by Gina Kincade
Chapter Seven
Pregnant. The word splashes in her mind like a flickering sign. She asks herself how she could have been so careless?
"But I wasn't," Blanche told the air.
She pinches the bridge of her nose, then goes back to read the same sentence she has read many times before. It still doesn't sink in.
"And with a stranger, no less. What the hell do I tell my child? Like I'm going to keep him, her, it?" Blanche picks up the phone and dials Trisha's number. Her friend answers right away.
"Bee, are you okay?"
"I don't even know what to call...him or her or it. 'It' sounds weird. And what if I keep...it?"
Trisha remains quiet for a moment before speaking. "Maybe you should come back home. We'll do a pros and cons list."
"No, I have work to do. I haven't done any yet. I'll talk to you later."
"Okay. Hey, why don't we go out for a nice dinner tonight? Troy said he has to visit his sister in Brooklyn."
"Can we just stay in?"
"Yeah, we can do that too. I'll pick up a slasher movie and order in. What do you feel like eating?"
"I don't know. I'm not nauseous or anything but I read that some smells can trigger it."
"Then we'll order everything and test which one will set you off. That way we know what you can avoid."
"Thanks, Trish."
"I'll see you soon...and Blanche, be careful."
"I will."
After ending the call, Bee's heart swells. If she didn't have Trish, where would she be? Maybe not pregnant. Maybe pregnant with Perry's baby.
Somehow, having a stranger's child weighs better than having her ex-fiancé's child. She shivers at the thought. Blanche forces herself to look at the file in front of her and takes notes, but all she ends up doing is writing down children's names.
She doesn't realize this until a noise breaks her thoughts.
"Hello?" she calls out to the hallway, taking the scissors from her drawer for defense, just in case.
"Blanche?" Her boss peeks in, then the rest of him joins. "What are you doing here? It's Sunday!"
"Same reason why you're here, I assume." Blanche nods at the box in Jay's arms. More files for her, no doubt.
Jay chuckles. "We are a good team, aren't we?" He pats his pants for something then pulls out his cellphone. "Oh hold on, Blanche, little brother’s calling."
Blanche stands to grab the boxes from Jay. Has she known that Jason has a brother? She imagines a younger version of her boss, maybe two years younger as Jay doesn't look a day over thirty, even though she knows he's reaching the big four-oh. Would this brother be cuter or more handsome? With a muscular body, longer hair, with glasses to make him look more intellectual.
Realizing that she's stepping into a dangerous pat, lusting over someone she has never met, Blanche blames it on the pregnancy hormones. She has read about that and the wicked desires that they may bring on.
"Hey, are you coming over for dinner?" Jay says on the phone after mouthing off a 'thank you' to Blanche. "Yeah, Marianne is making your favorite."
She follows Jay's movements to the small couch in their reception area, which looks more like a lounge than a law firm's waiting room with the bright teal walls, a gold Indian-inspired mirror hanging above a small sideboard, which is flanked by two ecru-colored sofas. Jay mentioned that Marianne loves to decorate. Looking around, Blanche can see the careful touches of a woman.
Jay looks agitated. "We've been here for four months and you've never visited us. Your nephews have been asking about you... Yes, I understand the situation and maybe it's a good reason why you should come over, take a break from work."
It sounds to Blanche that Jay's brother is much of a workaholic as he is. Bee rifles through the file in front of her, attempting to seem uninterested in the one-sided conversation.
"Seven. Yes. 54 Grimm Road. Or I can pick you up on my way home... No, I'm in the city." He pushes his hair back and throws his hand in the air. Blanche wonders what it would have been like if she had a younger sibling. "Yeah, six thirty. That's fine. Okay. See yah." He finally ends the call, shaking his head and huffing out a heavy breath.
"Everything okay?" It's too late to take back the question. Bee tries to keep to herself, especially with regards to other people's family affairs.
Jay glances up and smirks. "My little brother. He's a pain in the behind, you know?"
She nods.
"He's pouting over some girl. Do you have siblings?"
"No." She says the words too curtly and regrets it. Jay ponders for a moment and for a second, Bee feels that she would have to reveal a lot more.
But when he opens his mouth to speak he says, "You're lucky. Sometimes I wish I don't have siblings." He gets up and walks toward his office. "Why don't you come over for dinner? Marianne makes more than enough for a whole army. She's making lobster ravioli. It's very good."
The mention of food makes her stomach grumble. Blanche pats her flat belly. "Thanks, but Trish and I have made plans for dinner."
"You can bring her too."
Blanche loves the idea of sitting for a family dinner with all the noise, the arguments, the laughter—just like what she has seen in movies but never have experienced on her own. She is tempted but she shakes her head anyway. "I promised her a girl's night in. I wouldn't want to intrude in your family dinner."
Jay leans against the doorway to his office. "You won't be intruding. That brightness you bring in every morning with you would be a perfect weapon against my brother's sulky behavior. If you change your mind, just call me."
"Okay."
He smiles before turning around, and she proceeds on pretending to work, even though a few minutes later her mind escapes into dreams of having a normal family dinner of her own.
AFTER ANOTHER HARD thrust, he lets go with a grunt. Lucie wriggles under him. No, not Lucie. Marie? Carrie? Something that ends with an 'e'. What does it start with? N? J? B?
No not B. Not Bee.
He pulls out of Not-Bee and sits on his haunches before walking to the bathroom, leaving his satiated partner for the night. The light hits him hard. He squints until he reaches the toilet, gets rid of the condom, and walks groggily to the sink.
Why can't he get her out of his mind? It was one night. She was some girl. An unforgettable nymph who fluttered into his life and out again. Then she vanishes without a trace. Bee. She symbolizes the bug, flying in, stinging him enough to remember her, then buzzing away.
Hunter cleans himself off, washes his hands and splashes water on his face. His reflection mocks him as he lifts his head, calls him a 'loser'. How many times has he been down this road? Getting drunk at a bar, picking up a random chick, fucking the life out of her, then making a hasty escape.
If only he didn't have that fight with his brother.
Dinner was pleasant. His sister-in-law did make his favorite meal, lobster ravioli, just like how Mom makes them. Then, the questions came, and the argument. Why doesn't he want to go home? Because he doesn't want to show his loving parents how much of a loser he has become.
Yes, he makes good money. Yes, he has become somewhat popular. No, he doesn't have a girlfriend. No, Red is not, and will never be his girlfriend. No, he's never getting married, or having children. No, he's never going to be as happy as Jason and Marianne. Yes, he loves New York City. No, he doesn't want to live back in Maine.
And the ultimate question: doesn't he get lonely?
Fuck yeah, he's lonely.
Hunter leers at the mirror on the wall. He looks haggard and wasted, in so many ways than one. "Fucking loser," he mutters before turning around and walking back into the bedroom.
"That was great," Lucie, or whatever the hell her name is, stretches on the bed, not bothering to cover herself up.
Bee was modest, he thinks.
Picking up his clothes off the floor, one by one, he doesn't make eye contact with the woman in bed.
"Are you leaving?" she purrs.
/> "Yeah. I have to work early tomorrow." It isn't a lie.
She tries to reach out for him, but he chooses that time to put his shirt on. "'Kay, thanks for the great fuck."
For some reason, that surprises him. "Yeah." He doesn't even bother to ask her name again before leaving the bedroom.
A figure startles him as he makes his way to the apartment door.
"Peters?"
The only light in the apartment is coming from a lamp in the corner. He narrows his eyes at the person who called him. "Mel?"
"What the hell are you doing here?" His eyes adjust to the sparse lighting, and sees his colleague props her hand on a hip. "Did you just come out of Rachel's room?"
Rachel? That's her name? He was way off. "Yeah."
"Are you insane?"
"No."
Mel walks to him and slaps his chest, hard. "You stupid moron! She has a boyfriend!"
"What?" Hunter looks toward the door he has just come out of. "She didn't tell me."
"Of course she wouldn't. She's a serial cheater. You better get out of here before her boyfriend comes. He's a fucking cop, a dirty one."
Pushing his hand through his hair, he wonders how he has turned into such a "stupid moron", as Mel called him. He doesn't say his 'goodbye' or 'thanks for the head's up' before finally dashing out.
He has messed up. Bad. How can he turn it around? How can he make himself be the good person he knows he is? The happy-go-lucky guy he once was?
No more one-night stands. No more alcohol. Okay, a little alcohol. No more pining for a woman who isn't available.
Change. Change is good. Change is necessary. He needs a woman who can make him into an honest man. Like Marianne is to his brother, Jason. Like a goody-girl who pretends she's badass. Like Bee.
Stepping out into the night, he chooses a direction, hoping that his feet will lead him to wherever the woman is who has haunted his dreams since that first and only night.
Chapter Eight
The ice in her glass clinks, melting and watering down her Apple juice. The bartender gives her a quirky "you're odd" look when Blanche leans over the bar, close enough so he hears properly.
"You want two fingers of Apple juice on the rocks?" He looks about to call the mental institution.
She berates herself for not asking for a Shirley Temple. "Yes, in a whiskey glass, of possible."
"You fucking with me?"
Blanche raises her hands and shakes her head. "Not at all. I'm not allowed to have alcohol but I don't want to look like a loser, so I want a pretend alcohol. Please." The bartender mutters under his breath, gives her one last curious look, and after, produces the drink she has asked for.
Trisha pops around every ten minutes or so, telling her the exact same thing, "I don't think he's here, yet."
Always a 'yet'. "Maybe he doesn't come here anymore?"
"No, I talked to a bunch of people and they said they've seen him a lot lately." Trisha regards her. "Unless if you want to go?"
"I am getting tired." The plan was to find Hunter and tell him of the pregnancy, but want nothing in return. No compilations, no expectations, no heartbreak.
Her heart has been broken far too many times by Perry. She doesn't know Hunter much, or at all, but he was tender and almost caring before she left his apartment. All he has to do is listen to her. Blanche doesn't have any idea how he will react. She doesn't even completely know if it's the right thing to do—telling him—but she also needs to know a few things. A talk with Troy has led her to make the decision. Troy said he would want to know if Trisha got pregnant regardless how it happened. Because of that, she finds herself with Trisha and a motley crew of bar patrons tonight, drinking apple juice in a small tumbler.
Trish gives her another concerned look. Her friend has been doing that for weeks, since finding out about her condition. Trish even went to the doctor with her to confirm, not that Blanche could deny the results of the ten pregnancy tests she has taken.
Dr. Armande said that she is a picture of health, and the growing tadpole-size being in her should be too. She is young, without any current or previous worrying health conditions, but when asked about the father, Blanche clammed up and fear rolled into her veins. What if Hunter isn't as healthy as he appeared? What if he has genetic health issues that could potentially harm?
"Let's go home. I want to have a proper sleep tonight and not wake up until noon tomorrow." Carefully, Bee slides off the stool and leads her friend out the door.
They pass a tall man with dark brown hair. He has the size and shape of Hunter, but while Hunter has sex appeal emanating from his pores, this man's boyish features only makes him "cute", like a big teddy bear. And he is the same bouncer who has seen her and Hunter leave the bar together.
"Wait. I know him. He was here when Hunter and I left the bar that night. Maybe he knows?"
Trisha peers at the man. "I'm on it." They walk up to the burly guy. Trish puts her hand on his massive tattooed arm. "Hey." Blanche wants to roll her eyes at how flirty Trisha can get, but they are relying on that skill at the moment.
"Hey," the bouncer looks her up and down and licks his lips. "How's it going, beautiful?"
"I just have a question. Do you know Hunter?"
The guy grins. "Hunter?" He peers at Blanche, then back at Trisha. "Why do you want to know?"
Trish pulls herself closer to him, her right boob touching his biceps. "Has he come by lately? My friend tells me he has some wicked tattoos and I was hoping to ask where he got them."
"I have some wicked tattoos," he says, suggestively.
Trish bites her lips, once on each corner then the middle. "Where do you get your tattoos?"
"Don't you want to see them first?" His paw makes its way down Trisha's behind.
Blanche clears her throat. "I know he lives around here, but I can't remember where."
Trish turns to her and furrows her brows. Blanche doesn't like watching her friend being groped by anyone other than her boyfriend, Troy. It feels wrong, but it's too late to recant her statement.
The bouncer smirks at Trish. "Can't tell you that."
"Can you tell us where he works?"
Big guy stares at Blanche again, then at Trish. With the way he sets his lips firmly and straightens, taking his paw off Trish, Bee knows that he's not going to be useful. "Come on, Trish. He's not going to give us anything."
Bee doesn't wait for Trisha's answer, she turns around and starts heading toward the corner of the street. She will have to figure out the rest later, including how to raise a child on her own. Her life may not be perfect or ideal, but for once, it feels right.
"IT'S WRONG." DAISY glares at Hunter Peters.
He brings his hands up and wraps them around his aching head. "This is what she would want. I'm sure of it."
"Red wouldn't want you to leave the studio because she's getting married to the hot billionaire! She'll need you here more!" the spritely receptionist argues.
"I don't have a choice, Daze, it's awkward." He stands and hits the back of the chair with his fist. "Put yourself in my position."
"I've slept with coworkers before and it was never awkward."
He glares at Daisy. "I've never slept with Red."
Daisy tilts her head away and murmurs, "Maybe that's the problem."
"I fucking heard that. And I wasn't just after her tail. I...she meant a lot to me...Means a lot to me."
"And you're going to hurt her. Just think about it before you make a final decision. Like really give it a good think, you know?" Daisy props her chin on her upturned hands. "And where will you go?"
He's thought of that too, ran it through his mind a few hundred times. There isn't any doubt that he can open his own tattoo shop and take the clients he has now. But it will feel like betraying Red. The only other way is to move, leave New York City, his home for the past several years. Though he hasn't quite figure out where to go, yet. Maybe L.A., Vegas also comes to mind, or Miami. Or join his brother, Preston
, in Chicago. He has choices. All he has to do is make the decision.
"I have to see my brother," Hunter tells Daisy. "I'll be back after lunch."
"Okay, but remember what I said. Maybe you can even talk it out with your brother. See what he says."
He doesn't answer her, doesn't give her any hope to hold on to. Much like the rest of the people who ends up in the city, he is after the success of one person: himself. That much, he thinks, hasn't changed. Before he is out of the studio doors, Franco walks in with a big grin on his face.
"Just the man I'm looking for!" Franco bumps his fist with Hunter. "Someone's looking for you. Some chick, at the bar. Came last night."
"Chick? What did she want?"
"Didn't say." The regular bouncer at the bar he has since stopped going to shrugs. "Hot though."
"That doesn't help." Although Peter starts rhyming off names in his head, faces, dates, reasons. "What does she look like?"
"Asian?"
Daisy snorts from her spot behind the desk. "Yeah, that sums it up. Where will you find a hot Asian chick in this small town?"
Franco chuckles at Daisy, and the girl snorts again. "There were two of them. The other one is a regular. Can't remember her name though. Something Korean or Chinese. Maybe Japanese."
Daisy rolls her eyes. "You're a whiz."
"Daze." Peters shoots her a look to back down. "Which one is it?"
"I know her first name starts with a T. Tanya. Tracey. I don't know, man. Just wanted to warn you though. Didn't look like there's an angry boyfriend lurking, but you never know. Steer clear off the bar for a while."
"Yeah, I intend to." He tells Franco, but his mind has gone somewhere else. There have only been a handful of attractive Asian women he's been with. One in particular has t escaped his memory. But how does one get information from a stagnant brain?
RIDING THE PORCELAIN train, as Trisha calls it. She’s hugged the cold surface for an entire ten minutes. Blanche feels like she cannot heave any more. For the past weeks, she's gone scotch free. No nausea, no vomiting. Until that morning. And just that morning too, she stood in front of a full-length mirror observing the tiny changes in her body. Little by little she can feel the roundness of her breasts, full, sensitive, tender. Her hips have gotten a bit of a shape too. There isn't any significant bump but most of the clothes she has managed to bring with her do not fit her any longer.
