Someone’s knocking in the door furiously.
“Coming,” says Sarah.
I hold her back, saying “I’ll get it.”
I go to the door and try to look to see who it is but the peephole is made out of such old glass that’s so fogged that I can’t see out of it at all.
Finally, I just decide to open the door. It’s not that I’m being overly cautious. When I was just starting out, before I had made my billions, before I had made any money at all, I lived in a very similar neighborhood, not too far away. The neighborhood has since become gentrified and now it’s full of upscale stores, but back in the day, I got mugged at least three times that I can remember. Once I even got beat up pretty badly and was in the hospital for a week. That was before I took self-defense courses and became thoroughly trained. You don’t want to try to mug me in a dark alley some night, that’s for sure.
“Finally,” says Sarah’s friend Janet, looking frustrated as I open the door. I haven’t seen her since that first night that Sarah and I met, and I didn’t get a very good look at her. To tell the truth, I was paying much more attention to Sarah. She brushes past me without giving me a second look, or even saying hello. I study her face now, as I close the door. She’s one of those people that looks pissed off all the time, no matter what. Or maybe she’s just pissed off now. It’s hard to tell.
“Hey,” says Sarah, opening up her arms. “Welcome to my new place.”
“Ugh,” says Janet, looking around, her face scrunching up with disgust. “This is it? This is the best you could do?”
“What’s wrong with it?” says Sarah, sounding a little hurt, but not too fazed.
“It’s just…ewww,” says Sarah. She turns to me and says, “You couldn’t have chipped in to get her a decent place?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“He offered of course,” says Sarah.
Janet sighs and sits down in a huff on the one wooden chair. “Well,” she says. “I hope he’ll at least buy you some furniture.”
She doesn’t look directly at me for the rest of the hour we spend in the apartment.
Janet and Sarah start chatting about this and that, about people they knew from high school. Apparently, a couple of them live around here in this neighborhood, but from the sound of it, Janet doesn’t think too highly of them.
For a moment, I wonder why Sarah and Janet are friends at all. Or, to put it more bluntly, I wonder why Sarah is friends with Janet, since from the sound of it, Janet is very critical of Sarah, to the point that it starts to bother me.
To keep myself busy, I take out my trusty multi-tool and start hunting for things to fix or improve. The bathroom is a good place to start, since the door latches don’t work, the cabinet above the sink doesn’t close, and the shower knobs are threatening to fall off.
“I’ve made a couple improvements,” I announce, coming back into the main room.
“Thanks!” says Sarah, beaming at me. “Isn’t he great?” she says to Janet.
“Yeah,” says Janet, the sarcasm unmistakable in her voice.
Sarah
In the end, I let John buy me furniture.
“You know,” he finally says to me, as the weeks pass us by, and we grow more and more content with each other. “I’d be happy to have you come live with me.”
I don’t know what to say. “That means to much to me,” I say. “But…”
“I know, I know,” says John. “I hesitated so long to tell you because I know how independent you are.”
“And to top it off,” I say. “I don’t want people thinking that I’m into you for your money. You know I wouldn’t care if you were working at a gas station and didn’t have a car, let alone the twenty you have.”
“More like thirty,” says John, apparently unable to help himself.
I laugh
“What are we going to do about all these reporters following us around?” I say.
“I guess just learn to ignore them,” says John.
“Easy for you to say. You’re used to them.”
“Well,” says John. “We can talk about it again when the time is right. For now, I’m glad you have a better job and that you’re on your own rather than living with your mother.”
“Me too.”
“So I was thinking again about a trip you and I could take.”
“Yeah? I’d love to, but I don’t know if I can get time off from work. I haven’t been there that long, you know?”
“There’s no way I can help out with that?”
“No…” I say. “I know you probably have connections at the bank and everything, but I want to do this all myself.”
John nods his head thoughtfully. For a moment, when he thinks I’m not looking, I catch him taking a look at my belly. All my fears come rushing back to me: somehow, over the last few months, I’ve avoided thinking about the pregnancy myself. But time is running along, with or without my attention, and sooner or later I’m going to start showing. John’s glance throws me into a panic: am I already showing enough that he can notice?
Despite all my cherished independence, and how responsible I am, I’ve still done one of the most irresponsible things in the world, and that is not telling John I’m carrying his baby.
Janet has been really on my case about it, telling me over and over how irresponsible I’m being.
It’s not like I’m being irresponsible with the baby, though. I’m still not drinking at all, and I’ve taken out a ton of maternity books from the library. I’m taking prenatal vitamins. The only thing I haven’t done yet is go to the follow up appointment with the doctor. Janet accompanied me to the initial one, to confirm my pregnancy, but the appointments are going to be becoming more and more numerous as the pregnancy approaches.
I’ve got to tell John, I think to myself. It’s like a mantra that I repeat over and over in my head. I’ve got to tell John. I’ve got to tell him. But the moment never seems right, and the days continue to slide by.
“What are you looking at?” I say, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.
“Nothing,” says John, quickly, giving me the idea that he’s been looking at my belly and that he’s noticed something.
“I’m just having some indigestion,” I say, putting my hand on my belly, and sticking it out in an exaggerated way.
John nods. “I wish you’d let me buy you some decent food for your apartment.”
“What’s the need when you take me out to dinner almost every night?” I say. “All the girls at the bank are always really jealous when you pull up in one of your new cars.”
John laughs. “I should be embarrassed about those new cars. But, hey, someone’s got to keep the luxury car market afloat. Maybe you’ll let me buy you one for yourself one day.”
“That wouldn’t look too good, puling up to the bank in Manhattan with a car like that. Hell, I wouldn’t even have enough money to pay for the parking.”
John laughs, and puts his arm around me. “I just want you to know that you’re really important to me.”
I reach around and slap his ass. “You’re really important to me too,” I say.
John’s hand starts sliding down my back and his strong hand cups my ass and squeezes it.
“Someone’s amorous today,” I say.
“I’m like this everyday,” says John.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m not in the mood today.”
John seems disappointed but he takes it well. Frankly, my mind is getting too distracted by thoughts of telling or not telling John about his baby to make love right now.
If I tell him, he’ll be mad. I’m sure of it. I’ve never seen him truly mad, and I don’t want to.
My greatest fear is that I’ll tell him and then he’ll leave me out of anger—that he’ll leave me for some young supermodel with tits the size of mountains and a face that’s on every cover of every magazine around the world.
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” says John, suddenly.
We�
�re just sitting around my admittedly crummy apartment (but it’s mine, all mine), looking at the wall, since I still don’t have TV and I won’t let John buy me one.
“Sounds good,” I say, eager to get out of the house and to get some distraction from my cycling thoughts.
You’ve got to tell him today, I tell myself. It’s now or never.
“Just wait for me. I’ve got to tidy up in the bathroom a minute.”
“I know what a minute means in lady language,” says John, slapping me gently on the ass as I walk by him.
I head into the bathroom where I take my secret stash of pre natal vitamins that I’ve hidden by the pregnancy books. I’ve got everything hidden in an old towel in the bottom of the chest of drawers John bought me. I unscrew the caps and consult my checklist of vitamins, making sure I’m OK for today. Not a day goes by that I don’t take the vitamins I’m supposed to. Today is follate, Vitamin D, and a B Vitamin Complex.
“Ready,” I say, taking John’s hand and we walk together through the crummy interior of the apartment building until we’re outside in the cold air. John turns his collar up and I hug my body close to his.
People look at us as we walk down the street.
It’s been a while since we’ve been out like this, just walking down the street, rather than entering a fancy restaurant or inside a museum. I hadn’t quite realized how famous we are and how many ordinary people recognize us. When we’re in a fancy restaurant, people look at us, sure, but inside those restaurants there are also a ton of other more famous people who get their own stares, including mine, I’m willing to admit.
“Hey,” someone whispers. “That’s John Clark and that cleaner.”
That makes me mad.
“I’m not a cleaner anymore,” I shout.
But John tugs me along, eager to avoid a confrontation.
“The paparazzi could be anywhere,” he says. “We’ve got to keep a cool head when we’re in public.”
John shows me how he breathes deeply. “This is the secret to my success,” he says, without a note of irony in his voice. “This will keep away the anger and the frustration.”
I breathe in deeply, following John’s example, and to my surprise, everything starts to seem calmer.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think it’s working. Hey, aren’t the trees pretty up there.”
We’re approaching a park where people are playing with their kids. The kids are all bundled up against the cold and the leaves on the trees are long gone, but the park still has a charming feel. I wonder if someday John and I will come to a park like this with our kid.
I’ve got to tell him, I think to myself, and suddenly the anxiety is back, double-force this time, stronger than ever.
My phone rings.
“Hello?” I say, taking off my gloves in order to fish the phone out of my coat pocket.
“Where the hell are you?” says Janet, her voice coming in loud and clear through the phone. She sounds upset, and strangely similar to my mother.
“What are you talking about?” I say, taking a couple steps away from John, who wears a bemused expression on his face. I don’t want him to overhear anything about my pregnancy in case Janet mentions it, and I know how loud her voice can be, even over the phone.
“I’m at your apartment right now,” says Janet. “You have your appointment in twenty minutes. We’re supposed to go together. Remember?”
“Oh shit,” I say, unable to help myself.
“What’s wrong?” mouths John.
“I’ll be right there,” I say into the phone, before hanging up.
I can hear Janet cursing before the phone slams shut.
“I’ve got to go,” I say to John, quickly, not giving him a chance to react.
But he does anyway. Of course he does. Because he cares about me.
I’ve got to think fast to come up with a lie. I’m terrible at lying, which you might not expect from someone who’s spent so much time hiding her pregnancy from her boyfriend.
“Janet’s in trouble,” I say.
“I’m coming too,” says John. “I don’t like her much and don’t think she likes me, but maybe there’s some way I can help.”
“Oh,” I say. “It’s nothing like that. Just boyfriend problems. Her boyfriend is giving her a hard time.”
“I didn’t know she even was dating anyone,” says John.
“Oh,” I say. “She keeps everything on the down low. Even though you wouldn’t expect that from her personality, that’s what she does. Sorry, baby, but I’ve got to run.”
I give John a quick peck on the cheek and take off running in the direction of my apartment. I don’t dare turn around since I know John’s going to be a little hurt with me running off like this.
“Took you long enough,” says Janet, who’s waiting outside her car in front of my apartment.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Having so much fun with your billionaire boyfriend that his baby just slipped your mind?” says Janet, getting into the car, a horrible expression on her face.
“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Janet drives in silence to the doctor’s office, which is in downtown Manhattan.
“I’ll pay for parking,” I say.
Janet doesn’t say anything. She’s pissed at me and remains pouty and silent all through the appointment.
“Well,” says the doctor, who wears a white lab coat and has a goatee. Unfortunately I’ve already forgotten his name, even though this is the third appointment I’ve had with him. “Everything looks good. Blood work is fine. I can see you’re taking your vitamins which is great.”
“See,” I say to Janet, who’s sitting in the room with me. “I’m not such a terrible person after all.”
Janet rolls her eyes.
The doctor gives Janet a strange look and turns back to me. “So everything is going great. Congratulations on a healthy pregnancy so far. Just check in with the receptionist for your next appointment. They’re going to be getting more and more frequent and you’re going to have to start thinking about doing birthing classes with your husband.”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m not married.” I hold up my ring finger to show him.
The doctor remains unfazed. I figure he must deal with these kinds of “delicate situations” all the time.
“You’re welcome to attend alone,” he says. “Sometimes it’s good to bring an understanding friend.”
He gives Janet a look again, and then winks at me.
I almost laugh but resist.
Janet’s back to talking to me again after the appointment. “So am I going to be like the Godmother or anything?” she says, twirling her hair, as we stand in the elevator on the way down to the first floor.
“I haven’t really worked that out yet,” I say. “But you’ll be the first on my list.”
“John’s got a list too? He doesn’t even know? I still can’t believe you haven’t told him… I know I say it over and over again but it’s just completely crazy.”
“I know, I know,” I say. “You know what. I’m going to tell him tonight. I promise.”
“You sound serious this time,” says Janet.
“I am,” I say. “I’ve got to tell him.”
We step outside into the cool air and I know it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me, but I think I feel a kick inside my belly. This imaginary kick sends my imagination reeling—I already love my unborn baby so much, and I know John will love him or her too. Scenes of the three of us playing in the park and relaxing in far away foreign places flood my mind.
The flash of a dozen cameras snaps me out of my fantasy.
“Get away, get away,” screams Janet, swinging her purse at them on its long imitation leather strap. “You vultures.”
“Come on, Janet,” I say, grabbing her my the sleeve and practically dragging her through the pack of paparazzi into the parking garage.
“You get used to it,” I say, once we settle i
nto the car.
“They’re animals,” she says.
“It’s fine,” I say. “They’re always taking pictures of me now. I just have to remember not to read the tabloid newspapers or look online at the celebrity gossip.”
“Easy for you to say,” says Janet. “The whole world is watching your every move.”
John
I wake up in something of a daze and throw my two pillows to the other side of the bed. I sit up a little, resting myself
I pull out my phone and check the news sites as I always do before even getting out of bed. I have a number of alerts set to myself and my company. It’s one of the ways I stay on top of the competition.
The annoying thing is that occasionally the news alerts bring up some gossip stories about me and Sarah. There’s nothing that I haven’t seen before, though.
Nothing I haven’t seen before, that is, until today.
The headline catches my eye and I can’t get it out of my head.
“Billionaire’s Girlfriend Pregnant. Who’s the father?” reads the headline.
My head starts spinning. This isn’t going to make the morning any easier. I haven’t even had my coffee yet. I take a deep breath and clap my hands, turning the lights in the bedroom on.
I hold the phone closer to my face and keep reading. The brightness of the phone is somewhat jarring this early in the morning, so I turn it down on one of the settings.
“Cleaner girlfriend of billionaire spotted coming from prenatal visit. You’ll note from the pictures that she’s been wearing less and less revealing clothing over the last few weeks. Sources confirm that her baby bump is developing nicely. The doctor in question has refused to comment at this time…”
I’m just scanning the article.
My heart feels like it’s hit the floor.
I’m good at interpreting news. You have to be in my line of work. And while this article comes from one of the least reputable online sites, it still has the ring of truth to it. Or, in this case, the stink of truth.
Following the article are a series of pictures that show zoomed in shots of Sarah’s belly. There’s an unmistakable bulge, like the one I noticed yesterday. This isn’t indigestion, that’s for sure.
Running Back's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance Page 27
