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They asked her for dates, too, but Betty always flashed her left hand with its dime-store wedding band and told them that her husband was six feet tall with shoulders like a brick wall and that he'd kill any man who tried to date her up while he was away in the Army. But she smiled when she said it and she spoke in such a way that every man thought that if things had been different, if she were the kind to run around he would be the one man she would choose.

If I ever get rid of this goddamn bundle, thought Betty savagely, then I'll really cut loose.

But one afternoon, when she was changing from her uniform to her street clothes, she felt a twinge in her belly that left her weak, not with pain but with surprise.

Well, I'll be damned! she thought.

She walked all the way to her room and, as soon as she got there, she undressed and lay down on her bed. She put her hands flat against her abdomen and waited, and then it happened again. She could actually see the movement under her skin.

Well, I'll be damned, she thought again and grinned. Well, I'll be damned. It's alive!

She did not know exactly when the determination to keep her baby had formed in her. Later, when she thought about it, she supposed that it must have been when she felt that first twinge of life within her body. The new thought caused radical changes in her plans and Betty, who had never been one to put things off, sat down at once and began to plan.

Within a week she found an obstetrician who promised to deliver her baby for seventy-five dollars. He reserved a room for her in a hospital and told her exactly what it would cost her to stay there for five days.

“Will you have someone to look after you and the baby when you return home, Mrs. Harrington?” asked the doctor, using the name she had given him.

“Yes,” said Betty, hiding the rather wry smile on her lips. “I have a family.”

She spent the next months learning everything she could about baby care. She bought diapers and nightgowns and safety pins and decided that she would need neither blankets nor bottles. The baby would sleep in the same bed with her and she would nurse him herself. Now, she gorged herself on the one meal a day she was allowed at the restaurant and she hid cake and bread and cheese in her handbag so that she could eat in her room without using any money.

Instead of taking a drink of water at the restaurant, she drank milk. Water she drank at home. And every cent she could keep from spending went into a bank account to pay for the hospital and to support her during the weeks after the baby was born when she would have to stay with him.

Rodney Harrington, Junior, she thought. That's what I'll name him. He has a right to the name, and he's going to have it. To hell with Peyton Place and everybody in it.

Luckily for her, the owner of the restaurant where she worked was an Italian with six children of his own. His wife had worked right up to the last minute and it hadn't hurt her a bit. So he kept Betty on as she grew larger and larger, cautioning her against lifting heavy trays and to watch out for wet places on the kitchen floor.

“You need something lifted, you call me,” he told her. “And don't worry about a thing. It's good for a woman to stay on her feet when she's that way. Makes it easier when her time comes.”

The Italian's wife said, “Don't worry about nothin'. Your husband's away, I'll come visit in the hospital. After, I come help you with the baby. Don't worry about nothin'!”

“These days,” said the Italian, snapping his fingers, “it's nothin' for a woman to have a baby. Bing, in the hospital. Bing, with the ether. Bing, the baby. All over.”

The baby was born at the end of October and things worked out just as Betty had planned. Her delivery was an easy one in spite of Roddy's husky nine and a half pounds, and Betty's breasts overflowed with milk to feed him. From the first, he was a contented baby who never cried except when he was hungry or wet; and, as the weeks went by, he seemed to grow right in front of Betty's eyes. When he was three months old, she knew that it was time for her to go back to work. There were twenty-one dollars and sixty-seven cents left in the bank.

A woman named Agnes Carlisle lived in the room next door to Betty's, and during the time that Betty had lived there, she and Agnes had become good friends. Agnes was a retired schoolteacher, who struggled every month to make ends meet on her pension and was only too glad to look after Roddy every evening for the small sum that Betty could pay.

“He's so good, he won't be any trouble,” said Agnes cheerfully. “And even if he were, I wouldn't mind. He's such a beautiful baby.”

Betty almost laughed out loud at the sight of the gray, stern-looking woman bending over the bed talking baby talk to Roddy.

“He looks just like his father,” said Betty.

The years passed quickly. When Roddy was three, the Italians opened a new restaurant in another part of town and Betty was made manager of the old place. She earned a decent wage now and often thought of moving from her dark, dingy room. But Roddy was as fond of Agnes Carlisle as she was of him, and Agnes was teaching Roddy to read and write so that he'd be ahead of the other children when he started school.

“With our school system the way it is today,” said Agnes, “the only child who has a chance is the one who gets outside help. I'll see that Roddy gets that.”

So Betty stayed where she was. She dated a variety of men but, as she told Agnes, she wasn't about to get married.

“I like my life the way it is,” she said. “Uncomplicated. I've got Roddy and my job and no entanglements. I'm going to keep it that way.”

Agnes was the only person in New York who knew that Betty had never been married. Betty never discussed the subject with the men who took her out except when they got serious. Then she would tell them that she had been married and didn't want to make the same mistake again.

It was on the Fourth of July that Agnes saw the advertisement in the personal column of a tabloid newspaper. She, Betty and Roddy had returned from an afternoon in the park and Betty was making iced coffee.

“This is a funny one,” said Agnes.

“What?” asked Betty, leaning over Agnes' shoulder.

“This,” said Agnes pointing out the advertisement.

“Read it to me,” said Betty. “I forgot to put an ice cube in Roddy's milk and as soon as he realizes it he'll start yelling.”

“Betty, where are you?” said Agnes.

“What?” asked Betty, turning around, surprised.

“That's what it says here in the paper,” replied Agnes. “Betty, where are you? Please contact me as soon as you see this. Urgent. Leslie Harrington, Box 213, Peyton Place
Times.
”

Betty sat down on a hassock at Agnes' feet. “Well, I'll be damned,” she said softly.

“It's meant for you, isn't it?” Agnes asked.

“Yes,” said Betty.

“Is it—” She hesitated and glanced at Roddy who was looking solemnly from Agnes to his mother. She lowered her voice. “Is it Roddy's g-r-a-n-d-f-a-t-h-e-r?” she asked, spelling out the last word.

“Roddy what?” asked Roddy, and then he glanced down at his glass. “Eye-cube! Eye-cube!” he yelled.

Betty took an ice cube from her glass of iced coffee and put it into his glass.

“Yes,” she said to Agnes.

“Are you going to write to him?”

“I don't know.”

“Are you out of your mind?” asked Agnes. “You told me that he had plenty of money. It's about time he did somebody for R-o-d-d-y.”

“Roddy!” cried Roddy triumphantly.

Agnes groaned. “Why did I have to teach him to spell,” she said.

“I don't know as I want anything from him,” said Betty.

“Don't be a fool,” said Agnes. “If he wants to do something for the child, let him. Are you going to be stuck in a hovel like this all your life? And Roddy too? Take what you can get. Don't wind up like me.”

Betty looked at Agnes for a long time. She saw herself, grown old, living alone in her dark room. Living on pennies and in fear.

“I'm not going to write,” she said. “I'll see how serious he is about wanting to get in touch with me. I'll telephone him. Collect.”

She put in the call, smiling gleefully at the thought of Leslie's discomfiture at hearing from her through a nosy, Peyton Place telephone operator.

“What do you want, Leslie?” she asked, as soon as she heard his voice.

Leslie hesitated for only a moment. “I want you to come home,” he said.

“Isn't this a little out of character for you, Leslie?”

“I've been trying to find you for years,” said Leslie.

“Why?” ask Betty coldly. “There was a time when you couldn't wait to get rid of me.”

“Betty,” said Leslie, and she was almost shocked at the note of pleading in his voice. “Tell me about the baby.”

“Well, he's hardly a baby,” replied Betty. “He's going on five.”

“A boy,” said Leslie, and for a long minute the phone was silent except for his breathing. “A boy. What's his name?”

“Rodney Harrington, Junior,” said Betty, and waited for Leslie to protest.

“That's wonderful, Betty,” said Leslie, and Betty was so surprised that she took the receiver away from her ear and looked down into the mouthpiece as if she wanted to see Leslie's face. “Please, Betty,” he was saying. “Say you'll come.”

“I'll have to think it over,” said Betty.

“I'll send you a check for the fare,” Leslie offered.

“You're damned right you will,” said Betty with a humorless little laugh.

“I'll put it in the mail right now,” he said. “Just give me your address.”

“Nothing doing,” said Betty. “The last thing I want is to find you camped on my doorstep. I told you I'd think it over and I will. I'll call you at the end of the week.”

“At least give me your telephone number,” said Leslie.

“No,” said Betty, and hung up abruptly.

The following week was one of hell for Betty. All her life she had hated indecision, and her days were not made any easier by Agnes' almost constant nagging.

“Stop thinking of yourself,” said Agnes. “Think of Roddy.”

And: “Do you want to spend the rest of your life working in a greasy restaurant?”

And: “I'm not going to be around forever, you know. Who'll look after Roddy then?”

And: “Roddy's one of the most intelligent children I've ever known. Are you going to cheat him out of the advantages he should have?”

And: “What if you should get sick? What would happen to Roddy then?”

“For Christ's sake,” yelled Betty, “will you kindly shut up for a minute? I can't think!”

“There's nothing to think about,” said Agnes decisively. “Call the old man. Pack your things. And go.”

In the end, Betty telephoned Leslie Harrington.

“I can take a week off from my job,” she said. “We can come for a visit, but only for five days. We'll have to spend the other two traveling.”

“Now will you give me your address so that I can mail you a check?” asked Leslie.

“No,” said Betty. “I've thought it over, and I don't think I want to be beholden to you for a damned thing. The only reason I'm going to see you at all is that you're Roddy's grandfather. Every child should have a chance to meet his grandfather. And that's the only reason, believe me.”

“Wire me what train you're taking,” said Leslie.

“Yes, I will.”

The car turned into the wide, graveled driveway in front of the Harrington house.

“Here we are,” said Leslie. “Roddy's asleep.”

Yes, thought Betty. Here we are, indeed.

A
UGUST HAD BEEN
more than half gone when Selena had become aware of an almost imperceptible change in Tim Randlett. He began to question her about her past, and if she didn't answer him he sulked.

“Listen,” he said, “I want you to be my wife. Husbands and wives don't have secrets from one another. If they do it's no kind of marriage.”

Selena barely heard his last two sentences.

“What did you say?” she asked in almost unbelieving joy.

“I said that I want you to be my wife and—”

She put restraining fingers across his lips.

“Don't say anything else,” she said. “Just say that again.”

Tim laughed and took her in his arms.

“Darling,” he said, “will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” said Selena, “yes, yes, yes. When?”

“In the fall,” replied Tim. “After I'm finished here. We'll go to New York and find an apartment and then we'll go to Tiffany's and I'll buy you the biggest diamond in the store with a wedding band to match.”

“I love you,” said Selena softly. “I'll bet that no one else in the world loves anyone the way I love you.”

“You'd lose,” said Tim. “Because I love you that way.”

Selena believed him in spite of the way he could, on occasion, look at her with a coldness that chilled her with fear.

“Tell me about this Ted Carter,” he demanded.

“There's nothing to tell,” replied Selena. “We were friends all through school and then one day we weren't friends any more. That's all.”

“You're lying, Selena,” he said.

She turned to him in disbelief. “I am not,” she cried.

“Did you ever sleep with him?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she demanded angrily.

“Don't raise your voice, Selena. And why are you so angry if your conscience is clear?”

“I'm angry because you've not only doubted my word, but because you could even think such a thing about Ted and me.”

“Well,” said Tim with a sarcasm that hurt her more than any raised voice could have done, “let's face it, darling. I wasn't the first. Not by a long shot.”

“You're behaving like a child,” said Selena and turned her back to him.

Tim Randlett often behaved like a child. When he was not acting a part, either on or off stage, he reverted to the actions of the spoiled, petulant darling he had once been in Hollywood, and the worst facet of this was that he didn't believe that he was acting childish at all but that he was asserting himself and standing up for his rights. When the few people who had seen him this way accused him of immaturity, Tim either lost his temper completely or exerted himself to correct what he was convinced was a mistaken impression.