Authors: Olivia De Grove
Manhattan Lullaby (27 page)
“What do you mean, he's all
mine
?” said Steve, settling the child in his arms and looking to Janie for an answer.
And she gave it to him, quickly, simply and with a minimum of explanation. That could wait until after Steve got used to being a father and Bradley got used to being the opposite.
When she had finished, Steve looked down at the baby. He had the stupidest grin on his face as he stroked the soft downy cheek with one work-roughened finger. “Wow!” He looked up. “I never thought I'd ever ⦠I mean ⦠You're sure he's really mine?”
Janie nodded, smiling at Steve's response. As much as it hurt to see Bradley lose “his son,” it made her feel good to know that Steve had finally got what he always wanted and that Rogue would have a loving father to take care of him.
“What about Lavinia?” she asked a few minutes later, after they had all watched Steve cuddle and coochie-coo his baby and check all its fingers and toes.
Steve shook his head. “Lavinia! Jesus, I forgot all about Lavinia!” He grinned. “And she was worried about coming home to a litter of puppies. I'm going to have to do some fast talking to work my way round this one.” He thought for a minute. “Maybe if I changed his name. I think Lavinia would have a pretty difficult time accepting a Rogue. But a Roger, now there's a name you can get used to.”
“Roger!” cried Bradley. “But his name is Rogue. He'sâ”
Maxine laid a calming hand on her son's arm. “He's Steve's baby now. And if Steve thinks that someone named Lavinia will have trouble accepting the name Rogue, then he has a right to change it.”
She was right, of course.
After Steve had left with the baby, the bottles, the basket and the new name, Vincent Taylor showed up.
“I never did get that cup of coffee you promised me,” he said to Maxine when she answered the door.
When Janie saw who it was, and how it was, she decided there was no reason at all for her to stick around. “I think maybe I should get going now.” She stood up. “Good-bye, Maxine, Dr. Taylor.” And then she turned to Bradley, “I guess ⦔
“Do you mind if I walk you home?” asked Bradley, standing up and casting a sideways nod at his mother and Vincent, who were too busy looking at each other to notice.
“Sure,” replied Janie, although she wasn't really.
Outside, in the accumulating dusk, huge wet floppy snowflakes were drifting lazily down out of the leaden sky, lending a thick white blanket to the trees and the street lamps and the fences and the odd street sleeper curled up over a vent. It would all disappear with the morning melt, of course, but for the moment New York City looked more like it was turning into the twentieth century and not the twenty-first. Somehow the snow had a way of covering up the ugliness and decorating the beauty of Manhattan all at the same time.
They walked along in silence, each lost in their thoughts. Janie thought that Bradley was probably thinking about the baby. And he thought that she was probably thinking about the baby's father or business or both. It never occurred to either of them that each was thinking about the other. After a time they reached Janie's house and they stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“Well, I guess this is it,” said Bradley.
He had snow on his hair. Snow on his eyebrows and eyelashes. Melted snow running down his reddening cheeks. Janie nodded and turned and took one, two steps up toward the front door. Then she turned back. He was still standing there collecting snow like a statue in the park.
“I'm sorry about the baby, Bradley.”
“I know. I guess it just wasn't meant to be. But Steve seems like a nice guy.” He paused, gathering more snow. “You like him a lot?”
“I like him a lot,” replied Janie. “As a friend.”
Bradley nodded. He had the answer he had been looking for. He turned and took a couple of steps up the street. Then he turned back. “Maybe we could go out sometime,” he said hopefully. Janie gave a little grin. “Why don't you come in for a while and dry off and we'll talk about it?”
Bradley hesitated. What was she offering? A few minutes out of the stormâor a lifetime? There was only one way to find out. He followed her up the steps and through the front door.
Chester, who had been snoozing on his perch in the kitchen, heard the click of the door lock and then the rumble of a male voice. He was immediately awake, all his keen bird senses primed and ready. He had been waiting for this moment for days. This time he was going to fire the first volley and dogs be damned! He stretched his wings, fluffed his feathers and took off.
Following a preconceived flight plan, he circled through the living room, preparing himself for the assault and then, when he knew he was ready, he sailed under the archway and out into the hall. Like a blinding flash of green lightning he hurtled toward the front door, his blazing orange eyes darting this way and that, seeking his arch nemesis Tony the Furball and his human, Steve.
And there, straight ahead, outlined in the dimness of the hall against the light that poured in through the front-door glass, loomed the large bulky presence of the man. Could the dog be far behind?
Chester soared to the ceiling, and hovering ever so briefly above his target, he released his load. “Bombs away!” he cackled gleefully, and turning on one wing, he sailed back triumphantly toward the kitchen, satisfied that his mission had been accomplished.
Bradley, who had just gotten out of his snow-sodden overcoat, suddenly felt a warm
plop
! on the middle of his head, a split second after he saw the flash of green feathers and heard the maniacal voice of the parrot. He had no doubt about what had hit him. But he had changed. He didn't care about a little bird shit on his head. Besides, it didn't only feel like bird shit. It felt like home.
Six months later, on a warm evening in early June, Maxine had just finished doing the dishes after dinner, and Vincent was in the living room trying to read the instructions on how to assemble a playpen, when the doorbell rang.
“I'll get it,” he called getting to his feet, and Maxine let him. After all, it was his door, too, now.
In a few minutes he came into the kitchen holding Amanda and Amanda's teddy bear. “Jennifer and Mark said they'll be back around ten.”
Maxine nodded. “She's getting bigger every day,” she said, stroking Amanda's curly head. “How's the playpen coming?”
“I'm an intellectual, not an engineer,” replied Vincent. “But I think I'm getting the hang of it.”
“Good, we're going to need it.”
As they walked into the living room there was another knock on the door.
“Right on time,” said Maxine, looking at her watch.
When she answered the door, there was Bradley and, with him, the obviously pregnant Janie, the newly christened Roger Curtis, Chester, and something small, white and bouncy on the end of a leash.
“Hi Ma,” cried Bradley, handing the baby to her and ushering Janie, the puppy and the bird in out of the hallway.
Maxine clutched the baby and eyed the dog.
“I hope you don't mind looking after the puppy, Maxine.” It was Janie talking. “But you see, Tony and Marilyn managed to consummate their marriage in spite of Lavinia's attempts to keep them apart. Steven gave us their firstborn as a gift for looking after Roger while he and Lavinia are on their honeymoon. His name is Edgar.”
“Edgar?” Maxine shook her head. “Whatever happened to Fido?”
Hearing his name and excited by all the new smells, Edgar immediately squatted and made a puddle on the rug.
“I'm sorry. I'll get a paper towel,” cried an embarrassed Janie.
“Did you ever think about diapers for dogs?” asked Maxine watching the puppy pee sink into the wool.
“You know, that's not a bad idea. We could ⦔
“Ma, do you have to encourage her?” Bradley gave his mother a warning look. “It's bad enough she's got this Pet Cruise thing going.”
“Oh don't be such a grump,” said Janie to Bradley. “It'll be fun. People love to take their animals on vacation. Besides it's only for three days and we did say nothing over a hundred and fifty pounds or four legs.”
“You could have said nothing unless it's warmblooded, like I asked you to.”
“Oh Bradley ⦔
“Hello Sailor! Ship ahoy!” interjected Chester who was a much calmer bird now that he was able to take out his aggressions on the likes of Edgar whenever the urge struck him.
“Well, I guess that's our cue to say goodbye. Bye, Ma. Bye, Vincent,” called Bradley to the figure hunched over the half-erected playpen.
Vincent waved his screwdriver. He wasn't sure if it was a Philips or a Robertson. But it might as well have been a wrench for all the help it was.
“Thanks for taking care of things, Ma. We'll see you Monday night.” And with that they were gone.
Maxine, followed by the effervescent Edgar, carried Roger into the living room and placed him next to Amanda. The two babies eyed each other curiously and then Roger reached out and clouted Amanda over the head. She started to cry.
“Here we go,” said Maxine trying to soothe Amanda and moving the babies further apart. Edgar took this opportunity to create another little yellow lake.
“Who's that?” asked Vincent pointing the handle of the screwdriver at the smallest new arrival.
“That's Edgar. He's Tony and Marilyn's son,” replied Maxine.
Vincent nodded. Maybe we should put him in the playpen.”
“I've got a better idea. Why don't you and I get in the playpen? It may be safer. It'll definitely be drier.” And she came and sat beside him on the floor and watched for a few minutes as he tried to master instructions which had been translated from German to Japanese to English.
She looked around the room. It was the same living room she had spent the last quarter of a century in. The same living room she had shared with Harry and where Bradley had grown up. But all that was gone now. The man was different. The babies were different. Probably, thought Maxine, I'm different, too. But the room is the same.
“Vincent?”
“Hmmmmm?”
“Have you ever noticed that the more things change, the more they stay the same?”
Vincent looked up from his task. “No Maxine, I never noticed that.” But he was smiling as he said it.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1989 by Olivia De Grove
Cover design by Kat JK Lee
ISBN: 978-1-5040-1394-9
Distributed in 2015 by Open Road Distribution
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
