The Neighbors Are Watching (21 page)

“Goddamn,” Gloria said, hustling to the front door, and then, “Okay, okay! I’m coming!”

Sam picked up the baby once more and rocked her as she followed behind Gloria, but this time Zoë refused to be pacified and her crying escalated into screams. Gloria was standing at the door, one arm out and resting on the jamb as if she were barring entrance to Joe, who was on the other side.

“Joe?” Sam said. “Do you want to come in?”

Gloria looked back at Sam with an impatient expression and let her arm down so that Joe could cross the threshold. He looked like crap: wan and drawn and those bags under his eyes were darker and puffier than when she’d last seen him. His shirt was wrinkled and the collar was askew as if he’d been pulling it away from his neck repeatedly. Sam didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell whether the hard set and deepening lines of his face indicated anger, sorrow, anxiety, or some combination of all three.

“Thanks for taking care of the baby, Sam. I’ll take her home now.” He
looked over at Gloria, who was posed in some kind of warrior stance with her legs straight and slightly spread and her arms folded across her chest. “You too, Gloria,” he added. “Thanks.”

“What happened, Joe?” Sam asked. “What did the police say?”

“They have …” For a moment he looked as if he was going to break down, his face on the verge of crumbling, but then he drew it all back together, put the pieces where they belonged. “They’ve taken the information. I’ve filed a missing persons report. They’re going to … it’s been a few days since anyone’s … since I’ve seen her, so she might be …” He paused for a moment, gathering himself, taking a breath. Zoë was still crying. Sam couldn’t quiet her no matter which direction she moved. Joe raised his eyebrows a little as if to ask her why.

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I know this is above and beyond the neighbor’s call of duty—”

“But?” Gloria said. She walked over to Sam, put an arm around her as if to protect her.

“They want to ask you some questions,” Joe said. “The police. The detectives on this … this case. You found the baby, Sam, and they want to know … Well, they want to ask you some questions. I’m sorry.”

“When?” Gloria said.

Joe started to answer, but Sam stopped him. “It doesn’t matter when,” she said and shot a pleading glance at Gloria. “Of course we’ll
both
help in any way we can.” She walked over to Joe and patted him on the shoulder with her free hand.

“We’ll find her,” she said. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

J
essalyn looked at the little basket and the baby sleeping within it and felt something close to panic. This is what happened, she thought, when you let them in close—when you allowed them to see you unwaxed or without makeup, or told them what you really thought or felt, even if only for a moment when they probably weren’t listening anyway. It was her fault, she admitted it. She hadn’t laid down any ground rules with Joe. It was almost the opposite, in fact. She’d left the details up to him: where they would meet, how often, and what they would do when they got together. And she’d made the critical mistake of
telling
him all this—telling him she wasn’t going to put any pressure on him, that they would take it exactly as he wanted to.

What the hell had she been thinking?

She liked Joe. She liked him so much that she thought it could even head into a kind of love. Whatever love was. Jessalyn had been in love once before and it was an experience that she never wanted to repeat. It was, she thought, like having the flu in combination with the worst hangover you’d ever experienced. Again, probably her fault for falling for someone named
Hunter
—not his real name but one he had chosen to advance his going-nowhere acting career. He was probably the best-looking man Jessalyn had ever met and he wasn’t just a dumb blond—he had a brain and he was
funny. She’d met him on that ridiculous reality show that had done nothing to improve her life or career in any way, especially considering that it was canceled so quickly. It was funny, Jessalyn thought, so many of those stupid plastic bitches who went on those shows—there were so many of them it was impossible to keep track—acted badly. They drank too much, they cursed like sailors, and they fucked half the contestants on the show
on and off camera
and still, after all that, they got guest-hosting spots on other shows or book deals or at least some kind of tabloid celebrity that lasted long enough to bank a little cash. But no, there was none of that for her.

She had fallen hard for Hunter on the show, and he was interested enough in her that it pissed off the five other jealous bitches on the set who then got her voted out in a big hurry and made her look like a worthless slut in the process. Most of the situations on that set had been staged, written, and tailored, but group female jealousy—that shit just wrote itself. Jessalyn had been left with nothing except her feelings for Hunter. And those feelings made her feel sick: trembling, feverish, nauseated, and dizzy. It was so bad that even after he kicked her to the curb, she continued to chase him down, to follow him, park outside his house, go through all the pathetic stalker motions she’d sworn she’d never stoop to.

That was love and Jessalyn didn’t ever want to go through it again. But Joe … Joe was something else. Affection? She couldn’t figure out what the attraction was. He wasn’t the best-looking guy in the world, although he was definitely all right—and a big cut above almost all of her regular dates. He wasn’t very wealthy either. There wasn’t anything outstanding or particularly special about him. He was really just a regular
Joe
. He was married too, which wasn’t necessarily a disadvantage.
Married
meant he was guilty, and when they got guilty they were usually nicer all around, trying to make up for something even while they were doing it. Married also meant passion without obligation. But he was a neighbor and that made him a little too close for her comfort. And maybe that was why they had drifted into this place in their relationship—because at this point it
was
a
relationship—where he could drop this baby on her and ask her to take care of it.

Because there was no other reason she could think of why he would think that it was an okay thing to do.

He’d said it was only for a few hours, while he went to work, and that he’d be back before she knew it and if the baby woke up, all she needed to do was give her a bottle—and maybe change her diaper—and she’d be fine. He didn’t ask, he begged. And when she looked at him then, so stressed out by what was going on in his life, she felt sorry for him, and the words that were on the edge of her lips, about how she didn’t feel comfortable taking care of a baby so young because she didn’t really have the experience and that maybe he should consider getting a sitter who knew what she was doing, stayed unspoken in her mouth. And maybe there was a little more to it than that as well. She felt real warmth for this man with his domestic dramas and respectful manner. That was it, she now realized, the reason why she felt the stirrings of something that could be more than affection. He seemed to respect her. He was hot for her, sure, that was how it all got started in the first place, but underneath all of that there was a kind of innocent courtesy toward her. She remembered when they were getting dressed and ready to leave the hotel a few days ago, and he had, for no other reason than just to be chivalrous, slipped her shoes onto her feet while she was sitting on the bed buttoning her shirt. Prince Charming did that kind of thing. And Jessalyn was a sucker for all things Prince Charming.

But now here she was with a baby in a basket on her bed and no idea what she would do if the baby woke up and started crying. It was supposed to just come naturally to you if you were a woman. Somehow you were just expected to know what to do with a baby, but Jessalyn had serious doubts about her own maternal capabilities. She had never felt the call to motherhood—never felt a biological or emotional need to reproduce, to create a miniature version of herself. If the time ever came, and Jessalyn assumed that it would, she would have a baby for a man. But for herself, no, Jessalyn did not want a baby. Ever. Of all her secrets, this was the one she
guarded the most carefully. There was no bigger sin for a woman—no clearer sign of her lack of normality—than to remain childless by choice, and not because you had some kind of high-powered career (that in and of itself was never a good enough excuse) but because you didn’t really like babies or because you didn’t think you’d know what to do with a baby if you had one. She glanced over at the infant she’d been entrusted with. Sure, she seemed like she was down for the count, but how long would it be before she woke up and started crying? Then what?

Jessalyn leaned in for a closer look. Well, she
was
very cute at least. Hard to believe you could have a mouth that little, and those tiny eyelashes were adorable. And that smooth tight skin. Jessalyn sighed. You spent the whole rest of your life trying to re-create the skin you had as a baby. Was there ever a moment as a girl when you were happy with the way you looked? If there was, Jessalyn couldn’t remember it. There was constantly something too big, not big enough, too loose, too ugly, too soft, too hard, too fat, too fat, too fat.… That was always at the core of it, she thought, that permanent worry about looking too fat. It would never end. And soon she’d have to add other procedures to the boob job she’d already had. Bo-tox, collagen, tummy tuck … they were probably all in her future.

All this maintenance was expensive. And after a certain point it just stopped working. There was nothing worse than that sucked-out, dried-up, perpetually surprised look of women who had had too much plastic surgery, and it was not the future that Jessalyn wanted for herself. Not that there was much of a future in what she was doing now, even though she really didn’t mind it. The sex wasn’t all bad and her guys were handpicked: easygoing and not particularly demanding. As far as she was concerned, it was an even exchange. She was willing, they were willing, and everybody got what they wanted. There was never any negotiation. There were
expectations
of generosity, gifts, appreciation.… It was all totally on the up and up and more honest than probably half the wives in this neighborhood who gave their husbands annual blow jobs for birthdays or when they wanted jewelry. And it was okay to talk about that too—totally socially acceptable
to talk about screwing one’s
husband
for money. Jessalyn had heard those conversations herself. Yet those same people wouldn’t hesitate to condemn her lifestyle (if they knew anything about it) in the harshest possible terms, as if she were some kind of animal. In the end Jessalyn and the trophy wife up on her hill were the same breed but for one key difference. The wives had security. Jessalyn could count on none of that. She was dependent on her own talent, looks, and the shifting goodwill of the men she dated. There was no way of telling how long any of that would last. Her current situation was fine—even comfortable—but, no, it was not where she wanted to end up.

But, she thought looking down at the baby, neither was this. A love affair was one thing, but a baby—a grandchild, no less—well, that was something else. Jessalyn wasn’t about to let herself fall into the role of babysitter or stepmom or whatever position it was Joe wanted to give her. She wondered if he was trying to turn her into Allison, who, she’d just found out, had totally walked out on him. He hadn’t given Jessalyn any explanation for that, except to tell her that it had nothing to do with the two of them; he was sure that Allison didn’t know anything about their affair. Jessalyn wasn’t so sure, but she kept that information to herself. Still, even if Allison did know about them, it probably wasn’t the main reason she’d taken off. Joe had told Jessalyn a little about Diana and how she had come to be staying with them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this whole scenario didn’t sit well with Allison, who was a prissy bitch to begin with from what Jessalyn could see. Diana running off and leaving her baby for the two of them to take care of was probably the last straw.

Jessalyn sighed. She hadn’t wanted to get caught up in this particular family drama at all, but she supposed it was impossible to avoid it—dirty laundry was the emotional price you paid to be involved romantically with another person. In fact, Jessalyn thought wryly, if you wanted romance without drama, you had to pay cash. But Joe did seem pretty anxious about Diana, and Jessalyn felt bad about that. When he’d brought the baby over, he’d told her about how he’d spent the afternoon with the cops, reporting
her as missing, and how, at first, he’d gotten the feeling that they thought he was trying to unload his own parental responsibilities onto them by sending them after a kid who was just playing possum. It took him a while to convince them he wasn’t just another rich guy trying to use the police to discipline his spoiled child, he said, and by the end of it he’d become really worried about Diana. Jessalyn had tried to reassure him that Diana was likely fine and just acting out. She’d probably run off before, Jessalyn told him, and this was her way of making a grab for attention. Joe didn’t seem convinced, but he guessed it was true, he told her; he didn’t really know Diana that well, and even though he couldn’t see the point of running away from a place you’d already run away
to
, he wasn’t an expert on teenagers.

“They’re more adult than most adults these days,” Jessalyn told him then. “They know exactly what they’re doing.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “You know that Werner kid, Kevin?”

Jessalyn rolled her eyes, thinking about that fat-assed Dorothy with her mom jeans and her leering husband. “What about him?”

“Diana’s been hanging out with him since she got here. He’s a bad seed and I just hope she hasn’t gotten involved in any kind of drug thing with him. He’s in the hospital. At least that’s what Dick Werner says. I think he OD’d on something.”

“Well, that’s not a total surprise,” Jessalyn said. “All the kids around here are into that shit. If they aren’t taking them, they’re selling them.”