Babycakes (35 page)

“Is it Easter already?”

“ ‘Fraid so.” Her voice was croaky and sleep-fuzzed. He raised himself on his elbows, “Then … I’ll meet you down in the garden.”

She squeezed his knee. “You don’t have to go.”

He paused. “I thought you wanted company.”

“Well … I
said
that, but …”

“You wanted this.”

It was a joke, of course, but it made her uneasy.

“Hey,” she whispered, conscious of Mrs. Madrigal’s presence in the building. “If you want to march up Calvary with a zombie, the zombie would be glad to have you along.” She reached over and gave his cock a friendly yank. “O.K.?”

“What’s the attire?”

“Casual.” She stood up. “Give me half an hour and meet me in the courtyard. Crepe soles might be a good idea. If there’s any of that dope left, you could roll us a joint. O.K.?”

“O.K. But how are we getting there?”

“My crew is picking us up.” Of course. Your crew.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. Where are my pants?”

“In the closet. You hung them up. Remember?”

“Right.” He climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Was he bent out of shape about something? Even his perfect little butt looked tense.

He kept quiet most of the way to Mount Davidson, so she spent the time talking shop with her cameraman. They parked the truck on Myra Way—as close as they could get to the concrete cross—and finished the journey on foot, climbing a slippery pathway through a eucalyptus grove until they reached the summit.

Several dozen people were already gathered at the base of the mammoth monument. In the pearly predawn light they looked as pale and gray-green as the young eucalyptus leaves. Mary Ann turned and admired the extravagant sweep of the city, the telltale red stain that had begun to seep into the eastern sky above Mount Diablo.

She touched Simon’s arm. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“Gorgeous,” he repeated, with little conviction.

She studied his expressionless face. “You’re as grumpy as I am in the morning.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t …” He cut himself off.

“You wouldn’t what?”

“I wouldn’t …”

“Darling … you naughty thing. I told you we don’t need you.”
Father Paddy had materialized, as usual, out of thin air.

“Oh … hi,” she blurted back.

“You’re so damn
noble,
Mary Ann!” The cleric grabbed Simon’s arm. “I have told this dear, sweet girl for weeks now that I’m perfectly capable of handling this gig on my own, but she’s
determined
to be a martyr.” He bussed her on the cheek. “Aren’t you, darling?” His head spun toward Simon again. “I know this stalwart soul. I’ve seen him on television. You’re that runaway lieutenant, aren’t you?”

“More or less,” was the less than cordial reply.

“Well, you’ve just taken our little city by storm, haven’t you?”

Simon answered with a faint, glacial smile.

Father Paddy turned back to Mary Ann. “There’s coffee and doughnuts if you need the rush, and …
oh
… is Matthew our cameraman today?”

“Yeah.”

“Marvelous. Tell him to stay away from my underside, will you?”

“What?”

“Don’t let him shoot from
below,
darling. I’m all chins, and it frightens the little children. All right?”

“O.K.”

“You’re an angel,” said the priest, merging with his flock again.

Mary Ann glanced cautiously at Simon. “I guess I should have warned you about him.”

He didn’t respond.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

He pulled a leaf off a bush and fiddled with it. “You set this up, didn’t you?”

“Set what up?”

“This morning. You got yourself assigned to this …
gig,
as he calls it, so that you and I could be together.”

“Well … it worked out that way, I guess. But I certainly didn’t plan it.”

He frowned at her.

“Anyway,” she added, “what if I had? Would that be so terrible?”

“How long ago? Two weeks? Three? I’ve been inked into your little agenda for quite some time now.”

As she stared at him, she felt her throat go dry.

“Tell me if I’ve missed the mark,” he added.

“Well, I was certainly … pleased … when I realized we’d be able to get together … if that’s what you mean. What’s the big deal? I certainly had no way of knowing that Theresa would invite Brian to Hillsborough for the weekend.”

“Both of you.”

“What?”

“She invited both of you.”

“So?”

“So … Brian suggested taking me in your place, but you vetoed the idea.”

“That isn’t so,” she said.

He shrugged. “That’s what he told me.”

“Well …” She wanted to throttle Brian. “O.K., then … I’m a desperate woman. You forced it out of me. I confess. Til stop at nothing until I’ve got you in my clutches. C’mon, Simon … what is it you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me you planned this.”

She threw up her hands. “O.K. Fine. Easy enough. I planned this.”

“You planned this at least two weeks ago,
knowing
this would be the eve of my departure.”

“Simon, what the hell are you getting at?”

“I think you know.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what …”

“You and Brian are trying to have a baby. I know that already.”

That stopped her cold for a moment. “From Brian, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“Well … what if we are?” It wasn’t much, but it was all she could muster.

“Then … that means you’re off the pill.”

She felt the blood pounding in her temples. The moment took on an ominous quality as a woman in harlequin glasses began to play “He Is Risen” on a portable electric organ behind the cross. Mary Ann scanned the crowd in search of her cameraman, then turned back to Simon. “This is easily the most bizarre conversation I have ever …”

“You never said a word about contraception, Mary Ann. Not a word. Don’t you think that’s a little strange for a woman who’s trying …”

“I think you don’t know
shit
about romance, Simon. That’s what I think. What did you expect me to do? Ask you if you had a rubber or something? I can’t believe we’re even
discussing
this!”

He gave her a distant, weary smile. “Such indignation. My-my.”

“Well, what the hell do you …? Look, I have to find my cameraman.”

He caught her arm. “No.”

“What?”

“I have something else to tell you.”

“What?”

“Your friend Connie … the one who was looking for you.”

“Yeah?”

“She left a message for you.”

Please, God,
she thought.
Don’t let Connie drive the final nail.
“She said to tell you to be sure to watch Channel Nine yesterday at two o’clock.”

She nodded. “So?”

“Well … you weren’t at home, so I watched it for you, considerate fellow that I am. Any idea what you missed?”

“Simon, the service is starting in exactly …”

“C’mon … give us a guess.”

“Frankly, I really don’t care what that asinine woman …”

“It was a chat show, Mary Ann. Three housewives discussing their husbands’
sterility.”

‘The word hovered between them like nerve gas.

“It so happens,” she said finally, “that Connie’s husband is sterile, and she had artificial insem …”

“It so happens that Connie doesn’t have a husband.”

She looked away from him.

“At least,” he added, “that’s what
she
said.”

She hesitated, then said: “Sounds like you two got along famously.”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I rather liked her. I found her candor refreshing.”

“Great. Terrific.” She turned and walked away.

Once again, he stopped her. “Is this how you’re going to handle this?”

“Handle what? I have a job to do.”

“Oh … right. This is a working weekend, isn’t it?”

“Let go of me, Simon.”

“You’ve been a busy little beaver, haven’t you?”

“Simon …”

“Are you absolutely sure that three times was enough … or shall we have another go at it right here?”

She pulled free of his grip and slapped him hard. He reeled slightly but didn’t change his stance. She could see the imprint of her fingers on his pale face. His nostrils flared. When he brought his fingers to his cheek, the cynical glint had faded from his eyes and the look that remained made her heartsick.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be,” he replied.

“What do you want me to do?”

He shrugged. “Deny it, I suppose.”

She hesitated.

“I thought so,” he nodded, turning away from her.

“Simon, look … it isn’t as black and white as … where are you going?”

“Home. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.”

“But … the service.”

“Thanks awfully, but I know how it turns out.”

“No … I mean … you don’t have a ride. I can’t leave until …”

“Then I’ll call a taxi.” He was plunging through the undergrowth in search of the path.

“Simon, please don’t …”

But he was already gone.

Guilt Trip

I
T WAS WELL PAST NOON WHEN MONA RETURNED TO THE
kitchen and found Teddy rinsing his breakfast dishes. “Your friend is quite smashing,” he said.

“Which one?” asked Mona, just to be difficult.

“Well … the little brown one is cute, but …”

“Never mind. Spare me.”

“I gave them my little Cook’s tour of the grounds. The dog graveyard … all that. They seemed quite taken with the place. It was rather sweet, I must say … seeing it all through their eyes.” He rubbed a damp rag across an egg-encrusted plate. “I think you should talk to your friend, Mona.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Well …”

“You didn’t tell him anything about tonight, did you?”

“Well … I’m amazed, really, that
you
haven’t told him.”

She was working on an answer for that when they both heard the crunch of tires against gravel in the courtyard. Teddy peered through the leaded windows above the sink with a look of bug-eyed horror. “Bloody hell.”

“Who is it?”

“The buyers. His wife, rather.”

“I thought they weren’t expected until …”

“They weren’t. I expect she’s come to take more Polaroids.”

“For
what?”

“I don’t know. Her decorator needs them. It’s too vile to think about. Look. I’m right. She’s brought that fucking camera.” He blotted his hands hastily on the damp rag. “Be a lamb, will you? I’ll take care of her, but come and rescue me in, say, ten minutes.”

After he had gone, she used the stairway closest to the library to creep back to her room for makeup repair. Her auburn roots had become distinctly visible, reminding her that the end was near. If she neglected them for another week or so, she could go for punk and nobody would be the wiser.

She gave Teddy his allotted ten minutes, then strolled down to the great hall with an ill-prepared lie on her lips. “Sorry to bother you, Teddy. Mr. Harris wants to talk to you. On the phone.”

Teddy and the buyer’s wife were standing next to the huge window facing the chapel. The woman was a broad-beamed blonde in a blue blazer. “Mr. Harris?” said Teddy, turning to Mona with a look of mild confusion.

“You know … the gardener.”

“Oh. Of course. Mr. Hargis. Right. Well, I expect he wants instructions. Do make yourself at home, Fabia. Oh … Fabia, this is Mona. I trust you two will get acquainted.” He backed away, then all but broke into a run.

Smirking, the woman watched his exit. Then she turned to Mona: “How very odd.”

“Uh … what?”