by Lynn Shurr
Deanie slept most of the time and was not the best company when awake. Mostly, he sat in his infant seat and watched Nell when she crossed in front of him. He kicked, burped and sometimes farted. He cried for his bottle every three or four hours round the clock. Nell moved into the Chinese Bordello Room to be sure she wouldn’t miss a feeding. She kept him clean and dry and wondered what the hell was wrong with her.
She’d mourned for the children she would never have. She had considered adopting if she never married, maybe taking in an older special needs child someday. She thought she had lots of affection to offer. Where was the fount of motherliness she had expected to spring forth now? She’d been handed a baby, a perfectly good baby, a little crusty around the nostrils right now, but not one of those infants so colicky the women who bore them were driven into exhaustion. Where were her instincts? Where was her undying love?
On Sunday, Nell invited her parents over to watch Joe play football. Emily, still miffed over the Baby Gap wardrobe, said she had other plans. The elder Abbotts had no problems accepting Dean as their grandchild. They came in full grandparent mode with a washable terry cloth crib bear and a set of plastic keys Dean was too small to rattle but happy to suck. The baby spent most of the game in the crook of her father’s arm having football explained to him.
“See Daddy had to throw that ball away because he was going to get sacked and all his receivers were covered.” Deanie screwed up his face and gave a small yelp.
“Don’t let it upset you, boy. Your daddy will get a long one out to Riley or Deets any time now.”
“Oh, Gary, the child just has gas,” her mother corrected. “Does Deanie want his belly rubbed?” She gained possession of the grandchild. Nell marveled at their ease with the baby and wondered if she would ever have their skill.
The Sinners took the game 17-14, too close for comfort. Gary Abbott got up to stretch and use the bathroom. Ann started toward the kitchen to check the refrigerator for dinner possibilities. Ignoring the baby seat on the floor, she sat Dean in Nell’s lap as she passed.
As usual, the reporters interviewed Joe about the game. “Wasn’t my best game, no. They nearly had us at the end. I’d like to thank the defense for holding the line and my great offense for being there when I needed them. I missed a few practices this week and had a lot on my mind, but I’ll be making up for that against the Panthers next week.”
“We hear congratulations are in order, Joe,” Rita Fortunado horned in with her rich contralto voice. “Who is your lucky bride?”
Nell noticed how close Rita stood to Joe and wished the reporter would get her damned hand off his arm. They’d slept together, she simply knew it.
“Nell, her name’s Nell. Hey, Nell. I’m sure she’s watching.” He sneezed and turned away from the camera to swipe his nose with the sleeve of his jersey. Rita’s hand slipped away.
“Sorry,” he apologized. Leaning closer to the lens, he smiled. Women watching wilted all over America, Nell was certain. “Hey, Deanie. Daddy’s on his way home.” He gave a little wave with his fingers.
“Deanie? Daddy?” Rita was right on top of things.
“Ah—no comment. Coach Buck wants to say a few words.” Joe trotted off to the sanctuary of the locker room.
Deanie Billodeaux watched the flickers on the television screen, blinked his eyes, yawned and snuggled into Nell’s belly. She lifted him to a shoulder and rubbed his back the way Joe did. “What do you think, Deanie? Did Daddy sleep with that woman?”
On the trip back to New Orleans, Joe Dean paused in the aisle next to Calvin Armitage. “Nell and the baby are getting over a bug and truth to tell, I think I might be coming down with it, so no surprise receptions or anything, okay?”
“I’ll stop the ladies. I think they were planning something. How’s married life treatin’ you?”
Joe leaned against the seat and considered. “Well, there’s a lot less sex than I figured on.”
In the space next to Calvin, Asa Dobbs cackled. “Oh, you married all right. Now you got to beg for it.”
“Sharlette say you never get it on during the season ’cause both your heads is in the game.” Calvin tweaked his buddy.
“Sharlette should keep her mouth shut.”
“Really, Nell’s been sick. We both been up with the baby and I’m not feeling so well myself.”
“That the way it go with kids. They catch some crud at school and bring it home.” Calvin took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Wouldn’t trade mine for another Super Bowl ring though.”
“I would,” Asa Dobbs claimed. “You want some more, come get my girls, Joe.”
Joe got in late after Nell and Deanie had gone to bed. He took two aspirin and threw himself down on the round bed and cool satin sheets in the Love Palace without thinking there should have been a wife around somewhere. He pulled the fake fur throws over his feverish body and went to sleep. When Nell got up to give the baby a change and a bottle, she heard his phlegmy snores resounding off the red-flocked walls and let him rest.
In the morning, she plied him with orange juice and hot tea with lemon and suggested he call in sick just as she was going to do.
“Can’t. I missed too much last week. Team meeting today.” He took two decongestants and a hot shower, kissed Nell’s head and said, “Bye-bye, Deanie.”
Coach sent Joe to the doc. The doc sent him home an hour later. He put on his black satin robe, the one the chicks liked so much, propped his head up on two pillows at one end of the leather couch and warded off the chills with the cotton comforter. He could review the game tape right here. Joe Dean fell asleep listening to Nell give an explanation to her boss.
“I know I took personal emergency time off last week, but I caught this virus and I shouldn’t be around the children until it’s totally cleared up. Dr. Brown can vouch for me.”
“That’s not all you caught, Nell, now is it? According to this week’s tabloids, you caught yourself a husband and spent last week in Vegas secluded in a honeymoon suite. I have the paper right in front of me.” Joe Brunner rustled the paper near the receiver as if he could make Nell see it.
“We spent one night in Vegas. Since then, I’ve been home sick. Now Joe’s come down with it.”
“When did you have the time to give birth to Joe Dean’s secret love child is what my enquiring mind wants to know.”
“I didn’t, but that’s another thing. I’m going to have to ask for six weeks maternity leave. There is a baby, not mine, but I have to make some arrangements for childcare. Deanie isn’t supposed to be around strangers for another three or four weeks. I really need your understanding on this. Yes, I know. This is only possible because the new intern is working out so well. Thank her for me.” She hung up.
The doorbell chimed, waking both Joe and the baby. Nell raced for the crib. Whoever had arrived unannounced could wait. She returned with Deanie howling for a bottle. The doorbell sounded again and the phone rang. Bleary-eyed, Joe struggled off the couch, his black satin robe gaping open to show his most valuable assets.
Nell put the phone to the ear opposite the crying baby. “Miss Nell, I’m so sorry. She got by me. Just flashed her credentials and stormed over to the elevator. It’s a child welfare lady. She’ll be there any second,” Gregory apologized.
“I appreciate the warning.” The bell chimed again. She could do nothing but open it.
“Althea Alexander, child welfare case worker.” The immense black woman, who made Precious Armitage seem small-boned, filled the doorway. Twice Gregory’s weight and several inches taller, she could have taken the doorman down with ease.
“We’ve had a complaint filed by a Mrs. Nicole Everard, the child’s legal guardian, against Joe Dean Billodeaux, the natural father. She claims he abducted the child and removed the infant to an unfit environment.”
Nell clutched Deanie a little too hard and he squalled in her ear. “As you can see, the child is fine, but you woke him. He does want his bottle.” Official types
, even four times bigger than her, did not frighten Nell. She could stare down a surgeon if one of her kids was involved.
“May I come in? I do need to check out these allegations.”
Thinking cooperation would better serve their cause, Nell moved aside. From the corner of her eye, she saw Joe tightening his robe but looking shaky from the fever and chills. “Please sit down, Mrs. Alexander. I need to get Dean his breakfast.”
Nell warmed a bottle in the microwave, tested the temperature of the formula on her wrist and settled herself on the sofa. Terribly aware of the spot of baby drool on her pink t-shirt and her bare feet hanging out of cropped pants, Nell gave the social worker a plucky smile. Keeping Rita Fortunado in mind, she had put on a little makeup for her husband’s return home and so wasn’t a total slob. Deanie didn’t care what she looked like. He latched on to the nipple. Nell took him to the rocking chair in a quiet corner of the room. Let Joe handle this mess, this cute little mess, he had created. Joe sat and covered his knees with the cotton comforter.
Mrs. Alexander selected one of the oversized matching leather chairs with arms substantial enough to give her a boost up and a seat large enough to accommodate her behind.
My, my, my, she thought, Joe Dean Billodeaux in the flesh, and what flesh. Those long, muscular legs showing a few cleat scars, that mat of dark hair covering his chest, the thick, ruffled hair, the sleepy eyes, they just made a woman want to run her hands under that black satin robe and touch the goodies.
Wait until she told the sisters at the Sunshine and Showers Social Club meeting about seeing the man in person. She couldn’t discuss the case, but she sure could give a physical description. The man might be a womanizer, but she bet he had to beat them off with a broom. No wonder he kept a list. Althea patted her black wig into place over her short gray cornrows. She almost hated to bring up the allegations, but that was her job.
“Mr. Billodeaux, Mrs. Everard claims you ripped the baby from her arms and brought him to your apartment which is no better than a whorehouse full of easy women. She says you are a heavy drinker, a womanizer, and the nature of your career keeps you on the road half the year.”
Althea Alexander looked around the condo. She had been in plenty of households where the evidence of heavy drinking was obvious, but no scattered liquor bottles littered the floor, no glass rings marred the coffee table, no signs of slovenly housekeeping stood out. Still, he did have the look of the hung-over—or maybe just the well hung. May the Lord forgive her for that thought.
“Ma’am, I don’t drink all that much, even less during the season, though I have been known to party from time to time. For a year now, I haven’t been doing the clubs very often because I made a vow to St. Jude. I made another vow recently to be a good father and a faithful husband…and I keep my promises. It’s true I’m on the road a lot. I earn my living playing football and that’s part of the life, but I’ve taken a wife. She’ll be here for the baby. As for baby stealing, I told Mrs. Everard, as the child’s father, I would be responsible.” Joe sniffed to keep his nose from running.
Good answer, Althea judged. She turned to the wife, an almost childlike figure who held the baby in her lap as he nursed. “Mrs. Everard says yours is a marriage of convenience purely to put up a good front for Mr. Billodeaux.”
“Then, she may not know I spent the summer with Joe’s family. They are warm-hearted, wonderful people and have welcomed me to the family.”
“Sure did. I knew Nell would make a good mother for the baby so I just moved my plans to get married up a little,” Joe chipped in as cheerily as he could.
“Was Nell one of your—list ladies?”
“Hell, no. She wouldn’t even sign my book. Nell works with dyin’ kids over at Ochsner.”
“You have a career then, Mrs. Billodeaux. Do you plan on staying home with the baby?”
“I’ve put in for six weeks maternity leave. Once that is up, I’d like to see about working part-time at least. As a survivor of childhood cancer, I have a special rapport with other victims and feel I should continue to help them. Joe, of course, has the means for the best of childcare, but he wanted to give Dean a family.”
“What’s the status of your health?”
“I’ve been in remission for ten years. There is no reason to believe I won’t live to raise this child.”
Althea Alexander nodded. “Could I see where the baby sleeps?”
“Of course.” Nell pulled the baby bottle from Dean’s lips with a little pop. He’d drained it and did not protest. She put him on her shoulder and led the way confidently to the Chinese Bordello Room passing the open door and rumpled covers of the Love Palace on the way. Mrs. Alexander took a quick peek in that direction. Her eyes widened when she noticed the mirror on the ceiling.
The erotic pictures had been replaced with nursery rhyme prints. Now, Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall, Jack jumped over the candlestick inches from an open flame, Jack and Jill started up the hill heading for a fall and baby rocked in the treetop—where once hung illustrations of cunnilingus, fellatio and a variety of sexual positions. The new pictures made fairy tales and nursery rhymes seem much more dangerous than sex, but Mrs. Alexander merely smiled at them.
She checked the crib and changing table and let her eyes roam around the room. “Very nice, but a little impractical for a child.”
“I know. We plan to redecorate. Joe is building a house in the country, too. Dean will have a room there as well.”
On the way back to the living room, Mrs. Alexander looked into the Pompadour Room. “Lovely, I wish I had a room like this in my house.”
Joe stood in the kitchen swilling down what looked like a shot glass of red liquid. He held up the plastic cup. “Decongestant. Honest, I haven’t been drinking. Just so you know, Nicole doesn’t stay home with her kids either. She has a nanny. Look Mrs. Alexander, this is all an attempt to soak me for child support. I’m sorry Deanie’s mother died, but you’re welcome here anytime.”
What gorgeous eyes he had, and those fine sculpted lips, how could they lie? Pull yourself together, Althea. Be objective. “One other matter, Mr. Billodeaux. Mrs. Everard says a blood test to prove the fatherhood of the child has not been completed yet. She is sure you are the daddy, but what if the tests show otherwise?”
Casually, Althea opened the refrigerator and inspected the contents: formula, orange juice, milk, fresh fruit, and no more than a reasonable amount of beer.
With no hesitation, Joe said, “My wife and I can’t have children because of her cancer treatments. I’d like to adopt Deanie or be his foster father first if we can’t do that right away. But, did you see the chin, his eyes?” Joe took the baby and held him out for Mrs. Alexander to inspect. “He’s mine.”
Althea took the child and sat down with him. She unsnapped the sleeper and patted Deanie’s full, rounded belly. He burped. No signs of abuse, but it never hurt to check.
“Mr. and Mrs. Billodeaux, I see no reason to remove the child as this time and I will say so in my report. However, if Mrs. Everard gets a court order, I can do nothing to stop her trying to get custody except give testimony of my findings.”
She placed Dean in Nell’s arms and picked up a briefcase-sized purse. “I wish you luck in keeping your son.”
A shame the boy would be their only child, Althea thought on the way out the door. She smiled as she heard Joe say, “We passed, Nell.”
“Yes, I think we did, all three of us.”
TWENTY-ONE
“I’m telling you, Hank, this sick roster explains it all. Would you look at the names we got here: Connor Riley, Rev Bullock, Curse ’em and Crush ’em Calvin Armitage, and last but not least, quarterback Joe Dean Billodeaux, down with something they’re calling Deanie’s flu. A few of the guys out there on the field are playing like they’re about to be ill, too,” the sports commentator covering the Sinners game raved.
“Al, the Panthers are eating the Sinners alive with a score of 47-7. The Sinners look like a c
ollege team trying to play the pros. Well, that’s what most of them are, new draft picks with speed and talent but very little experience. And, you don’t fill the gap made by 356-pound Calvin Armitage in your defensive line with some 269-pound reserve lineman. Derrick Foster gave it a good try, but he just doesn’t take up enough space. The Panthers offense is running rings around him. That’s the two minute warning and all this agony will be over here in the Dome.”
Joe Dean put his head in his hands. The new kid probably would have done a decent job with Deets and Forte still in the lineup, but he kept getting sacked. This was his fault, his and Deanie’s. A little baby couldn’t help what it caught, but he should have known better than to take the child to a practice. Himself, he should have stayed home at the first sign of illness. Next week, the Sinners flew off to play the Seahawks. He’d have to make it up to the team and to Nell, married almost two weeks and not bedded once.
Joe kicked the tabloid off the coffee table with his bare foot, but the headlines still blared, “Joe Dean Marries Nurse Nell” over the photo of him carrying Nell through the lobby of the Bellagio. That picture shared half the front cover space with another, of him striding out of Nicole’s office with the baby carrier and duckie diaper bag over one shoulder. Nicole, framed nicely in the doorway, shouted at him. A teaser at the bottom read, “Mother of Joe’s Love Child?—Story Inside.”
A press release prepared by Nicole clarified the maternity of tiny Dean Joseph—a young career woman employed by the Sinners who had been seduced and impregnated by their star quarterback, another callous, thoughtless, overpaid athlete. Valiant Margaret Stutes had lost her life giving birth to Joe’s son.
