Authors: Kerry Reichs
“I’m going to have a baby,” I said.
Justine froze, brush midair. “Julian’s baby?”
“Definitely not. That was the problem.”
“But you’re pregnant?”
“As soon as I ovulate, hopefully.”
“With, um . . .” Justine’s face went through six expressions as she worked it out.
“A turkey baster.” I laughed. “At Hope Clinic.”
“What about Roxy?” Justine was still processing.
“I don’t think she’s pregnant, but I predict a future of unflattering empire-waisted garments,” I said.
“Are you worried they’ll write you out?” Anxious.
“I hope she’ll be fine, but it’s more important that I live than Roxy does.”
“You’re going to do it alone?”
“I would have preferred a different outcome, but it didn’t work out. I don’t have time to wait. I’m sure of my decision.”
“How long have you been planning this?”
“I’ve had at least twenty plans that seem ridiculous now. I’m figuring out that I don’t know anything, so planning is limited to one day at a time.”
“Don’t you worry . . .” She hesitated.
“Ask,” I commanded. “There’s nothing I haven’t worried about.”
“That if you have a kid, you might never get married?”
“It might be easier. Dating at forty gets thorny. Women rush men to settle down and it freaks them out. I’ll be the no-pressure alternative.”
“You’re not forty yet,” Justine comforted.
“Yeah, right.” I laughed.
“You could join a single parents’ group.”
“My whole universe will expand. I’ve never had a life outside work before, but having a baby will force me to invest in mommy groups and schools and the neighborhood. I’ll meet more people, and maybe that’ll include some guys who dig a broke down old single mom. I feel pretty good about it.”
“You’re fearless.” Justine was awed.
“There’s no such thing as fearlessness,” I dismissed. “Courage is the decision that something else is more important than fear. I’m scared to have a baby on my own, but I’m more scared of not having a baby. My doctor was right—by the time I saw her I’d already decided. It just took a while to admit it.”
“You don’t want a kid from Africa, like Madonna?”
“If it comes to that, I’ll adopt. But I’d like to try to have my own first.” I looked at my hands. “My handwriting is identical to my mother’s. I find that fascinating. I’d like to see what half my DNA makes.”
“A mess.” Justine laughed. “Kids make a mess.” She squealed and threw herself on me. “I’m so excited for you! Pigtails and ribbons and curly mops.”
“It could be a boy.” I laughed as she smothered me.
“It’s wonderful.” She clasped her hands, eyes welling.
“Stop that.” She was making me cry. It felt so good to share. “Now you have to help me.” I spread the profiles on the counter. “These are my finalists.”
“Donors? OH MY GOD LOOK AT HIS CHEEKS!” she shrieked and pointed to Donor 372.
“That’s his baby picture,” I explained. “It gives you an idea of what your baby might look like.”
“I die.”
“He’s a front-runner,” I agreed. “He’s an engineer, got a 3.0 grade point average at Columbia. Danish/English descent but speaks French, both grandparents lived until their eighties, and no history of addiction in the family. His Keirsey report lists him as a guardian, and he gets high friendly marks under staff impressions.”
“Are you for real? I don’t know that much about Big Mike.”
“You wouldn’t believe what you can learn from a donor profile.” I pointed to No. 5178. “This guy’s first memory was having chicken pox and walking around his apartment naked wearing mittens so he wouldn’t scratch.”
“This guy says in his essay, ‘Being afraid to try something can be even worse than failing at it.’ ” She looked up from No. 1124. “He’s perfect for you!”
I nodded. “He also uses the word ‘iconoclastic.’ The cast of
Pulse
doesn’t even know what that means.”
“How are you going to decide?”
“With your help.”
I tossed my dog-eared copy of
Cora
in the trash, and stacked more donor profiles across the counter. I’d made my decision.
A
s much as Andy detested Webb Garner, once he inexplicably withdrew from the election, Andy missed him. Garner’s attacks kept Andy on his toes, required strategy, drove his message. Uncontested, the race was a meander. Speeches that had been provocative became banal. Clever rebuttals became clichéd platitudes.
No one interrogated Andy. Reporters didn’t hound him. Agents for Garner didn’t stalk him with cell phone cameras hoping to entrap him in exploitable sound bites. It was as if the election was over. Even the Proposition 11 furor was finally dying down. With no lawsuit or candidate to agitate around, media coverage dried up. No one cared about the uncontested campaign, and that included Andy.
Andy was left to think about the job itself, and it left him cold. He wasn’t like Summer. She pored over the Council’s agenda. He had to force himself to plow through minutes. She went to a reception every night. He dreaded shaking constituents’ hands. She attended every public meeting. Watching public access coverage sent him into a coma. When he thought about doing it for two years, his brain shut down.
Everything else was better. Jacque had restaffed him on the Cornin account. Colleagues treated him with deference as almost-elect City Council member Knox. Maryn wasn’t suing him and assured him her relapse was managed. But Andy’s stomach was full of acid.
“Do we have more of these?” He shook the empty Pepto-Bismol bottle at Summer.
She frowned. “I just bought that.”
“My stomach’s been upset.”
“Are you getting sick? You tossed all night.”
Andy rubbed a tired hand over his face. It ached each morning from grinding his teeth in his sleep. “Maybe.”
“We can cancel the Arts Focus reception tonight if you want. Or I can go without you.”
Andy sat heavily on the end of the bed. Canceling sounded so good he couldn’t deny his dread any longer. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, pigeon.”
“What do you mean?”
“City Council.”
Summer looked alarmed. She sat down, putting an arm around him. “Are you nervous? I know you’ll do great.”
“I’m not nervous, I’m miserable. I hate the receptions and the breakfasts and the awkward public forums. I hate that the same issues get debated every year and nothing has changed in twenty. I hate that you can’t do anything about a good idea without strangling it in red tape. I hate that it’s all dumbed down to the lowest player. And I hate that the lowest player will probably be me. I don’t want to do it.”
Summer looked like a girl whose dream birthday present was about to be snatched away.
Andy tried to explain. “I’m inside out. I have no idea who I am anymore. Maryn’s pregnant with my kid and I have no connection to it. They have cancer and I learned about it on the news. The religious right is out to get me. Strangers have opinions about me. I see my face on the news. A local teenager has a Web page called Hot Knox with shirtless pictures of me. It’s crazy. I need normal.”
“Can’t you be normal and be on the City Council?” she pleaded.
Andy shook his head. “No.”
Tears filled Summer’s eyes. “You were in. You were as good as elected. There’s not even another candidate to take your place.”
“That’s not true,” Andy had thought this through. “Didn’t your dad say a wife stepped into her husband’s seat when he died? Well, I’m dying.”
“Don’t be funny,” Summer sniffed.
“I’m not.” Andy was dead serious. “You thrive on this. You know the issues. You love the politics. You want the job. You need to be on the City Council, not me.”
“We can’t just substitute me for you.”
“Yes we can.” For once, Andy knew something Summer didn’t. “I looked into it. All we need to do is file a few forms with the Board of Elections and you can step into my campaign.”
Summer was very still.
“You know you’d be great,” Andy coaxed. “Why not?”
“You think we can do this?”
“You hijacked the election from Charming Tommy. I know we can do this.” Relief hovered, waiting to rush in.
“We’d have to put off having kids,” Summer said.
“We have time.” Andy had no idea if they had time. It wasn’t the most important thing.
Excitement began to rise on Summer’s face. “Is this what you want?”
“It’s what we both want.” That and a burger. Suddenly he was starving.
“Okay, then.” She squeezed his hand. “Let’s do it.”
In his mind’s eye, little Delilah in her ruffled socks waved and headed into a blur of light. He wondered if he’d ever see her again.
E
va was thrilled with Daisy’s tape for
Cora
. The girl had burned it up. Eva retracted her doubts. Daisy deserved this role. She dialed Julian.
“Wales Productions.” Crisp.
“It’s Eva Lytton calling for Julian.”
There was barely a pause. “I’m sorry, Ms. Lytton, but Mr. Wales isn’t in. Can I have him return your call?”
I don’t know, can you?
Eva’s thought was waspish. So far it hadn’t happened. “Of course,” she murmured into the phone. She hung up frustrated. After seeing her reel, there was no doubt that Daisy could handle Cora Aldridge. Why was Julian dragging his feet?
Eva knew why. Who wouldn’t rather work with Dimple? Still, Julian was bailing a sinking boat. Eva had the studio on her side. They wanted a younger actress. She had to get face-to-face with Julian to knock down the last of his resistance.
You could tell him,
the thought whispered.
Eva shook her head. It wasn’t necessary to play dirty. She simply had to sit down with the elusive Julian Wales and be her persuasive best. This was Eva’s wheelhouse. It was maddening that she couldn’t get her hands on him.
Her eye fell on the
Hollywood Reporter
with Julian smiling on the cover, and she pushed it away in disgust. Julian was being honored at the film critics awards this weekend.
She sat up. Julian was being honored at the San Diego Film Critics Awards. He would
be
at the San Diego Film Critics Awards. Well, so would she.
After she buzzed her assistant to make the arrangements, Eva sat back in satisfaction, feet crossed on her desk. Julian was attending both the breakfast and the awards ceremony, so she had plenty of time to corner him.
Wyatt called. She felt a pang that she’d been too busy to even listen to several voice mails he’d left her.
“Greetings!” Wyatt’s return hello was moderated. “What’s wrong?”
“I lost the baby,” he said.
“What?” Her feet thumped to the floor. “What happened? Is Deborah okay?”
“Deborah’s fine, and the baby’s fine. Unfortunately, they’re fine with someone else. The School Board didn’t think it was in their best interests that I adopt. Even though I care for their children every day.”
“I don’t understand,” Eva said.
Wyatt sighed. “They made me cancel the adoption, Eva, or they were going to fire me. They said it would look bad, and alarm parents. It happened a while ago, I just haven’t seen you. I’m sorry to do this over the phone.”
A kaleidoscope of emotions hit Eva. Deborah and Wyatt and an anonymous blue-eyed baby swirled before her eyes, but most of all Wyatt’s unspoken grief thumped into her gut. Without being prepared for it, Eva was sobbing.
“Eva! What’s the matter?” Wyatt sounded alarmed, and who could blame him? Eva was hijacking his bad news as if her own world had ended.
“Eva, Eva,” Wyatt tried to soothe her. “If Chuck Norris cried like that, L.A. would be Atlantis II.”
Eva couldn’t talk. She gasped and struggled to explain.
“I don’t want a baby but you want a baby . . . and this actress gave up the career of a lifetime to have a baby.” She choked out incoherent half sentences. “And Sawyer . . . but my mother . . . and . . . I’m deviant . . .” She broke down again.
Wyatt let her cry awhile, then said, “Get that nonsense out of your head. It’s the equivalent of saying that I’m deviant for wanting a child.”
“You aren’t . . . ,” Eva sobbed. “But I can have a baby . . . for you . . . and I don’t want to and I feel so bad . . . ,” she wailed.
“What?” Wyatt was aghast. “I would never ask that of you! It never occurred to me. Eva, please.” He sounded tortured, and she felt worse.
“What’s wrong with me? You’re such a good person and I’m selfish.”
“That is absolutely untrue. Where did this come from?”
Hell if she knew. Somewhere deep. She took some breaths.
“This isn’t even about me, it’s about you and I’m the one crying. I’m so sorry.” She wiped her eyes.
“Talk to me,” Wyatt said. “Please, you’re scaring me.”
Eva sniffled. “You know Sawyer?”
“Yes.”
“It’s been going great,” Eva said. “Really great. But last night, I can’t even remember the context, he made one of the comments that everyone makes without thinking—‘When I have a kid . . .’ And I didn’t say anything.” She began to cry again. “I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want kids. And that makes me selfish, because I
can
have a baby and so many can’t and I want you to have a baby more than anything but I . . . I . . .”
“Stop this right now,” Wyatt commanded. “Pull yourself together. Yes, I want a child, but I do not want one from you. With my luck, she’d have your expensive tastes.”
Eva laughed and blew her nose. “If you went to jail and Chuck Norris was your prison daddy, you’d get pregnant.”
“Terrifying solution. It’s a blow to lose Deborah, but don’t think it’s the end. The only tool Garner wields is the threat of public opinion and I can play that game too. I wasn’t sure a single father was the best solution for a special-needs child, but if that’s my only avenue, I’ll pursue it. I’d like to see the politician who would deny a special-needs child a real home.”
This was a different Wyatt, a determined one.
“You sound almost devious.”
“You don’t spend all day with teenagers and fail to pick up a trick or two. Now as for this Sawyer foolery, the lessons of high school hold equally true. The best thing you can do is be yourself. If he doesn’t appreciate you, then move on.”
“I have to tell him, don’t I?” She sighed.
“You don’t
have
to do anything, but I think you’ll feel better. You don’t have leprosy. It’s a life choice that many share.”
“You’d be surprised by how unnatural people make you feel when they’re not assuring you that you’ll change your mind.”
“Maybe Sawyer’s tired of dating women who see him as a sperm donor.”
“Maybe.” Eva was doubtful. “At any rate it’ll have to keep a bit longer. I’m not redredging my apparently deep-seated neuroses on the subject today.” She paused. “Is Deborah okay?”
“Somewhere out there a happy couple can’t believe their luck,” Wyatt said. “Deborah will be fine.”
“What about you?” Eva worried that each setback made Wyatt a little harder.
“I’ll be fine too,” Wyatt reassured her. “And Eva? If Sawyer makes the grievous error of ending things, don’t sleep with a random stranger you meet at a bar.”
“Wyatt,” Eva protested.
“I’m quite serious. STDs itch. Sleep with his best friend or his father if you must.”
Eva laughed. “Wyatt?”
“Yes?”
“Chuck Norris doesn’t cry. He kicks excess water from his body through his eyes.”
Eva was exhausted after her call with Wyatt. She thought about reapplying her makeup, but the damage was severe, and she had no intention of facing anyone for the rest of the day. She was canceling on Sawyer. Her eye fell on the
Hollywood Reporter
and she had an idea.
“Good news or bad news?” Sawyer answered.
“What?”
“You’re calling me two hours before our date. Either we’re celebrating or you’re canceling.”
“Chuck Norris doesn’t wear a watch. He decides what time it is.” Hearing his voice gave Eva second thoughts about canceling.
“You’ve never explained your veneration for Chuck Norris.”
“What’s to explain? We’re soul mates. He’s tough as nails. I’m tough as nails. He’d have made the world’s best agent if he wasn’t a marshal.”
“Do you think you’re that tough? Because I think you’re a big softie.”
Eva was affronted. “I strike fear in the hearts of Hollywood. Eva’s clients get the jobs.”
“Do they know you still have your childhood stuffed rabbit, you DVR every episode of
Surprise Homecoming
and bawl when their dogs see the soldiers come home, and you bought, and read, all the
Little House on the Prairie
books, as an adult?”
“You may not share any of that information,” Eva said.
“Why not?”
Eva was flummoxed. “That would be bad for business.”
“Would it?”
“Yes! You can’t take prisoners in Hollywood.”
“But you’re not like that.”
“I’m hard,” Eva insisted, thinking of Dimple. “I do what needs to be done.”
“Would it offend you if I respectfully disagreed?” Sawyer asked. “I think you’re warm, and sensitive, and you pour your nurturing into me and your cousin.”
“I . . .” Eva didn’t know what to say. She should be mad but she felt warm instead. “I love the idea that you think I’m warm. But I’m hard too, and I’m not apologetic about it.”
“Maybe Chuck Norris is your alter ego.”
“I’m neither wholly soft, nor wholly ruthless,” Eva said. “I’m mostly good, with enough Chuck Norris to get the job done.”
“Is he amoral?”
“He’s . . . unperturbed. And very black and white.”
“And you?”
“Quite grey.”
“But to your office, you’re black and white.”
“The job is the job.”
“Did you capitalize ‘job’? And is it hard to lead a double life?”
“Not at all.” Eva didn’t hesitate. “So on a scale of one to Chris Brown, exactly how angry would you be if I
was
calling to cancel?”
“For abandoning me to a Stouffer’s frozen dinner? I can forgive you. I like the brownies. And I like the idea that my mostly good woman is out there banging heads and taking names.”
“I have a consolation prize. How’d you like to go to San Diego this weekend?”
They pulled up to the hotel Saturday afternoon in Sawyer’s Mercedes. It had been a condition of his acceptance that they didn’t take Eva’s MINI.
“We should have plenty of pool time before we have to get ready for dinner.” Sawyer pushed his sunglasses onto his head and crinkled his astonishing green eyes.
Eva hadn’t exactly told Sawyer her plan. In fact, she didn’t have a plan. She hadn’t been able to inveigle an invitation to the awards, so she’d booked a room at the Coronado Hotel, which was hosting the ceremony. It wasn’t a large hotel and she had twenty-four hours. Julian Wales would be hers.
“Just promise we won’t leave the premises.” Eva smiled. “I want to sun, eat, sleep, and relax right here.”
As they were checking in, Eva’s eyes darted around the spacious lobby. She had timed their arrival to coincide with the end of the breakfast. If Julian walked by she could accost him and be done with it. She only needed ten minutes.
Sawyer squeezed her shoulders. “Maybe you should get a massage. You seem tense.”
“I’m not tense, just terribly, terribly alert.” She laughed. The lobby was dead. “Want to get tea down here while we wait for the room?”
“We have a room ready right now.” The chirpy clerk thwarted Eva.
“Great,” said Sawyer. “I want to change and get poolside, stat.”
“When Chuck Norris jumps into a pool, he doesn’t get wet, the pool gets Chuck Norris.” Eva trailed him to the elevator. Maybe Julian would fancy a dip.
By eight
PM
Eva was officially tweaking. It’d been torture pretending to relax poolside when she was tense as a guitar string, continually scanning over the top of her
Variety
magazine for Julian Wales. She’d jolted when a bald man settled onto a lounger. A not-Julian businessman from Topeka would return home puffed up over the scrutiny he’d received from a bikinied blonde in California. When Sawyer had insisted on massaging suntan lotion onto her back in long, slow strokes, she’d been as taut as a courtroom drama, anxious she’d miss Julian while facedown. She’d sprung up the moment he’d finished, ignoring the confusion in his eyes. He was going to think she had a urinary tract infection or a cocaine addiction based on the number of times she’d run inside to the bathroom. Each time she’d skulked in the lobby for as long as she could without arousing suspicion, and still no Julian.
“Tummy trouble?” Sawyer had asked after her last absence, and she’d stopped going.
When Sawyer declared he smelled funkier than Chewbacca’s underpants and it was time for a nap and a shower, he was disappointed when she opted for a snack in the lobby instead. She knew he’d meant
just a nap
but she had feigned obtuseness. Business before pleasure. He smelled, anyway.
Sitting alone in the lobby, her irritation with Julian Wales swelled. He was ruining her romantic weekend, even though he had no clue. At seven, she’d given up long enough to hastily get ready before returning downstairs with Sawyer. The Original Cyn would have been horrified. Eva primped more to go to the gym.
The view from their dinner table was perfect. Sawyer was trying his best to charm Eva, overlooking her obvious distraction.
“Is something wrong?” he asked after the waiter delivered their appetizers.
Eva felt a kick of panic. She didn’t want to convey disinterest she didn’t feel. It was time to confess.