A New Lu (20 page)

28

My feelings are a surprise to me. Forty whizzed by on the tail of a comet so bright I didn't ponder it. I don't remember thirty. Seriously. But here I am, staring at the big 5-0 on the calendar of my birth date, appalled by where I am in my life.

The
Five-O
staff took me to lunch yesterday. I was ready for the usual gagfest of black balloons, tubes of Preparation H and denture cream. Instead, I got a “You Go, Girl” bash.

At Tai's behest, we took a train into lower Manhattan and celebrated at one of those no-oven, drinks-centric bars with an incredibly imaginative menu. Should have been a winner. But reality bites. Everyone happily drank themselves into stupors with Incredible Hulks and Tequinis while I sipped mineral water, scarfed down outrageously priced hors d'oeuvres and tried not to pout.

There were plenty of well-wishers in my corner. Tai had handed out copies of my first column for all to read as they came in the door. “A quick spot poll,” she assured me. It quickly became a Rorschach test of the staff.

“My
She
-ro!” Babs trilled in delight when she had perused it. Then she gave me a raised-fist salute. “You go, girl!”

I'm amused that she knew this gesture.

Rhonda's voice was hollow with admiration. “I want you to know that we all think what you're doing is so brave. That takes such class, shielding a man who doesn't deserve it. Men can be such selfish bastards!” Then she slammed a fist into the palm of her other hand with the conviction of a veteran of the battle of the sexes.

A little later a combative-looking Brenda waylaid me. “Don't let him get away with it. He has legal responsibilities. And financial ones! My advice, get yourself a good attorney.” When I suggested that there just are some mistakes a person doesn't want to deal with twice, she patted me on the back and said, “That ‘mistake' has a bank account. This is your future he's messed with. Make him pay.”

Curran just sort of stared slack-jawed at me, as if he had thought this protruding belly really was a spontaneous miracle of life. KaZi just glared—at both of us.

Yet for the first time, I've begun to wonder what kind of bargain I've made. Maybe I've let a seed be planted that I had not altogether thought through. Out there in the ether now is the persona of a despicable, dishonest and cowardly mystery man who got me in the family way then deserted the mother ship. As a result, I'm seen as the dupe left holding the maternity bag.

Even so, I smiled really hard when presented with a carved crystal
Five-O
logo to place on my mantel.

“Your survival trophy,” Tai said as she presented it. “God! I can't imagine how it must feel to be you.”

Me, neither. So then, I'm not as brave or blasé as I thought I would be.

That's why at half past ten on a Saturday morning, I'm lying in bed leafing through albums of Dallas and Davin
as tykes, and wondering for the first time since my teen years,
why me?

William seems to think I've kept a part of me hidden. If something was missing, I'm not certain I've yet found it. This new me feels a lot like the old me—only pregnant…and now fifty.

This is not how I envisioned this day. Where's my cruise on the Aegean Sea? My African safari? My getaway with gal pals for a shop till we drop on the floor of Van Cleef & Arpels? Not happening.

Dallas won't be coming home, after all. She has planned a weekend at Cape Cod. She swears it's a business boondoggle that she can't wriggle out of. I'm sure that's the truth. Yet she called a second time to explain, so I know we are still at odds. She did send flowers, a gorgeous bouquet.

Davin has to work parents weekend at summer camp. He sent me a picture of himself and the kids framed in a collection of twigs, nuts, seeds, pods and so forth, gathered and glued together by his “tribe.”

I tell myself I'm not sad about this. It's to be expected that grown children would have lives of their own. To celebrate, Andrea, Cy, Curran and I are going to do lunch. A nice square number.

The sound of the doorbell drags me reluctantly out of bed. I look out the window and see a courier van parked on the curb.

I truck downstairs, wishing it were Fed Ex with some wonderfully elaborate birthday present from some smitten—

“Cy.” Oh no, not from Cy.

No matter how wonderful, extravagant, perfect-forme, delightful it is, it wouldn't be right to accept pure joy and bliss in a box from a man whose marriage proposal I rejected. I failed gold-digger class in fourth grade when conscience made me give back the Day-Glo eraser Jason
Hadley had offered me in exchange for a kiss, which I then refused to deliver.

When I've signed for the box, I realize the guy will expect a tip. “Just a sec.”

“No need.” The courier waves me off.

That's when I see Cy standing on his porch.

He gives me that old-fashioned tip-of-the-hat salute and calls, “Happy birthday, Lu!”

“Thank you,” I call back. Why bother to say that he shouldn't have. Or even, what's in the box? He will just answer, “Don't deny an old man these small joys.”

“See you later!” I shut my door, turning the dead bolt just in case he decides to come over to watch me unwrap something I suspect I'm really going to hate giving back.

When I've opened the outer box I discover a gift wrapped in heavy foil-embossed paper good enough to set with china. The silver-and-plum ribbon is a real silk scarf. Even before I open the card I'm smiling because I know this too-pretty-to-open gift could only come from one source.

The card reads, “Welcome to the best years of your life! Love, Aunt Marvelle.”

It takes a few minutes to unwrap the wide flat box without spoiling the paper. Then I realize what I'm holding.

Still in its Cartier box, circa 1950, is a circlet of diamonds. I don't mean tennis bracelet chain-store type diamonds. These are individually chosen stones for the same color and clarity, graduated in size for artistic arrangement, and set in handcrafted platinum.

I know all of this because Aunt Marvelle first showed this necklace to me when I was six years old. Uncle Harvey was a U.S. attaché to some minor European country where embassy balls and state dinners and weekends on the Côte d'Azur were de rigueur. She sat me before a mirror and dangled the necklace before me, so I could see
what I might look like in it. Even then I knew I was outclassed. All these years later, I've yet to attend a function worthy of this necklace.

After washing my hands, I take the necklace out of the box and lay it very carefully around my neck. It even makes a cotton robe look good.

“Tallulah?” Aunt Marvelle sounds as if I've awakened her with my call.

“Aunt Marvelle. I don't know what to say. I'm overwhelmed!” I'm preening in the mirror even as I speak. “Are you sure you're ready to let go of them?”

“Wear them to your birthday party,” she says matter-of-factly, but I hear the satisfaction of my joy in her voice.

“There's no party worthy of this.”

“Diamonds are the party! I wouldn't have thought I'd have to say that to you, Tallulah. When you're my age, waiting for a proper occasion is a waste of a good time. Now, you just put on impossibly high heels, a flirty skirt, and drink champagne until you can't stand upright without a man's arm about you!”

“You're absolutely right, Aunt Marvelle.” Except about the champagne, and possibly the heels. I'm going to have to tell her about Sweet Tum soon. Tomorrow. “Thank you!”

My Pity Party is over! I've got my health, my work, my home and now a neckful of envy-me diamonds. And, if he can get away, my lover will be here tomorrow.

Not bad for the middle of the journey.

29

Andrea is driving me home from my birthday lunch because, despite my sober state, I'm feeling that sudden exhaustion that occasionally comes over pregnant women. She has a nephew following closely behind in my car. Not that the occasion was any big blast that I hated to leave.

“Curran and Cy didn't say why they couldn't come when they called? And why did they call you and not me?”

Andrea is dancing in her seat to an OutKast tune on the radio. “You don't tell me everything. I don't tell you everything. Okay?”

The suspense of wondering what she could possibly mean is brief. As we pull up, Curran and Cy are sitting on my front steps. Pinned between their shoulders is William.

I don't feel surprise or even alarm. Instead of wondering how the hell I'll explain him to everybody, I'm thinking,
thank you, thank you, thank you, heavens!

“This looks like fun.” Andrea pops out of her low-slung vehicle while I extract myself more slowly. Way ahead of me, she hurries over to greet William with a big hug.

“You know this guy?” I hear Cy ask her.

“Oh, yes. I've seen quite a lot of him.” Andrea winks at William, who shifts uneasily.

“Who is this guy?” Cy demands, as I reach the grouping.

I notice Cy's shirt collar is a bit askew and pat it back down. “I don't believe that's any of your business.”

Curran pops up, his dreads wobbling. “It is when we almost hadda bust a move on him for trying break into your crib!”

“I was just trying to surprise Lu.” I follow William's glance to his feet, where a large gift-wrapped package looks a little the worse for wear. “I tried your back door. It was open so I thought I'd wait inside. Then these two goons—guys jumped me.”

“Yo! Don't be trying to perpetrate.” Curran moves in recklessly close to William and crosses his arms high on his narrow chest. “You get jumped by the Cur, you will know it.”

I grab Curran's arm and jerk him back toward me. “Down, boy. I've got it from here.” I'm afraid to ask what Cy and Curran were doing in my house. I just want them gone. Quickly.

Despite his totally justifiable annoyance, William looks so good to me that I have to keep from bear-hugging him as I say, “I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow.”

“So, you do know this dude?” Curran demands.

“Yes. This is Dr. William Templeton.”

“The kind who makes house calls,” Andrea adds unhelpfully.

Cy's gaze sharpens behind his lens. “Then why didn't he say so?”

“Yeah,” choruses Curran.

Ignoring their questions, I lean in to kiss Cy on the cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me.” I turn to Curran
and tug the inch-long tuft of red beard on his chin. “Both of you. Now, go home.”

Cy doesn't budge. “Not until you've seen your birthday gift.”

I was afraid this was going too well.

It's a crib! A really pricey model made of New Zealand pine that goes from crib to junior bed. Exactly like the ones I have been drooling over in magazines. I have to blink back tears. “It's wonderful! But how did you—Andrea!”

“Cy needed a gift suggestion. This is much nicer than the one you said you could afford,” Andrea coos.

Cy grins like a kid. “You wouldn't let me build a nursery. This is the least I could do. Curran and I set it up after you left for lunch.”

“Oh, Cy. Thank you!”

He gives me a really tight hug. “My gift and my pleasure.”

Curran picks up the lovely but empty pine frame leaning against the wall. “I'm going to do you a layette collage of pics of the baby for the wall,” he says, and then gives William a smirky smile. “You know Lu's carrying a baby?”

“I am a doctor,” William replies with remarkable subtlety.

“Just so you know,” Curran grunts, “she's gots peoples looking out for her. Lots of peoples.”

“The Village People,” I say, and start to laugh.

William holds out his hand to Cy. “Despite our awkward introduction, I'm happy to know that Lu has such good neighbors.”

Cy doesn't shake. “Did Lu tell you I've asked her to marry me?”

“What?” Curran yelps while Andrea whispers,
“Dios!”

William withdraws his hand. “Can we discuss that another time? Lu looks tired.”

Cy sends me a quick, concerned glance. I obligingly yawn.

“I keep an eye on things. You remember that.” Reluctantly Cy turns toward the door.

Andrea gives me the “call me” sign. I give her a thumbs down.

It takes about ten seconds for Cy, Curran and Andrea to close the front door and descend the steps. All the while William stands with hands in pockets looking at me. He's not angry or unhappy or even annoyed anymore. He looks as if he's considering all his options.

Finally, he says, “Do you have any idea how fortunate you are to have such friends?”

“My padded cell will need to be a suite.”

“Don't knock it.”

And then he approaches and puts his arms about me. “Hi,” he says against my ear.

“Hi, yourself.” I hug him back hard.

He kisses my forehead. “So how's the birthday girl?”

I lean against his chest. “So tired I can hardly stand.”

“That's too bad.” He kisses my eyelids as his hands begin a gentle massage of my back. “I'm feeling the need to be very territorial at the moment.”

“Because of Cy and Curran?” I don't laugh but, honestly, he can't be serious. William jealous of Cy or Curran? I try not to think too hard about that. “Now, about that slightly soiled box you brought in…”

He chuckles. “So, you are female after all. Fishing for presents after all I've been through.”

I release him. “I'm so sorry about the earlier ordeal.”

“You warned me.” He shrugs.

“Even so.”

“You're right. It's a lot to take in. So, you want to tell me about that?” He points a finger at my throat, stopping just short of the diamonds. “Is this from Cy, too?”

He is jealous! I smile. “It's Aunt Marvelle's welcome to the over-the-hill gang.”

I watch him recalculate. He wants to believe me. Probably does. But then, what about Cy's proposal? That's the unspoken question swimming beneath the surface of his dark eyes. I'm not going to help him. Any reassurances on my part would be indirect encouragement for something I'm not ready to commit to.

He goes over to the box he brought with him and picks it up. “This did look better.”

Since it's mangled, anyway, I tear the lid off the box and rip right through the paper. Inside is another box, and then another. I'm about to be really annoyed when I get to the fourth. Inside is a midnight-blue satin box studded with sequins. I smile. “Thank you. It's lovely.”

“Don't stop now.” He grins. “Open it.”

I'm a girl. I pull it apart so fast the pair of dangling golden filigree earrings with blue glass spangles inside almost pop free. “They're gorgeous.”

He looks pleased. “I saw them in a shop window and they looked like you.”

“Me? They look like a party in a box.” And ultra feminine and the very last thing I'd expected.

I turn to the nearest mirror and hold one up to my ear. “This is the sexiest present I've ever received.”

“I can't take all the credit. The box was the saleslady's idea.”

I turn back to him. “The box is cute. The earrings are the kind of thing that will get a man laid.”

He looks even happier but says, “What's with the kid calling himself ‘The Cur?'”

I laugh and respect anew his subtlety…or is it his confidence?
Give me a man who enjoys the journey every time. “That's Curran's new moniker.”

“As in mangy dog?”

I smile. “It's got a bite to it,
aw-ite?
”

William laughs, and I think, yeah, for now everything's all right.