Coming Home (29 page)

Yet she wasn’t always unpleasant.   Although her rages could erupt
at unexpected moments, most of the time she was attentive, affectionate, and
generous.  She was forever buying him little gifts:  a set of onyx cufflinks, a
diamond pinkie ring, a gold cigarette lighter.  The diamond was ostentatious,
and he hated it, but he wore it because she’d given it to him.  She replaced
his funky wardrobe with stylish and expensive clothes that made him feel like
he was dressed up for Halloween.  And she dragged him, kicking and screaming
all the way, to
Monsieur Henri
and had his hair cut and styled. 

When she was finished with him, he looked in the mirror and didn’t
recognize himself.  He looked like a gigolo.  But Monique was so impressed by
the results that he only complained a little.  She soothed his ruffled feathers
by making love to him on the chaise longue- in the solarium.  And on the piano
bench in the library.  And on the dew-sprinkled grass of the back lawn, beneath
a ripe and heavy moon.

He told himself that he tolerated the jealousy and the tantrums
because he was so desperately in love with her.  He told himself that she
showered him with gifts because she was so desperately in love with him.  It
was easier than admitting the truth, that something this hot was destined to
eventually blow sky-high.  Easier than admitting that Monique, like an unbroken
filly, would eventually throw him and he’d end up on his ass in the dust.

It was easier to just hold on for dear life and try to enjoy the
ride.

***

Four months after she threw out her birth control pills, Casey got
up one Sunday morning, looked at the calendar, and realized her period was two
days late.

Elation and terror waged war within her.  She’d waited so long for
this moment that she was afraid to hope, afraid to know the truth, afraid of
what Danny’s reaction would be.  As each day passed with no sign of her period,
the elation and the terror grew proportionately.  Finally, on a Friday
afternoon while Danny had a photo session downtown, she donned dark glasses, drove
to a nearby drugstore, and purchased a home pregnancy test.

She spent the longest ten minutes of her life cleaning the kitchen
stove while she waited for the results of her test.  She pulled off all the
burner plates and scrubbed them with Brillo, wiped down the oven that was
already clean, and  polished the porcelain until she could see her face in it. 
Suddenly reluctant to know the truth, she took her time returning to the
bathroom and the tiny test tube of urine that sat on the shelf.

The code was simple:  blue for pregnant, red for not pregnant. 
Casey took a deep breath and pushed open the bathroom door.  She crossed the
room on shaky legs and stared in disbelief at the blue liquid in the test
tube.  She sat down hard on the toilet seat, suddenly terrified of what Danny
would say.  He didn’t really want a baby.  He was doing this because he knew it
was what she wanted.  Would that be enough?  Would it be fair to the child, to
have a father who had never really wanted him?  Would she be strong enough to
deal with it?  Strong enough to be a proper mother to the child?

This time, there was no question of whether or not she would keep
her baby.  Danny had always been the be-all and end-all of her existence, but a
single instant of staring at a test tube of blue urine changed her loyalties
forever.  She rested a hand protectively on her abdomen.  This unborn child
needed every ounce of his mother’s strength in order to survive.  She’d been
given a second chance, and no matter what Danny said or did, this time she
wouldn’t blow it.

***

Rob called, asking her to meet him at a seafood place near the
Santa Monica pier.  He was already sitting with a cup of coffee, staring out
the window, when she arrived.  “Hey, hot stuff,” she said, sliding into the
booth across from him.

“Hey,” he said, but didn’t smile.

They both ordered broiled scallops, and then she leaned back in
the booth.  “You look glum,” she said.  “What’s wrong?”

He set down his coffee mug, drummed his fingers on the table top. 
“Monique’s on a rampage again,” he said.

She bit her bottom lip.  “Oh,” she said.

“She’s come up with this crazy notion.”  He cupped his coffee mug
in both palms and turned it in his hands.  “She thinks that you and I—”  He
looked at her, squared his shoulders, and shrugged apologetically.  “She thinks
there’s something going on between us.”

It took her a moment to understand.  And then her mouth fell
open.  She closed it with difficulty.  “As in something sexual?” she said.

“You got it, sugar.”

“You and me?” she said in astonishment.  “But I’m married.”

He gave her a look that said she was incredibly naïve.  “
Happily
married,” she amended.

“I know that, and you know that, but Monique doesn’t get it.  She
doesn’t believe it’s possible for a man and a woman to be friends—the kind of
friends we are—without sex rearing its ugly head.”

She snorted.  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah?  Well, it gets better.  She’s forbidden me to see you.”

“How the hell can she do that?  Does she think you’re her lap
dog?”  She saw the look on his face and clamped her mouth abruptly shut.  “I’m
sorry,” she said.  “That was uncalled for.”

“I tried to make her see how ridiculous she’s being.  I pointed
out that you’re not just my friend, you’re my business partner.  But she’s not
buying any of it.  She’s issued an ultimatum.  Stop seeing you, or she walks.”

A dozen thoughts vied for supremacy in her mind.  But she gave
voice to just one.  “Oh, sweetie,” she said.  “I’m so sorry.”

Their lunch arrived, but neither of them felt much like eating. 
“Rob,” she said at last, toying with her food, “do you love this woman?”

He squared his jaw and busied himself rearranging the salt and
pepper shakers.  “She’s a goddess,” he said at last.  “The most beautiful woman
on the planet.  There must be at least a couple million guys who’d cut off
their right arm to have her.  She could have any man she wants.  And she picked
me.  Plain, ordinary me.  Do you have any idea how remarkable that is?”

“I think it’s time for a reality check.”  She lay both her hands
atop his in the middle of the table.  “I hate to tell you this, sweetie, but
you don’t have an ordinary bone in your body.”

“Be serious, Fiore.  I have a face only a mother could love.”

“Damn it, Rob, not all of us can be gods and goddesses.  There’s
not a thing wrong with your face.  Women fall at your feet!”

“Not women like her,” he said darkly.

“So you’re going to spend the rest of your life being grateful to
her for throwing a few crumbs your way?  That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Do you have any idea,” he said, “how long I’ve waited for the
right woman to come along?”

Hands still clasped with his, she sat back against the seat and
sighed.  “Look,” she said, “you know how much I love you.  I’d never say or do
anything to hurt you.  But I have to say this.  I don’t think you’ve found the
right woman.”

She felt him stiffen, watched his shoulders square, then slump. 
“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I should learn to keep my mouth shut.”

He sighed.  “You only spoke the truth,” he said.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m mad at myself.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. Nobody knows what goes on
inside somebody else’s marriage.”

Rob picked up his mug in both hands and took a sip of coffee.  
“Listen, can we talk about something a little more upbeat?  This is depressing.”

“I’ll give you upbeat,” she said.  “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he looked stunned.  And then he gave her a grin so
wide, so genuine, that she couldn’t help reciprocating.  “Hot damn!” he said. 
“About time!  What does the Italian stallion have to say about it?”

“I think he’s still a little stunned that it happened so fast. 
But he’s positive.  Very positive.”

“Ah, sweetheart, that’s wonderful.  Are you happy?”

“Ecstatic.  And terrified.”

Some of the elation left his face.  “Why?” he said.

She toyed with the strap to her purse.  “There’s always the
possibility of another miscarriage.”

“Hey.”  He took her hand in his and squeezed it.  “Stop worrying
about things that won’t ever happen.  You’re going to have a beautiful, healthy
little baby who’ll be spoiled rotten by his Uncle Rob.”

“I get it.  Spoil the kid and then leave us to deal with the
monster you’ve created.”

“Hey,” he said, “isn’t that what uncles are for?”

After lunch, she drove directly to Monique Lapierre’s Bel Air
mansion.  The grounds surrounding the house would have rivaled the gardens at
Versailles.  Lush tropical flowers blossomed
everywhere, water erupted from a myriad of fountains tucked in amongst the
Greek statuary, and in the distance, a gardener cut a wide swathe through acres
of green lawn on a John Deere mini-tractor.  While she waited for the door to
be answered, Casey tried to picture Rob living amid all this opulence.  But she
couldn’t imagine it.

The
heavy oak door swung open, and a middle-aged woman in a starched maid’s uniform
peered at her from beneath heavy brows.  “Good afternoon,” Casey said.  “Please
inform Miss Lapierre that Mrs. Fiore is here to see her.”  She brushed past the
startled maid, into an entry hall dominated by the biggest crystal chandelier
she’d ever seen.  Catching sight of the gleaming Steinway beyond an open door,
she said, “I’ll just wait in here.”

The
maid, obviously unaccustomed to such directness from visitors, closed her mouth
and disappeared into the bowels of the house.  While she was gone, Casey roamed
around the room, studying the spines of the leather-bound books on the shelves,
books she seriously doubted that Monique had ever read.  She was picking out a
one-fingered tune on the piano when Monique’s voice behind her said curtly,
“Mrs. Fiore.  To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Monique
was dressed in a blue satin robe, belted at the waist, her hair uncombed, her
eyes just a bit too bright.  “I just had lunch with your husband,” Casey said,
getting right to the point.

Monique
took her time lighting a cigarette.  “Really,” she said, and blew out a cloud
of smoke.

“You
and I,” Casey said, “need to have a talk.”

“
Certainement
. 
Can I offer you a drink?  Scotch, perhaps?”

“Nothing,”
Casey said.  “This isn’t a social call.”

Monique
turned and gave rapid orders in French to the hovering maid.  And then she
turned her attention back to Casey.  “You will sit down?” she said.

The
maid returned with a silver tray bearing a squat glass of amber liquid. 
Monique took it and waved the maid away.  “And what did you and my husband talk
about?” she said.

“I
think you already know.”

Monique
sipped her drink.  “I see.  He told you that I have forbidden him to see you.”

“You
must realize how absurd this is.  Rob and I are partners.  We’ve been writing
together for years.  We’re right in the middle of producing Danny’s next
album.  We can’t just walk away from it because of your paranoia.  You’re the
one who’ll be hurt if you persist in making these irrational accusations.  I’ve
known Rob for a long time, and I’m telling you that he won’t stand for it.”

Monique
drew in the smoke from her cigarette, held it for a count of five, and released
it.  “You are threatening me?” she said.

“Oh,
for the love of God.”  Casey closed her eyes.  “Look,” she said, glaring at
Monique, “you don’t like me, and I’m not particularly fond of you.  I tolerate
you because you’re Rob’s wife, and I happen to care about him.  For months,
I’ve been watching the way you treat him, and it’s been difficult to hold my
tongue.  But I’ve held back from telling you what I really thought of you
because for some inconceivable reason, he seems to love you.  Or at least he
thinks he does, which amounts to the same thing.”

Monique’s
lips pressed together in a small, tight smile.  “Please,” she said, “feel free
to express yourself.”

For
an instant, Casey considered just how far she wanted to go.  “Rob and I,” she
said finally, “will not break off our professional relationship because of
you.  Period.  And if, in spite of your infantile threats, he chooses to
continue our friendship, you will not stand in our way.”

Monique’s
eyes narrowed in sullen acknowledgment of the challenge Casey had thrown down
in front of her.  “Well,” she said, “you are a more formidable foe than I had
imagined.”

“And
you,” Casey said, “are no more than a bitch in heat.  A beautiful bitch, but no
matter how you dress it up, a dog’s still a dog, isn’t it?”

As
she swept from the room, she took immense pleasure in noting that Monique
looked a good ten years older with her mouth sagging open.