“How's Dad?” she managed to ask, only to be told that he was getting old, but that her brother-in-law had just bought a new Cadillac and what kind of car did Steven drive anyway? A Porsche? What was that? Oh, a foreign car, and did Adrian still drive that ridiculous little car she'd had in college? Her mother admitted to being shocked that Steven didn't buy her a decent car. Her sister had two cars now. A Mustang, and a Volvo. It was a conversation designed to irritate in every possible way, and it did. Adrian only said that everything was fine, and Steven was out playing tennis. It would have been nice having a mother she could talk to, someone whose shoulder she could cry on, someone who could bolster her spirits. But her mother was only interested in keeping score, and when she'd heard enough she told Adrian to give Steven her “best,” and hung up without offering any comfort.
The phone rang again after that, but this time, Adrian didn't answer. She listened to her answering machine afterward, and discovered that it had been Zelda, but she wasn't sure she wanted to talk to her either. She wanted to be alone to lick her wounds, and the only person she really wanted to talk to was Steven. But he didn't call all day, and that night, Adrian sat alone, wearing his bathrobe and huddled in front of the television, feeling sorry for herself, and crying.
The phone rang again then, and she grabbed it without thinking. It was Zelda calling from work to ask her something, and she was quick to guess that something was wrong. Adrian sounded awful.
“Are you sick?”
“More or less …” she muttered, wishing she hadn't answered. She answered Zelda's questions about work and then Zelda seemed to hesitate, wanting to ask her again if she was all right. Lately she had sensed that Adrian was troubled.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Adrian?”
“No …I …” Adrian was touched by her question. “I'm okay.”
Zelda's voice was kind at the other end. “You don't sound it.” And at her end, just listening to her, Adrian was crying.
“Yeah,” she sniffed loudly into the phone, feeling foolish for falling apart so suddenly, but she just couldn't keep up the pretense anymore. It was all too hard, and too awful now that he had left her. She still couldn't believe he would do such a thing, and she wished that someone were there just to put his arms around her. “I guess I'm not okay after all.” She laughed through her tears, choking on a sob, and Zelda couldn't help wondering what had happened. And then, Adrian decided to tell her. There was no one else to say anything to, and she and Zelda had always felt a comfortable rapport in the years they had worked together. “Steven and I … he … we … he left me …”The last words were barely more than a squeak while she started to cry all over again, and Zelda felt sorry for her. She knew how rough those things were. She had been through it before, which is why she only went out with young boys now. She wanted some fun, and some good times, but no more heartbreak and no headaches.
“I'm sorry, Adrian. I really am. Is there anything I can do?”
Adrian shook her head as the tears coursed down her cheeks. “No, I'll be okay.” But when …and would he come back? She was praying that he'd come to his senses.
“Sure you will.” Zelda encouraged her. “You know, no matter how much we think we can't live without them, we always can. Six months from now, you may even be glad that this happened.” But Zelda's words only made her cry harder.
“I doubt that.”
“Wait and see.” She spoke convincingly, but Adrian knew something she didn't. “Six months from now you may be having a hot romance with someone else you haven't even met yet.”
And then suddenly, at her words, Adrian started to laugh. The image was comical at best. In six months, she would be more than seven months pregnant. “I doubt that.” She blew her nose again and then sighed.
“How can you be so sure?”
And then Adrian looked serious again. “Because I'm having a baby.” There was a moment's silence at the other end as Zelda absorbed what she had just said, and then there was a long, low whistle.
“That certainly puts a different light on things. Does he know?”
Adrian hesitated, but only for a fraction of a second. She needed to talk to someone, and Zelda was smart and wise, and Adrian knew she could trust her. “That's why he left. He doesn't want kids.”
“He'll come back.” Zelda sounded confident then. “He's just reacting. He's probably just scared.” She was right. He was terrified, but Adrian wasn't totally convinced that he would ever come to his senses. She wanted him to, she wanted that more than anything, but it was hard to tell what he would do. He was the same man who had walked out on his family, and never looked back. In fact, she was certain that he'd never even missed them. Once he made up his mind, he was capable of severing a bond he had once cherished, if it suited his purpose.
“I hope you're right.” Adrian sighed again, her breath catching on the remains of a sob, like a child who's been crying. And then she thought of something. “Don't say anything to anyone at work.” She was far from ready to announce it. She wanted to settle things with Steven first. It would be simpler if he came back and things calmed down before she told anyone that she was having a baby, and she didn't want to get them nervous at work about whether or not she'd be leaving.
“I won't say a thing,” Zelda was quick to reassure her. “What are you going to do? Quit or take a leave?”
“I don't know. I haven't figured that out yet. Take a leave, I guess.” But what if Steven was gone? What if she was alone? How was she going to work and manage a baby? She hadn't even begun to figure that out yet. But whatever it took, she knew that she was going to do it.
“You've got time. And you're right. Don't say anything. You'll just get them nervous.” And she had a good job, maybe even a great one. It was a job Zelda wouldn't have touched with a ten-foot pole, it had too much responsibility and too many headaches, but she knew that Adrian was good at it, and she had always thought that she liked it. In truth, the job had been Steven's idea, but Adrian had enjoyed it, too, even though she still longed at times for something a little more esoteric. Working with the news day after day was brutal sometimes, and they all knew it could be very depressing. They were too close to the horrors that man committed against man, and the tragedies inflicted by nature, and there was seldom an instance when they were cheered by a happy story. But there was the satisfaction of doing a job well, and Adrian did. They all knew that. “Just take it easy, Adrian. Try not to let all this bullshit get to you. The job will sort itself out eventually, the baby will come when it's ready to, and Steven will probably be back in two days with an armful of red roses and a present, wanting to pretend he never left you.”
“I hope you're right.” And as she hung up a few minutes later, so did Zelda. She wasn't sure what Steven would do. She had met him several times, and been impressed by him, but in her heart of hearts, she had never liked him. There was something cold and calculating about the man. He looked right through you, as though anxious to move on to someone else, and she had never thought he was as warm and decent as Adrian. There was something about Adrian that she had liked the minute she met her. And she was sorry for her now. It was rough being pregnant and having her husband walk out on her. It wasn't fair, Zelda fumed, and she didn't deserve it.
She didn't, but there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't do anything to make him come back, or change his mind. And later that night Adrian sat in front of the TV, blinded by tears and crying. She fell asleep on the couch finally, and it was four o'clock when she woke up to the somber strains of the national anthem. She clicked off the TV, and turned over on the couch. She didn't want to go upstairs to their empty bed. It was just too depressing. And in the morning she woke up, as the first rays of sun streamed in through the windows. She could hear the birds chirping outside, and it was a beautiful day, but she felt as though there were an elephant sitting on her heart as she lay on the couch and thought about Steven. Why was he doing this to her? And to himself? W
hy was he depriving them both of something that had so much meaning? It was strange how after resigning herself to never having kids, now suddenly she was willing to sacrifice everything for this one. It was all strange, she thought to herself as she got up slowly, and sat on the couch, feeling as though she had been beaten by midgets. Every inch of her body hurt, and her eyes felt swollen from all the crying she'd done the night before. And when she went to the bathroom a minute later, she groaned when she looked in the mirror.
“No wonder he left you,” she muttered at the image she saw, and tears filled her eyes again as she laughed. It was hopeless. All she did was cry. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, and then she brushed her hair and put on jeans and an old sweater of Steven's. It was a way of staying close to him. She could wear his clothes if she couldn't have him.
She made herself a piece of toast reluctantly, and she warmed coffee from the leftovers of the day before. It tasted awful, but she didn't really care. She only had a sip and then she sat staring into space, thinking of him again, and why he had left her. Her mind seemed to have only one theme, and when the phone rang, she jumped a foot, and ran to pick it up, breathless and excited …he was coming home …he had to be. Who else would call at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning? But when she answered it, the voice was Chinese, and he hung up as soon as he heard her. It was a wrong number.
She dragged around the apartment for the next hour, picking things up and putting them down, sorting out laundry, but most of it was his, and she started to cry again when she saw it. Nothing was easy to deal with anymore. Everything hurt, everything was a reminder of what had happened, and just being in the apartment without him suddenly seemed too painful. By nine o'clock she couldn't stand it anymore, and she decided to take a walk. She didn't know where to go, but she just wanted to go somewhere and get some air, and get away from his clothes and their things and the empty rooms that made her feel even more lonely. She picked up her keys, and closed the door behind her, walking toward the front of the complex. She hadn't picked up her mail in two days and she didn't really care. But it was something to do while she went out walking. She stopped at their mailbox and leaned against the wall, flipping through bills, and two letters for Steven. There was nothing for her, and she put it all back in the box, and walked slowly out to her car, thinking that maybe she'd go for a drive. She had left her car at the front of the complex the day before, and she noticed an old woody station wagon parked next to it, and as she approached she saw a man taking a bicycle out of it. He was hot and damp, and he looked as though he had been out for an early morning ride, as he turned and looked at her. He seemed to stare at her for a long moment, as though searching his mind, and then he smiled, and remembered exactly where he had seen her. He had a fantastic memory for things like that, useless details, faces he had once seen, and names of people he would never meet again. He didn't know hers because he had never known her name, but he remembered instantly that she was the pretty girl he had seen in the Safeway weeks before. And he remembered also that she was married.
“Hi, there,” He set his bicycle down next to her, and she found herself looking into blue eyes that were direct and warm and friendly. She guessed him to be about forty or forty-one, and he had friendly, happy-looking little lines next to his eyes. He looked like someone who enjoyed his life and was at ease with himself and the people around him.
“Hello.” Her voice seemed very small, and he noticed that she looked a little different than she had several weeks before. She looked tired and pale, and he wondered if she'd been working too hard, or maybe she'd been sick. And she seemed subdued, like someone who'd been through a lot. She had seemed bouncier somehow at the grocery store in the middle of the night, but in any case, she was still beautiful, and he was happy to see her.
“Do you live here?” He found himself wanting to talk to her, to find out something about her. It was odd that their paths had crossed again. Maybe their destinies were entwined, he teased himself, as he admired her. He would have liked nothing better, except, of course, he reminded himself silently as he smiled at her, that that would also mean having his destiny entwined with her husband's.
“Yes, we do.” She smiled quietly. “We live in one of the town houses at the other end. I don't usually park here. But I've seen your car here before. It's great.” She had admired it frequently, never knowing whom it belonged to.
“Thanks, I love it. I've seen yours here too,” now that he realized it was hers. He had always liked the battered little MG whenever he noticed it, and now he realized that he had seen her at the complex once before, from the distance. She had been with a tall, handsome man with dark hair, and they had driven off in something boring like a Mercedes, or a Porsche. And he realized as he thought of it that that was probably her husband. They had made a handsome pair, but she'd made a much greater impression on him when he'd seen her alone at the Safeway. But women alone were more likely to spark some interest in him than handsome young couples. “It's nice to see you again,” he said, feeling suddenly awkward with her, and then he laughed at himself. “Doesn't it make you feel like a kid again when you run into people like this? … Hi …I'm Bill …what's your name? …Gee, do you go to school here?” He put on a schoolboy voice and they both laughed because he was right. Married or not, she was a beautiful girl, and he was a man, and it was obvious to both of them that he liked her. “Which reminds me.” He held a hand out to her, still holding onto his mountain bike with his other hand. “I'm Bill Thigpen, and we met about two weeks ago at the Safeway, around midnight. I tried to run you down with my cart and you dropped about fourteen rolls of paper towels.”
She smiled at the memory and held her hand out to him. “I'm Adrian Townsend.” She shook his hand with a small, solemn smile, thinking how odd it was to run into him again. She remembered him now, although only vaguely. And her whole life had changed since then. Everything …Hi, I'm Adrian Townsend, and my whole life has fallen apart …my husband left me …and I'm having a baby…. “It's nice to see you again.” She was trying to be polite, but her eyes still looked so sad. Just looking at her made him want to put his arms around her. “Where do you ride your bike?” She struggled for something to say to him, he seemed to want to keep on talking.
“Oh …here and there … I drove down to Malibu this morning. It was really beautiful. Sometimes I just go down there to walk on the beach and clear my head if I've been working all night.”
“Do you do that a lot?” She tried to sound interested, although she wasn't sure why. She just knew that he seemed like a nice guy and he was friendly and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. And there was something about him that made her just want to stand there, close to him, and talk about nothing. It was as though, standing near him, she would be safe for a little while, and nothing else terrible could happen to her. He had that kind of feeling about him, like someone who could take care of things, and as she spoke to him, he was intently watching her eyes. Something had happened to her in the past few weeks. He was sure of it. He had no idea what, but she had changed. She looked bruised. From within. And it made him sad for her.
“Yeah … I work late sometimes. Very late. And you? Do you always buy your groceries at midnight?”
She laughed at the question, but in fact she did, whenever she'd forgotten to buy something earlier. She liked shopping after the evening news. She was relaxed but still wide-awake from work, and the store was always empty. “Yes, sometimes I do. I finish work at eleven-thirty. I work on the late news …and the six o'clock. It's a good hour to go shopping.”
He looked amused. “What network are you with?” She told him and he laughed again. Maybe their destinies really were entwined. “You know, we also work in the same building.” Although he had never seen her there, his show was shot some three floors from her office. “I work on a soap opera about three floors from the newsroom.”
“That's funny.” She was amused by the coincidence, too, although less encouraged by it
than he was. “Which show?”
“A Life Worth Living.” He said it noncommittally, trying not to give away the fact that A Life was his baby.
“That's a good one. I used to love watching it between jobs, before I went to work on the news.” x
“How long have you been there?” He was intrigued by her, and he loved standing there next to her. He could almost imagine that he smelled the shampoo in her hair. She looked so clean and bright and decent, and he suddenly found himself wondering stupid things, like whether or not she wore perfume, and if she did, what kind and if he'd like it.
“Three years,” she answered him about how long she'd worked on the news. “I used to do specials, and two-hour movies. I'm in production. But then I got this chance to work on the news …” Her voice drifted of as though she still wasn't sure of it, and he wondered why.
“Do you like it?”
“Sometimes. It's pretty grim sometimes, and it gets to me.” She shrugged as though apologizing for some intrinsic weakness.
“It would get to me too. I don't think I could do it. I'd much rather make it all up …murder and rape and incest. The good wholesome stuff America loves.” He grinned again and leaned on his bike as she laughed and for an instant, barely more than that, she looked carefree and happy, the way she had the first time he'd seen her.
“Are you a writer?” She wasn't sure why she was asking him, but it was easy to talk to him and she had nothing else to do early on this Sunday morning.
“Yes, I am,” he answered her. “But I don't write the show very often anymore. I just kibitz from the sidelines.” She hadn't figured out that he was the originator of the show and he didn't want to tell her.
“It must be fun. I used to want to write, a long time ago, but I'm better at the production end.” Or at least that was what Steven said, but as soon as she thought of him, her eyes got sad again, and as he watched her, Bill saw it.
Heartbeat Page 10
