THE DEVIL’S BABY

by Naomi West

  And with this new being in my womb, I guess I need a little normal. A little boring. For the moment, at least. So we keep talking and Phillip compliments my cooking.

  And I ask, “Why did you fuck other people, Phillip?”

  He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it. “I’d only ever been with you, Millie. Since I was fifteen. Only you. Ever.”

  “Am I so bad?” I ask.

  “No,” he says, his voice breaking a little. “No. Of course not. You’re beautiful and amazing. But I …”

  He can’t finish it. Or he doesn’t want to.

  I say, “Sex between us was not good.”

  “I wanted to experience something else,” he says. “I didn’t know what else it could be like.”

  “And was it … better?” I ask. “With her? With them?”

  “Yes,” he admits.

  “How many were there?”

  “When we were together? Just the one. Just Rachel,” he answers.

  “I didn’t realize she had a name,” I say.

  “Don’t be petty,” he scolds.

  I level him with a look that could take down an army.

  “Did you stay with her after we ended?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. I study his features. He’s handsome, I guess. In a generic, banker kind of way. He’s clean-cut, well-dressed. He has a strong Roman nose and well-defined lips. He has a full head of hair. He would be attractive to women, I suppose.

  But when I look at him now, I see … just Phillip. Just a man. A man I barely know anymore. Even with the shared history between us, he’s just a man. And I can live without him.

  “How many after?” I ask.

  “Only two,” he says.

  “And they’re not around anymore either?” I ask.

  “No,” he says.

  “And now you’re celibate? For how long?”

  He doesn’t answer. His silence is enough. Obviously, he’s not celibate. Obviously, he’s still fucking other people. And that’s fine, but why lie about it?

  “What about this biker?” Phillip asks, changing the subject. “Was it better with him?”

  “Do you really want to know the answer to that?” I ask.

  “Probably not,” he laughs. “But go ahead.”

  “It was amazing,” I say. “Earth shattering. Life changing. And I’m not just saying that to hurt you. I didn’t know it could be like that.”

  “Ouch,” he says. “Really? That good?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “That good. And if I’m being honest, he fucked me again after work. In a public place. And I came twice.”

  “Now you’re just trying to hurt me,” he says, his face darkening.

  “Well, you hurt me,” I say. “Turnabout is fair play.”

  “I’m sorry it wasn’t good between us,” Phillip says. “I think I’m better at it now.”

  “I’m not interested,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  We clean up dinner and head out to the couch. We sit with several inches between us on the couch. Before he sits down, Phillip says, “You look really beautiful, Millie. I just need you to know that. I see you. I see how amazing you are. And I was a total idiot for not trying harder. I know you don’t want me, but I still want you. And even if it’s just to help you through whatever comes next, I’ll be here.”

  I look at him blankly. What can I say? How do I feel? Do I want him involved in any of this? I just don’t know. So I don’t say a word.

  As Phillip flips through the channels, he stops on the local news. There’s a story about a guy getting arrested for trying to sell a very large quantity of marijuana to an undercover police officer. I peer closer, noticing the grainy patch on the side of his leather jacket. I recognize it.

  The name of the guy getting arrested is Roderick McAdams. He’s good looking, big, redhaired. He looks cocky, even as he’s getting bagged for a crime that will get him quite a few years in jail. That patch is definitely for the Rippers. Even blurry, I recognize the image that is so prominently displayed on Axel’s jacket and vest. This must be Hard Rod, Axel’s boss.

  There are other people in the images. Two in Rippers’ colors. One woman, crying off to the side. She’s beautiful and blonde and pregnant. Her mascara makes streaks down her cheeks.

  I don’t know Roderick McAdams, but I do know that seeing this makes it very clear that Axel’s work really is illicit, illegal, and dangerous. Can I continue seeing a man who does this? Who is part of something like this? Do I want a man like this in my child’s life?

  My phone rings. Axel. I pick up but don’t say anything.

  “Millie,” he says. “You’re going to see something on the news and I just want you to know that I’m okay, but I won’t be able to get in touch for a little while. Things here are … fucked. But I need you to hear me when I say that I want more than sex. I’ve always wanted more than sex. I can’t … I can’t talk about it right now. It isn’t the right time, but I believe you hit me with your car for a reason. I’m sorry for being an ass. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I can.”

  I’m nearly choking as I listen to him. He’s obviously worried, frantic. And he called. He thought to call before disappearing. Tears fall down my cheeks despite my best efforts to keep them at bay.

  “Do you hear me, Millie?” Axel continues on the other end of the line. “I’m an idiot. I respect you. I want you. I’m sorry.”

  Phillip stares at me, concern all over his face. I hang up without saying even one word to Axel. I curl up against Phillip because what I need right now is something familiar. I’ve had too much excitement. Way too much excitement, by the positive pregnancy test I took this morning.

  I fall asleep like that, curled up in the crook of Phillip’s arm. When I wake up, it’s very early in the morning. I lock myself in the bathroom, water running in the shower, and I just cry. I sob and heave until I’m throwing up—although the throwing up might be morning sickness.

  Axel deserves to know about the baby, right? He deserves a chance to be a father, a good father. And he’s not a bad person. I feel it. I know it. Maybe he can change, get out of the lifestyle.

  When I finally step into the shower, the water has gone cold. Phillip knocks at the door. I don’t open it, so he says, “Let me take you away for the weekend? So you can think?”

  “Where do you have in mind?” I ask. “Not home?”

  “No,” he says. “Not home. How about New York? You’ve always wanted to go there. We can fly out, see a show or two, stay in a fancy hotel, eat fancy food?”

  “How’s that going to help me think?” I ask.

  “Well, it will help you see that I’m trying. I don’t even care that you’re carrying his baby. I’ll help you. I’ll care for you, and it, and I’ll show you that the second time around can be better.”

  “I don’t …” I start, choking on the words. “I don’t know if I want a second time with you, Phillip. In fact, I’m sure I don’t. But I can use a friend right now. Can you be a friend?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Yes. I can be that for you. In New York City.”

  I laugh a little. “Okay. Okay. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 10

  Axel

  I’m watching Rod get loaded in the police vehicle. He’s been arrested on major drug charges. Desperate to unload the very large amount of dope that got delivered from southeast Ohio for a client that no longer want to do business with our club, Rod started shopping it around. Loudly. Dumb fucker wasn’t careful at all, and now he’s headed to jail, to be charged with possession and intent to sell. That’s a felony, and he’ll be in jail for probably five years because of it.

  I feel sick. The cops are going to be sniffing around the club like nobody’s business now.

  I load Lipstick onto the back of my bike and we follow the cruiser down to the precinct, watching as Rod is booked. Lipstick tells the cops she’s pregnant, that she needs to see him. It must be her mascara-stained face and her tiny bump of a baby belly, because they let her
. They take her back and let her sit with him.

  All the while, I’m trying to advocate for him.

  “This must be a mistake,” I say. “He doesn’t touch drugs.”

  “He’ll be appointed an attorney,” the front-desk cop says. “If we’ve made a mistake, then the attorney will provide the evidence as such.”

  “He’s got a baby on the way,” I say.

  “Lots of guys have babies on the way,” the cop says. “What’s it to me?”

  “Can’t you get him out on bond?” I ask.

  “I can’t get him out on anything,” the cop says. “A judge makes that call and I am not a judge. It’ll be Monday or Tuesday before the issue of bond gets in front of a judge.”

  “Fuck,” I snap.

  Lipstick comes out after about fifteen minutes. She’s still crying. I ask if I can get a minute with Rod and the cop nods and tells me I get five minutes.

  Back in the cell, Rod’s hair sticks up every which way. He looks like he got punched in the gut.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” I whisper.

  “Needed to get it gone,” he mumbles. “Too much, nowhere to store it.”

  “You’re usually more careful than that, man,” I say.

  He shrugs. “I ain’t myself lately. I think it’s you who told me that in the first place. My head ain’t in the game. I fucked up.”

  “Well, now you got a baby mama who’s got to raise your kid on her own. So much for steppin’ up, asshole.”

  “Axel, you’re my best friend, but goddamn, I will punch you straight in the teeth,” he says, his voice louder now. “You think I don’t feel like a piece of everlovin’ shit for leaving Lipstick and the baby like this?”

  “I suppose you do,” I say. “Hope you get a good lawyer.”

  “Me, too, brother,” he says. “Just promise you’ll keep an eye on them? Make sure they have what they need while I’m gone?”

  I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets.

  “You’re in charge now,” he says. “It shoulda always been that way.”

  I snarl and give him the finger. It’s as good as hugging in our world. He gives me the finger back and I salute, then head back out to collect Lipstick.

  I get her back to her apartment and she asks if I want something to eat.

  “I ain’t gonna lie,” I say. “I’m pretty hungry. But you’ve been through a lot. Why don’t I order us a pizza or something?”

  “No, no, I need something to keep me busy,” the blonde says, pulling out pans and ingredients. “You like pasta?”

  Pasta. Makes me think of Millie. Me, naked on her kitchen chair, just trying to wig her out. It makes me grin just thinking about it. But once I start thinking, I can’t stop. I am such an idiot.

  Lipstick, I realize, is waiting for me to answer. I grunt, “Yeah, I like pasta fine.”

  She starts a pot of hot water to boil, then wanders over to the counter, resting her chin in her hands, staring at me as I sit on the bar stool, all hangdog and pathetic.

  “You okay, Axel?” she asks.

  “I’m fine,” I grunt. “You?”

  “No,” she says, her eyes wet with tears. “I’m not okay.”

  She wipes tears away with the back of her hand and looks off at some random spot on the wall, her lips quivering.

  “He’s such an idiot,” I say, mostly to myself. “What the hell was he thinking?”

  “He was thinking he needed to get rid of the product as quickly as possible,” she says. “You know how gets. Single-minded, focused. He kept saying it was his fault the buyer walked. He felt like he needed to fix it, and fast.”

  “Why didn’t he just ask me to help? Why shop it around all secret-like?” I ask. “He knows better. There are protocols. We’ve had unsold product before.”

  “He didn’t want to bother you with it,” she says. “He felt like you were already tied up in other club business, what with Jackson and the borders and stuff.”

  She turns away to add pasta to the boiling pot. Again, I’m imagining Millie. I’m seeing myself in that little house, in her kitchen. In her bed. In her.

  “Do you love him?” I ask.

  “I do,” she says quietly. “At first, I liked the idea of him, you know? I liked that the club president was into me. I liked the idea of having status, maybe being his old lady, maybe not just being some random club girl.”

  “Why do women hang around the club?” I ask.

  “Same as men, I suppose,” she says with a little laugh. “I mean, I like the lifestyle. I like the bikes and the rides. I like the parties. I like the sex. I made friends with the other girls. We’re like our own little club.”

  I nod, impressed at how open she’s being with me. “I never thought about the women that much,” I say. “Nice to have ’em around an all, but never thought about why they’d even want to be around a bunch of big thugs.”

  “’I don’t really think of you all as thugs,” she says. “You’re just guys. This is your business. It’s a different kind of business. It’s not, like, all suits and stuff. But it’s a business and you’re a brotherhood. There’s some honor to it.”

  “I think you’re puttin’ us on a pedestal we don’t belong on,” I say.

  “Maybe,” she says. “But it’s the way I feel.”

  “So when did things switch for you and Rod?” I ask. “When you got pregnant?”

  “For me or for him?” she asks.

  “Both, I guess?”

  “For me, I mean, I was sleeping with him for several months. I knew he wasn’t known for being exclusive so I knew I wasn’t the only one he was with. I wasn’t stupid about it, you know? So one night I slept over and we did a lot of talking. He was real open with me, told me he’s never really cared for the idea of being tied down by some old lady. He didn’t want to be responsible for someone else because he didn’t think he did that great a job of taking care of himself.”

  We both chuckle at that. “He is kind of a man-baby,” I say.

  “That he is,” she says. “But I don’t know, we kind of … bonded? That night we talked more than we ever had and when I left, I just felt like I knew him a lot better. And I let myself fall for him little by little. When I found out I was pregnant, I expected … well … I didn’t expect what I got.”

  “And what was that?” I ask.

  “Well, I figured he’d say it could be anybody’s, call me a whore, tell me there’d be no way to tell it was really his. I’d seen other guys do that to my friends. At best, I thought he might say it was his but not care, or like tell me to get rid of it.”

  “But he jumped in whole hog,” I finish for her.

  “He did,” she says, her voice breaking as the tears start again. “And it made me love him even more. And I feel sick that he’s in jail now until God knows when.”

  “Maybe we can get him out,” I say. “Let me think about it.”

  She pours the pasta in a colander in the sink. A few minutes later, I’ve got pasta with red sauce in front of me.

  “Thanks,” I say. “You aren’t having any?”

  “Can’t eat right now,” she says, sniffling.

  “Well, you’re eatin’ for two. You should try to get a little somethin’ in ya.”

  “I know,” she says. She straightens her back and flips her long hair over her shoulders. Her hands go to her protruding stomach. “So what about you, Axel? You got an old lady? Any designs on a family one day?”

  “Well, in Rod’s absence, I think I’ll be takin’ care of you,” I say. “Ain’t got time for nothin’ else.”

  She rolls her eyes but smiles a little. “I appreciate the support,” she says. “But your life doesn’t have to stop just because of me.”

  “Rod’s my best friend,” I say. “My family. My brother. I made him a promise to look after y’all, so that’s what I plan to do.”

  “Fine,” she says. “But you didn’t really answer my question.”

  I grit my teeth and look at my pla
te of pasta. “I fucked things up with my girl,” I say. “I mean, she wasn’t my girl, not really. It’s complicated.”

  “What’s complicated about it?” she asks. “She a club girl? Do I know her?”