Taylor Made Owens (37 page)

She laughed and replied, “Are you trying to tell me I’m fat?”

“No, just pleasingly plump.”

“I can’t cover it up any longer. I’m pregnant.” The audience cheered.

“Well, we’re waiting for it. Who’s the lucky guy? Boy is he lucky!” The audience laughed on cue.

“The father is the only man I have ever loved, my ex-husband, Bobby Owens.”

“He’s the pitcher, right?”

“Yes.”

“So you dumped him?”

“He left me,” she said sadly as the audience booed the absent father.

“What is he? Nuts or merely blind?” More laughs. “You are one of the most gorgeous women I have ever seen.” More cheers and several shouts of “Woo!” She once more expressed her thanks. “Again, we get a lot of so-called beautiful people on this show, but when they show up you wonder, ‘Are you the same person I salivated over in that movie?’ I mean, they look almost ordinary. But you: my God! Say, if he doesn’t want the job, just let me know if you want a live-in step-father.” More laughter. “So, why the heck did he leave you?”

“I was a terrible wife to him.”

Several people in the audience shouted “No!”

The host responded, “Listen, I’d forgive you anything short of castration. Were you naughty? Oh, please say you were, and tell us all the juicy details.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn’t naughty, except with Bobby.” A chorus of woos. “There were incidents reported while I was on a concert tour last summer that implied I was seeing various guys. I never did! Bobby suspected I was cheating, but I wasn’t. I was never even tempted, but I didn’t deny the rumors in public because I was told the publicity would help my career. In fact, I never acknowledged publicly that we were married because I thought my recording contract forbade it, but that was a misunderstanding, I’m now told.

“Bobby hated that our marriage was secret. He was convinced I didn’t love him because I wouldn’t admit to being his wife. To make matters worse, I was on tour or in the recording studio practically the whole time we were married, and I almost never saw him. Late last August, he told me he didn’t love me, and he demanded a divorce.”

She stopped talking and looked down as her tears stirred. “I begged him to give me another chance, but he refused and made me sign the divorce papers. I still love him with all my heart, and I’m begging him to come back to be my husband again and father to our child. Bobby, come back to me, and I promise I’ll be your faithful, loving wife.” The audience cheered.

“Does he know you’re pregnant with his child?”

“Yes, I called him to tell him.”

“What did he say?”

She said while crying, “He told me it’s my baby, not his … and he didn’t want … to … to see me anymore.”

That got the audience booing again with many going “Ah!” to commiserate with her. Cries of “Deadbeat!” echoed in the studio.

“You’ll forgive me for asking, ‘Is he worth having back?’” That raised a cheer.

“Oh, yes! He’s everything I ever wanted in a man. He’s the only person I can really be myself with. And he’s the heroic type. He saved my life when I was fifteen by stepping in front of me before I got hit by a truck. And he did something so much more special for so many people … I can’t tell you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve said too much already. He’ll be so angry with me if I say anything else. He hates the media spotlight. I’ll just say that it’s another reason why I love him so much.”

“If he’s such a great guy, why won’t he take responsibility for his child?”

Several people went, “Yeah!”

“I don’t know. I guess he hates me.”

Many in the studio audience said, “No!”

“I can’t imagine that,” said the host as the band struck up a tune to announce a station break. “I hope it turns out well for you. J.Tay, everyone.” The crowd cheered. The show went to commercial, and Jennifer left, hoping Robert would see or hear about the interview and contact her.

Entertainment news reporters were on this poignant story, hoping for a storybook ending, but her public appeal yielded no fruit. There was no word from Robert. They tracked him down to the farm team and hounded him with questions: “Do you acknowledge being the father? Why do you refuse to do the right thing?”

All he said was this was nobody’s business, and demanded to be left alone. The reporters filled air time for several days with updates showing a tearful Jennifer Taylor and a callous Robert Owens refusing to talk to them.

Women’s groups took up her cause for their cause: if it can happen to her, it can happen to anyone, so give us money. They portrayed him as a deadbeat father, a fiend who has his way with a woman, then leaves her to sort out the consequences.

Robert was distressed with this unwelcome attention and directed his ire at the author of it. He decided to go to her in mid-April to demand she call off the wolves. He hacked into her computer to get her schedule and learned she’d be at a fancy restaurant the next noon that catered to the stars in New York. There he went.

He saw Jennifer sitting with three well-known movie stars, two men and a woman, and tried to get her attention. “Jenny! Jennifer Taylor!” She looked in his direction, but turned away with a dismissive jerk of her head. That was the same reaction she gave to any peasant who wanted her attention, and it enraged him further.

“Sir, please keep your voice down,” ordered the maitre d’. “What do you want?”

“I want to see Jennifer Taylor.”

“I’m sorry, but this is an exclusive restaurant. The stars expect their privacy here, and we ensure they get it.”

“Yes, I’m aware of your exclusivity, you pompous pr—” The man summoned the bouncer with a wave of his hand. Robert continued, “I don’t want any trouble. I just need to speak to her for a couple of minutes.”

“Leave now.”

“Just go get her. Tell her Bob Owens is here.”

“I can’t tell you how many people come here with a request to go fetch a celebrity. We don’t bother our customers with it.”

The bouncer arrived. “Take out the trash?” he said. He turned to Robert and recommended, “Get out now before I have to get rough.”

“Listen, shithead, lay a finger on me and you’ll be picking the willnots out of your arse crack with your teeth. I’ve asked nicely—well, I mean before the arse crack crack—now I’ll just go get her myself. Step aside and you won’t get hurt.”

The bouncer attempted to grab him. With a nifty move he’d learned in the Army, Robert intercepted the man’s arm, and twisted him around, with his arm cocked tightly against his back. The maitre d’ ran off to call the police. Robert pushed the arm in a direction it wasn’t meant to go, a bit short of the breaking point.

“Back down now, or I’ll break it.”

He said, “Okay! Okay!” Robert let go, but the man came at him again. Mistake. Two haughty ladies and a gay man screamed as the unconscious bouncer pelted the floor.

Robert said, “Liar,” as he stepped over him walking toward Jennifer. With the attention of the entire restaurant riveted on him, he marched over to Jennifer’s table.

“Bobby! What are you doing here?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“I secured an invitation to this restaurant the only way a plebian can: by force. I was reduced to this after the snootiest bitch in the world gave me her signature brush-off.”

“I didn’t see you, I swear to God.”

“Bullshit. You looked right at me.”

“So many people try to get my attention, I see right through them. I didn’t expect you here, so I didn’t recognize you. You know how much I’ve wanted to see you. Why would I brush you off?”

“Habit? Whatever. Now to the point: How dare you!”

“Not here. Let’s go outside and talk,” she said as she stood.

He laughed derisively. “You announce to millions what a deadbeat I am, and now you’re uncomfortable in front of a few supercilious twerps? You’re unbelievable. How dare you air our dirty laundry for everyone to see. You’ve subjected me to ridicule and even hatred.”

“I’m sorry, but I was desperate to contact you. I need to talk to you about our child.”

“Your child, not mine!” The flash of a camera went off as he yelled at her.

“Yes, Bobby, yours. Take responsibility.”

“Who is this asshole?” asked the attractive movie starlet.

Robert said, “Oh, I just saw your latest movie. It’s your best work. Keep improving and someday you’ll be awful.”

Her beau, a popular and muscular star of action movies who fancied himself the hero he always portrayed, stood and invited Robert outside for a lesson in manners. Nearby patrons clapped.

Robert tittered and warned, “Sit down before you get hurt.” The man threw a punch, which Robert easily dodged. “Send in the double,” Robert teased. Then he reiterated, “Please sit. I don’t want to hurt you.” The man tried another punch, but Robert parried it and kicked his legs out from under him; his face came crashing down onto the table. More screaming patrons.

The action star sat up with an astonished look and a bloody lip. Robert glowered at the other actor, who put up his hands to communicate,
No problem here
. Recognizing the man, Robert grinned and mentioned, “Hey, you’re, like, my favorite actor. Nice to meet you.” The man nodded uncomfortably.

“Bobby, stop this!” commanded Jennifer.

The smile quit his face as he turned to Jennifer, seized her upper arm, and whispered, “What the hell did you say about something really special I did for so many people?”

“Nothing, I swear. I just said that much, that’s all. You’re hurting me.” He let go.

“Well, that’s enough for all those nosey bastards to keep asking me what I did that was so special.” He turned up the volume again, continuing, “So keep your goddamn mouth shut.”

“I was just trying to defend you when people were booing.”

“The booing that you caused? I’m hearing a lot of that everywhere I go now because of your big mouth.”

“If you were honest with yourself, you’d know you deserve the criticism. You are the father, Bobby.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I was never unfaithful to you. Take a paternity test if you please.”

At a whisper again, he said, “You were supposed to be on the pill. Tell me you conveniently forgot to take it.”

“Well, I have a very hectic life. I did forget it for a while there.”

“The same
while
I was warning you I was going to end things? This was your way of keeping me around, right?”

“Our baby’s due in five and a half weeks. Please come to see the birth. I need you to be with me. Please?”

“No! You cost me Krissy, and I hate you for that. I don’t want anything to do with you or the baby. Do not ever, ever bring this up in public again!” He left.

Jennifer ran off to the washroom sobbing.

The gossip columnist for the
Post
ran off to her computer to write tomorrow’s column entitled, “Heartless Ex-pitcher Rejects Singer’s Plea to Reunite.” He was portrayed as a brute who barged into an exclusive restaurant, terrorized the patrons, beat up a star and a bouncer, and manhandled his weeping ex-wife, who had merely asked him to do what was decent. The story was picked up by papers across the continent. Only Jennifer’s intercession precluded an arrest for assault and battery.

•

“Gertrude,” said Mr. Carlton, “some jackass baseball player who left his pregnant wife high and dry is giving London a black eye. I’d like to give him a black eye. I hate them spoiled, rich baseball players …”

•

The renewed pressure lasted longer this time. Fans of his team booed him every time he pitched, thereby inciting him to perform at the top of his game. After going unbeaten in his first five starts, he was promoted to triple-A in Rochester. There the pressure subsided. It had been a few weeks since the incident in the restaurant, and he was in a new city where few knew his history. He lay low and pitched his best in hopes of earning another shot at the majors.

Jennifer had their baby four days after he was called up to Rochester. She was hoping he’d walk through the doors until the last minute. She had to settle for her mother; her father stayed in the waiting room. The flawless little girl was named after Jennifer’s mother, who’d expressed her expectation that her granddaughter would have her name, and the baby’s father, with the hope that it might make him more likely to accept her: Kara Taylor Owens.

•

Out west, Kristen wrapped up her residency in pediatrics that June. Stanford offered her the position of Chief Resident in the children’s hospital, with an appointment to the faculty as an Instructor of Pediatrics. It was difficult to turn down that honor, but she had several other attractive offers for fellowships at top university hospitals in pediatric oncology, including Stanford, Johns Hopkins, Harvard, and UCSF, and she wanted to get on with training in her chosen specialty. It was also awkward working with Dr. Katz, whose marriage proposal she had rejected the year prior. She accepted the fellowship offer from UCSF with a start date of July first.

I
n late July, Robert got called up to the Twins. The team was in first place, with all eyes on the pennant. It had been so far, so good with his shoulder, and he was hopeful that problem was behind him. He got his first chance to pitch in early August, with his team behind the Royals. He pitched hard and did well, but he felt a definite twinge in his shoulder during his third inning of work. The pitching coach noticed a change in his delivery and came out to the mound to ask why.

“I felt some discomfort in my shoulder,” he admitted. He was immediately taken out. The trainer gave him the green light to stay in the bullpen, but he was used sparingly during August. When he did appear, he was effective.

When Jennifer found out he was back on the Twins, she went to see him in another attempt to get him to fulfill his responsibilities. She came to the ballpark two hours before game time one day in early September, went up to him and said, “Bobby, meet our daughter, Kara Owens. Isn’t she perfect? Take her in your arms. You’ll fall in love with her, I promise.”