by Rona Jaffe
After work she met Dexter at his apartment. She sat on his sofa and allowed him to put a cold drink into her hand, and the entire time she was savoring the last instant of special secrecy before she would share her news. She couldn't imagine what he would say but she knew he would take care of everything. Dexter could always cope with anything.
"I want to play my new record for you," Dexter said. "Wait till you hear this!"
"Dexter ..."
He turned, already kneeling over the phonograph, the record in his hand. "What?"
"What's it called?"
'It's an old classic. Bix Beiderbecke. I had to brush two inches of dust ofiF it in the back room of the record store before I found it."
She would listen to the record, she had time. It was like savoring the last bittersweet moments of near-passion before you gave yourself up to it. She was dying to tell him, but she would wait, because she could only tell him once and it had to be right. She hardly heard the music. It came to her through a fog, in isolated snatches. I am going to have a baby. Dexter, I am going to have a baby.
"How did you like that?"
"Beautiful," she murmured.
He put something else on the phonograph and came to sit beside her. He put his head on her shoulder. She put her arms around him and rested her chin on his head and stared across the room. She felt detached from him. The secret was all she could think about, the
wonderful news that really should frighten her but didn't. She pulled away from him gently.
"Dexter . . ."
'What, honey?"
"Sit up, please."
"Why?"
"Well, just sit up, that's all. I want to tell you something."
He sat up then, looking at her with an It-Had-Better-Be-Big look on his face. For some reason that made her lose patience with him, because it was big, and she blurted it out. "Dexter, I went to the doctor yesterday and he says I'm pregnant."
He looked at her, eyes round, lips slightly parted, his hands hanging limply across his knees. He looked like a frightened little boy. "Is he sure?"
"Of course."
"Some of these guys just like to scare you. Did he take a test?"
"Of course."
He didn't say anything then, he just looked at her.
"I . . . had to tell you first thing," April said.
"It's all right," he said, rather frantically it seemed to her. "Don't worry."
She wanted him to be the one to do the proposing, it was only proper. She didn't want to say. When will we get married? She waited, and Dexter sat there looking frightened and worried and not saying anything at all.
"What shall we do. Dexter?"
"It's all right," he said. "It's all right. I'm thinking."
"The baby isn't due until next fall."
He took a deep breath that was more like a sigh. "The sooner the better then, I guess. Are you free all next weekend?"
Her heart leaped as if it were going to fly out through her throat. She felt happy tears come into her eyes. "We'll elope, it'U be crazy!"
He was scowling at her. "Elope?"
"We'U have to call my parents first. It'll be such a shock to them. I told them all about you when I was home for Christmas, though, and I know they'll be happy."
"We can't get married," Dexter said.
"What do you mean?"
"How would it look, to be married now and have an eight-pound
baby in seven and a half months? We couldn't pass that ofiF as premature."
"I won't eat a thing," April said quickly. "I'll practically starve myself. I'll keep it a very small baby." And already she was feeling sorry for her baby, who would be hungry before he was even bom.
Dexter shook his head. "Don't be off in yoiur little dream world, honey, this is serious business. We'll go away on Friday."
"Where? What for?"
He sounded so casual you'd think he was talking about a social involvement they couldn't get out of. "To take care of it."
She clamped her knees together and moved away from him on the couch, as if he were already about to do something terrible to her. "You wouldn't do thati"
"Honey . . . honey . . . what else can we do?"
She bit her lip to keep the words from coming out, but she had to say them, it was self-preservation. Romance was gone, she couldn't wait for him to propose, and already April felt as if she had died. The room was very white. "We could get married,"
"Married! How can we get married? Do you want to print a banner and run it up on a flagpole? Shotgun wedding. What are you going to do, tell everyone to send the kid's birthday presents six months late for the rest of his life?"
"I want to have this baby," April said in a small voice.
"We'll have other babies."
"People die from abortions," she whispered.
"Look," Dexter said gently, "you won't even feel sick. It*s very clean, it's like a doctor's oflBce. I'll go with you."
"How do you know so much about an . . . abortionist's . . . denP Do you send all your girls there?" She was angry and hurt, lashing out at him.
"No. No."
"Then how do you know?"
"I know about these things," he said, slowly and clearly, trying to pacify her but visibly insulted.
"Have you ever taken a girl to an abortionist before?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Did you ever . . . make a girl pregnant before?"
"Not that I know of."
"Not that you know of!" April's voice rose in her shock. "Do you mean some girl became pregnant and didn't tell you?"
"Some girls don't," he said quietly.
"But how can they not tell you?"
"Maybe they're not sure I'd believe it was mine."
"You know that this one is yours!" April said. "Don't you?"
"Yes."
April covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Dexter, let's not talk this way, it makes me sick. It sounds like we're talking about a lot of hard, awful strangers. It isn't us. We're different."
"It's going to be all right, honey," he said. "You sit back and rest. I'll make you a drink."
"Do you think I should have a drink? It's not good for the baby."
Dexter stared at her as if she were demented and he had just realized it. "Well, I don't see as how that makes a hell of a lot of difference now, do you?" he said. He crossed the room to the bar and made her a drink and handed it to her. "Here, drink it. You'll feel better."
April held out her hand like someone hypnotized and accepted the glass. It felt hard and smooth and cold in her palm. She looked at it as if it might be poison and slowly lifted it to her mouth and sipped at the contents. It was only Scotch and soda. But she wished it were poison. She wished it were hemlock so she might die and never have to face another day.
In all her fantasies about unwed motherhood April had never imagined the efBciency or the speed with which alien forces would mobilize to help her. With one half of her mind she realized she should be grateful—there were total strangers with hearts in this city. Speed, they said, was important. It was almost as if they were all talking about a diseased appendix. Cut it out, cut it out fast. Time i« of the essence. And with the other half of her mind April felt abused, about to be ravished, about to have something stolen from her which she knew logically she had no right to keep and which she knew emotionally she had to keep or something else within her, something more important, would die with it.
Because she knew that there was no chance she would be allowed to have this baby (unless she should run away, and where could
she go?) every moment became very valuable to her. She felt as if she were spending the last days with someone she loved whom she would never see again. She would never see this baby at all, she would never know if it was a boy or a girl. Perhaps it could have been a talented person, someone who would have done something for the world. But all these were emotional thoughts, and the other side of her mind kept say
ing, You don't appreciate how lucky you are. What else could you do? It will all be over soon. You'll forget, and you'll be grateful that Dexter took care of everything.
It was strange that now, even though there was no more reason to fear pregnancy because it had already happened, she could not bear to have Dexter touch her. You're such a fool, the logical half of her mind told her, they say this is the best time for sex. It's the one time you'll really enjoy it because you won't be the slightest bit afraid of the consequences. You'll be sorry later you didn't take advantage of these last days. But the part of her mind that ruled her heart and her life said. Keep away from me. Dexter, you destroyer.
Dexter was gentle and almost seemed a little afraid to try to make love to her now. He would only make a tentative advance, which was unlike him, and then when she demurred he would give up. They did not discuss the baby or their appointment for the weekend, except for a few terse announcements about the time and place. Otherwise he tried to be light and pleasant, he tried to pretend that nothing had changed. He was going to pick her up Friday evening at her apartment and take her to a doctor in New Jersey. Or at least she hoped it would be a doctor. In her mind she had a picture of a dried-up little man in a doctor's white jacket, with long dirty fingernails. Assisting him would be a gross woman who smelled of bacon fat, with a round, bloated face. They would both hate her. They would both be thinking that she was going to do something dangerous and inconvenient for them, like die, and for that they despised her. They would both think she was a fool for not knowing any better than to get herself in this predicament. April didn't even dare think about her parents. Whenever she thought of her mother, and how her mother would feel if she mysteriously died, her heart almost stopped beating then and there.
She wanted to go home, to her mother's arms, and confess everything and be cared for, but she knew that was impossible. Her mother would never be able to comprehend this terrible thing, it
would be something that would hang over them for the rest of their lives. There was no reason to ruin the futures of an entire family—she had gotten into this trouble alone with Dexter and she would get over it with Dexter. At least he hadn't run away. You had to say that for him, he hadn't left her side for a minute since she had told him.
The only person April had told besides Dexter was Caroline. She had never expected the feeling of warmth she could get from a friend's honest concern, and Caroline's devotion was the only thing in this whole situation that comforted her. There was no panic in Caroline. "What can I do?" Caroline asked. And when April told her that Dexter had arranged for the abortion Caroline had seemed to sense immediately how April felt about all men at this moment.
"Have him drive you up to my house in Port Blair for the weekend," Caroline said. "You mustn't be alone in your apartment after an operation. You can stay with me and we'll take care of you. You'll rest and eat well and I'll keep you company. Dexter can stay too, or he can pick you up on Sunday night if you prefer."
"Do you think he'll be insulted if I tell him I want to stay with you alone?" April asked.
"Insulted?" Caroline's voice shook with emotion. "Insulted? What right has he to be insulted about anything?"
"It's funny," April said, "I love him but I just can't face being with him afterward. I know I'll say the wrong thing, or he will. I feel so strange."
"I know it sounds stupid to tell you everything will be all right, knowing the way you feel," Caroline said, "but, believe me, it will be all right. All your friends love you. I love you. We all care very much what happens to you. If there's anything friends can do for you now, we'll do it."
"I know," April said softly. "Thank you." For the first time in her life she felt as if she had crossed over a bridge which had no way to return. She was twenty-one years old but she was no longer a young girl in any way and she could not turn to her family or any friends of die family for help, but only to her own contemporaries. Without her friends she would be alone. And her friends understood how she felt and were not shocked, only indignant that she had to sufiFer pain and near-disaster instead of having the husband and chOd she wanted more than anything in the world. Instinctively April knew
that if she were to tell Barbara, Barbara would feel the same way as Caroline did.
"I'll come back with you after work on Friday and stay with you until Dexter comes," Caroline said. "We'll have a drink or two and I'll help you pack for the country."
"I'll feel scared facing your family," April said. "Your father's a doctor. Do you think he'll be able to tell from looking at me that something just happened?"
Caroline laughed. "Do you think doctors have X-ray eyes? My father will take one look at your young fresh face and leave us scrupulously alone so we can giggle together about our boy friends."
"Yes . . ." April said. "So would mine. . . . Thank God. My poor father . . ."
On Friday April was almost imable to do any work. She tried harder than ever to concentrate on her typing, but all the time she was thinking how silly it was to be so careful not to make mistakes because Monday morning Miss Farrow would probably have to ask for a new secretary. These letters, this work she was doing in the oflBce, suddenly took on a great importance, as if she had already died and was looking at them from a poignant, untouchable distance, like Emily in Our Totim after she had died. She wanted to make a mark somewhere, leave something; and on an impulse she took her initialed handkerchief out of her purse and tucked it under the edge of her blotter. They could find it on Monday. But when five o'clock came and it was time to make the mad rush out of the oflBce for the elevators April reached the door of the bullpen and then came back and took the handkerchief out of the blotter and put it back into her purse. She didn't want anything of her own to remain alone and unprotected if she was not there to own it, not even a handkerchief with her name on it.
It was only a short walk from the oflBce to April's apartment, but Caroline insisted on taking her there in a taxi and paying for it. Upstairs April sat on her chair and looked at the furniture in her room, hardly seeing it. Caroline was briskly removing underthings and a nightgown from the bureau drawer and looking for April's suitcase. She had brought a pint bottle of gin.
"You'll never get high enough on Scotch," Caroline said. "Where do you keep the orange juice, or haven't you any?"
"I don't know."
"I'll go downstairs and get some. You stay here. Don't move."
"Where would I go?" April asked hopelessly.
Caroline returned in a few minutes with a paper container of orange juice from the grocery store. "This is the special Harvard Weekend punch," she said cheerfully, mixing it in a pot she had found on the stove. "You don't even taste the gin, and then—booml"
April smiled weakly.
"More innocent girls have been seduced as a result of this punch than you could imagine," Caroline went on. "You won't even want an anesthetic."
"They're not going to give me one!"
"Well, I'm giving you one. Old Caroline is here. Drink this, my dear innocent girl."
April sipped at the drink, forcing the sweetness past the obstruction that seemed to have lodged in her throat. Even at that moment, knowing everything was settled and almost finished, the thought came to her that orange juice was good for pregnant women. She wondered whether someone who was about to be put into the electric chair and was being given his last dinner would refrain from eating dessert because he was on a diet. I would, she thought. But then, I'm a fool.
The doorbell rang and April jumped. Caroline walked to the door and opened it. "Hello, Dexter," she said sweetly, as if he had come to pick up April to take her to the movies.
How proper Dexter was, how poHte. He smiled and asked Caroline how she was feeling. April wondered whether he was resenting the fact that Caroline was there. Caroline was telling him how to get to Port Blair from the Merritt Parkway and he was nodding studiously.
"We may be a litde late," he said. "I know it will be long after dinner."
<
br /> The cocktail party, April thought bitterly, may last longer than we expect. Her palms were moist and her heart was pounding in terror. Perhaps, she thought, I'll lose the baby right here and save us all that trouble.
He helped April on with her coat and lifted her suitcase. When April started down the stairs it was Caroline, not Dexter, who held her arm. It was the closest April had come in the entire time to bursting into tears.
They came out into the early darkness of a winter evening. The
street was lighted with street lamps and there was a small crowd of neighborhood children gathered around the curb. At the curb, in front of April's apartment house, there was a long black shiny Cadillac limousine, the kind with two rows of seats in the back instead of one, and a closed-oflF front seat compartment for the chauffeur. The chauffeur got out of the car when they aproached and opened the door to the back. He was a small, wiry man dressed in a grayish uniform with leather boots that made him look a little like a Western Union messenger. Dexter handed April's suitcase to him and reached inside the car, bringing out a huge bouquet of pink roses wrapped in green florist's paper.
"For you," he said, laying the bouquet in April's arms.
"^Vhose car is that?" April whispered.
1 rented it. Shall we go?" He held out his hand to Caroline. "Goodbye, Caroline. I'd drop you off at the station but we have an appointment and we mustn't be late. We'll see you later this evening."
"All right," Caroline said. She kissed April on the cheek. "I'll see you soon. You look like a star after opening night with those flowers."
Don't leave me, April wanted to say, but instead she smiled. "Goodbye." She allowed Dexter to help her into the limousine while the chauffeur held the door open. She had never been inside a car like this and despite her nervousness about what was going to happen to her she began to feel almost cheerful again. The gin and orange juice that Caroline had made her drink made her feel rather light-headed and the roses in her arms were cool and silky to the touch and smelled beautiful. Dexter settled beside her and hghted a cigarette.
