They live their lives in nothing but a bubble of
schadenfreude.  If for even a second they find a weakness, they attack it,
mercilessly.”

“They’ll attack me, you mean.”

She sulks and it makes my gut ache.  I bring her hands to my
lips and kiss them lightly.

“I’m sorry,” I say.  “I just want to protect you.”

“You can’t protect me from everything.  I’ll have to meet
them sometime.  You say it’s only going to be another day or two, but what
happens when it’s a week or a month?  What happens when you leave me here
because you have to return?”

“That would never happen.”

“Wouldn’t it?  I’ve done nothing but nod and agree to all
your lessons and dressing up and trying to be the wife you want me to be, the
wife you need me to be.  But how can I be that if you won’t take me back with
you?”  She looks up at me with pleading eyes.  “Just give me a chance, Chase.”

I’m helpless against those eyes.

“They’ll attack you,” I say.

“Let them.”

“And they absolutely will not stop, ever, until-“

“Until what?  I’m dead.”

“Of course not.  Don’t be silly.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry.  It’s just words.  And I can
give as good as I get.”

I nod.  “I bet you can.”

“So it’s settled then.  I’m coming back with you.  We’re
going home.”

Every fiber of my being screams no, but I know she’s right. 
I can keep her here until I deem her ready to enter my world, but when will
that be?  Maybe I’m prolonging the inevitable on purpose to spare her feelings,
but I cannot lock her up here like a prisoner forever.  She’s going to have to
enter my world some time.

I just pray to God that it won’t eat her alive.

––––––––

––––––––

“A
re you alright, madam?” says the waiter, as he peers down
at me over the specials menu.

“She’s quite alright,” says Chase.  He rubs my shoulder. 
“When one’s expecting a child, it comes with the territory.”

I give a half smile, trying to hold back the faint waves of
nausea.

My face feels like it’s turning an earthly shade of green -
hardly the best behaviour in such an exquisitely fine Manhattan restaurant.

The eyes of the others at the table gawk and stare at my
little show.  It’s almost like Chase’s friends have never seen a pregnant woman
before.  Either that, or there’s something else I’m doing wrong that disgusts
them.

“Maybe it’s the fish,” says Cordelia, patting her husband
Duke Earlington on the knee.  “God knows, Cedric and I have had a dickity tummy
on occasion.”

“Nonsense,” says Delilah, whipping a strand of her
impossibly blonde locks behind her ear.  “Some people just have trouble adjusting
to such a rich palette.”

I stand up suddenly and hold on to the table.

“Melody?” says Chase.

“I just need some air,” I say.  Without looking back, I rush
towards the exit, but another unexpected wave hits me and I push past the
crowds waiting for a table and into the cool November air.

It washes over me, and I try to steel myself, but my stomach
lurches in spite of itself.  I can’t be sick, not here.  Not with all these
people watching.

I lumber around the corner and sit down on the curb, rocking
back and forth to try and calm myself.  But I fail.

After expelling the entire contents of my stomach into the
gutter like a strung out junkie, I rest my head in my hands and try to catch my
breath.  A bead of sweat trickles from my temple and hits the concrete with a
thud.

I don’t understand it - why can’t I get regular morning
sickness like a normal woman?  Instead, I’m forced to humiliate myself in front
of Chase’s friends again.  And what must Chase think?  These meals with his
friends are one of the few times we’ve been able to spend time together.

Since we returned to New York two weeks ago, Chase has
locked himself in his office until the early hours, only coming out to wake me
in the middle of the night and make sweet passionate love to me.  Other than,
our time together was exclusive to these dinners with his friends, and they
were always so ecstatic to see him.

But their looks changed whenever they saw me.

Half of the time, part of me is grateful for the timeliness
of my sickness.  Anything to leave that table and retreat to the protection of
the cubicle.  Or in this case, the gutter.  This wasn’t the first time, and I
knew it wouldn’t be the last.

Chase had warned me about his
friends
but I didn’t
believe him.  Worse, I pressured him into setting up these dinners so I could
prove to him how indispensable I am as his wife, to show him how much I’ve
learned, by wooing the people who are un-wooable.

But all they’ve done is made me feel uncomfortable.  All I
want is Chase and for us to stay at home in his penthouse, and talk and laugh
and make love.  Where I could fuss inside the nursery, getting the cot ready
and painting the walls whilst I sing to my child.

It’s yet another stupid decision I’ve made that’s come back
to haunt me.

I should be used to it by now.

At least things can’t get much worse.

“Don’t worry about Miss Piggy, Chase’ll be done with the fat
mess soon enough,” says a faint voice.

The whiff of tobacco rolls my stomach, but I fight it,
forcing myself to look up.

Only a few feet away, Cordelia and Delilah are smoking, no
idea how near I am.

“When’s Mercedes going to drop the bomb?” asks Cordelia.

“Soon as possible, I hope,” says Delilah.  “That stupid
porky bitch thinks she’s got Chase wrapped up tight with that little oinker in
her belly.  Probably isn’t even his, she’s got the look of a slut.  See the way
she dresses?”

“I know, fucking tragic.  Probably thinks she’s flaunting
her curves.  Hah.  Curves.  Deluded money grubbing whore.”

My heart races - maybe I should make myself known.  If they
knew I was here, there’s no way they would say such disgusting things.

Or would they?  Maybe they’re saying it on purpose because
that’s how much they hate me.

Tears well in my eyes.

I feel like I want to die.

The heartache is too much.  No, I want to crawl up into a
ball and be left alone, but still they continue their horrible words.

“Good fucking riddance, I say.  See how much she shovelled
down her snout at brunch two days ago?  Eating for two?  She’s eating for
fucking five.”

Cordelia drops her cigarette to the floor and stubs it with
her high heel.  “Come on,” she say, “let’s get back inside before she does.  I
don’t want to have to fight for the buffet.”

Delilah lets out a ghoulish cackle and the two of them
retreat from view.

They hate me.  They actually hate me.  The passive
aggressive remarks were one thing, but I had no idea that this is how they
felt.  God, how I long for the days of snide words.

I start crying again.  I try to stop myself, but then I
realise I don’t care.  I don’t care at all - I’m alone in this world.  I
thought I could be the perfect wife to Chase but I was so very wrong.  He
doesn’t need me.  He doesn’t even want me - not truly - not like I want and
need him.  I’m just an anchor weighing him down.