“Why? Just to make sure I did it?” Her heart felt as though it were breaking as she said good-bye to him, thinking that in a few hours it would be too late to save their baby. And she lay in bed awake all night, crying and thinking of this child she would never know. The child she was sacrificing for her husband. She was still awake when the sun came up the next day, and she felt as though she were waiting for an execution. She had taken the week off from work, and all she had to do now was get back to the doctor's office and force herself to have the abortion.
As she dressed, she kept telling herself that at the last minute Steven would call and tell her not to do it. But he didn't. The house was still silent as she left and drove away in sandals, a denim skirt, and an old work shirt. And she arrived at the doctor's at nine o'clock, as she'd been told to, if she decided to go through with the abortion. She hadn't eaten or had anything to drink since the night before in case they had to administer an anesthetic. She was trembling and pale as she drove the MG along Wilshire Boulevard, and she arrived at the doctor's office five minutes early. She told the nurse that she was there, and sat down in the waiting room with her eyes closed, and a feeling in her heart that she knew she would never forget for the rest of her life, and for the first time in her life, she knew that she hated Steven. She had a frantic urge to call him, to find him wherever he was, and tell him he had to change his mind, but she knew that it was pointless.
The nurse stood in the doorway and called her name, and smiled at her as she led her down the hallway. She put her in a slightly larger room, and this time she told her to take all her clothes off, put on the blue gown, and lie on the table. There was an ominous-looking machine standing by, and Adrian knew that it was the vacuum. She felt her throat go dry, and her lips seemed to stick together like dampened tissue paper. All she wanted was to get it over with and go home and try to forget about it, and she knew that for the rest of her life she would never again let herself get pregnant. And yet, part of her still wanted to keep this baby. It was insane, she was using all her inner strength just to get rid of it, and part of her still wanted to hold on to it no matter what happened or what Steven said, or how neurotic he was about his childhood.
“Adrian?” The doctor popped his head around the door, and looked at her with a gentle smile. “Are you all right?” She nodded, but no words came to mind as she stared at him in ill-concealed terror. He walked into the room, closed the door and spoke to her firmly. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She nodded again as tears sprang to her eyes, and then shook her head honestly. She was so confused and so terrified and so unhappy, and she didn't want to be here at all. She wanted to be at home with Steven, waiting for their baby. “You don't have to do this. You shouldn't do it if you don't want to. Your husband will adjust. A lot of husbands make a fuss like this at first, and they're the ones who are the most excited when the baby comes. I want you to really think about this before you do it.”
“I can't,” she croaked. “I just can't.” She was sobbing openly as she sat on the table. “I can't do it.”
“Neither can I.” He smiled. “Go home, and tell your husband to buy himself a cigar and save it till, oh …” He checked her chart again. “…I'd say the beginning of January, and then we'll give him a nice fat baby. How does that sound to you, Adrian?”
“It sounds lovely.” She smiled through her tears and the kindly old doctor put an arm around her shoulders.“Go home, Adrian. Have a good rest, and a good cry. It'll be all right. It's going to be just fine. And so will your husband.” He patted her shoulder then, and left the room so she could get dressed and go home, with her baby. She smiled to herself as she dressed, and she cried, and she felt as though something wonderful had happened. She had been spared, and she wasn't even sure why, except that her doctor had been smart enough to know that she just couldn't do it.
She started to drive home, and she decided suddenly to go to the office instead. She felt better than she had in days, and she wanted to go to work and lose herself in the piles of papers on her desk. She drove to the studio with the wind blowing in her hair, and she took a deep breath and smiled to herself. Life was suddenly so sweet, and she was going to have a baby.
She walked into her office with a spring in her step but feeling as though she had run a ten-mile race. It had not exactly been an easy morning, or an easy few days, and she still had to deal with Steven when he got back from Chicago. But at least now she knew what she was doing. She felt more relaxed than she had in days and the crushing feeling of depression seemed to have lifted.
“Hi, Adrian.” Zelda stuck her head in the door halfway through the morning. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. Why?” Adrian was looking distracted with a pencil stuck behind each ear, and it was unusual for her to come to work in old clothes and no makeup.
“Well, to be honest, you don't look so hot. You look as though you've been through the wringer,” and she had. “Are you feeling okay?” Zelda was more observant than Adrian had realized. She was right. Things had been pretty awful.
“I had the flu.” She smiled, grateful that Zelda had noticed. “But I'm okay now.”
“I thought you were taking the week off.” She was looking at her intensely, as though deciding whether or not to believe her when she said she was all right. But she seemed happy as she sat industriously amid the debris in her office.
“I decided I missed all this too much.”
“You're nuts.” Zelda smiled at her.
“Probably. Want to go out later for a sandwich?”
“Sure. I'd love to.”
“Come by whenever you're ready.”
“I'll do that.” She disappeared again then, and Adrian went back to work, feeling better than she had in days. The idea of a baby still scared her a little bit, but it was something she thought she could get used to. It was better than the alternative. She knew she couldn't have lived with that, and she still resented Steven for trying to force her to do it. She wondered how they would ever recover from the emotional bruises they had inflicted on each other in the past few days, or if they would ever forget it. She went back to work then, and tried not to think about him. She would have to think of what she was going to say to him later.
AND IN A STUDIO JUST DOWN THE HALL, BILL THIG-pen was sitting on a stool, talking to the director and groaning.
“How the hell do I know where she is? She checked out of her hotel room a week ago. I don't know who she's with. I don't know where she's gone. She's a grown woman and it's none of my business …until she starts screwing up my show. Now it's my business, but I still don't know where the hell she's gone to.” Sylvia Stewart had not come back from Las Vegas the previous Sunday night. She had checked out of her room there on Monday morning, exactly nine days before, the hotel said, but she still hadn't come back to work, and feeling awkward about it, Bill had gone to her apartment to check, and she hadn't been back there either.
They had written alternate scripts for the past week, but it was getting pretty desperate without her.
And in a few more days they would have to replace her. And Bill had just said as much to the director. By not calling in to at least explain to them what was going on, she was in clear violation of her contract.
“If she doesn't turn up before tomorrow's show, you've got to get me someone else,” Bill was saying to the director and one of the assistant producers. They had already called one of the agencies earlier that day, but it wasn't going to be easy to replace her without upsetting their viewers.
“Did everyone get the new material today?” the director asked, frowning at what Bill had just handed him. It was a whole new script, and it was obvious that Bill had the writers working night and day in Sylvia's absence. It was a heroic piece of work, and it kept the story afloat while she was gone. There were so many dramas occurring on the show at the same time that so far it seemed plausible that Vaughn Williams had not been seen for nine days, but barely. She was still in jail, being held for
the murder of the man her brother-in-law had killed nine days before, on a Friday.
Bill stayed in the studio till they went on the air, and watched the entire show, satisfied that everyone was handling the new plot turns and the new script well, and when it was over, after congratulating everyone, he went back to his office. It was half an hour later when his secretary buzzed him on the intercom, and told him there was someone to see him.
“Anyone I know? Or are we going to keep it a secret?” He was tired from his long nights of work, but he was pleased that things were going well. It was mostly due, he felt, to a tremendous cast, two terrific writers, and an outstanding director. “Who is it, Betsey?”
There was a long pause. “It's Miss Stewart.”
“Our Miss Stewart? The Miss Stewart we've looked for all over the state of Nevada?” He raised his eyebrows with interest.
“The one and only.”
“Please show her in. I can hardly wait to see her.”
Sylvia walked in the moment Betsey opened the door. She came in like a frightened child, and she looked more beautiful than ever. Her long black hair hung down her back like Snow White's, and her eyes looking at him remorsefully seemed enormous. Bill stood up as she walked into the room, and stared at her as though he had just seen a vision.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asked ominously. And for a moment she didn't know what to expect, so she started to cry as she watched him. “We've been going crazy, calling all over Las Vegas. The kids from My House said they left you with some guy. We were going to call the Nevada police and report you missing.” He had been genuinely worried about her for the past week, frightened by what might have happened to her.
She let out a sob and sat down on the couch as he handed her some tissues. “I'm sorry.”
“You should be. A lot of people were worried about you” It was like talking to a child, and he was suddenly relieved that in at least one way she was no longer his problem. “Where were you?” Not that it really mattered now, as long as she was back, and unharmed. That was what had worried him. Some nasty things had been known to happen in Las Vegas. Particularly to girls who looked like Sylvia Stewart. Especially when they slept with strangers.
But she was staring at him now, and started to cry again. “I got married.”
“You got what?” For once, he looked stunned. He had suspected everything but that as he had tried to figure out what might have happened to her. “To whom? The guy in your room the other night?”
She nodded and blew her nose again. “He's in the garment industry. From New Jersey.”
“Oh my God.” Bill sat down heavily next to her on the couch, wondering if he had ever known her. “What ever made you do something like that?”
“I don't know. I just …you always work so hard …and I've been so lonely.” Christ. She was twenty-three years old, drop-dead gorgeous, and she was crying about being lonely. Half the women in America would have given their right arm and more to look like her, and she had married a clothing manufacturer she didn't even know, and had spent a weekend with in Las Vegas. And Bill was suddenly wondering if it was his fault. Maybe if he hadn't neglected her, if he hadn't been so wrapped up in the show … it was a familiar refrain. In some ways, the chorus went all the way back to Leslie. But was he responsible for all of them? Was it really his fault? Why couldn't they adjust to the way he lived? Why did they have to run off and do something crazy? And now this foolish girl had married a total stranger. Bill looked at her in amazement.
“What are you going to do now, Sylvia?” He could hardly wait to hear.
“I don't know. Move to New Jersey next week, I guess. His name is Stanley, and he has to be back in Newark by Tuesday.”
“I don't believe this.” Bill laid his head back against the couch and started to laugh, and in a minute, he couldn't stop laughing. Betsey could even hear him from her desk outside his office, and she was relieved that he wasn't shouting. He seldom did, but she had figured that Sylvia's disappearance might just do it to him. “You and Stanley have to be back in Newark by Tuesday … is that it?”
“Well …” She looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Sort of. Except that I know I have a contract to do the show for another season.” The truth was that she had figured he would kick her off the show after calling the other night, and in a panic she had married Stanley. She had no idea what she was getting, and yet he had been very sweet to her, and he had bought her a rather handsome diamond ring in Las Vegas, and promised to take care of her once they got to Newark. He had promised to get her a great modeling job, and if she wanted tq she could do acting jobs in New York, like maybe even on commercials, or the soaps there. It was a whole new horizon opening up for her, and in some ways being married to a man in the garment industry in Newark wasn't a total miscast for Sylvia Stewart. “What am I going to do about my contract?” She looked pleadingly at Bill and he almost started to laugh again. It was all so absurd, he almost couldn't stand it. It was impossible to take it seriously. It was life imitating art in the extreme, and he wasn't crazy enough not to see the humor in it.
“You know what you're going to do about your con-tract, Sylvia? You're going to give me two more days, today and tomorrow, on the set, for old times' sake, and we're going to kill you off in the most dramatic scene you've ever seen on Friday. And after that, you're free to go. You can go home to Newark with Stanley and have ten babies as long as you name the first one after me. I'm releasing you from your contract.”
“You are?” She looked astounded, and he grinned at her in amusement.
“Yes, I am. Because I'm a nice guy, and I gave you a hard time by working my ass off and not paying enough attention to you. I owe you, sweetheart. And this is the payback.” He was just grateful she had turned up at all. It was going to allow them to tie it all up neatly. John was going to kill Vaughn on the show, because she had seen him murder the pusher. And the saga could continue from there, ad infinitum. “I'm sorry, baby,” he said to her gently then, and he meant it. “I guess I'm not much of a catch these days. Never was, in fact. I'm married to this show.”
“It's okay.” Sylvia looked at him almost shyly. “You're not too mad at me? … for doing what I did …for getting married, I mean.”
“Not if you'll be happy.” And he meant it.
Her arrangement with Bill had been a passing thing, and they both knew it. It meant very little to either of them, as she had proven by spending the weekend with a stranger in Vegas, and Bill suspected correctly that that was exactly why she had gone there.
“Do I get to kiss the bride?” He stood up, and she stood up, too, still astounded that he had let her off so easily. She had expected him to be furious and to kick her off the show without releasing her from her contract. It would make it a lot easier for her to get work in New York if he let her go this way. And she turned up toward him now, ready for a passionate embrace, for old times' sake, but he kissed her gently on the cheek, and for an instant, he knew he was going to miss her. There had been a sweetness about her he liked, a kindness, and they had had fun together. She was familiar to him, and they were good friends, and now he was alone again. But it would be easier not to be involved with someone on the show. It was a mistake he wouldn't make again, a form of extreme self-indulgence. There was no woman in his life, and for the moment he wasn't even sure if he minded. “What are you going to do about your stuff at my place?”
“I guess I'd better pick it up.” She had forgotten all about that. There wasn't much, but there was about a suitcase worth of clothes she had left in his closet.
“Want to go get it now?”
“Sure. I have to meet Stanley at the Beverly Wilshire at four o'clock. But I have plenty of time.” There was something else implied in her voice, but he pretended not to notice. It was over for him now. She had done what she'd done and he bore her no malice, but he no longer wanted her either.
He left his office with her, and he was sure that everyone thought they were goin
g back to his place for a quickie. But he only laughed and drove her to his apartment and helped her throw all her things into boxes. And then he drove her back to her apartment.
“Want to come up?” She looked at him sadly for a minute as she took the last of her boxes out of his woody, but he only shook his head. And a moment later, he drove off, and that chapter in his life was over.
WHEN ADRIAN GOT HOME AFTER THE SIX O'CLOCK news, the phone was ringing, and she grabbed it just as the message on her answering machine went on. She spoke into the phone hurriedly, turned off the machine, and answered, still juggling her handbag and the newspaper, and some things she'd bought at the drugstore on the way home, and everything stopped when she heard his voice. It was Steven.
“Are you all right?” He sounded anxious and tense, and she instantly realized why. “I've been calling you all afternoon. Why didn't you answer the phone?” He had been desperately worried about her all day and he had been calling since noon and only getting the machine. He was frantic by seven o'clock when she finally got in9 and it had never dawned on him to call her office. Nor had she wanted to call him. She needed time to think about telling him she hadn't had the abortion.
“I wasn't here,” she said almost remorsefully, realizing that she had to make a quick shift of gears. She had come to terms with everything that was going on in their lives early that morning. But he had no idea what she'd done, and he still assumed that she had had the abortion.
“Where were you? Did they keep you at the doctor's all day? Did something go wrong?” He sounded frantic and she felt sorry for him, but she was also angry. He had been willing to let her go through with the abortion all alone, and he had tried to tell her it was no big deal, which it was, or would have been. And now she was still mad at him for it.
“Nothing went wrong.” There was a long pause, an endless silence, and she decided to tell him right away and not lead him on. “I didn't do it.”
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