Be My Baby Tonight (13 page)

Tim shook his head. “Red convertible, all
that weird junk she keeps bidding for on e-Bay. That baseball
player figurine she made for me in her ceramics class—you know, the
one with the bobbing head? I know she painted it to look like a
Phillies uniform, and I know she put my name and number on the
back, but when she told me she thought she’d captured my face? If I
looked like that, Jack, I’d have to wear a bag over my head. The
damn thing has rouge or something painted on its cheeks, and
lipstick, for crying out loud.”

“Hey, don’t tell me your troubles. Mine’s
wearing Yankee pinstripes—except they’re going the wrong way.”

Tim picked up his beer once more, laughing.
“Sure, we’ll be there for the party. We wouldn’t miss it. My game’s
at one.”

“So’s mine. I do the post game wrap-up on
radio, and I’m outta there. Keely’s planning some kind of buffet
dinner for around seven, just to be sure. Then we’re on the road
for almost two weeks. Do you think Suzanna will be working out of
the Allentown office? I trust Aunt Sadie, when she’s not trying to
make me listen to her audition song for
South Pacific,
that
is, but I’d be happier if Suzanna was around, to keep Keel company.
She’s almost seven months along, you know.”

“I don’t know where she’ll be,” Tim said, and
his mood plummeted again, because he didn’t know. He’d be home, the
Phillies were starting an extended home stand, their last west
coast swing over for the year, but Suzanna could be in Phoenix next
week, or even Seattle.

This wasn’t right. He was supposed to know
where his wife would be. And she was supposed to be with
him.
Here, in this house, or in the Philadelphia apartment.
Just with him.

He looked down, because a cat was rubbing
against his legs. It was Lucky, the no-good, double-crossing
Romeo.

That brought up another thought Tim really
didn’t want to have. Procreation. Margo’s, most definitely, and the
possibility that Suzanna might soon...

“So,” Tim said quickly, banishing that
particular thought, “have you and Keel ever thought about getting
Candy a kitten?”

* * *

Suzanna put away her toothbrush, still
feeling what she believed to be a stupid thrill, seeing it sitting
there, right beside Tim’s, and headed back into the bedroom.

She loved this room.

Keely had told her that Tim, for all his
bluster about just looking at pictures and then “picking stuff,”
had actively participated in every last detail of his house, both
the building of it and the furnishings.

He’d picked this bed. A huge thing, with four
solid posts and a wooden top that was all carved inside and had
striped draperies tied to it, like something out of an English
castle. It was so high that Suzanna used the small two-step affair
that she’d always assumed was only used by modern furniture makers
as a sort of affectation.

The room was done all in deep greens and
golds and touches of navy. Oriental rugs were scattered on the
hardwood floors, and the dresser and armoire were huge. Everything
was huge, even the deep tray ceiling that had to be at least
fifteen feet above her head.

And the window. How could she not love the
triple-hung window with the stained-glass oriel top? Keely hadn’t
put any drapes there, because the architecture of the windows was
more than enough, and the bedroom overlooked nothing more than the
privacy of oak trees that had probably been growing on this rolling
hill for about a century.

Coming home was like entering another
century, actually. And that made sense, because English history and
Mrs. Butterworth’s classes had always been Tim’s favorites. He was
a thoroughly modern man, but he was also a traditionalist. And he
might have said he liked the castle in that tapestry in the foyer,
but she knew darn well he’d also be able to tell her when and where
it had been made, how long it had taken to make it, and exactly
what historical event the scene depicted.

Tim had made sure he had every modern
convenience in his house, but, between them, he and Keely had
managed to hide them all, so that there were no jarring surprises
like air-conditioning wall vents visible next to a four-foot-high
Chinese vase, or naked television screens marring the decor
anywhere.

Even Tim’s flat-screen wall TV in his den had
been camouflaged by the painting of a hunt scene that rose toward
the ceiling at the push of a button.

Amazing what money could buy.

And yet this was a home, not just a
showplace. Keely had also made sure of that. Sure, Suzanna knew
she’d add a few things, someday, rearrange some of the furniture if
the spirit took her. But, by and large, this was Tim’s home, and
she was happy in it.

“Hi, there,” she said, easing out of the
filmy dressing gown that went with her new negligee—she loved
negligees—and slipped into bed beside Tim, who was paging through a
copy of
Sports Illustrated.
“You in there?”

He closed the magazine, tossed it onto the
bedside table. “Not that week. It’s the swimsuit issue. I forgot I
had it.”

Suzanna looked past him, noticing that he’d
thrown the magazine so that the back cover faced up. “Swimsuit
issue, huh? How lonely have you been?”

“Not that lonely,” he said, reaching for her,
and she decided that it was okay to talk later. Maybe even
tomorrow. What was her rush?

Except that Tim stopped, just as he was about
to kiss her. “Suze?”

“Hmmm,” she said, reaching for the snap on
his pajama bottoms. He didn’t wear tops, but he had the sexiest
collection of pajama bottoms.

“About... us.”

He
wanted to talk? Well, how about
that.

“Us. Sure. What about us?”

“Well,” he said, and she sat up to look at
him, because his voice sounded sort of strained. Not at all like
him.

“Yes?” she urged, getting nervous. “What
about us?”

He sat up as well, pulled a pillow from
behind him and laid it in his lap, rested his elbows on it.
“Remember that first night, Suze?”

She smiled. “You just remembered who seduced
whom? If I give you a quarter, will you promise to forget
again?”

“I think we can safely say it was pretty
mutual, babe. But what I’m trying to remember is your answer to a
question I had.”

“You had a question?” Suzanna shook her head,
not understanding.

“Yeah. Oh, hell,” he said, throwing the
pillow onto the floor. “Birth control, Suze. I asked you about
birth control. I’m sure I did. And you said you were fine.”

Suzanna felt her stomach coiling into one
huge knot. “I don’t... Oh, wait, yes, I do. You asked me if I was
okay. That was it.
Okay.”

“That’s what I remember. And you said you
were fine.”

“I did?”

“Well, something like that. Maybe
never
better?”

“Never better? What’s that supposed to
mean?”

“You’re asking
me?
” Tim stabbed his
fingers through his hair. “I thought it meant you were on the pill,
something like that.”

“I see,” Suzanna said, caught between anger
and anguish. “You thought I had sex so often that I needed to be on
the pill? Different city every week, different man every night? Is
that it?”

“No! Oh, cripes, I hate this. I didn’t think
that, Suze. I guess I wasn’t really thinking.”

She looked down at her hands, saw that she’d
laced her fingers together so tightly that her knuckles had turned
white. “I thought you didn’t care. I mean, I thought you never said
anything. And then you never used anything, or asked me to use
anything...”

Nothing. He didn’t say a word. Silence
clogged the room.

“Tim? Would it be so bad? I mean, if I were
to get pregnant?”

“No,” he said.

Squeaked, actually. The word had come out in
a definite squeak.

“I see,” she said, sliding out of the bed and
picking up her dressing gown, which she’d laid over the bedside
chair done up in stripes to match the hangings.

Then she took the dressing gown off again and
climbed back into the bed. “No, I’m not leaving.”

“Good. Ah, Suze,” he said, reaching for
her.

“
You
are,” she said, pushing at his
chest with both hands. “Get out, Tim. Out of this bed, out of this
room. Now.”

“You’re kidding, right? What did I say that
was so terrible?”

“It isn’t what you said, Tim; it’s how you
said it. And how you looked when you said it. Like a deer trapped
in headlights. You thought I was on the pill. You did, didn’t
you?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again,
probably so she couldn’t listen to his tone and accuse him of
anything else.

“And now that you know I’m not, you’re trying
to pretend it doesn’t matter, that it would be just fine with you
if I were to get pregnant. In a pig’s eye, Tim. It’s the
last
thing you want.”

Now he did speak. “You’re right, it is. Right
now, Suze, just for right now. I mean, we just got married. Why
can’t we have some time to ourselves first? Jack’s happy as a clam,
having Candy, having Keely pregnant. I want kids. But I think I’d
rather we waited a while, babe, that’s all. You could maybe quit
your job next year, travel with me when I go on the road? I mean,
what’s the rush?”

“Get... out,” Suzanna said, pointing toward
the door. “Go downstairs, Tim, sit in your favorite chair, and
think about this, okay? Next wife, Tim, discuss birth control
before
you hop into bed with her every five seconds for
seven weeks—almost two whole months.”

He got out of the bed and actually headed
toward the door, before stopping, coming over to her. “Are you
saying that you’re... you know?”

“No, Tim. I’m not... you know. Of course I’m
not. So you can rest easy about that. You just can’t do it in this
bed. Not tonight. Now go away. Here, take this,” she ended,
flinging his pillow at him.

A second pillow hit the side of the door just
as he was leaving. “And don’t call me babe!”

It was only after he’d gone that Suzanna
hopped out of bed and dug around in the desk in front of the
window, hunting up a calendar, her hands trembling as she counted
the days....

Going back down to the minors is the toughest

thing to handle in baseball.

— Gaylord Perry, pitcher

Tim shuffled toward the kitchen, rubbing at
his stiff neck. He could have slept in the other furnished bedroom.
He’d known that. But he’d been punished. Thrown out of his own bed.
That pretty much meant he should sleep on the couch in his den,
suffer on the couch in his den, so he could look pitiful and
forgivable the next morning.

At least that was the way it worked in the
movies. “Are we speaking this morning?” he asked when he saw
Suzanna, all dressed and brushed and looking well rested, sitting
at the breakfast bar, sipping orange juice. “I suppose,” she said,
not looking away from the Morning news show playing on the small
flat-screen television set usually hidden behind a wooden pull-down
door Keely had called an “appliance garage.”

“Good. What are we saying?”

“I don’t know. Did you sleep well?”

“No. And I’ve got one hell of a stiff
neck.”

“Good.”

“Yeah,” he said, pouring his own orange
juice. “I thought you’d like that.”

He carried the glass over to the breakfast
bar and sat down on the stool next to Suzanna.

She got up, carried her glass to the sink,
ran tap water into it, and then began emptying the dishwasher.

“I’m going to go shower, okay?”

“I’m not stopping you,” Suzanna said, and Tim
flinched as she began flinging silverware into the drawer with more
energy than he considered necessary.

His mom used to do that. Slam plates, bang
cabinet doors. And his dad used to head for the hills until he
could find a big box of candy with a red ribbon on it. Flowers,
too, if Mom was mad enough.

Smart man, his dad.

What was that old saying? He that fights and
runs away, lives to fight another day?

At least he lives.

“I’ll... I’ll just go take that shower
now.”

“Do that. But I’ll probably be gone before
you come back down. I have to get to the office.”

Tim looked up at the clock. “But it’s only
six-thirty.”

“Sean called a breakfast meeting.”

Okay, so maybe him that fights and sticks
around also has a point. “Sean Blackthorne? Your boss? The one who
sent a contribution to some animal shelter in our name as a wedding
present? That Sean?”

“It was a nice gesture,” Suzanna said,
beginning her assault on the clean dinner plates.

“What? As a kid, was he all impressed with
Bob Barker on
The Price Is Right?
‘Don’t forget, have your
pet spayed or neutered’? Every show, every day, don’t forget, have
my
—your
pet spayed or neutered.”

“And he’s right. Except, of course, if you’re
going to breed your animal. An animal like Margo, for instance. I
got her from Sean, you know. He breeds Persians.”

Margo. With the pink and erect nipples. And
another country heard from, Tim thought, and definitely hostile
territory he didn’t want to tread right now. “Margo, right. So,
tell me, babe, are you still planning on breeding her?”

Suzanna shook her head. “No, I’ve decided
against it. Sean was telling me the other night that Persians can
be tricky. Lots of possible complications. I love Margo. I don’t
want to take the chance. So I’m going to have her spayed.”

There were three ways to go here, Tim knew.
He could tell Margo what Mrs. B. thought. He could run like hell.
Or he could get mad.

“The other night? What other night? You’ve
been in Saint Louis for a whole damn week. Are you telling me this
Sean Blackthorne guy was there with you? I thought he was the head
honcho. What the hell was he doing there?”