Cherry Money Baby

by John M. Cusick

  He reached up to grab one of the lower branches. He pulled on it, testing its strength. The leaves shimmered and rained, and a few blossoms shook loose.

  “I’ve been so mad at myself,” he said at last. “For being jealous. I felt like such a jerk. Like a possessive, controlling jerk. I didn’t like him, and I didn’t want you talking to him.” His shoulders pinched, like her gaze on his back was causing him physical pain. “When?”

  “A few weeks ago,” Cherry said. “The night of the fire.”

  “You said you were with Vi.”

  “I was,” said Cherry.

  “Oh, Jesus. Was it some kind of sick threesome?”

  “No!” She wanted to strangle him. She wanted to hold him and press her face into his. “Don’t be like that.”

  He turned to her, and his expression had softened. He wiped his hands together, brushing away the grit from the branch. “I don’t know if I can let this go.”

  “I know,” she said.

  His eyes found hers. “I couldn’t say this before, but I think I’m allowed to now.”

  She braced herself for the terrible force of his hurt, his anger, but Lucas didn’t seem angry now. He seemed almost relieved.

  “You’ve changed,” he said. “At first I thought it was a good thing. Like you were letting loose a little bit. Staying out late, meeting new people. And then when Ardelia hired you, well, it looked like you felt good about yourself. Like you felt smart. And I’ve always known that you were smarter than you thought.” His mouth soured; he shook his head. “But this isn’t about you. It’s just about your body. Is that all you’re good for?”

  “No. Ardelia respects me. She trusts me. That’s why she asked me.”

  “She asked you because you’re desperate.” He held his hands palms up, weighing invisible values. “Money for your body. You know what that job description sounds like to me?”

  She was inches from him before his mouth began forming the word, fist tight, arm pulled back for the same right hook that downed Olyvya Dunrey. But she stopped herself. This close, she could see the tears in his eyes, the tilt of his chin as he almost imperceptibly turned his cheek to meet the punch he knew was coming. He wanted her to hit him.

  She put her palm to his cheek. “I’m sorry. You deserve better.”

  She turned and moved back toward the house. She could almost hear the snap of the rubber band that pulled him away, over the trees, across the sea, back to Aubrey.

  The party had moved into the back garden, and the house seemed empty, abandoned. Ardelia was waiting for Cherry by an end table crowded with half-empty champagne flutes. She wrung her hands, approaching the other girl carefully.

  “Did you talk to him?”

  Cherry nodded.

  “Come with me.”

  She steered Cherry toward the stairs, her grip gentle but brooking no resistance. Eve emerged from the parlor with a tray of used glasses. Ardelia motioned for Cherry to go upstairs. Ardelia hung back and spoke to Eve in a hushed voice, barely loud enough for Cherry to hear.

  “Eve, there’s an upset gentleman in the orchard. Please retrieve him and take him to the kitchen. Have Oliver fix him something warm. Make him comfortable, but keep him out of sight.”

  “I’ve got to take the plates through!” the girl bleated.

  “Just do it,” Ardelia growled. Eve hurried toward the kitchen with her dishes, and Ardelia joined Cherry on the stairs. She smiled and ushered her through the house, down a long windowed hallway, to a pair of double doors.

  The master bedroom was vaulted and opulent. Between two standing mirrors sprawled an immense canopied bed, its silky coverlet lounging over the edges and draping across the floor. In the far corner towered an enormous scalloped vanity. Everywhere Cherry looked, she saw herself in polished and reflective surfaces, everything silver and white — except for a small black panel tucked in a corner, the only blemish in the room’s sterling complexion.

  “Here, fresh air,” Ardelia said, taking her through a triptych of French doors leading to the balcony.

  There in the cool, still-damp night air, Cherry lost it. She began to sob and shake. Her heart was shattered, and the thousand still-beating pieces raced through her bloodstream, taking their separate pulses to her fingertips, her toes, her joints. She might shake apart.

  Ardelia helped her to the deck lounger.

  “Breathe, darling. Breathe.”

  “I . . . I can’t . . .”

  Ardelia disappeared and returned a moment later with a glass of water. She pressed something small and round into Cherry’s palm.

  “What’s this?”

  “Valium,” said Ardelia.

  Cherry pushed it away.

  Ardelia offered her a glass. “At least have a drink.”

  “No.” She shoved the glass. It tipped from Ardelia’s hand and smashed on the balcony’s tiled floor. Cherry felt cold water splash her toes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “That’s okay. That’s all right.” She felt Ardelia’s palm on her forehead. “You’re so hot, you poor thing. You’re going to give yourself a stroke.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Ardelia laughed. “See? You’ve still got your sense of humor.”

  Cherry caught her breath, quieting her own sobs. She pulled her feet up onto the lounger, pressing her face to her knees. Ardelia sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

  “I’m horrible,” Cherry said at last.

  “You’re not horrible.”

  “I’m the worst person.” She looked up, seizing the idea. “I am. I’m Hitler. I’m Osama bin Laden.”

  “I think you’re selling those two a bit short.”

  “He’s never going to forgive me!”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Ardelia held Cherry’s face into her shoulder and rubbed her back. Up and down. Side to side. The gesture was familiar. Her mother used to do the same thing when Cherry was a girl.

  “What do I do?”

  Ardelia was quiet a moment. The sounds of the party below washed over them like rain.

  “Well, I can have Oliver drive him to London. I’ll pay for his flight home — don’t you worry about that.”

  Cherry pulled away. “What? I mean, what do I do to make him forgive me?”

  “Oh.” Ardelia looked a little confused. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do.”

  “So I just give up? Lose him?”

  Ardelia licked her lips. “Darling, I’m not sure how to say this, but . . . these things happen. Hearts get broken. I know it may not make sense right now, but in time you’ll move on. So will he.”

  “Jesus.” Cherry edged away. “That’s not what I thought you’d say.”

  “What did you think I’d say?”

  “I don’t know, that I shouldn’t give up? That we’ll get through this?” She added in a softer tone, “Don’t you think we’ll get through this?”

  Ardelia bit her lip. “I think you will,” she said.

  Cherry stared at the patio tiles, the sparkles of broken glass. This was really happening. She wanted to run, but she wasn’t sure in what direction. Down into the orchard, to find Lucas, or the other way. Into outer space.

  “Come here,” Ardelia said, helping her to her feet. They stood at the railing and looked down into the garden. The party was in full force. Couples and conversational circles cast weird shadows over the flower beds. A few of the guests had taken off their shoes and waded into the fountain, lounging against the weird blue orb in the center. A woman tripped and fell ass-first into the water. Everyone laughed. No one was worried. Everyone was all set forever.

  “Look at where you are,” Ardelia said. “Your life is changing. You’re moving on. On to such incredible things.” She squeezed Cherry’s hand. “I know it hurts now, but think about all the people in the world hurting right now. How many of them get this.” She gestured to the party below, the laughter, the buckets of champagne, all the sparkling things. And the garden it
self, the estate’s rolling hills and beyond. “You know,” Ardelia went on, smiling conspiratorially. “You and I could go to Rome. Stand in the Trevi Fountain. Eat the world’s greatest food! There’s too much to experience in life to be stuck with one man.” She put her hands up. “I’m not saying you and Lucas are done for sure, right? I mean who knows what tomorrow will bring. I’m just saying that if things don’t work out, there are benefits.” She seized Cherry’s wrists, holding them together as if they were shackled. “You can do anything you want. You’re free now.”

  And Cherry felt a chink in the long, solid wall of misery, the tiniest crack where fresh air was seeping through. For an instant, it was like she could squeeze out through that crack, let go of Lucas, let go of herself, and escape with Ardelia to anywhere she pleased. She’d never thought she could abandon herself so easily, but then here she was on a movie star’s balcony in another country. Anything was possible.

  It was terrifying, how easy escape seemed.

  “I think —” Cherry started.

  “Don’t think,” said Ardelia.

  Someone knocked on the bedroom door. Eve’s voice found them on the balcony. “Ms. Deen? They’re asking for you.”

  “I’m going to head down,” Ardelia said. “You stay here as long as you want. When you’re ready, I’ll see you out there.”

  And then she was gone, and Cherry was alone on the balcony, above the whole world.

  Her limbs felt heavy. The entire world was a loud party in another room. She felt a cramp and, wincing, holding her side, hobbled into the private bathroom.

  Cherry closed the bedroom door behind her and locked herself in the spacious bathroom with its Jacuzzi tub and sleek modern sink like something off the Starship Enterprise. Feeling dazed, thinking and not thinking, she considered herself in the standing mirror, and thought about it, the physical reality of holding a baby in there, in her belly. Her tummy — tan, soft, and happy behind her hip bones — would expand and harden into a tight leather drum, pucker pink, navel like a divot on a huge golf ball. Her feet, hands, and breasts would swell to tender bags with blood, water, and milk — a noxious, hot soup ready to burst and trickle at the slightest prick. She’d crave dirt, cry, pull her hair in wild mood swings; a crazy, bloated hag, lolling in her own nasty on a velvet couch. It was a nightmare. She wasn’t “carrying” anything. She was tossing her body into a turbine, grist for someone else’s happiness. It was a sudden, hot, horrible thought.

  She’d never felt so trapped. It was not just her body up for purchase, but her life. Ardelia wasn’t renting her womb for a year — she was buying Cherry whole. From Aubrey. From Lucas. From her family. From herself. For $250,000.

  She stepped out into the dark of the bedroom and felt a draft across her damp hands. It came from the panel by the bed, the cool whisper that ruffled the nightstand doilies.

  The flat black panel slid aside. The small anteroom was cool, tiled like a bathroom, the far wall a bricked-off archway that must have once led to what Ardelia had called the Galerie des Liaisons. On the floor was a squat safety box with a keypad, its door hanging ajar like an invitation. But what drew her eye more was a cardboard crate, flaps bent back, packing kernels spilled around its base. The thing inside was pinkish, like a faded basketball, and as she lifted it from the box, it flopped awkwardly, making a rubbery whoof sound. She held it to the light. There were no fake nipples or distended navel, but she guessed what it was immediately. A fat suit. A fake pregnant belly and breasts.

  The double doors squealed in the bedroom. Cherry stepped out of the little anteroom, holding the suit in her arms like a wounded animal. Ardelia froze on the threshold.

  “That room is private.”

  “What do you need this for?” She turned the suit and held it to her own body. The curves didn’t quite line up. This was no one-size-fits-all fat suit. It was a custom job.

  “I knew you wouldn’t like it. That’s why I kept it from you.” Her voice cracked, pleading. “I was going to tell you.”

  “When? Second trimester?”

  “Cherry —”

  Laughter tumbled in from the hallway, followed by Maxwell, tie undone. He tripped over the carpet and put his arm around Ardelia to steady himself.

  “Hello. What’s going on here?” He squinted at Cherry. “What’s that? Are we sumo wrestling?”

  Someone followed him in. Spanner. “You can’t be sneaking off like this,” she was saying. “People will think you’re — Oh.” She took in the scene and tacitly closed the door, muffling the party outside. She crossed her arms. “So, this is happening, is it?”

  “You’re going to fake a pregnancy,” Cherry said. It was out there. Saying the words seemed to shift the air pressure, change the spin of every electron. “You’re going to keep me in a house getting fat and sick while you go on talk shows and the red carpet looking round and beautiful.” A new wrinkle unwound itself in Cherry’s brain. The blue-and-yellow boxes in the downstairs bathroom, the ones that said sure! on the side. “You can get pregnant.” She looked at Spanner. “She can, can’t she?”

  “It’s complicated,” Ardelia said.

  Cherry looked to Spanner again. “Did you know about this?”

  Spanner’s eyes studied Cherry’s. She looked tired. “Yes.”

  “Cherry, nothing’s changed.” Ardelia struggled to keep her tone even. “The pay’s the same; the job’s the same.”

  “It’s not the same,” Cherry snapped. “Before it was helping a person who wanted a baby but couldn’t have one. But you can. You’d just prefer not to.”

  “Oh, I could have told you that,” Maxwell said. “We had a little scare a while back, didn’t we?”

  “Shut up, Maxwell!” the two girls shouted in unison. Maxwell’s red cheeks reddened even more.

  “You don’t know what it’s like,” Ardelia said, pleading now. “You’ve got to be perfect. All the time. Everywhere. For everyone. You think People magazine cares if you’ve got swollen feet? Or if your tits are leaking on the Today show? They still expect you to be perfect, even while you’ve been taken over from within! And you certainly can’t have someone else do it if you can, because that’s exploitative. . . .” She couldn’t go on, overcome by the unfairness of the world. Instead, she took a small step toward Cherry. “I really do want a baby, Cherry. This is the only way. Span, tell her.”

  Spanner was quiet, and Cherry braced herself for her icy bile. But instead the other girl shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “See?” Ardelia said, then snapped around. “Wait, what?”

  “I told you not to do this,” Spanner said, her tone quiet, even. “I told you this was bad for you. This was crossing a line.”

  Ardelia made an exasperated sound. “Oh, not this again.”

  “It’s good she found out,” Spanner said. “It can’t go on like this.”

  “What is she talking about?” said Cherry. She felt dangerously close to losing her grip on the situation. She shook the wobbly belly at them. “Explain!”

  Ardelia turned her back. Spanner looked as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands. She had no cigarettes or cell phones or props to shield her. She folded them over her stomach.

  “I told you I would do it,” she said. “That if you wanted someone to carry it, I would, as your friend.” Her hands dropped. “But no, you preferred me as an employee.”

  “I need you,” Ardelia said to the wall. “You know that.”

  “And now, as your oldest friend,” Spanner went on, “Ardelia, as your only friend, I’m telling you, do not become the sort of person who does . . . this.” She waved to Cherry and the fat suit. “I know you want this baby, but you’ve got to take responsibility for it, Ardy. I can’t let you make this mistake.”

  Cherry felt her fury drain away. She felt limp and lifeless as the fake belly in her arms. She let the suit drop to the floor. It bounced, lolled, and landed curves up. Trembling pink Jell-O.

  “You
should listen to your friend,” she said.

  Ardelia turned back and hugged herself, looking small and petulant. Something crumbled behind her eyes, and behind the crumbling wall, something black was waiting. “You sanctimonious bitch. High-and-mighty Cherry Kerrigan. So good and pure. She doesn’t need fancy clothes and good food, just give her Pixy Stix and track shorts, thank you very much.” Ardelia pointed a painted, sharpened nail at Cherry’s chest. “Don’t make like this is about friendship. You want the money. Just like everyone else. Ardelia Deen”— she bowed dramatically —“Ardelia Dollar Sign, more like. That’s all anyone sees when they look at me.”

  Maxwell had backed himself into a corner and was searching furiously for a line of escape. He cleared his throat. “Do you really think that, Ardy?”

  She ignored him.

  “You,” Cherry said, slowly and clearly so there was no mistaking her words. “Have. Ruined. My. Life.”

  She kicked the fat suit so it bounded across the carpet like a mutant tumbleweed. She pushed between them, jerked open the door, and ran out into the hall.

  “Oh, shit, oh, Span, I’ve fucked everything up,” she heard behind her.

  “Come here, honey. It’s going to be okay.”

  She went down the stairs, kicking off her heels halfway down to quicken her progress, and made straight for the front door. She’d walk to the coast, into the water, and dredge the sea until she reached Cape Cod, the Mass Pike, and the bridge to Sugar Village and the sweet-smelling dead pond. She was three rows into the dark, damp cherry orchard, the stars blinking through the petals so pale they were almost transparent. And then she stopped.

  She didn’t have anyplace to go.

  She didn’t have a trailer. She didn’t have a home. She didn’t have a Lucas. All she had was herself, a person she barely knew and didn’t particularly like.