12
IT WAS THE MIDDLE of April, and Belle hadn’t heard from Darryl in nearly three months. She didn’t know what to think.
He hadn’t shown up on her doorstep or called to demand that she stay home from the campout. He hadn’t sent flowers, or stinkweed, either.
She couldn’t figure out what the man was up to. Could one humiliating episode on television have deflated his ego that thoroughly?
In a fit of weakness, she’d bought the March issue of About Town and had read Darryl’s article carefully, trying to be objective. His devotion to his unborn child came through crystal clear. Belle only wished the man cared even a fraction as much for her.
Her house echoed with the long-vanished sound of his voice. Her bathtub still bore a spilled dab of his shampoo that she never managed to clean. The pans he’d put away in the wrong places somehow remained there.
Thank goodness for the Strong Woman Campout. Roughly a hundred participants had signed on, and a site had been arranged in the nearby San Gabriel Mountains. A female guide had been hired to oversee the weekend and teach the participants basic camping skills.
Belle was so busy that she rarely had time to feel lonely. Only when she happened to see a pregnant woman on her husband’s arm did a pang of regret knife through her.
She would survive this. She could survive anything, and she was going to prove it to the entire world.
And so, on a sunny April day, she sat in her office nibbling a red, white and blue cream cheese confection and editing a story called “Personal Fireworks: How to Make the Fourth of July Your Own Independence Day.” Sometimes in the magazine business it was hard to remember which month it really was, or even which season.
That fact was brought home to her half an hour later when Sandra Duval flitted in wearing a gray satin bonnet trimmed with menorahs and dreidels. After a brief discussion of plans for the August and September issues, Belle said, “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s that for?”
The publisher touched the ornaments as if reminding herself what they were. “Oh! This is my Passover hat!”
“Passover?” said Belle. “That’s a Hanukkah hat.”
Sandra’s blue eyes widened in alarm. “No!”
“I’m sure of it,” said Belle. “On Passover, there’s a special dinner called a seder, and people eat matzo.”
“They don’t light one candle every night?” asked Sandra. “And spin those little tops?”
“Definitely Hanukkah,” said Belle.
A breath of dismay whooshed from her employer. “I have to go home and change. I’m attending a fund-raiser at the Music Center this afternoon, with the mayor and everybody. I simply can’t wear this!”
“I suppose not.” Belle was about to return to her editing when Sandra tossed back a comment on her way out the door.
“You’ll have to fill in for me. I promised to meet Dar-ryl Horak at his office in fifteen minutes to go over the final presentation for Mira Lemos.”
The publisher vanished. “I can’t!” Belle called after her.
“I wanted your opinion, anyway,” Sandra’s voice drifted back.”You’ll love what we’ve done!”
Belle lurched from her desk but couldn’t catch her, not with an extra thirty pounds throwing her off balance. By the time she reached the doorway, Sandra was out of earshot.
Lisa glanced up from her desk. “Is something wrong?”
“She wants me to meet Darryl Horak at is office.” Belle complained. “Then the pink ghost does her famous disappearing act!”
“Do you want me to call him and cancel?” asked the secretary.
Belle was on the point of agreeing, when she remembered that Sandra had an appointment with the mall’s executive staff in the morning.
Her next idea was to send Janie, but that wouldn’t be fair. Janie, too, considered the About Town premises to be hostile territory.
“Thanks, but no, don’t cancel,” she said, and went to get her purse.
The About Town building was only a block away along Wilshire Boulevard. To Belle’s irritation, the brief walk left her abdominal muscles aching and her lungs short of breath, due to pressure from the baby.
She wondered, not for the first time, how she would fare trekking along mountain trails. However, the campout was planned for a campsite not more than a mile above a parking lot.
Their professional guide would lead the scheduled activities. Belle could sit around and paint her toenails all weekend if she wanted, except that she could no longer reach her toenails.
Between a video store and a deli, she spotted a narrow door bearing the magazine’s name. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she opened it.
Inside, four stories of balconies ringed an interior courtyard. From the scuffed linoleum to the peeling paint, the place was decidedly lacking in style.
Darryl owned this building, Belle reminded herself. His equity probably amounted to several hundred thousand dollars. She didn’t intend to waste any sympathy on the fact that he couldn’t afford to decorate it.
According to a hand-scribbled sign, the editorial offices occupied the third floor. A creaky elevator carried her upward.
Graffiti covered the walls of the lift, mostly humorous references to political figures. Sandra would have had them removed.
It gave Belle a funny feeling, to see the place where Darryl worked. Without realizing it, she’d been picturing offices that resembled those of Just Us. Now, she realized how little she knew him.
It shouldn’t have bothered her to discover that there were aspects of Darryl’s life she wasn’t familiar with. But it did.
And why did she feel so apprehensive about seeing him? There was nothing between the two of them. Besides, she was the one who’d thrown him out.
He had probably reverted to his old self by now, frolicking in the surf surrounded by gorgeous models. Of course, she didn’t suppose he frolicked in the surf in his office.
Belle and her enormous stomach waddled off the elevator at the third floor. No one had redecorated here, either, she noticed as she stepped into an office.
A young man at the front desk gave her a startled glance and hurried to find Darryl. Belle had to smile at the man’s astonishment.
She was glad now that she hadn’t called ahead. The element of surprise gave her a sense of being in control.
“Looking for someone?” came a voice from behind her.
Belle turned to see Darryl looming in the outer doorway. Darn it, how had he managed to sneak up on her? Now she felt off-center and ruffled.
She didn’t remember his being quite so tall. His but ton-down shirt did nothing to disguise the masculinity of his build, either. He had some nerve, coming to meet her without a jacket. He might as well have emerged stark naked. Now, there was an interesting idea
A jolt in her midsection shocked Belle into speaking. “Oh! You woke up the baby!”
“I did?” Amusement gleamed on his high-boned face.
“You startled me,” she said. “When I jumped, it woke up the baby.”
“I didn’t notice you jumping,” Darryl murmured, strolling forward. “He knows my voice, doesn’t he?”
She fought down an impulse to retreat. “She knows enough to be scared of ogres.”
“And may I ask the nature of your business here?” he inquired, stopping inches from Belle’s tumultuous abdomen.
“Sandra asked me to take her place. She had to go home and change hats.”
“She had to do what?” He stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.
“Change hats,” she repeated.
He grimaced. “That woman is peculiar. One minute she’s a genius, and the next minute she’s redefining the word shallow.”
“It was a Hanukkah hat,” said Belle.
“Excuse me?”
“It had little menorahs and dreidels on it. She thought it was for Passover.”
Darryl started to laugh. Belle couldn’t help it. She started to laugh, too.
“Why would a person even own such a hat?” he asked. “Who makes these monstrosities?”
“Beats me,” she said. “All she wore in college were baseball caps and tennis visors.”
From the corridor, she glimpsed Greg and Elva strolling by. Elva missed a step as she recognized Belle, but the entertainment editor pulled her onward.
“We’d better get this over with,” said Darryl. “Sandra and I are due at the mall tomorrow morning, so if you have any problems with the posters, this is our last chance.”
He led her along a back hallway. The place was like a rabbit warren, Belle reflected. Through some offices, she could see doors that opened onto the balcony. Other offices appeared to function like railroad cars, one leading into the next.
“It’s kind of a maze,” Darryl conceded. “If we make enough money off this promotion, I’m bringing in an architect to redesign it.”
Reaching ahead, he opened the door of the conference room. Belle squeezed past, trying not to notice how tantalizing he smelled. Just a whiff brought back memories of sweaty sheets and powerful couplings. Embarrassed to be caught fantasizing, she shifted her focus to her surroundings.
Posters crowded the small L-shaped room. Stacks of magazines held the renderings upright on chairs and tables. No wonder Sandra had agreed to keep the display here. The Just Us publisher despised clutter.
The first item to catch Belle’s eye was the new motto. “The High Desert Megamall: It’s About Us!”
“Who came up with that?” she asked. “I like it.”
“Your boss did.”
She passed before sketches of manikins in various settings throughout the mall. Ideas and scenes from both presentations had been incorporated.
The overall impression was of couples working and playing together. No longer did Adam bring Eve to Paradise; the two walked hand in hand, sharing Paradise together.
The only picture Belle didn’t like was the wedding. “This bothers me.”
“Why?"’ Darryl watched her quietly from one side.
“It’s stiff,” she said. “In the others, the people seem to have been captured in motion. This reminds me of wax figures on a wedding cake.”
Darryl shrugged. “Well, if it bothers Mira, I’m sure she’ll say so.”
“But it wouldn’t be reason enough to turn down the whole presentation,” Belle conceded. “The rest of it’s great.” She stopped as a tightening in her abdomen made her grip the edge of the table.
Darryl hurried to her side. “What’s wrong?”
She let out a deep breath. “It’s nothing. All pregnant women get these little contractions. It’s kind of a preparation for labor.”
He pulled out a chair and guided her into it. “I thought you weren’t due for another five weeks.”
“I’m not,” she said. “My book says women get these contractions for weeks, even months, before they deliver.”
He swung a chair backward and straddled it, facing her. “Your book? Aren’t you taking childbirth classes?”
“I didn’t have a coach,” Belle confided without thinking, then added, “I mean, I didn’t want one. Most women end up having anesthesia, anyway. Besides, I hate pain.”
Darryl’s mouth opened as if to argue, but all he said was, “I’m not too fond of pain myself.”
She knew she shouldn’t bait him, but Belle couldn’t resist. “Aren’t you going to tell me that men endure hour after hour of their wives’ labor without so much as wincing?”
“I suppose I overdid things a little ’he conceded. “But you should have asked me to be your coach. We could still take a class.”
She entertained the prospect for a moment, then rejected it. “I don’t have time. Not with the campout coming up.”
A lock of hair fell across his forehead as he leaned forward. “You can’t go tromping around in a remote area when you’re so close to delivering. Just a few minutes ago you could hardly stand.”
“It passed, didn’t it?” Belle countered. “Besides, I won’t be alone. We’ll have a professional guide. Janie and Anita are going, and a photographer, and my neighbor Moira, not to mention about a hundred other women.”
“But not Sandra?” Darryl cocked an eyebrow.
“She never goes anywhere that doesn’t have a Jacuzzi,” Belle admitted.
“That woman has more sense than the rest of you. I don’t mean to sound patronizing, but what are you ladies going to do if you get attacked by a mountain lion?”
“The same thing a man would do,” Belle retorted. “Run like hell.”
“What if you go into labor?” he asked.
The doctor had mentioned that two weeks before one’s due date was considered full term. He hadn’t said anything about delivering three weeks early, so why worry about it?
“I’ll be fine.” She caught a resigned expression settling onto Darryl’s sharp features. “What?”
“I, personally, am not a big fan of sleeping on rocks and eating out of cans,” he said. “But for your sake, I’ll endure it.”
“You will not!” The words emerged louder than she intended.
“I have an obligation to protect you.” Darryl folded his arms across his chest. “That incident a minute ago was not ‘nothing,’ no matter what your book says.”
“This is the Strong Woman Campout,” Belle flared. “Not the Hairy-Chested Male Campout!”
“Be reasonable,” Darryl said. “Having a guy around isn’t exactly a liability. Besides, you can’t discriminate against men. It’s illegal.”
He was right. Most men wouldn’t want to go on a women-only campout, but she couldn’t forcibly eject him. Darryl would probably sue if he didn’t get his way.
“All right, you can come,” she said. “But believe me, I’ll skewer you in my story when your tent collapses.”
The reference to his disastrous efforts at crib-building brought a splash of red to Darryl’s cheeks. Still, he refrained from lashing back. “I’m glad you agree. And in the meantime, if there’s anything you need—”
“Thanks but no thanks,” said Belle, and decamped.
BALANCING A CUP of herbal tea, Belle made a final checkoff of the items cluttering her living room floor.
Backpack—check. Sleeping bag—check. Childbirth book to study while the others were out hiking—check. The four-person tent was already lashed to the top of Janie’s station wagon, which should be here any minute.
Stepping outside, Belle glanced uneasily at the sky. A few unseasonable dark clouds appeared to be blowing in from the ocean.
Next door, Moira emerged, toting her backpack. Being in her eighties hadn’t muted the energy in her step. “Ready?” she called.
Belle nodded. “Have you heard a weather report?”
“Oh, they said something last night about a storm off Mexico,” reported her neighbor. “But it’s not supposed to affect us.”
Just then, Janie’s station wagon turned into the driveway and halted in front of them. Anita rolled down the front passenger window. “Did you hear something about a storm? It was on the radio. We couldn’t hear it very well for the static.”
Acid shot up Belle’s esophagus, a not-unfamiliar sensation these days with the baby putting so much pressure on her stomach. She coughed and said, “It’s not supposed to get this far north
“Unless they changed the forecast.” Moira stowed her gear in the back. “They’re always doing that.”
As she and Belle climbed in, Janie said, “I thought I heard something about a flash flood warning in the mountains and deserts. You heard that, didn’t you, Anita? Wasn’t it a flash flood warning?”
“Shh!” Anita indicated the radio. “I think they’re giving another report!”
“…and could be moving in as soon as tonight,” said the announcer. “Now here’s Joan with the latest traffic report.”
What was moving in as soon as tonight? It couldn’t be a storm, Belle thought. There was no way of canceling the campout, not with a hundred
women due to meet them at the mountain parking lot. Besides, Southern California never got heavy rains in May.
“I have this great idea,” said Janie as they approached the freeway. “Let’s camp out at Sandra’s house! We could use our compasses wandering through the rooms, and I think there’s a koi pond where we could fish!”
The other three women glared at her.
“Just joking,” said Janie, and entered the freeway heading east.
Conversation turned to this month’s Flaunt It Girl, Connie Sasser. Her stunning photo had been cropped to deemphasize the other women, but Moira had still made a conspicuous appearance.
By the time they ascended into the mountains, though, everyone had fallen silent. Around them, the world was growing dark.
“How bad could a storm off Mexico be?” Janie asked after a while. “I mean, that’s pretty far away. And the weather’s usually good down there, right?”
“They get hurricanes,” Anita reminded her.
“With our luck,” said Belle, “this will be a him-icane.”
The weak joke evoked more laughter than it should have, and by the time they pulled into the parking lot, they all felt better. Until, that is, they took a good survey of the premises.
“We must have the wrong place,” said Moira.
“There’s nobody here.” Belle couldn’t help stating the obvious. “You don’t suppose the weather scared them off?”
The last broadcast had given a forty percent chance of rain tonight. That was still a sixty percent chance of no rain, she thought hopefully.
“There’s a van under those trees over there.” Anita pointed.
They cruised alongside. Belle recognized the lettering on the van’s side: The Ins And Outs Of The Great Outdoors. It belonged to their guide’s company.
As she was about to point this out, a stocky woman in jeans and a jacket bounced toward them from the woods. With her graying hair pulled into a ponytail and her feet encased in hiking boots, she had a sturdy air that reassured Belle.
“You guys from the magazine?” she called. “Hi, I’m Bunny.”
“Bunny?” said Janie under her breath. “We’re entrusting our lives to somebody named Bunny?”
Punchline Page 14
