A New Lu (24 page)

August

The most frequent answer to the question,
describe a sucessful marriage, was
“The partners stay married until one of them dies.”
This doesn't sound as much like victorious love as grim survival.

—“Sentenced Unto Death?”
CUE LU!

35

“I hate her.”

“Transference.” Andrea hands me a double scoop pistachio ice-cream cone. “You're redirecting your anger because you won't face the source of your real rage.”

“I know her name.
Saaan
dra.”

Andrea plops down beside me beneath the outdoor umbrella table with a scoop of fudge caramel nut. “Not enough information for genuine hate.”

“She's seeing, make that
sleeping with,
Jacob.”

“And this makes you care, why?”

But I'm so into conjuring up my nemesis that I can't be bothered with reason. “I bet she has a concave stomach decorated with a tattooed garland.” I make a circular motion with my fistful of ice cream cone. “It's probably pierced with a gold ring containing a diamond.”

“Can we say
obsessing
here?”

“It's difficult to keep a good gripe going around you.”

“You're an amateur. My sister Nina can peel paint just complaining about her visit to a nail technician.” She
takes a long slow sensuous lick of her ice cream. “You need reassurance just to stay mad at the man who's threatening to take your child.”

She's right, as usual, dammit! “It's just that I psyched myself through the divorce with the consolation that at least I didn't have to deal with the other woman. I should be spared that now, you know.” I indicate five-months of Sweet Tum.

“Then kick her to the curb.” After catching the eye of the man she knows is secretly watching her, Andrea turns her cone upside down to catch a few melted drops on her tongue. “The most powerful being in the world is the female. The only being more powerful is a pregnant one.”

“I thought she was the most vulnerable one.”

She wags a finger side to side. “Why does Cro-Magnon man's oldest sculpture depict a pregnant female? He knew that the hand that rocks the cradle should rule the world. Renaissance women knew the power of the rotund belly. Have you ever really looked at the clothes they wore? In Italy, young maidens were coached to walk as if they were in their ninth month to attract an eligible gentleman's attention.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I took a course in Shakespeare. Juliet waddled like a duck. That's how she snared Romeo.”

“And I thought I was broadly educated.”

Andrea cuts her eyes to the side and then attacks her ice cream like an XXX starlet in her first film. As she wipes her mouth with a napkin she says, “You've got this Sandra on the run. Believe it.”

“Do you have to do that!”

Andrea gets big-eyed. “What?”

“Pole dance with your ice cream. There are children about.”

Andrea feigns hurt. “Just because you're miserable you don't want me to have any fun?” She shrugs and picks up
a plastic spoon. But no sooner has she transferred ice cream to the spoon than she's sucking on it for all its worth.

I reach out and snatch it from her. “Concentrate on me a minute. I need to figure out how to get Jacob to rescind his custody suit.”

“I thought you wanted him to be part of the baby's life. Only a month ago you were lamenting the fact that he had made it clear he wasn't going to take his fathering duties seriously.”

“Exactly. Something's changed. And it wasn't anything I said.”

“Maybe he had a change of heart.”

“Then why not come to me instead of serving me with papers?” When Andrea can only shrug I know I'm on to something. “The only reason I can think of is he's under some other influence. Jacob's insisting that I meet Sandra. That's why I agreed to dinner with them tonight. We go to court next week. I need to know what I'm up against.”

Andrea looks up sharply. I follow her gaze.

The man she's been flirting with has decided he is bold enough to approach her. When he gets within range, Andrea subjects him to a furious frown, her “Medusa” stare I call it. He veers away so suddenly there's a breeze in his wake.

“How do you do that?” I ask in annoyance and admiration.

She shrugs. “He's a man. You just have to understand that.”

“That's my problem. I don't know how I'm going to handle Jacob.”

“No, wait!” Andrea looks up from her melting ice cream.
“Mi ja!
You're right. This business of shared custody must be Sandra's idea.”

“I didn't say that.”

“No?” Andrea frowns in concentration, her ice cream forgotten for the moment. “So then maybe this is about the fact that you publicly called his manhood into account.”

“You mean because I didn't mention Jacob as the father in my column?”

Andrea chuckles. “You told the world you didn't need a man to have a child.”

“I was trying to give Jacob a graceful out.”

“You outed him, all right. Right out of his paternity.”

“For a child he doesn't—didn't want.”

“Maybe introducing this Sandra is just an attempt to help salvage his pride. She must be so afraid of your power over him that she's willing to share him with her worst nightmare, the ex-wife's child.”

“Let me get this straight. I, the pregnant pudgy wife he discarded, am the greatest threat a nubile twenty-something can imagine?”

Andrea grins. “Ain't love a bitch?”

Personally I think Andrea is nuts. Why would a young woman with a middle-aged man friend want any part of joint custody? I see traces of Jacob's William-hammered ego all over this ploy.

Yet as I dress for dinner with Jacob and his ladyfriend, I begin to see reason in the old adage, you play the hand you're dealt. And then there's the adage, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Andrea says use my assets.

I had planned to wear a slimming black linen sheath with pricey sandals, to show I still understand fashion even if I can't get into it. Instead, I try on one of those no-belly maternity capris that cut me off in a most unforgiving way, and a white top with rows of vertical tucks. Mom sent it to me, thinking, as she said, that in the ninth month I will want something that doesn't touch me anywhere below my shoulders. I guess she thought I'd be blind to fashion by
then, too. The tucks accent curves in a way no woman could love.

I make up my face, do my hair and slip on my sandals. For luck, I'm wearing William's earrings. I'm not a complete fool. If I look too sad, the jig will be up. Oh, and I discovered that if I walk like a duck, I look an extra two months along. It's true. Shakespeare is timeless.

I'm no contest for young, svelte and tanned. What I've got going for me is maturity, wits and the rotundity of maternity. Why not play to my strengths? I don't want Jacob back. I just want him off my back.

36

As I pass customers waiting to be seated—people who on another occasion I would like to have impressed with my sophisticated style—I notice they gawk at me. But no matter. I've sighted the enemy. I smile hard as I approach them. The game has begun.

Sandra stands up, a number-two pencil in lemon-custard linen crop top and narrow-legged pants. She's young, with a waterfall of shiny dark hair and wide-open eyes. The contrast between us couldn't be more pronounced.

“Hi. I'm Lu.” I stick out my hand stiffly at shoulder level because I'm afraid if I don't keep a grip I might swing back and slap her.

“Hi, I'm Sandra.” She takes my hand and it's like shaking hands with a plush toy.

Yeah. I hate her. It's not right or rational. But if you want rational you don't go to a pregnant woman.

It's not that she has Jacob, or vice versa. It's that she represents something he found lacking in me. The fact that
William seems to think I have enough of everything he's interested in can't, at the moment, balm this hurt.

“Hi, Lu.” Jacob leaves his place to buss me on the cheek, something he's never done before, and pull out my chair, which he has to practically wrestle away from the waiter.

I check out Jacob's face as I sit. It looks normal, except for some chalky stuff that's—It's make-up to hide the last traces of his black eye!

He's smiling hard as he takes his seat on her side of the table. “This is good of you, Lu. But like, wow, you've changed so much in just four weeks.”

“It's water. Retaining like crazy. You should see my ankles by 10:00 p.m.” I make a basketball shape with my hands while the waiter tries to drape my lap with a napkin.

“Isn't that a problem?” Sandra sounds appropriately concerned.

“Not yet. Gestational hypertension doesn't usually appear to be a significant problem until about the twenty-eighth week.” My cheeks hurt from maintaining a smile. “Of course, there's the chance that it's gestational diabetes, which could become life-threatening at some point.”

Sandra's eyes widen. “I never heard of such things.”

Jacob is frowning. “Are the doctors worried about the baby?”

“Oh, no, not the baby. Only about me.” I let my gaze fall from his. “But as I said, we aren't there yet.”

“But if you're ill?” Jacob says.

“Dismiss the very idea!” I reach for my water.

As I take a long sip, I watch the pair of them over the rim of my glass. They look nervous as they catch each other's eyes for cues on what to do next. Make that three of us.

“Ah, that's much better.”

“Would you like something from the bar?” Jacob asks.

“A double martini with a twist.” I don't have to force laughter, for Jacob's expression is priceless.

“Bring her a Perrier with lime,” he tells the waiter. “I ordered hors d'oeuvres for the table.”

“Nothing greasy, I hope. It gives me—” I lean forward and catch Sandra's eye, “Gas.”

“Don't they make pills for that?” she asks, the soul of sympathy.

“I'm sure they do. But these days, pregnant women are advised against taking even over-the-counter drugs. At my age, I'm in an extra-delicate condition. My doctor is being very cautious.”

Jacob knocks back the last of his Manhattan and waggles the glass at the waiter. I notice two cherry stems on his butter plate and smile.

I pick up my menu. “Can we order? I'm famished. Eating for two is such a joy—no tiny salads for me.” I smile at Sandra, who has opened her menu. “Have you chosen?”

“I was thinking of the salmon rounds with endive.” She blushes because, of course, this is a salad entrée. “But I'd really like to try the gnocchi.” She half turns to Jacob, as if to beg a boon. “I hear it's wonderful here.”

“Potato pasta! It is.” I smile meaningfully at Jacob. He looks constipated. “And I'll have the rack of lamb.”

I see Jacob wince, but he's not so cheap that he'll tell his pregnant ex-wife that she can't have the specialty of the house on the night he's forced her to break bread with his new paramour.

I don't know how I manage to swallow a thing. But we achieve conversation and eat, and even amuse one another. Sandra is bright and smart. A real estate attorney. She and Dallas could have been classmates, I'm thinking. So it comes as a surprise to hear her say she'll be thirty-three in October.

“I was born on Halloween. Isn't that something?”

“It is. Something.” Okay, so Jacob's robbing junior high, not the day care. He's still got twenty years on her. That's a generation gap that won't get any easier with time.

Midway through my lamb, I decide it's time to pick up the pace.

“Let's talk custody. Now, if it should come to a matter of my health, the doctor may need to take the baby early. Much as I hate the very idea of joint custody—” I point my steak knife at Jacob for emphasis “—I can appreciate the comfort to be had in knowing that while I recuperate from the ordeal of a Caesarian, should I require it, you and Sandra are willing to be there to care for a preemie.”

“We'd love it!” For the first time, Sandra touches Jacob, sliding a hand through his arm. “We have talked about doing up a nursery. Isn't that right, Jacob?”

“Yeah. Right.” Jacob is fidgeting with his fork. “But wouldn't the doctor most likely want to keep a preemie in the hospital until you're released?”

“Ordinarily, yes. But since we're discussing joint custody, and you are right here in the area, I'm sure they would allow you to take the baby home. After all, those every-two-hour, around-the-clock feedings take up a lot of staff time. Sometimes preemies are sluggish eaters. It can take an hour to get two ounces down. So, lots of time for you and Sandra to bond with junior.”

“Oh.” Sandra has wound her arm more tightly about Jacob's. Her free hand is rubbing up the side of her neck. “Well, perhaps we won't interfere at the very beginning. Babies need to bond with their mothers, right? I was reading about that.”

“Reading about ‘what to expect'? You? Really?” I notice Jacob's eyes flash in warning but this is too good to pass up. “Then you know all about the symptoms of thrush, colic and pinkeye.”

“Well, no…” Sandra looks to Jacob. “I thought newborns can't catch diseases because of the immunities transferred in the mother's breast milk.”

“That's for communicable diseases.” I'm in my element. “But babies can be plagued by a whole host of
ailments. Remember Dallas's cradle cap? Poor tot. She had a head of crusty scabs for weeks. We had to carefully wash her hair with this stinky tar shampoo. And it's really intimidating with a new baby because their scalps are soft. The bone hasn't closed over their little brains. It's nerve-racking to touch it and comb out these loose pieces of skin that come off in huge flakes—”

“Come on, Lu. People are eating here.” Jacob looks a little green in places the makeup cannot conceal.

“I'm sorry. But Sandra seemed so interested.”

Sandra is transfixed, like a bystander to an auto accident. “I had no idea. What other kinds of things do babies get?”

“Thrush. That makes little white spots on the inside of their mouths. It's a fungal growth. Oh, it just hurts so much. I would just cry and cry when Davin had it. Didn't I, Jacob? He did, too, of course. We just walked the floor at all hours. Colic, well, almost every parent deals with a touch of colic. Even breast-fed babies can have it. And, as I'm sure you've read, breast milk is best. I suppose that means I'll have to keep you supplied. They have these containers you can freeze it in for transport.”

Okay, even I'm getting a little embarrassed by my obvious pandering. Yet I'm willing to talk about blocked milk ducts and sitz baths if it will derail Jacob on the issue of joint custody.

I smile at Jacob. “So what were you thinking? Weekdays with me, weekends with you? After all, my work schedule is so much more flexible than yours.”

“I'm not sure.” Jacob stabs a piece of steak. “I gotta think about it.”

I look across at Sandra. “Did I mention constipation? If you do decide to use formula, for those times when I haven't pumped enough, you can expect constipation.”

I switch back to Jacob. “Remember that time we left Davin with my mother and she gave him the wrong formula
for three days? Poor baby, he was backed up so bad. But the doctor recommended ear-syringe enemas.”

For a moment the two people on the other side of the table stare at me, she in frank alarm, he in consternation. Then Sandra pushes back her chair and says in a muffled voice, “Excuse me. I need to find the ladies'.”

It's working!

However, the victory is bittersweet because now I'm really ashamed of myself. I've used anecdotes of my children to offend, disturb and repel someone. I'm exhausted, out of ideas and so close to tears that I'm afraid to look at Jacob.

“This is not like you, Lu.”

I look up and meet Jacob's gaze. “As you said, I've changed.”

He shrugs. “But you know what? I do remember that constipation routine. Jeez, Lu. Were we ever that young and naive?”

“About twenty years ago.”

He nods and forks in a jumbo bite of steak. As he chews, I drink water, trying to swallow the sense that I'm a bad, bad person.

Finally, he says, “So then, here's the thing, Lu. I've been asked to consider a change of location. For working purposes.”

“You're going to turn it down, I suppose?”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you. I don't have many options, career-wise. I'm over fifty. I leave a job now, I'm practically asking to be retired permanently.”

“Okay.” I have to pinch myself under the table to keep hope from rising. “So where are you going? Upstate?”

“A little farther. Lima.”

“Ohio?”

“Lima, Peru.”

“I see.” I don't feel the total triumph of the moment. I feel…sick.

“This just came up. This morning.” I stare at him, trying to hear the nuance in every word. “But I was thinking even before today that maybe I was a little hasty about this joint custody.” He smiles. “I'm being honest here. But then I saw you with that guy…!” I can see Jacob start to get angry all over again.

“I understand how you feel,” I say quickly. “I'm having dinner with your date, remember?”

He hunches his shoulders. “Right. I guess I kinda lost perspective.”

“So then, let's just forget it.”

I hold my breath as he takes his time before answering. “I just want my name on the kid's birth certificate, Lu. That's what I want.”

I smile. “All you had to do was say so.”

He nods. “Okay then, I'm asking. I want the kid to know I'm the dad.”

A dozen questions crowd in on me. I want to know whose idea it was to file for joint custody? And why he did it, to punish me or to run William off? But just as suddenly, I realize those answers don't matter. As Tai likes to say,
it's all about the bottom line.

“How do I know you won't change your mind again, about custody?”

He looks grim again. “Can I share custody from Peru?”

“I'm serious. I'm seeing William. I may very well go on seeing him, even after the baby's born. If not him, then, eventually, there will be another man. You can't jump in and out of my life, depending on whether or not you approve of every person who's part of it.”

He looks at me with deep sadness. “You want papers giving you full custody?”

The good, altruistic, generous, believe-the-best-of-people me wants to say, “Of course not. I trust you.” But this isn't about me. It's about that person with the hiccups inside me. “I think it would be best.”

He nods. “Have something drawn up.”

Which means, you pay the attorney this time.

“You also need to know I won't back off the focus of ‘The Pregnant Pause' column. The magazine has bought into the single-at-fifty-unwed mother angle big time. I'm going to be in a fashion layout next month.” I bite my lip. “I advise you not to look.”

He looks down. “Do you hate me that much?”

I have to think about that. “No, I don't hate you. Maybe early on. I'm human. But now? No.”

He grins, and for the first time in a while it doesn't put me on my guard. “Truth is, I was thinking, even before Peru came up, that maybe after the kid's here, we should try again.”

Now that's the one thing I had never in this lifetime thought he'd say. Sandra, his sweetie, just left to powder her nose.

Yet I see in his eyes that he's serious. Maybe he's just staking out territory again, because I've mentioned William. Or, perhaps, he's having second thoughts because I just brought up all those fun times we had as parents.

I touch his left hand. “You don't want to be with me, Jacob. It's just familiar. I know I'm practically irresistible in my pregnant ‘Sweet Potato Queen' finery, but I won't look this good forever.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “What is that you're wearing?”

“It's from Mom. Don't ask.”

“Look, Lu, I—I—” Suddenly he looks like he's about to cry. “I don't want to start over as a parent. That's the God's honest truth. You're fearless. Always have been. You just take life as it comes, on the chin. You don't need me, haven't needed me for a while.”

“That's not—”

“Be honest, Lu.”

I don't know how to tell him he's right…but not entirely accurate.

“We changed, Jacob. We're looking for different things. Some couples endure great pain and expense to keep things from changing. They wear down the enamel on their teeth, eat bran to keep their bowels from impacting, and pop pills to quiet the hammers in their heads. I think we both deserve better, don't you?”