MAYBE BABY

by ANDREA SMITH

  I could tell that he struggled to continue. I thought he felt bad for laughing. I watched him compose himself as he got up and approached my hospital bed. He leaned on the rail. I could smell his aftershave. I was inclined to swoon. He was looking at me now, all humor gone or at least hidden.

  “I think what you actually observed, was the pool light that is inset under the diving board. When I pulled up the drive that night, I saw everyone in the pool. I walked over to the bathhouse and switched it on. It’s safer to have a lit area when swimming at night. It was after that as I glanced over at the melee, I saw you being tossed over into the deep end,

  hitting your head on the edge of the diving board. Your friends were either too inebriated or two distracted to be of any help to you,” he frowned darkly as he made the last comment.

  “At any rate, I made haste to get you out of there. You were lucky that I was there,” he finished his voice a bit huskier.

  (Oh, it was the pool light. Not the heavenly beacon leading me past the pearly gates. It was an honest mistake. Yeah, right! I guess I just served him up toe jam on an idiot cracker...)

  “By the way, Ms. Preston,” he continued in a slightly admonishing (lawyer) tone, “It appears that you too were quite inebriated. I’m surprised mostly at you for being so reckless. I was somehow under the impression that you might possess more common sense than the others.”

  I flushed at his chastisement, but I was not about to let him twist this around so that he could make me feel like some empty headed adolescent that had no business being out after dark!

  “So, Mr. Sinclair,” I replied, a tiny bit haughtily, “It sounds as if you are blaming the victim here. Let me ask you this. When you returned to your home that evening, I recall that you were wearing a tuxedo, right?” I didn’t wait for his response, and continued, “I also know that a female, what was her name, Charlotte? Yes, that was it, Charlotte, accompanied you as well?”

  “Your point is, Ms. Preston?”

  “Had you had anything to drink that night, Mr. Sinclair?” I asked, sounding like a lawyer during cross-examination.

  He gave me no reply but his body language spoke volumes.

  “I see. Don’t you feel that perhaps you behaved in a reckless manner yourself, Mr. Sinclair? After all, to drink and drive is not very responsible for a man in your profession.

  By doing so, you broke the law; put yourself in harm’s way, along with putting your girlfriend Charlotte at risk.”

  (Objection: Argumentative!)

  Hah! Let him get out of this one.

  “First of all, Ms. Preston, Charlotte does not happen to be my girlfriend. That was actually just the first time we had been out; she asked me to escort her to a function at her club and I accepted – secondly -”

  I didn’t allow him to continue with his ‘secondly’.

  “Ohh, your first date,” I interrupted in Demi style.

  “I see, Mr. Sinclair, so that’s how you roll, huh?”

  He was gaping at me in total confusion. He wasn’t sure where I was going with this line of questioning. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

  “You accept an invitation to escort a lady to her club,” I accused, haughtily. “You get all drunked up, Mr. Sinclair. You get her all drunked up, and then you drive drunk, bringing her back to ‘mom and dad’s mansion for a little what . . . . sport fucking?”

  (Objection: Badgering the witness!)

  I surprised myself with that one. God, I sounded like Jenna. It was not really what I was going for here. I was probably fired.

  Before I had a chance to find out the door to my hospital room opened and a smiling Ray and Denise walked in. I was really glad to see them.

  “Hey there, girl, how are you doing?” Denise gushed. Ray came over and gave me a quick hug and a peck on the forehead.

  Denise hurried over and gave me a hug.

  Ray went over and started talking to Trey; they retreated over to the window talking quietly.

  I strained to hear what was being said, but my attention shifted back to Denise as she let out a snort of disgust.

  “My oh my, girl. Don’t they allow you to shower or shampoo here?” she asked, her lip curled up in disgust. “Why your gorgeous hair looks like it’s had pure lard combed through it!”

  I saw Trey momentarily stop his conversation, glancing over at me. I blushed with embarrassment. It was easier only imagining how bad I looked. Thanks to Denise, I knew firsthand.

  Trey spoke up, “She just really came around fully today, Denise. There was no way anyone was going to be able to get her into the shower until she became lucid enough. She can’t have anything more than sponge baths until they remove her catheter, anyway.”

  (Catheter? But that’s for . . .)

  I slowly lifted up my covers and pulled up my hospital gown in front to get a peek.

  (Sweet Jesus!)

  I couldn’t even feel it. I guess that part was good. It dawned on me to see how well my catheter worked. I peered down at the side of my hospital bed; naturally it was on the side that faces the window where he and Ray were standing. I saw it. The clear plastic pouch with measurement lines printed on it. It was filled about to the halfway mark with yellow urine. I felt my face warming.

  My eyes flew up and met his amused gaze. He had thoroughly enjoyed watching me figure it all out.

  He smirked as a grin slowly spread across his handsome and triumphant face.

  (Objection: Relevance?)

  Damn, how much had he seen over the past, how many days? Would I have a modicum of modesty left when I finally got out of here? Trey and Ray resumed talking. I was relieved his attention was diverted away from the pee bag and my nasty hair.

  Denise was still trying to make some semblance of order out of my greasy hair with the comb that was with the rest of the toiletries in a plastic tub on the bed table. I heard Trey’s voice get a bit louder when he responded to something that Ray had told him.

  “How many days since he last ate?” Trey questioned. Ray replied ‘three.’ Trey looked irritated. He absently raked a hand through his hair, taking a moment to think before speaking again.

  (Nice Rolex, counselor).

  “Okay, Ray, tell you what, have Clint mix up some of that special oat grain and barley meal that’s kept on the shelf in the tack room. Tell him to let Derringer free feed until I tell him differently, got it?”

  “Sure thing,” Ray answered.

  “What’s going on with Derringer?” I demanded, interrupting their conversation.

  How many days had I been here? Maybe I needed to ask it out loud one of these times.

  “Derringer is going to be fine, Tylar,” Trey said, sensing that I was becoming upset. “Just a little hunger strike going on that’s all. It’s temporary, I’m sure. He’s probably missing someone that’s taken to spoiling him,” he said with a grin.

  So, we were back to ‘Tylar’ again. What was with him, anyway?

  It was strange how one minute Trey spoke like someone from another era and then quick as a flash, he would chameleon into a normal, Southern, down home kind of guy. I was curious as to which one was the real Trey.

  Denise interrupted my thoughts for the moment.

  “Tylar,” she said congenially, “I don’t want to be pushy, hon, but it you want me to, I can go down and check at the nurse’s station to see if they will let me help you into the shower. I can shampoo and condition your hair for you if you want.”

  “Denise, I will love you forever if you can swing that,” I answered eagerly. “Can you let them know that I am able to use the bathroom as well so I can get this catheter removed?”

  “Sure thing, hon, you just sit tight. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  Ray came over and sat down on the edge of my bed.

  “We sure miss you, Ty,” he smiled, his eyes crinkling. “I can tell you this; Trey reamed the whole bunch of them real good, especially Jenna and Clint.”

  “No,” I replied quickly, glancing over at Tr
ey who seemed to be staring distractedly out the window.

  “Clint had no hand in this at all, Ray. I know that for a fact – now Jenna, yeah, I wouldn’t put anything past her, but still, I can’t think she would do something to purposely try and kill me.”

  “What do you mean Clint had no hand in this?” Trey interrupted, his eyes blazing directly at me.

  Maybe he had not been distracted at the window after all.

  “Clint knows goddamn well that you are not old enough to legally consume alcohol! What the hell was he thinking – never mind,” he snapped, glaring at me.

  “You and I both know what he was thinking, don’t we?”

  (Objection: Calls for speculation!)

  Trey turned on his heel and left the room. Wow where had that come from?

  “Don’t let him get to you, Ty,” Ray consoled me. "You know it upset him to think about what might have happened last Friday. He’s been up here with you nearly 24/7. He has been trying like crazy to contact your mom. Have you spoken with her lately?”

  “No, not since she drove me to the bus station in Louisville to come here,” I answered.

  “Are you sure you have her correct number written down on your emergency contact form then?”

  “I think so; I’d have to see it to be sure. I have her number programmed into my cell phone, though.”

  Ray probably thought it was strange that I didn’t call my mom and she had not called me. It had been several weeks. That’s just the way it was between Mom and me.

  “Where’s your cell phone?”

  “Back at my cottage."

  “Okay,” he said. “We will have someone fetch that and get it over to you this evening, okay? You need to let your mom know where you are and that you are okay. She’s probably been calling and calling these last several days, worried sick about you.”

  “Sure, okay, Ray.”

  Boy, he did not know my mom that was certain. She always said that ‘no news is good news.’ Once this hospital bill came in, I was going to need to get money out of my trust. I would ask her to fax a withdrawal form over to the office here. I still was not sure how long I had been here, now might be a good time to find out.

  “Ray, what day is this?” I questioned softly.

  “It’s Wednesday, darlin’ – you’ve been in here for five days.”

  (Sweet Jesus!)

  Five days in the hospital. That would probably drain my trust completely. I couldn’t think about that right now.

  “And Derringer hasn’t eaten in three?”

  “That’s right, but don’t you worry yourself about him, okay? Trey knows what he’s doing with Derringer. That’s Trey’s horse, you know?”

  “So I’ve been told,” I replied dryly.

  “Ray?” I asked again.

  “Yes, darlin’?”

  “You know there are rumors floating around the place about Trey and some scandal with his former fiancé. I wondered---“

  “Damn gossip,” Ray interrupted, frowning. “Ty that is all it is. I don’t know the particulars of what you’ve heard; all I know is that Trey is someone that I trust completely. You should, too.”

  Our conversation stopped as Denise came bouncing back into my hospital room.

  “Good news for you girlie,” she said with a broad smile. “Your nurse will be down in just a few minutes to remove the catheter. After that, I am cleared to help you with a shower. We’ll get this mop of hair washed and conditioned, and who knows, maybe add a pinch of my magic dust to it to give you a bit of a new look, that’s if you're game and trust me with it.”

  “Oh my God yes, Denise!” I laughed. “I am so ready for a shower and a new look to boot!”

  “Great,” she chirped. “Okay, Ray baby, please fetch my case out of your car please? Then you may take your leave until I call for you. We girls have some magic to work!”

  Ray was nearly out the door when Denise called out to him to bring her beauty case up from the car.

  “Yes, dear” he replied, trying his best to sound like the over-burdened boyfriend.

  "Oh and Ray - I phoned back to the stables and asked Jenna to grab a clean nightie and pair of panties out of Tylar’s cottage. I told her that you would get with her once you got back to get them from her. Please bring them with you when you pick me up later this evening? These hospital duds just don’t get it.”

  “Yes, dear,” Ray repeated, now rolling his eyes. “I’ll grab your cell phone when I’m back there if you don’t mind, Ty."

  “Thanks, Ray,” I replied, smiling. "Will you grab the charger too?"

  “Got it,” he said with a wink. "Be right back with your case, ‘Neecie.”

  The shower felt exquisite. It looked like I had lost a little weight through this ordeal. I lathered my hair up with shampoo, twice, then rinsed and conditioned. Denise had grabbed a fresh hospital gown which would have to do until Ray came back later to pick her up and brought me my clothes.

  Denise had me sit on the bedside chair while she combed out my wet locks. Her beauty case contained all sorts of sprays, bottles of this and that, combs, curlers, scissors of many types, a hot iron, a blow dryer, curling irons, and an electric razor.

  “Now I’m going to spray on a little detangler here, honey,” she explained. “Your hair got so matted over these past several days; it will help while I comb it out."

  It felt so good under her careful hands. It was not as painful as I expected, even when she encountered a snarl or two.

  “Honey, are you particularly fond of wearing your hair this long and with this blunt cut that you have?” she asked me, wrinkling her nose up slightly.

  “Why?” I asked, eying her a bit suspiciously, noting she was not fond of my current hair style.

  My thoughts strayed back to my freshman year of high school, two days before class pictures were being taken. Mom decided that my hair needed a bit of a trim before picture-taking day. My hair was about to my shoulders and I loved the way it fell softly about.

  “Just an inch or so, Ty,” Mom prods.

  “Just let me get the split ends off. It will lay better and look much healthier for your pictures. If I’m paying for those pictures then you can damn well make sure you look your best in them, hear.”

  An hour later, I look at the pile of hair laying on the bathroom floor in horror. I grab the hand mirror off the vanity. I see the look of horror that appears on my face as I see my own reflection. My hair is in a short, butch cut. My mom is beside me, watching my reaction. I look at her incredulously.

  “Now don’t blame me,” she yells defensively. “You and that funny shaped head of yours! Makes it damn hard when I’m trying to even up both sides of it. Had to keep taking more off to finally get it evened up, but I think it’s cute. You ought to see the back, baby. I think they call this a 'bob.”

  When she sees that I’m not buying it she gets more flustered with me.

  “It’s just hair, dammit! It’s not like it won’t grow back. I swear, I try and do something nice for my girl and do you think she appreciates it? Nooo, no way!”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I concede. “I’m sure once I wash and blow dry it will be fine.”

  “That’s my girl,” she smiles. “Always remember, Ty, it’s good to try new things. nobody, especially men, like the same ole’ same ole’. Your mom knows best about these things.”

  She hugs me and skips out of the bathroom, leaving me with the horrible haircut. It takes a good three months for my hair to look somewhat normal again.

  “Tylar? Earth to Tylar?”

  It was Denise’s voice bringing me back to the present. “How about it? I really had a cute cut in mind that would look great with your face and features. Don’t worry. I would just take a little length off; mostly just put it in long layers to frame around that beautiful face of yours.”

  “Go for it Denise,” I said.

  Denise and I chatted while she snipped, combed, lifted and snipped again. I was repeating a mantra in my head. �
��I won’t freak out, I won’t freak out.’ Denise chatted away about this and that. There was no mirror in front of me so that I could see how my cut was turning out.

  About thirty minutes later, Denise had yet another bombshell idea.

  “How about if I put in some brush in highlights?” she asked eagerly.

  “Nothing major, mind you, just to soften the look and highlights will give this gorgeous hair of yours more depth.

  What do you say, Ty?”

  “Fine with me Denise,” I replied.

  In another forty-five minutes Denise was putting the final touches on my newly-cut, newly highlighted hair with a flat iron. She finished up by spraying it with something called "Spritzy Sheen’ that she had gotten out of her bag.

  “All done,” she announced, obviously pleased with the results.

  “Now I want you to come into the bathroom because that mirror will let you see the full effect that a hand mirror doesn’t. C’mon!”

  I dutifully followed her to the bathroom, where she spread out her arms, and gave me a “Voila!”

  “Wow,” I said, then another “Wow!”

  “You like?” she beamed proudly.

  “Yes, Denise, actually, it looks really great. Can I ask you something though?”

  “Sure hon, ask me anything!”

  “Does this hairstyle have a name?”

  “Sure does, honey, it’s called ‘The Rachel’ – and you wear it so well!”

  Yep, that was what I had thought. The hairstyle was gorgeous; the highlights were radiant. I swung my head from side to side. The layers bounced; the hair shone. I stared at my reflection. How could I not love looking like a ‘Jennifer Aniston’ wannabe?

  I glanced over at Denise who was clearly pleased with her workmanship. She wanted me to love it because she loved it. My hair was now an exact replica of Jennifer Aniston's like what, fifteen years ago? It wasn’t that people would think I had a “dated” hairstyle. Hell, these days practically anything went. I liked it well enough and it was an improvement over the last cut. It was still long enough to pull up into a ponytail when I worked. I knew Denise was waiting for more.