Babycakes (37 page)

She didn’t get it.

He tweaked one of his nipples.

“Oh.” She laughed uneasily, then tried to counter with her own joke; it might be the only way out of this mess. “Yeah,” she said. “I told him to hell with Immigration—he’ll never make it through the metal detector.”

He remained sullen.

She studied his face, then got up and went to the dresser and began arranging his breakfast dishes on the tray. “I’m going back to Seattle in two days,” she said. “I’ve had a nice little vacation … made some money. And everyone’s better off. I don’t need this guilt trip. Mouse.”

“That’s your doing,” he said, “Not mine.”

She slammed down the marmalade jar. “When the fuck did you get to be such a little prig?”

He didn’t answer right away. “You don’t know what I am,” he said quietly. “You haven’t stopped running long enough to find out.”

“Mouse …”

“What do you want from me, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you telling me this now? What do you want me to say? Congratulations on a lucrative but meaningless marriage?”

She picked up the tray and headed for the door. “I wanted your blessing, I guess. I have no idea why. I have no idea why I’m even talking to you.”

“If you ever made a real commitment …”

“Oh, fuck you, Mouse! just … fuck you. I don’t need this. Since when did you get to be an expert on commitment. You and Jon and your half-assed little … whatever you call that relationship …”

He scorched her with a long, silent glance. “I’ll give him your best,” he said.

She drew herself up and tried to remain calm. “I’m my own person,” she said.

“Fine,” he replied. “Go for it.”

She looked at him a moment longer and stormed out, marching back to her room with the tray. She threw herself on the bed but avoided a crying jag by rising again and hurling a paperweight at the suit of armor next to the window.

Hearing the noise, Teddy came running. “Good Lord,” he murmured. “Are you all right?”

She glared at the pile of metal on the floor. “I hate that fucking militarist drag.”

He nodded. “I didn’t much fancy it myself.”

She slumped into a chair.

“Is it … jitters?” he asked.

“We have to talk,” she replied.

Undoing the Damage

I
T WAS ROUGHLY SEVEN-THIRTY WHEN MARY ANN CLIMBED
out of the camera truck at the foot of the Barbary Lane stairway. Without stopping to admire the daffodils sprouting between the garbage cans, she went directly to Simon’s apartment and knocked on the door. When he opened it, he was wearing Michael’s green robe.

“Yes?”

“I want to start over,” she said.

“Meaning?”

“I want your forgiveness.”

He gave her a thin smile. “Wail a bit, won’t you? I haven’t forgiven myself yet.”

“For what?”

“Oh … damning the torpedoes.”

“What?”

“I knew what you were doing,” he said. “I suspected. I could have said no … and I didn’t.”

“That wasn’t all I was doing. Simon.”

“Don’t,” he said. “It isn’t necessary. There’s no point in getting muddled over motives.”

“No … I want you to be clear on this.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder, wondering about Mrs. Madrigal. “Do you mind if I come in?”

He hesitated.

“Please,” she whispered. “Just for a little while?”

He nodded and stepped out of her way. She went in and took a seat on the end of the sofa. Simon remained standing, pacing solemnly with his arms folded. The damage she had done was evident in his eyes.

“I was going to tell you,” she said.

He made a little muttering noise.

“I would never have done this with someone who didn’t matter to me.”

He stopped pacing and looked at her.

“Can’t you take it as a compliment?” she asked.

“I could,” he replied, “but I haven’t yet.”

“Well … think about it. It’s not like this was a one-night stand or something. I put some thought into it, you know.”

He seemed amused by that. “Does Brian know?”

“No, of course not!”

“Well, this is laid-back California. It seemed perfectly reasonable to assume …”

“Is that what you think of me, Simon?”

He shrugged.

“Well … O.K., forget about me. But Brian would never do that.”

“Comforting,” said Simon.

“He doesn’t know anything.” She decided to throw herself on his mercy. “He doesn’t even know he’s sterile. The hell of it is …
he’s
the one who wants the baby. It’s no big deal with me. He doesn’t have a job now, and he thinks the baby would be something he could …”

“Wait. Stop.”

“Yeah?”

“How do you know he’s sterile, if he doesn’t know it?”

“I just do,” she said.

He nodded. “Very well. Proceed.”

“Well … that’s it. I wanted to give him a baby … so I came up with this dumb idea.”

“And artificial insemination didn’t occur to you?”

She nodded. “Connie suggested it. I hated the idea. It isn’t … personal enough.” It sounded so stupid that she smiled apologetically. “I thought I could do it without hurting anybody. I didn’t. I fucked up.”

He looked directly at her. “Then last night …?” He waved away the thought.

“What? Last night what?”

“Were you really …?”

“Into it?” she asked, finishing his question.

“Yes.”

“Simon … couldn’t you tell?” She caught his hand. “Don’t go back to England thinking I’m a monster. I’ve had such a wonderful time with you.”

He stood there, keeping his distance, looking down on her.

“I think you’re a gentle, intelligent … incredibly sexy man.”

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“I mean it.”

He nodded.

“I’ll always remember you. I don’t need a baby for that.”

“Thank you.”

“Stop saying thank you,” she said. “Come here. Don’t be so insecure.”

“I’ve had a vasectomy,” he said.

“What?”

“I’ve had a vasectomy.”

She tried to read his face. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Are you?”

She looked at him a moment longer, then leaned down and took his cock in her mouth.

“Thank you,” he said.

This time she didn’t bother to reply.

Sack Time

T
HE SKYLIGHT ABOVE THERESA’S LIVING ROOM HAD
taken on a creepy, milky translucence—like a giant eyeball with a cataract. Brian stared at it in disbelief. Had they really been up all night?

“You’re a lotta fun,” said Theresa.

“Oh … sorry.” Had she asked him a question? What lime was it, anyway?

“You’re grinding your teeth,” she said. She was on the sofa across from him, her feet tucked under the heart-shaped ass. “I think it’s sack time.”

“Yeah.”

“Want some papaya juice?”

“Great.”

She rose. “I’ll get us a ‘lude too.”

“That’s O.K.”

“It’ll bring us down.”

He shook his head. “I don’t do ‘ludes anymore.”

“Well … a joint, then.”

Three minutes later, she returned with a glass of juice and a joint that was already lit. She held it for him as he toked, pressing her fingers against his lips. “I like the feel of your mouth,” she said.

“Thanks,” he replied.

Her laughter seemed brittle. “You can do better than that.”

“Sorry. I’m kinda zonked.”

“The joint’ll fix you right up.”

He would have to be more explicit. “Hey … I hate to be a party pooper, but I am really tired. It’s been great, really. If you’ll show me which bedroom is mine, I’ll …”

“Jesus Christ.” She flung the joint into an ashtray. “What the hell have we been doing all night?”

She had jarred him. “Uh … rapping, I thought.”

“Rapping?
How quaint!”

“Look, Terry … I’m sorry, O.K.?”

“Don’t be.”

“You knew I was married,” he said.

She stared at him incredulously. “You’re not going to tell me that’s the
reason?”

“Well … partially.”

“So what’s the other part?”

“Well … that’s the main reason, more or less.”

“This is un-fucking-believable.”

“Also … I’m not real terrific after a lot of coke. That’s another reason.”

“That’s not a reason. I’ve told you I have ‘ludes.”

He rose on wobbly legs. “This has been a real experience, believe me.”

“Swell.”

“If you’d told me last month that I’d spend Easter doing coke with the wife of the man who …”

“Shut up about him.”

“I didn’t mean that you aren’t …”

“I know what you meant, Brian. I know who you came here for.” She retrieved the roach and relit it with trembling hands. “You should’ve fucked
him
when he was still alive. He might have appreciated it.”

She smiled at him with surprising tenderness, then handed him the roach. “I think you should go home,” she said.

Nanny Knows Best

T
HEY FORMED A BIG T AGAINST THE RUMPLED FLANNEL
sheets, Simon from side to side, she with her head against his trampoline-tight stomach.

“I’m curious about something,” she said.

“Mmm.”

“Why did you get a vasectomy?”

“Oh … well, actually, my nanny talked me into it.”

“C’mon.”

“It’s quite true. She gave me a stern little lecture. She said I was a confirmed bachelor and flagrantly irresponsible and it was the only decent thing to do. It was a remarkable speech.”

“Was she right?”

“About what? Flagrantly irresponsible?”

“No. Confirmed bachelor.”

He hesitated. “More or less, I suppose. Marriage is rough on a true romantic.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Maybe,” she said.

“A certain spontaneity is lost, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then why are we doing this?”

She rolled over on her stomach and kissed his navel. “Because I like you very much. And I like doing this without babies on the brain.”

“You’re not sorry, are you?”

“No.”

“It hasn’t utterly devastated your marriage?” She gave him a little pinch, smiling.

“Just asking,” he said.

“Brian isn’t everything to me, but … he’s the only constant.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“It would take a long time for me to fall out of love with him. It took long enough to love him. He’s sort of like … a maze I wandered into.”

“You’re brighter than he is,” he said.

“I know. I don’t care. He gives me other things.” She shifted slightly, kissing him again. “You’ve given me something too.”

“What?”

“Oh … a fresh perspective.”

“On your husband.” He said it without rancor.

“Not just that.”

“Then … I’m glad.”

“I’ll think about you,” she said.

“I’ll think about you,” he replied. “Should we be watching the clock?”

“Huh?”

“Brian.”

“Oh … he’s not coming back till afternoon.”

He chuckled. “I should have known you’d know that.”

Red-handed

T
HE CLOCK IN THE LE CAR SAID EIGHT TWENTY-THREE
when Brian parked on Leavenworth and began the trek up the Barbary Lane stairway. There were birds twittering in the eucalyptus trees, and the neighborhood tabby had already staked out a sunning spot on the first landing. He sat down and stroked the old cat’s belly.