Plantation

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  Beautiful music played throughout the store, streaming in from tiny hidden speakers, the kind that causes mind drift. The store’s interior and fixtures were all natural blond wood, handmade tiles, natural canvas, and soft lighting. Signage was handwritten in calligraphy and purposely small. It was slick and it was Zen.

  By the time all the merchandise was in place and they opened their doors for business, every merchant on West Broadway had been in to see it and had taken my card. I was going to be very busy that fall, which was fine with me.

  My job there was really finished, but I stuck around to help them with display. I was leaning over picking up small boxes of votive candles and stacking them on a counter. Suddenly I was so dizzy I felt myself falling.

  “Caroline! Are you okay?”

  It was William Oliver, the manager, who rushed over and tried to grab the box from my arms. Too late. Thirty-six honeysuckle-scented two-inch votive candles rolled across the floor. The room was still spinning and I saw the floor coming up to hit me. The entire episode lasted less than a minute. Thank God, William caught me before I cracked my head open. He just lowered me to the ground and told me to sit still.

  We had become good friends over the last six months. Richard didn’t mind if I went out to dinner or to a show with William because he was as gay as he could be.

  “What happened?” I said.

  “You fainted, girl,” he said, looking deep into my eyes.

  “No way, I’ve never fainted in my life,” I said, taking the cup of water he offered and drinking it straight down. I was extremely thirsty.

  “Well, you did and it’s one of two things,” he said. I looked up at him, waiting for the kernels of friendly wisdom to fall.

  “Number one?” I asked.

  “Brain tumor. Do you have any history of brain tumors in the family?”

  “No, just my sister-in-law.”

  “Really?”

  “Help me get up, will you?”

  He pulled me to my feet. “Is there a possibility you could be in the motherly mode?”

  “Help me sit down, will you?”

  He laughed like crazy at that and then said, “Well? I know how to find out right now.”

  “An EPT? Where’s my purse? I’m running to CVS.”

  “Hell, no, honey, we don’t need to spend money! Come with me to the bathroom.”

  The heels of my boots clicked across the floor as I followed him to the employee lounge. We were not alone. One of the girls was washing her hands. I just wanted to splash cold water on my face. William leaned against the ceramic tile counter, blew on his nails and buffed them on his sweater. When she left, he spoke.

  “Come here, blondie,” he said, “I’m gonna teach you a little something I learned from my dear old granny in the hills of West Virginia.”

  “What?” I wasn’t the least bit sure of this stunt at all.

  “It’s the blue vein test. Foolproof.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You’re going to let Cousin William have a look at your ta-tas, God help me, and if they have big old naughty blue veins running down them, your next decorating job will be a nursery.”

  I started to laugh. “Hold it right there, hotshot. Are you saying that you want me to pull my sweater up and let you see my breasts? I don’t believe it.”

  He faked a shudder that would register four point six on a Richter scale and said, “Buh! Neither can I!” We both laughed and he said, “If you tell a single soul, I’ll call you a liar until my dying day!”

  “If you want to see them, you’re going to have to say pretty please.” I walked over and stood close to him. “Do you take an oath that you are a gay man?”

  “I swear on my Aunt Freida’s red fox jacket that I hope she’s leaving to me, so, pretty please, Missy Caroline, lift your sweater in the light?”

  “Oh, all right.” I pulled my sweater up, revealing my peach lace underwire bra and their contents. He gasped.

  “Pretty scary, huh?”

  “No, baby, pretty blue would be a better way to describe it!”

  I looked in the mirror and, to my complete and utter astonishment, several veins, which were not noticeable yesterday, were as pronounced on my breasts as though they had been drawn with a Bic pen.

  That was September. It was now February and sneaking up on our first wedding anniversary. I was feeling like a million dollars after taxes and Richard was very pleased about the baby coming, although this was nothing new to him. For me, it was one daily miracle after another.

  Some women get sick and some swell, but I took to pregnancy like nothing I had ever known. I had the strength and energy of an amazon. I’d sleep for eight hours as soon as my head touched the pillow. I’d wake each morning without a single cobweb in my brain. My skin glowed and, most of all, my heart sang.

  All day, my hand would rub across my stomach and feel the baby inside respond. Sometimes the baby had hiccups and I’d stop working to watch my clothes jump. When he was restless, I could calm my baby by singing to him or her. I didn’t know the gender and didn’t care. I was so happy; I just couldn’t wait to get my hands on my child.

  The only problem was, I gained a lot of weight. I couldn’t help it; I was starving all the time. All I wanted was watermelon—nowhere to be found in February in Manhattan—strawberry Häagen-Dazs ice cream, and tuna salad with crackers. I thought I must have been carrying a little girl because everything I wanted to eat was a shade of pink. I couldn’t wait until May twentieth, which was my due date.

  Richard had almost completely lost interest in our romantic life. We had occasional sex on the run, early in the morning or in the middle of the night. Quick and efficient, nothing worth filming. I just figured that after the baby came, we’d probably go back to our normal gymnastics.

  Then he seemed to lose interest in me. I tried harder than ever to please him with beautiful dinners (and you know cooking is a struggle for me) and by filling the apartment with flowers. It wasn’t that just our sex life was fizzling; lately, he was distracted and working later too. I was pretty obsessed with my impending motherhood and trying to finish two other stores before the baby came. Rather than have a confrontation, I wrote his attitude off to my hormones and just let everything slide. We bought a Herb Ritts photograph of Bill T. Jones for our anniversary gift and celebrated with dinner at Le Perigord Park. Richard was more and more remote.

  On Monday, May ninth, he told me over breakfast he had to go to London to deliver a paper on anxiety, Monday, May sixteenth, at a conference. He was leaving Friday. I got so upset I thought I’d deliver right on the kitchen floor. Anxiety? Perfect. Obviously I didn’t want him to go because it was so close to my time. He thought I was being ridiculous. We had a terrible argument, ranting at each other until it got to this.

  “Caroline, calm down! You’re not going to have that child until the twentieth or after. First babies are notoriously late!”

  I hated it when he told me to calm down. It made me feel like my emotions were out of control and what was wrong with me that I couldn’t control myself? Naturally, the next thing I did was to lose control. “Look, Richard, this is not right. It’s not fair to spring this on me! Why didn’t you tell me before now? What if something happens?”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get upset just like you are and I didn’t feel like dealing with it.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” I could feel my blood pressure rising and the back of my neck was covered in perspiration. “Now you don’t want to deal with me.” I started to cry. I don’t think I had cried in ten years. I sat there with tears running down my face and he turned away, picked up the New York Times from the counter, his coffee cup and saucer, shook his head, and walked out to the living room.

  “That’s not what I said. I said that I didn’t want to deal with your anger. God, do you know you become more like your mother every day?”

  That was the final straw. I was not like my mother and
he knew it. He always said that when he was losing a fight because he knew it would send me to another planet. I took three deep breaths and followed him out. Between Lamaze and yoga, if there was one thing I could do it was breathe. He was sitting in his chair reading as though everything was fine.

  “Richard? You go to London and deliver your paper. Have a nice trip. But I want you to know that the things you say to me do not pass right out of the window. They hurt my feelings. They also change the way I feel about you. Worst of all, they show me things about you that I’d rather not believe.” He just stared at me, waiting for me to finish. A condescending blank face. “You may be right, Richard, that nothing will happen while you are away. And no one wants you to take this calculated guess correctly more than I do.”

  He finally folded the paper away and stood up. “There now, darling, that’s better. I don’t mean to hurt you. You know how much I love you.” He started to approach me to take me in his arms but I backed away. “But sometimes . . .”

  “I’m not finished, Dr. Freud.” He hated it when I called him that and sure enough his face went sour. “You may be right, Richard, but you’re not nice. Being nice is very undervalued in your world but not in mine.”

  “I apologize,” he said. “You’re right, it was a cowardly thing for me not to tell you of my plans. But Caroline, please, take heart, I will be back in as soon as I can and bring you and our baby something wonderful from the motherland. How’s that?”

  “It’s a start,” I said, still feeling pretty glum.

  “I have a wonderful idea. This will cheer you up! Let’s invite Millie to visit you while I’m gone.”

  I was stunned once again by his cleverness. It was the perfect solution.

  “Richard? That is a splendid idea. Thank you.”

  I decided it wouldn’t pay to be angry with him. What would it change anyway? Nothing, that’s what. I called Millie at Mother’s that morning the minute Richard left for his office. She answered the telephone on the third ring.

  “Wimbley residence,” she said.

  “Hey, Millie! It’s your favorite bad girl!”

  “Miss Caroline, what you done now? You had that chile yet?”

  God, it was good to hear her voice. “No, but I’m fixing to. I’m as big as a house!”

  “That’s all right, baby,” she said, and I could hear her smiling. “You want your mother to come to the phone?”

  “Actually, I called to speak to you.” I explained everything to her and she became very quiet.

  “Tell me what again, honey. I know I ain’t heard you right.” Her tone was serious. “Did you say that he’s gone off five days before this chile’s to come?”

  “Well, he has to, and he’ll only be gone for a few days.” I found myself defending my husband and realizing Millie was right. But somewhere deep inside, I thought it was wrong to criticize your spouse. Besides, I knew Richard wouldn’t go if he didn’t have to.

  “Darlin’ chile, don’t worry yourself, yanh? I wasn’t gone let you have that baby without me no how. By the grace of God and a long-handled spoon, I’ll be there by Saturday, okay?”

  “Do you think Mother will mind?” I probably should’ve asked Mother first, but when Millie answered the telephone, I just let it fly.

  “Chile? What’s that old lady gone do, fire me?” She laughed and laughed. Everybody knew that Millie was older than Mother. She liked to tease.

  When I opened my front door on Saturday afternoon, there stood Millie and Mother. My jaw dropped.

  “Well, young lady, have you forgotten your manners entirely? Invite your mother in and kiss her cheek!”

  “Mother! Millie! Come inside, of course! Oh! This is wonderful!” I kissed Mother’s cheek and my first thought was where would she sleep. I only had one guest room. The other had become a library and office of sorts where I worked during the day and Richard worked at night. I hadn’t cooked; I hadn’t shopped. There would be the devil to pay for that. Did I even have enough sheets? Well, I’d work it out.

  “I brought you a pound cake, honey!” Millie said. “Now, let me take a good look at you!” She held me at arm’s length, with her sturdy hands on my upper arms. She was smiling from ear to ear. “You look just fine. Yes, ma’am! And that baby’s coming sooner than you think!”

  “Oh, Lord, Millie. Please don’t say that!” If Millie said it was so, it was so.

  “Humph! Now, you and Miss Lavinia gone put your feet up and let me put on some coffee. Then we’ll see what.”

  “Caroline?” Mother said. “Exactly how much weight have you gained?”

  “Enough to sit on you and make you hush!” Millie called out from the kitchen.

  “You hush, old woman!” Mother called back.

  I could hear Millie laughing and suddenly Mother and I laughed too. She put her hand on my arm and said, “If you think for one single moment that I was gonna let that woman hold this baby before me, you’re losing your mind.”

  I was happy Mother had come; hell, she was my mother, after all. It was probably the shock of her surprise visit or perhaps something Millie put in my coffee that started my labor that night. I had given Mother my bed; I was sleeping in the guest room. Millie had taken the trundle from under my bed and set up in the living room behind the red lacquer folding screen I had found in an antique store on Tenth Street.

  I was dreaming I was in the barn at Tall Pines. Someone was kicking me in the back and then that something was squeezing my stomach. I woke up and could smell hay. The bed was soaked; my water had broken. I turned on the light and looked at the alarm clock. Two-fifteen. I didn’t know whether I should wake anyone and then decided to wait a little while.

  I changed out of my nightgown and put on the dress I had set aside to wear to the hospital. At two-twenty I had a horrible cramp again. Five minutes apart? Okay, wait another five minutes, I thought. I brushed my teeth and put my makeup bag in the little suitcase I had packed three weeks ago and pulled it out to the front hallway. Two-twenty-five, another spasm. I held on to the kitchen counter and breathed through it. The overhead light came on.

  “I knew it,” Millie said, coming over to me and putting her arm around my shoulder. “Come on, sit. I’ll get your mother, you call the doctor, and I’ll tell that damn fool downstairs to sober up and get us a cab.”

  “Okay.” That was all I said. What else was there to say? Richard! I had to call him! I went to the kitchen telephone, took his number from the bulletin board, and dialed. It was seven-thirty in the morning in London. The operator at the hotel rang right through to his room. A woman answered the telephone. I’d have known that voice anywhere. Lois.

  “Ha-low? Ha-low?” she said in her nasal Long Island drone.

  I replaced the telephone on the hook, mumbled You sunuvabitch, and called my doctor. I buzzed Eddie to get a cab. Off we sped to Mt. Sinai Hospital. Dr. Sheldon Cherry, who had been my gynecologist since I had moved to New York, pronounced me dilated enough to go to the delivery room.

  “When they tell you to push, push, you hear me?” Mother said.

  “Don’t worry, she will,” Dr. Cherry said, laughing, “she wants that baby out more than you do!”

  “See?” Millie said, “I’m not the only one who can put you in line!”

  Mother squeezed my hand and rubbed my hair away from my face. “Good luck, sweetheart, I’ll be praying for you.”

  “Thanks, Mother,” I said.

  I was going into the delivery room to bring my child into the world. My husband was shacked up with Lois, but I had more pressing issues. Of course I felt betrayed and was outraged, but I had a baby inside me fighting to be born. I’d have plenty of time later to plot my revenge.

  The doors swung open and the next thing I knew they were lifting me onto another table.

  “I am so sorry y’all have to do this!” I said. “I must weigh a ton!”

  “Don’t even think about it, honey,” the nurse said. “We do this every day.”

  “I
can’t wait for this to be over,” I said.

  “Is this your first?” the nurse said.

  “Yeah, I just want to see the baby, you know?”

  “Got six myself,” she said and smiled at me while she attached a blood pressure cuff to my arm and a heart monitor to my chest.

  Dr. Cherry appeared and I hardly recognized him in his green scrubs. He held up my sheet and examined me again. “Got a crown!” he said. He checked the baby’s heart monitor and mine too. “Okay, Mrs. Levine, ready to have your baby?”

  I was puffing short breaths, trying not to push until he said I could, but the urge to bear down was all-consuming. “Now?” I said.

  “Take a deep breath,” he said, “and give it all you’ve got.”

  I filled my abdomen lower and upper chest with air and concentrated on the light fixture above me. With all my strength I bore down and, in one push, I slowly released the air and the baby’s head.

  “Got the head, Mrs. Levine, just hold it for a minute.” Dr. Cherry was turning the baby a bit or something. I couldn’t see. “Okay, once more!”

  “That baby looks just like you, Mrs. Levine! He’s blond, blond, blond!”

  “I think he looks like Dr. Cherry,” another nurse said.

  I couldn’t even giggle. With another push, I felt a huge release, and the baby was born. Then came a thunderous wail, so loud that everyone laughed. Dr. Cherry held him up. He was an exquisite, fat little baby boy with white hair and the reddest face I had ever seen.

  “Look who we have here!” Dr. Cherry said and put him right on my chest. “Here’s your momma, son.”

  A son! The first thing I remember is that he was so beautiful—even screaming he was beautiful. My tiny infant opened his eyes, looked at me, and became quiet. I began to cry. He just stared and stared at me. I wept and wept.

  “Oh, good,” Dr. Cherry said, “now the baby’s quiet and the mother’s crying!”