A New Lu (21 page)

30

“Hello, Lu.”

“Jacob.”

He looks quite natural framed in the doorway, though I never used to have to open it for him. Today, he's the very last person I expected to see. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. Just thought I'd drop by.” He whips a hand from behind his back and produces a package with a bow. “Happy birthday, Lu.”

“You remembered.” I don't say this in giddy expectation, for Jacob was never big on birthdays, or holidays in general for that matter. Cheap and particular, I remind myself with lowering expectations. “Thank you.”

He continues to stand there. Actually he's staring into the hallway behind me like a stray that hopes to be let in. I'm out of options without being absolutely rude. And, I admit, I'm touched that Jacob remembered the day. I guess fifty years is a milestone even an ex-husband is unlikely to forget.

“Would you like to come in for a minute while I open it?”

“Yeah.” He looks relieved.

William has gone to the grocery store. I move to the circular table in the entry hall, one ear cocked for the sound of a garage door opening. Quickly I tear to shreds the wrapping paper, then pop the ribbons of tape by running a fingernail under the edge of the box lid. Clouds of tissue paper take flight as I dig for the item.

It's a crystal bowl, Mikasa not Steuben, but certainly nicer than the beer steins that were my first birthday present from him. (I don't drink beer but he does.) Last year's present was a pair of Calphalon oven mitts. He boasted that he thought to buy them because he remembered I had burned my arm trying to wrestle the Easter ham out of the oven. Associations with food are his strong point.

I hold up the bowl, noting the etched design, and feel my heart thaw a few degrees. “Why, Jacob, it's lovely. I didn't expect anything.…”

“So nice?” His self-deprecating smile further disarms me. He's sporting a tan so perfect that, if I didn't know better, I'd suspect he's been going to a tanning salon. Naw! He's too cheap.

“Admit it. You aren't the world's best gift giver.”

He takes a few steps down the hall and leans around the corner to peer into the dining room, looking around as if trying to discover what changes I've made. Maybe he thinks I'm selling off the furniture to pay the mortgage.

Finally he turns back to me. “So, I'm not the best shopper. You know how it is. Female things all look the same to me. And sizes?” He shrugs. “I had, uh, help.”

“Sandra picked it out.” I set the crystal piece down a bit hard. But, hey, at least I didn't heave it in his direction. “Well, thank you for the thought. I'm a bit busy, and since I wasn't expecting you, I really need to get back to work.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “What kind of busy are you on your birthday? You having a party, maybe?”

“Andrea threw one for me yesterday.” I'm entitled to embellish the lunch.

He frowns at this. “I wasn't invited.”

“You'd have accepted?”

“I might have.” He points at the box. “I got a gift, didn't I?”

“Yes.” And despite the fact that his new ladyfriend purchased it, I guess I have to give him some credit. Is that a car engine I hear in the back?

To my consternation, Jacob heads for the kitchen. “I need a drink,” he says after the fact.

“I can get it,” I say quickly, but I'm already trailing him. Oh, damn! Did I leave out the dishes from a late breakfast, two of everything sitting in plain sight?

Jacob enters the kitchen and stops abruptly, as if expecting something. Then he saunters over to the counter, opens a cabinet and stares as if his glass selection will affect some important event. When he's taken down a tall, clear tumbler, he carries it over to the refrigerator and pushes it into the slot for ice water. Every second of activity winds me a little tighter. It's as though he's playing for time. But, of course, it's just me who knows about William.

Jacob says, as he watches the glass fill, “So, what have you been doing with yourself?”

“The usual.” I won't look at my watch. I won't!

He looks up, and suddenly amazement enters his expression. “My God, Lu! You're getting huge.”

“You always had a way with compliments.” My crinkle-cotton caftan makes the most of my evolving profile. I touch my middle. “We're both doing well. Thank you for asking.”

He takes a long gulp of his water while I hang in the
doorway, hoping my reluctance to enter the kitchen suggests that he shouldn't tarry there, either.
Please don't let William find him here,
I fret. Or is it that I don't want Jacob to find out about William and me? Oh, what the hell. He's got Sandra. I just don't need a scene.

When he's well watered, Jacob runs the back of a hand across his mouth. “Jeez, Lu. I didn't think you'd do this to yourself.”

I decide this time not to repeat how he had a helping hand in the matter. I simply cross my arms and give him what I hope looks like an impatient stare.

He leans a hip against the countertop. “The thing is, since you got into this situation, I just wanted to say that—well, I…” He's rubbing his hair and looking everywhere but at me. I haven't seen him this nervous since he told me he had filed for divorce, two days after he had walked out. That day I was in such shock I couldn't gauge the extent of his emotional distress. This time I can fully appreciate his discomfort.

“I've got some responsibility for things. I admit it, Lu.” He looks at me with hound-dog eyes. “So, I'm gonna pay half the bills you got connected with the situation.”

I suspect I'd be more impressed if I wasn't practically toe-dancing over the fact that I'm sure I just heard a car door slam. I move quickly to grab Jacob by the arm. “Can we talk about this some other time?” I tug him toward the hall. “It's wonderful of you to want to help. Really. Let me think about it.”

“What's the hustle for?” He plants his feet, which brings us both to a stop. “What are you hiding?”

It's not what he says. It's the fact that he has any suspicion at all that tips me off.

I release him and step back. “Who have you been talking to?”

“So it's true.” He juts out his chin. “You want to tell me who the guy is?”

I'm finding it difficult to draw breath. “Are you spying on me?”

“I am not.” Jacob looks indignant. “Dallas might have mentioned you were seeing someone.” Then, realizing he sounds as if he was hiding behind his daughter, he props a fist on each hip. “You should know you can't keep this kind of thing a secret. Might as well tell me.”

“You must be joking. My life is no longer any of your business, Mr. ‘Not-Meeting-My-Needs.'” Uh-oh, I'd promised myself as a New Year's resolution never to go there again.

He wags his head. “I thought you'd have more class.”

Is that the garage door? As a kid I once ventured into a neighbor's chicken coop. Flustered by my inept groping for eggs, the hens took flight in the dim, nearly airless space. I thought I'd smother before I got out. That's how I feel now, cornered and lacking oxygen.

I march over to the front door and open it. “Just go, Jacob.”

Bullheadedness is considered a manly trait in just about every country. When Jacob plants his feet apart, I know what's coming. “I'm not going anywhere until I know exactly what you're doing, and with whom.”

Stubbornness runs through a significant portion of the female population, too.

I hurry over and pick up the crystal bowl and shove it at him. “You could have saved the girlfriend a shopping trip by making a call instead of sneaking in here behind that cheap excuse of a present just to check me out. I'm seeing someone. You're seeing someone. That's life. Now go.”

He cradles the bowl like a huge egg. “What about the—uh…”

“Baby?” If he could just once say the word I might be able to forgive a lot. “Not your problem. I'm sole custodian, Jacob. I know how to look after us. Goodbye.”

He takes a few steps toward the door and then whips around, a horrified look on his face. “You're having sex!” He just figured this out? “Jesus H. Christ! Have you lost your mind? You're pregnant!”

I point at the door behind him. “Out!”

His shoe squeaks as he digs a toe into the rug. “Lu, Lu. You're behaving like one of those sad, miserable women who screw around to get back at their husbands.”

“I don't have a husband.” I take several steps toward him, propelled by his arrogant assumption that I couldn't make a decision that didn't include a thought of him. “But yes. I'm having wonderful, unsafe kinky sex with a twenty-five-year old stud muffin.” I feel muscles straining in my neck as I wave my arms for emphasis. “Now get the hell out of
my
house!”

I must be pretty impressive because Jacob backs up a couple of steps to the doorway. “Okay, Lu.” He raises a hand to fend off my wrath. “We'll talk about this another time. You're too upset now. Think about the baby.”

“Oh—my—God! You actually said the word. You said
baby.
”

His gaze shifts away from mine. “Okay, so maybe I had that coming. But who is going to look after you, and the baby, if you run me off?”

“No problem. Lu's in good hands.”

Jacob and I both jump. For all the listening I had been doing, the sound of William's voice still shocks me.

I turn to William, standing in the entrance to the kitchen, and my expression is enough to raise his eyebrows. “Would you mind giving us a moment?”

But Jacob has spied his prey. He comes rushing back into the room and all but dumps the crystal bowl on the table. “Who the hell are you?”

“William, this is Jacob, my ex. Jacob, this is Dr. Templeton.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jacob slides his hands into his pockets
and smirks. “I didn't know doctors still made house calls.”

“There's a lot you don't know, Jacob. So just go away.” I wave him off, but the gesture seems to throw me off center and I wobble.

“Are you okay?” Jacob asks as William moves toward me.

“I'm fine.” But suddenly I don't feel so fine. The rage of the last few moments has left me woozy. I need a chair, but I'm not about to leave this hallway with two men squaring off against each other.

Jacob scowls at me. “We need to finish this, Lu. In private.”

“Why don't you just come back another time?” William's tone is that of a physician dealing with a difficult relative of a patient.

Jacob cocks back his head, chin jutting upward because William tops him by three inches. “Who the hell are you to be telling me, under
my
own roof, that I should do anything?”

“It's my roof, Jacob.” I make eye contact with him and say very deliberately, “And I'm asking you, nicely, to leave.”

Jacob hunches his shoulders, his head sinking into his neck. He points a finger at my middle but he's glaring at William. “That's my kid, just so you know!”

“You've decided to own up to it?”

Jacob starts, as if poked. “Just what the hell is he talking about, Lu?”

“It's no secret that you aren't in favor of me having this baby, Jacob.” I shift my weight to bring my body more fully between them. “You told the kids and Cy.”

“That's family. And friends. What's it the hell to him?”

“He's my doctor.”

“And
her
friend.” William lays an arm across my shoulders. I'm not sure whether I should thank him or break it off at the elbow. This is clearly no longer about me. It's
a pissing contest and I'm the tree. “Lu's made her decision, and I'm here to back her up.”

“Nobody's talking to you.” Jacob snorts and readjusts his attention to me. “What are you doing, Lu? No kind of real doctor would sleep with his pregnant patients.” He smirks. “If word got around about this, he could get disbarred.”

“I suppose you mean his license to practice could be revoked,” I answer.

“Whatever.” He looks at William. “It means I could make trouble for you, Doc.”

“Don't make threats, Jacob.” I slip out from under William's proprietary arm, which feels like the weight of Babylon, sins and all. “But since you brought it up, I no longer see William professionally. So there's no malpractice involved in our personal relationship.”

I turn away and start unsteadily for the kitchen. “I don't feel so good.”

“There, see what you've done by barging in?” Jacob says triumphantly. “Lu's feeling sick.”

“She was okay until you started bullying her.”

“What the fuck does that mean, Doc?”

“That you should leave Lu alone, permanently.”

“The hell I will!”

I think I hear the scuffle of feet but,
hooo
boy, there's such a ringing in my ears!

Obscenities erupt behind me, followed by the sound a meat mallet makes when I pound chicken breast into cutlets.

I seem to be in slow motion. In the time it takes me to turn around, the two men I left in unfriendly confrontation have become an unsightly heap of flailing limbs on my hall rug. The hall table, an antique that's more rickety than valuable, is kicked. I watch, fascinated, as my birthday bowl slides to the edge and tumbles off, catching the midmorning light in its lead-glass facets
and spraying dozens of miniature rainbows across the walls and floor.

And just like that, the lights go out.

31

“Tallulah? Tallulah Nichols?”

I reluctantly open one eye and then the other. There's a man in green scrubs standing over me. “The baby!”

“Your child is fine. Don't you remember?”

I nod slowly. I remember too much to think about. For instance, waking up on the floor with a ring of anxious faces staring back at me. Then the ambulance ride, and how my humiliation that two grown men I know personally could be reduced to slugging it out in front of me kept me from answering any of the medics' questions about how I was feeling. By the time I reached the ER, I was angry all over again, even angrier than before. That's when they gave me something to calm me down.

I blink at the doctor, all emotion defeated by the sedative. “I fell asleep.”

The doctor smiles. “You needed the rest. Your blood pressure was up.”

“Where is everybody?”

“There are several people in the waiting room hoping
to see you. One claims to be your husband. Another your doctor. After that I'm afraid I'm a bit fuzzy. Something about a neighbor and your…ah, official photographer?”

“Guy with red Rastafarian braids?”

“That's the one.”

“We work at the same magazine.”

“I see.” But by his expression, I can tell that this doctor doesn't see a thing about me clearly. Who can blame him?

“The one claiming to be my husband? He's my ex-husband. But I suppose you should send him in first.”

The doctor nods but hesitates. “Is there anyone else you'd like me to call first? Someone less involved?”

That's when I know that he's heard about the fight. Can I sink any lower? “I suppose I do need a female influence.” I give him Andrea's number. “Tell her to come as my attorney.”

The doctor looks up from making notes. “Are you planning to press charges?”

“What?”

“There's a policewoman waiting outside. I think she'd like to speak with you before you see anyone else.”

“Why?”

“It's routine procedure in domestic disputes,” the policewoman tells me, smiling a smile that doesn't quite reach her unblinking gaze. “The responding attendants called the police. Do you wish to file a complaint against either man?”

“For stupidity?”

“For injury. Reckless endangerment to you and your child.” She flips open her pad. “How many times were you struck?”

“I wasn't—”

“Shoved or pushed or…?”

“No one laid a hand on me! Really, no one. I fainted.”

She looks at me, her uniform so clean and crisp and professional I feel like a cornered felon. “You're not alone, ma'am. This sort of thing happens all the time, even in the best neighborhoods. You've nothing to fear. We can find you shelter. Get you counseling. Don't protect a man, or men, who'd hurt a pregnant woman.”

Okay. Where is the rock I can crawl under?

It takes about five more minutes to convince her that I merely fainted. And the two fools in the brawl were blessedly aiming blows only at each other. Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to grab the edge of the table as I went down. No bumps or bruises show to counter my claim.

Finally, she flips her notepad closed and offers me her card. “If you change your mind, or at any time in the future feel unsafe, don't hesitate to call this number.” She cocks her head toward me. “Ex-spouses can be the worst.”

I ignore her, though Jacob probably has the scare coming. “Speaking of which, please send in my ex-husband.”

I'm not feeling happy about mediating a smackdown from an emergency-room examining room, but I seem to have no choice.

Jacob arrives in the doorway a minute later, looking positively smug for a man with a blackened eye and puffy lip, and torn shirt. “Hey, Lu. How are you doing?”

“The police suspect you of domestic violence. I'm only glad your poor mother's not here to witness this day.” It's a low blow, the lowest I can think of. He responds by blanching. “To think that you would do this to me, in my condition…” Hey, I'm pretty good at guilt trips. Guess I learned something from my mother-in-law, after all.

He rushes over and takes my hand, then begins to stammer like a kid. “Now, now, Lu. Y-you know I'd n-never do anything to hu-hurt you and…and…”

“Yes. That's what I told the police, but—”

“That's why they're here?” His head whips toward the door. “To arrest me? Jeez, Lu. What am I going to do?”

“Go home, Jacob. And don't come back to my house unless invited.”

“What about your condition, Lu?” He winces from the effort to speak. Is that a bandage peeking through the tear in his shirt? No, I won't feel sorry for him. Not after what he's put me—I reach down to pat Sweet Tum—us through.

Yet, as he nervously fingers his raw-meat lip, he seems to remember what started all this. “You scared the hell out of me! Dropping like that. Didn't you think of the kid? You could have done some damage—!”

“Shut up, Jacob. You started a fight. In my house. You struck a guest!” I'm up on an elbow now, feeling as light-headed as before I went down for the count. “You broke my birthday gift!”

My raised voice is all that is required to bring a nurse to my door. “What's going on here?” The tone of her voice says the police aren't but a crooked finger away.

“He's leaving. After an apology.”

Jacob reddens before the nurse's gimlet eye. “Yeah, I'm sorry, Lu. Really sorry. I'll call tomorrow. Or, when you say. Okay?”

“Let me do the calling. Now please send in Curran.”

Curran looks as spooked as Davin did when he was a little kid and I was too sick to get out of bed. Hanging in the doorway, he's fidgety and pale. “Hey, Lu. You and the kid okay?”

“We are marvelous, Curran. How are you involved in this?”

“I'd cruised by your place to get a snap of the birthday girl. That's when I, like, peeped the ambulance and all. You sure you're okay?”

“I just fainted. Sorry to frighten you.”

He hoists his ever-present camera.

“Stop! I said I'm fine. But I'm not in the mood for photos.” I hate to halt him in mid-focus, but there are limits. “If you take even one photo in this room, I will never
ever
speak to you again.”

“Sure, Lu. Whatever you say.” He lowers his camera until it dangles from his neck strap, lens pointed downward, impotent. But do I dare trust him?

“Go home. Destroy your film. Speak of this to no one. Ever. Under any circumstances. I will know if you do. Swear to do this upon your secret desire for Catherine Deneuve.”

His head droops like a puppy that's sighted a rolled newspaper. “Aw, Lu.”

“Destroy the film, Curran.”

He winces. “Deal.”

When he's gone I elect to speak to Cy.

One look at his exhausted, harried expression and for the first time I feel like I'm the one who deserves to be chastised. “I'm so sorry you had to be involved in this, Cy.”

He comes close and grips my hand. “Why sorry? You think I couldn't break up a fight? You forgot I was a marine. Saw action in Korea. Two bozos going at each other? I've seen it dozens of times. There's a technique to breaking up a brawl.” He grins, though he is still too pale for my liking. “Knocked some sense into them. But you? Lu, why bring those fellows under the same roof?”

“Believe me, it wasn't planned. You broke up the fight? How did you know about it?”

“Didn't I see Jacob arrive? And when William returned without Jacob leaving, I thought I'd better come over, see if you needed any help.”

“I won't say you shouldn't have. All the same, it's beginning to creep me out, Cy, the way you watch my place. Know what I mean?”

“You tell me you didn't need me today, and I'll back off.”

There's nothing like the truth to take the wind out of a good gripe. “Thank you.”

“So how's our little tot?” He's frowning hard as he looks at the slight mound under the sheet. “She's okay?”

“She or
he
is fine. I just got excited. Hadn't drunk enough water today. When the fellows lost it, my blood pressure kinda went wonkers on me.”

“For this you need a keeper.” He swipes his brow with a hand. “I can do only so much from next door. Like I said before, you should come and live with me.”

I squeeze his hand hard. “You're the sweetest guy on the planet, you know that.”

“But you got the hots for the doc.” He says this kindly.

“It's not what you think, Cy. He's just…”

“What you need?”

“What I need now. That sounds awful, doesn't it?”

Cy shrugs. “What do I know? But I do know you shouldn't expose your child to the kind of emotional roller coaster that lands you in the emergency room. You're too smart not to know that, too.”

“You're absolutely right. I promise here and now not ever to allow anything even remotely like this to occur again.”

“So, you'll come home with me?”

The man doesn't let a thing go. “I've seen Jacob. How bad off is William?”

Cy snorts. “I'd like to be there to see him explain the stitches over his eye to his patients tomorrow.” My gasp brings his sharp gaze my way. “What's a couple of bruised ribs? Neither of them has bragging rights. They felled a pregnant woman.”

All too true. “Can you see about getting me out of here?”

Cy brightens up. “You got it, kiddo!”

If possible, William looks more worried and contrite than any of the others. Oh, and his poor eye!

He rushes over and takes my hand, to feel my pulse. “Are you okay? Any pain? Nausea? Cramping?” His hands touch me lightly, professionally. “Did you hit your head, hip? Any heart arrhythmia? Are you spotting?”

“I'm fine, Dr. Templeton.” It's all I can do to keep from reaching out and cradling his face in the most unprofessional manner. In addition to his stitches, he's got a bruise the size of Cleveland on his chin. But I'm angry and disappointed that any man this wonderful could be reduced by a few ugly words to a brawler. Oh, but he looks like he needs kissing. Even at a moment like this, I'm wired as a comfort-giver. This is the kind of thing that gives femininity a bad name.

When he's satisfied that I'm in good order, he bends and kisses my forehead, the physician role abandoned for lover. “They wouldn't tell me a damn thing or let me see you, even after I showed my credentials and said I was your doctor.”

I smile, but it's not a nice smile. “Maybe that's because you are under suspicion in a domestic dispute.”

The accusation drains the hubris from his face. “Jacob and I could be arrested for fighting over you?”

“Or with me.” I'm still so mad at the pair of them I can't resist turning the screws. “I've been asked if I want to press charges against the pair of you.”

For a moment he looks appalled. I can see him calculating the effect a criminal indictment would have on his patient roster. In his battered condition, the mug shot alone would make me think twice, and I sleep with the guy.

But then he has the grace to murmur, “Whatever you say, Lu. I'm just so damned sorry. I don't know what came over me. I haven't been in a fistfight since high—well, the boxing club at college.”

“You should be sorry.” He was a boxer? What happened to his technique? No, I can't ask questions now. I'm hurt and indignant, and grateful Jacob isn't mincemeat. “I can't
imagine what you thought you were fighting over. Last time I checked, I was a completely free agent.”

“You're right. All that's important is that you are okay.” He frowns, studying my face once more. “You are certain you are okay? And the baby?”

“Both fine. Both tired. And both ready to go home.”

He brightens. “I'll take care of it. I'm prepared to pay for everything.”

“No.” I put up a hand to cup his bruised jaw. “Cy has everything under control. I've had enough excitement for one weekend. You should probably go home and take care of that eye.”

He hangs his head. “You're entitled to be as angry with me as you like, Lu. I more than deserve it. All that's important is that you and the baby are okay.”

Another time, when I'm well rested and feeling more like myself, I'm sure I'll look back on this moment with sympathy. But for now, all I can think of is how much I want to go home to my own bed.

He reaches the door before he looks back. “Happy Birthday, Lu.”

I'm home in my bed, with Andrea and Cy keeping watch downstairs, before it strikes me that not every woman can boast or whimper that she spent her fiftieth birthday in the emergency room because two men started a fight over her. I'm still furious and yet, dare I admit it even to myself, strangely titillated by the idea.

This must be what they mean when they say popular entertainment is coarsening our culture.