by Karen Cimms
Her heart hammering, she clutched the empty bag to her chest.
“I hope what you want to tell me is that you bought these by mistake.” The muscles flickered along his jawline.
She couldn’t answer; she couldn’t even move.
He pounded his fist into the frame of the door. She flinched and pressed herself against the sink.
“How long?” he demanded.
“How long have I known or how far along am I?” Her throat was tight and the words so low, she was surprised he’d heard her.
“Both, actually.” The look he gave her was hard and cold.
She hugged her arms around her waist. “About nine weeks,” she stammered. “And I’ve known since I saw the doctor last week. I was going to tell you tomorrow, after we finished.” She didn’t think he would hit her, but he looked like he wanted to. “I had an ultrasound Monday. The baby’s due October 2.”
Turning away, he drifted toward the bed and sat. He dropped his head into his hands. It seemed a few times as if he would say something, but nothing came out.
“Billy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She took a few steps toward him, but he raised his hand for her to stop. When he finally looked up, his eyes were two blue chips of ice.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“What?”
“What are you planning to do?”
Other than having the baby, she didn’t have a clue what she was doing. She assumed they’d figure it out together. She was about to say so, when he stood.
“I have to go.”
“Billy!”
He raised his hands in warning. “Back off, Kate.”
“But the video—”
“Back. Off.”
So she did.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Fuck!” Billy pounded his fist into the steering wheel. This cannot be happening. He pounded it again.
How could she do this to me?
He jammed the key into the ignition, shifted the van into gear, and squealed out of the parking lot onto Montague Street. At the first liquor store he came to, he bought a bottle of Jack, then drove to the pier to drink it. There were no answers at the bottom of the bottle, and whiskey sure as hell wasn’t going to improve his temper, but at this moment, he really didn’t give a shit.
Boats passed on the East River while the Statue of Liberty loomed in the distance, most likely giving him the finger. Why not? The whole fucking world was out to get him. He should’ve known better than to think things were finally going his way.
He watched the sun sinking into the horizon. His head dropped back, and he took one last swig before he capped the bottle and stowed it under his seat.
By the time he arrived at the soundstage, he was ugly drunk. Carrying his half-empty bottle, he pushed past Bailey and the director, waving them off when they complained about how late he was or asked about Kate.
He headed straight for the dressing room. Joey was working on the brunette. The other, the blonde, sat near the door, thumbing through a magazine. He swept everything off the makeup table and perched on the edge, glaring at Joey.
“Hey!” Joey yelled as the brunette jumped from the chair. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You knew.”
Joey glared at him. “Of course I knew!” he shouted. “You’d have known, too, if you thought about someone other than yourself.”
Billy made a fist and pulled back. He ought to punch the arrogant sonofabitch in his pretty little face. He surprised himself when he didn’t, because he sure as hell wanted to hit somebody.
“Fuck you.” He swayed as he stood. He started out of the dressing room, then grabbed the blonde and yanked her to her feet. He shot Joey an evil smile as he trundled her out the door.
“Fuck you, too, you loser!” Joey called after him.
He dragged the girl across the soundstage, drawing lewd comments from the band and crew.
“It’s okay, baby,” she said as she stumbled behind him. “You don’t have to force me. I’m coming.”
He pulled her inside the small office near the entrance and slammed the door. Slumping against the wall, he unscrewed the cap from the whiskey and drank deeply. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. His tongue felt thick and heavy.
“What’s your name again?” he asked as she tugged at his belt buckle.
“Tiffany,” she whispered into his neck. She caught the tip of his ear in her teeth.
“Take off your clothes, Tiffany.” He took another long pull on the bottle.
The leather bikini wasn’t coming off easily. She struggled with the top for so long he finally reached around and unhooked the clasp, exposing a pair of breasts that had clearly been enhanced. The bottom half wouldn’t budge.
“There’s plenty of time for that,” she purred. “In the meantime, let me take your mind off whatever’s got you so worked up.”
In her heels, she stood just a few inches shorter than him. She tried to press her lips against his, but he turned his face.
“No. No kissing.”
“Oh,” she cooed, “I left lipstick on your chin.” She rubbed at it with her thumb, smearing it along his jaw. She picked up his hand and placed it over her breast. When she let go, he let it fall, staring at the opposite wall. He took another drink.
His lack of participation didn’t deter her. She slipped her hands under his shirt, raking her nails over his skin as she lowered herself to a squat, balancing on her heels like a pro. “You just relax and let me see if I can get little Billy to come out and play.”
She unzipped his jeans and slid them over his hips. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. This was the way it was supposed to be. No emotion. No commitment. Take what he could and move the fuck on.
When her hand wrapped around his dick, his eyes flew open.
Fuck.
He grabbed her wrist, squeezing until she let go.
“What’s the matter, baby?”
Baby? Fuck!
“Stop. Don’t.” He gave her a shove, and she landed on her leather-covered ass.
“What the fuck is your problem?” she said, as he tugged at his zipper.
He looked around the room as if he’d suddenly realized where he was. “Nothing. I changed my mind.”
“You changed your mind? What the hell?”
What the hell was right. What was he thinking? He’d had hundreds of girls like this one. This wasn’t what he wanted. Not anymore. He reached into his wallet, pulled out a twenty, and tossed it to her.
“What the—?” She threw it back. “Fuck you!”
“No thanks.”
Kate had no idea how long she stared at the door. Voices floated down the corridor. Tiny footsteps ran past, a mother scolded. Slivers of light cast a patchwork onto the floor as the room grew dark. She turned on the lamp, then she sat down on the bed. Still she waited.
Nearly two hours had passed. The watch Billy insisted she wear weighed heavy on her wrist. She emptied the contents of her wallet onto the bed. Four dollars and change, a subway token, and a button from her winter coat that she kept forgetting to sew back on. There wasn’t enough money to get back to Bayonne. And evens if she could, then what? Every minute that ticked by pushed them farther apart. She couldn’t stay, and she couldn’t get home. Joey would be at the soundstage by now, so she couldn’t even reach him. He would be wondering where she was by now.
A different kind of nausea gripped her. She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Mom?” The tightness in her throat prevented her from speaking above a whisper.
“Yes?”
“It’s Kate. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“I haven’t spoken to you and—”
“That was your choice. Are you in trouble?”
“Not really, but—”
“Then what is it?” She seemed annoyed, as if Kate was interrupting something important. Then again, wasn’t that how she’d always spoke
to Kate? She covered the receiver, and although her voice was muffled, Kate could still hear. “No one. Hand me my drink, please.”
It was nearly seven. Cocktail time would be winding down. Her mother would be finishing her Rob Roy about now, and then it would be time for dinner. Did they still eat in the dining room, or had they settled for the informality of the kitchen now that she was gone?
“You were saying?” Her voice was as cold as the ice Kate could hear clinking in her glass.
“I wanted to let you know I’m okay and say I’m sorry I left like I did. That was wrong.”
“Yes, it was. Is there anything else?”
“Not really. Um—”
“Good. Thank you for calling.”
Kate waited until she heard the dial tone before hanging up.
It didn’t take long to pack. She stuffed her money into the front pocket of her jeans, put her purse over her shoulder, and her coat on over that. Then she hoisted the duffle bag, lifted her suitcase, and left, closing the door behind her with a quiet thump.
It was dark now and colder. She reached into her pockets, but all she found was the empty cellophane sleeve from the crackers she’d fed to the squirrels and one glove. The other must have fallen when she pulled the room key from her pocket. She’d left the key upstairs on the dresser, next to the watch she’d also left behind. She slipped on the glove and picked up her suitcase, then shoved her bare hand into her pocket.
The street was nearly empty. Dead leaves skittered around her feet. A paper cup cartwheeled across the sidewalk. Two men stood in the doorway of a bodega on Joralemon Street. They called to her as she passed. Eyes straight ahead, she quickened her pace. As she rounded the corner onto Court Street, she nearly stumbled over a homeless man curled atop a subway grate. She hurried past, but before she reached the entrance to Borough Hall Station, she slowed, then turned back.
“Here,” she said, holding out one of her precious dollars. Blue eyes stared up at her, one clear, one milky. “Take it.” The man uncurled a filthy hand. She pressed the bill into his palm, then pulled off her glove and gave him that as well. “I only have the one,” she said apologetically.
“Bless you.” His voice rasped, as if it hadn’t been used for a long time.
“Thank you,” she said with a sniff. She grabbed her suitcase and headed for the station.
She didn’t have much, but at least she’d have a roof over her head tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Billy leaned against the wall in the dingy hall. He was drunk. Drunk enough not to have been driving. Drunk enough not to have any conversations about being a father. And drunk enough to know if he didn’t get back to Kate, he was likely to do something really stupid.
He was also too drunk to get the fucking key into the fucking lock. With an angry toss of his head, he brushed the hair from his eyes, aimed the key toward the hole, and pushed open the door.
Before his eyes could adjust to the darkness, he felt his way to the bathroom and flipped on the light. The bed was empty. He scanned the room, as if Kate might have been sitting in the dark, even though he knew damn well she was afraid of the dark. One of her sweaters was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Two pairs of dangly earrings he’d just bought her and the book she’d been reading lay on top. He picked up the book and turned it over in his hands. Flowers for Algernon. It was one of his. Her place was marked with the ticket stub from Cats.
He hurled the book across the room. The ticket stub fluttered through the air and landed near a lone glove.
“Ah jeez, Katie.” It was freezing outside.
He lifted her sweater and pressed it to his nose. The clean, sweet scent of oranges curled around him, soothing him for just a moment. There were the potholders she’d been making, as well as the spool of thread and the little pair of scissors he’d bought her. Maybe she hadn’t left. Maybe she’d just gone out. That thought didn’t calm him any.
He checked the bathroom. Her toothbrush and makeup kit were gone. He wheeled around and scanned the bedroom again, as if it might hold a clue to where she’d gone.
A glint of metal caught his eye. Her watch. Her fucking watch. It sat on the dresser next to the key. He picked it up, then dropped it to the floor, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot.
“Happy?” he yelled.
Nausea turned his stomach, and he gripped the edge of the dresser until it passed. Then he picked up a chair and threw it across the room. It slammed into the wall, the leg snapping off.
“Fuck you, Kate!” he yelled. An angry fist pounded on the wall from the room next door. “Fuck you, too!”
He yanked at the lamp, but it was bolted to the table. His heart was beating against his chest like he’d just run up twenty flights of stairs. He dropped heavily onto the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands. The room was spinning, and the images going through his mind weren’t helping. Tiffany. The feel of her hand on his dick.
Tearing off his clothes, he headed for the shower where he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Red lipstick stained his cheek, and he was filled with sadness and disgust.
He stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water punish him, ignoring the burning for as long as he could stand it. A chunk of Kate’s soap sat on the edge of the tub. Picking it up, he held it to his nose. He scrubbed his face and his body until there was nothing left but a sliver. When he was done, he dragged himself into bed, the rough sheets small penance against his irritated skin.
Hours later, still awake and feeling only slightly less drunk, he grew more anxious. There was no reason to stay. Kate wasn’t coming back. She probably wasn’t home, either. He imagined she’d gone to Joey’s. Too bad he didn’t know where Joey lived or how to get in touch with him.
He needed coffee. And something to calm his stomach so he could think. After jamming his things into his bag, along with everything Kate had left behind, he checked out and drove to a nearby diner. The place was packed with the morning rush. The clatter of dishes and the cacophony of caffeinated patrons almost made him walk out, but the need for caffeine of his own trumped his aching head.
Bent over a cup of black coffee, he tried to determine what he could’ve done differently. There were a lot of things. Wearing a condom would have been a good start, or at making sure Kate had renewed her birth control prescription.
He racked his brain so hard, his head hurt even worse.
“Bullshit.” This was as much his fault as it was hers. Or was it? Could he have been this lax on purpose?
“What the fuck, Donaldson?” he muttered into his cup, wishing it held something stronger. If that was what he’d done—gotten her pregnant on purpose—it had to be subconscious. He pressed his fingers into his eyes until spots danced behind the lids.
“More coffee?”
He looked up to find a waitress with a warm smile and a fresh pot. He pushed his cup forward.
“You need someone to talk to?” she asked as she poured. “Or you just gonna sit there mumblin’ and scarin’ my customers?”
“Sorry. Was I talking out loud?”
“Little bit. You okay?”
“Not really.”
She set the pot down, then leaned on the counter. “What’s wrong, honey?”
What the hell? “I just found out my girlfriend’s having a baby.” Baby. The word suddenly felt foreign on his tongue.
“Is it yours?”
He shot her a look. “Of course it’s mine.” A short silence. “Yeah. Of course.”
She lifted her shoulders. “Ya never know.”
The busboy dropped a tray of dirty dishes behind him. Silverware clattered to the floor. Dishes shattered. Billy cringed as the noise ricocheted inside his aching head.
He rubbed his fingers in circles over his temples. “I know.”
“You love her?”
He nodded.
“She love you?”
“Yeah.” His voice quavered and almost broke. He hoped she wouldn’t noti
ce.
“Then what’s the problem? Kids are great. Got three of my own. The oldest starts college in the fall.”
He forced a wan smile. “Seriously? You don’t look old enough for a kid in college.”
Her laugh was so loud, he winced.
“I’m not! Got knocked up in high school, but it turned out okay.”
“You get married?”
“Nah. Bastard disappeared two seconds after he found out. Good riddance, right? But he did give me a terrific present. Wanna see a picture?”
Billy read the tag over her left pocket: Susie. “Sure.”
She headed for the kitchen, topping off other customers on the way. When she returned, she handed him two wallet-sized photos.
“This is my oldest, Bethany.” Looked like the girl’s senior picture.
“Very pretty.”
She pointed at the second picture. “This is Bethany, of course. This is Matt, my boy, and that’s my youngest, Kathleen, but we call her Katie.”
An elephant backed into his chest and sat down. “Katie, huh? She’s a cutie.”
“Yep. They’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if every one of their fathers was a rat bastard.”
He sat up straighter. “That sucks.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is. Whaddabout you? You gonna be a rat bastard?”
“Huh?”
“You don’t seem over the moon about this baby thing. You’re not thinkin’ about runnin’, are ya?”
“No. She already did that.”
She snorted. “That’s a new one. You goin’ after her?”
“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”
She smiled and crossed her arms. “That’s my job—part waitress, part conscience. So waddaya gonna to do about it?”
Why did his conscience suddenly sounded like it was in the mob?
“You’re pretty pushy for someone who expects a tip.”
“And you don’t seem like the kinda guy who’d stiff a single workin’ mother with three kids to raise.”
He nodded.
“Well?”
He leaned back. “Yeah.”
