Gloria's Forever (Gloria Book 3) (9 page)

“Would you like to hold one?” asked Kashunna.

“Seriously?”

Randomly, she lifted Paulette out of her crib, holding her in her palms and then transferred her to me. Nerves wracked my body. I’d never held a baby before, let alone one as itsy bitsy as this.

“Just make sure you hold her head up and you both should be fine.”

“Like this?” I asked imploringly, cradling the infant and following her instructions.

“Perfect. How do you feel?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” My racing heart swelled with joy as my confidence soared. I couldn’t stop looking at Paulette. Her blue eyes stayed on mine. My precious godchild. And then just as fast as joy had filled me, a wave of sadness swept over me.

I felt my eyes welling with tears once more. Fuck. It wasn’t fair. My Glorious deserved to be a mother. She’d found true love with Jaime, but she’d suffered so much in her life. My mind flashed back to our childhood together in a little redneck town in upstate New York. Me a skinny little boy who liked to play Barbies with pigtailed Gloria, when my macho bigoted father, the town sheriff, wasn’t looking and when her crack whore mother wasn’t abusing her or dragging her around to meet men. We were the town outcasts. The bullies at school picked on me—calling me a faggot and physically took advantage of my small size while they tried to pull poor Gloria’s panties down, thinking she was just like her slutty mother, who’d likely fucked everyone of their fathers. I hated them all. So did Gloria. We didn’t belong there, and we had dreams. So, at the age of sixteen, I stole one of my father’s guns and robbed the dickwad of a few thousand dollars, and together we ran away. Ending up in Brooklyn where we found a new life. We shared a small flat in Coney Island together and struggled. Our dreams grew bigger. And when Gloria wanted to buy the lingerie store from her beloved employer and mentor, Madame Paulette, I had an idea: rob the safe of the nefarious, gay-bashing nightclub impresario I worked for—Boris Borofsky.

An unexpected wail from Paulette cut into my thoughts. And a sudden chill fell upon me. Another memory was triggered. That of Gloria, crying out in pain after she’d been shot by the pink-eyed monster who’d caught us stealing from him.
Nobody steals from Boris Borofsky
! His thick, accented, threatening voice thundered in my head. The motherfucker! He’d hurt my Gloria! With vengeance, I shot the bitch in the face with my father’s gun, and then I caught my beautiful accomplice in my arms as she crumpled to the ground. A sharp pang of guilt zapped me. Oh my, Glorious! This was all my fault! I should have never made her rob Boris! And now God was again paying me back. Taking her away from me! Taking her away from her beloved Jaime and from her beautiful babies! A deep shudder ran through me as a tear leaked out one eye. A tsunami was verging.

Nurse Kashunna’s hearty voice cut into my despair. “Sugar, you okay?”

Fuck no.
“G-gotta go.” My voice thin and watery, I made up an excuse and thanked her for letting me visit the babies.

“You sure you don’t want to feed her?”

As Paulette’s wails grew louder, my anguish consumed me.

“Positive,” I murmured, fighting back tears.

“You have yourself a nice day,” Kashunna said cheerfully as she gently set beautiful Paulette back in her little crib.

That wasn’t happening even with the fun after-party ahead. With an aching heart, I glanced down one more time at Gloria’s tiny miracles. I would always be there for them.
Forever
. But right now, I had to do something else. With tears streaming down my face and a chorus of wails piercing my heart, I hurried out of the nursery.

*

The hospital Chapel was located on the Plaza level between the North and South Towers. A lapsed Catholic, I hadn’t set foot in a church for years. But now, I had the burning urge to be seen and to be heard.

While the hospital had a Jewish affiliation, the airy Chapel was non-denominational and was opened to people of all faiths and from all walks of life. I was not alone. Several grieving people sat in the pews, including the Latino couple, whom I’d met earlier on the elevator. Both were on their knees and had their hands folded in prayer. The woman was still weeping. While I could sit just about anywhere, I chose to sit next to them. I got down on my knees and silently began to pray.

For Gloria. For Jaime. For their babies.
Please, God, make Gloria live and be there for her family. Please!

And I asked for God’s forgiveness.

And then I prayed hard for the couple next to me and their grandchild.

The day had been unusually dismal for LA. Gray and overcast.

Suddenly, a ray of sunshine beamed through the stained-glass window.

And a ray of optimism streamed through my being.

God had heard me.

Now, I just had to wait.

Jaime

D
ay turned into night. I stayed with Gloria, never leaving her side. Oh my sweet angel. So pale. So lifeless. Yet so beautiful. I was relieved our precious babies were in excellent health—each miraculously weighing a little over four pounds—and in one of the best neonatal intensive care units in the world—being monitored by wonderful nurses and doctors. I longed to be with them, but I couldn’t leave Gloria. Not even for a minute. So, I settled for the next best thing.
Babytime
. An innovative marriage of healthcare and technology that Cedars had pioneered. With an iPad, I could see our babies—talk to them and interact with the nurses on duty, even ask them questions. And that’s just what I did before I called it a night.

God, they were beautiful. I’d watch Payton and Paulette develop via ultrasound, but nothing prepared me for the reality of these two little real-life dolls. The nurse on duty whose name was Kashunna assured me they were doing great. They were hearty eaters and as strong as oxes. Before I signed off, I sang them a song. Our song.
“Toi et
Moi.”
The Charles Aznavour classic that had played just before Gloria and I had fucked our brains out in Paris on the Grand Roue. The song that symbolized us. Two hearts entwined that melt into infinity. I sang it part in English, part in French. Kashunna had tears in her eyes and complimented my voice. I was humbled and thanked her as I never thought much of my singing talents. I had in essence sung a lullaby that put my beautiful babies to sleep. But I wished it had awoken my sleeping beauty, Gloria. She didn’t stir.
Babytime
was over.

I was spending the night, and the hospital had kindly provided a cot. While I silently watched over her, a parade of nurses and doctors marched in and out of the room to check on her. So far, all her vitals were stable to my great relief; I let Kevin know. He, too, was relieved. The after-party had started and he was low-keying Gloria’s condition. I told him I appreciated that.

A kindly nurse brought me dinner, but except for drinking the 7-Up to quell my thirst, I didn’t touch a thing. I simply had no appetite. The room shrouded in darkness, I dozed off in my chair to the lull of Gloria’s soft breathing.

A dream filled my head. A beautiful one. Gloria and I, holding hands, were watching our children, now three, frolicking on the beach. On the very spot where we had exchanged our vows. Little Paulette was the spitting image of Gloria…her platinum hair already cascading down her back. A sweet but stubborn princess. And Payton, well for better or for worse, he was a mini-me. Cocky to the bone. But oh, so creative too.

“Daddy, guess what I am?” my barefooted son shouted, running around in circles with his little arms outstretched.

“An airplane!” I shouted back. Our children had been on airplanes more than most people had been in their lives. Gloria and I took them everywhere, whether we traveled for business or for pleasure.

“No! I’m a seagull.”

“And I’m a baby seagull,” chirped my adorable Paulette, copying her brother, her mane of white silk flying in the wind.

Gloria broke loose of my grip and dashed after the children with her long, toned arms flapping. “And guess what I am?”

Both children broke out in a fit of laughter. “You’re silly, Mommy!” Paulette giggled.

“No. I’m a mommy bird who’s come to gather her babies and feed them dinner.” I watched as she lovingly scooped our twins into her arms.

And then I got into the game. I loved games. Especially the ones I played with my beautiful children.

I ran up to them, making loud grunts. They screamed. “And guess what I am?”

Before anyone could answer, I said in a deep, deep voice. “I’m a big fat whale who’s going to gobble up two sweet little children for
my
dinner.”

“No!” squealed the children in glee.

“Run, my darlings!” shouted Gloria, setting them back down.

I let them run a distance and then chased after them at lightning speed. In one swift move, I clutched the two of them and lifted them in my arms, smothering them with yummy kisses.

I exchanged a loving glance with Gloria. Motherhood had made her even more beautiful if that was possible.

“Are you going to eat Mommy too?” asked my inquisitive Payton.

Of course, I was going to eat Mommy. I was going to devour every part of her, and the part I most looked forward to getting my hungry mouth on was her delicious pussy. How I looked forward to sucking, licking, gnawing her tender folds, and then finishing her off with my cock.

But before I could answer his question, a loud beeping sound hurled me out of my dream. My eyes blinked open and my heart galloped. Oh my God. Gloria was convulsing again. The beeping sound on the monitor continued. Before I could push the emergency button, a team of doctors and nurses flew into the still dark room. One of them, an older man with silver hair, put a stethoscope to Gloria’s heart while a nurse took her pulse. The expression on his face quickly went from solemn to alarmed. I heard him curse under his breath.

“Your wife has gone into cardiac arrest!”

I glanced at the monitor. Christ. Gloria’s heartbeat had begun to flatline. And truthfully, I think mine had too. While the fast-acting doctor attempted to pump life back into her with both hands, all air left my lungs. My mother had left my father in a cruel way; the opportunist has abandoned him for that sleazebag billionaire, Victor Holden. Now Gloria was leaving me in an even crueler way. She was letting death claim her. My father took his life. Gloria was taking mine. She was the only woman I’d ever trusted with my heart. And now she was destroying it.

“No, Gloria, no!”

Gloria

W
here was I? Billowy clouds surrounded me and the sun, so big and close, looked like the star it was, its spokes intersecting the sky and bathing it in a soft pink glow. A distant, familiar song faintly filtered into my ears. “Gloria.” A muted chorus was singing my name, but it was more like a quiet hymn and not the blasting, fast-paced Laura Branigan song that had always been my signature. As I took in my strange surroundings, winged angels rose from the clouds. And then it dawned on me. Of course. I was in the middle of a Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show. But wait—these angels weren’t supermodels. They were ordinary people, every shape, every color, every age. Clad in white gossamer robes that sprouted broad wings of feathers, they looked ethereal as they danced among the white puffs of air. The sun’s rays beamed down upon them, creating golden halos around their heads.