There’s a buzzing in my chest, like thousands of wasps trying to fly their way free. It takes me a few minutes, but I finally figure out what it is—it’s panic over the loss of control this entire situation has produced. I may feel like a douchebag for doing all the digging on Portia, but whether I like it or not, I apparently crave a sense of control—small though it may be.
I relax on the bench, consciously letting go of the perceived need to control, and watch the ducks, enjoying their languid swimming and occasional fluttering of wings. The sounds of spring—birds chirping, water splashing, and random shouts from hot dog vendors—fill the air around me.
Time tends to flow unaccounted and free when you’re ruminating and looking deep within yourself. Before I know it, it’s after five. I notice the change when foot traffic increases in the park. I stand and stretch—as ready as I’ll ever be to tell Heather.
When Heather arrives at her place, I’m already seated at the dining room table, two glasses of wine in front of me.
“Tony—what a nice surprise. Did we have plans and I slipped up? I hope you weren’t waiting on me long.” She hangs up her purse and joins me at the table.
“You’re good. We didn’t have any plans. Sorry to show up unannounced like this, but I need to talk to you.”
Panic flits across her face, to be replaced with wariness. “Is something wrong?”
I half stand and kiss her on the lips. “Not between us, darling. This is all my fault—something from my past.”
She relaxes a bit and takes a sip from her wine. “Okay then, shoot.”
I sigh and return to my seat, the pressure building in my chest now that I’m here and about to spill what I’ve been dreading to share. I’d rather hoped the pressure would lessen once I arrived. It hasn’t. “You know I dated a lot of women before we met. I’ve never hidden that.”
“It’s not like you could—I do read the papers.” She smiles slightly, possibly trying to reassure me to keep going.
“Well, this woman approached me last week. We dated a couple of weeks before I met you.” I stare at the woman I’m falling in love with, my heart frozen momentarily in my chest. “She says… um… she’s claiming to be pregnant with my child.”
Heather stills, her face completely unreadable.
I bolt out of my chair and start to pace. “There’s no proof it’s mine, but I was ‘with’ her. I’m not denying that. And the timing fits with what she claims.” I pass the kitchen and turn around, nervous energy inhibiting me from sitting still. “I don’t believe it’s mine. She was a party girl through and through. But I have no proof.”
I realize I’ve started to repeat myself, but can’t seem to stop babbling while I pace. “There’s nothing I can do until there’s a DNA test. But again, I doubt very highly it’s mine.”
I turn to look at my girlfriend, hoping to read something on her face.
Heather stares at the table, unable to meet my eyes. Uh-oh. That can’t be good.
“I’m on the pill, that’s the only reason we’ve had sex without a condom. You told me you hadn’t had unprotected sex with anyone else in years.”
I rush forward and grab her arms, forcing her to look at me. “I haven’t! I didn’t! I swear!” My breath pants out in gasps. “That’s why I felt it was all a scam. I always used a condom. Until you. No way could it be mine.”
“A scam? Isn’t that a little harsh?”
Not proud of my previous thoughts, I still don’t hide them from her. “You’d have to know her. She’s always been out for a good time—parties a little harder than she should, comes from money, has a trust fund she pisses away shopping… it seemed like she latched onto me strictly for a good time. And so I could pay for whatever she desired past her monthly allotment.” I drop her arms and run a hand through my hair, frustrated anew with Portia’s past behavior. “I thought for sure it was all a lie… but she showed me her blood work today at lunch. A lab has confirmed she is indeed pregnant.”
My heart feels like there’s a fist wrapped around it, squeezing the very life out of me. “Please, say something.”
“This doesn’t make sense. You say she’s rich and yet she’s coming after you for what? Moral support?”
“Moral support.” A unamused snort escapes me. “Yeah, no. At first she wanted us to get back together.” Panic flares across Heather’s face again. “Don’t worry, I told her it wasn’t ever going to happen. I don’t care for her like that. Never did. Once I saw her true colors how could I?”
Heather’s voice sounds hesitant. “Well, if she comes from money and you knew she was a party girl, then how were you surprised by her actions? Sounds to me like you got what you bargained for—and then got angry when your hand was caught in the cookie jar.”
A frustrated sigh pours out of me. “I’m not explaining this well. Yes, her family has money and she has a trust fund. But she doesn’t work, I feel she’s husband shopping to live like she wants— and this pregnancy is the best way to do it.”
She looks shocked. “You really think she’d do all this for more money? Just doesn’t sound… realistic. I mean really, how much money are we talking about? Like it’s that much more than what she has already?”
This is it. The moment I’ve dreaded since we met, but knew I couldn’t avoid it if we wanted to have any kind of serious future together. I sigh and take her hands in mine. “Heather, I’ve done exceptionally well for myself in a very short period of time. My net worth—that’s the apartment buildings, stocks, bonds, cars, boat, cash assets, the houses—”
“Houses?” she squeaks out.
“—is well over five hundred million dollars.”
Chapter Thirteen
Heather
Utter silence fills the dining room as I stare into Tony’s worried brown eyes.
“Say something, Heather. You’re killing me.”
I open my mouth to speak, but coherent thought escapes me. “I-I-I don’t know what to say. That’s more money than anyone I know could earn in a hundred life times. And here I thought I was doing well with contributing to my 401k, starting an IRA, and having a high five-figure nest egg in my various checking and savings accounts.”
For not knowing what to say, that sure as hell was a lot of babbling. Fool.
“Can you see why I might have presumed the worst of Portia?”
Hearing him say her name confirmed what I was thinking when he mentioned seeing the blood results over lunch. She must have been the woman Carla saw him with. “Is that her name? Portia?”
He nods and looks away. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I really thought she was playing me and wanted to handle it all on my own.”
“What changed your thinking?”
“Seeing her. Seeing the lab report.” He runs a hand over his handsome face, looking more haggard than I’ve ever seen him. “It made me realize this nightmare might become real and I had to tell you or risk losing you when it all came out.”
“Oh, you were right. It’s good you told me. Secrets like this could easily ruin any relationship. But… I… um… I’m sorry. I need some time to think about all this. It’s a lot to spring on a girl.”
The life drains out of him. “Oh. I see. Do you want me to go?”
I hesitate, torn over wanting to reassure him and needing to get my head on straight. I wish now more than ever my mom and dad were alive so I could talk to them. “Don’t hate me when I say yes. I’ve had a long day and after this little impromptu confession, I’m feeling pretty wiped. So yeah, I just want to soak in the tub by myself and sort it all out.”
“Sort what out? Does my money really make a difference between us?”
“It’s not the money, Tony. I’ve never cared about that and you know it.” I leave the rest unsaid. He’s smart. He can figure out I mean the baby and how he’s handling the situation—and from what he’s said so far, it sounds like he’s handling it poorly.
“I know you’re not ready to talk to me yet, and I res
pect that. But maybe you should call a friend. Bottling it up can’t be good for you.”
“Yeah. Or you,” I say with a wink. Without my parents to talk to I’ve learned to talk things out with friends. Maybe he’s right and I should call Carla. Hopefully she’s free. I do need to get this off my chest.
Out of nowhere he grabs me and kisses me, igniting my desire and growing love. His arms wrap firmly around me, desperation in their strength. After a moment he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy.
“It’s this,” he whispers. “What we feel for each other that matters above everything else.” His hand trails over the hair hanging down my back. “I’ll go—for now. But you’re not getting rid of me so easily.”
I smile, a small upward curve of the lips. “Good. I never thought that.”
The moment Tony leaves I call Carla. “Can you come over for dinner and drinks? I need to talk.”
“Sure thing, girlfriend, I’ve got nothing going on tonight. I’ll be over in thirty. Want me to pick up Chinese?”
“That sounds great. I’ve got plenty of wine.”
By the time eight thirty rolls around we’ve polished off most of the food and close to two bottles of wine. If I’m being honest, I probably drank most of the wine.
“What really has me concerned is his attitude in all this, you know?” I say. “Like this woman is out to get him somehow. He actually used the word ‘scam’ when telling me about Portia’s pregnancy.”
Carla shrugs and tops off our wine, killing the bottle. “In his defense, there are women like that. I don’t know of any personally. In general, I prefer not to hang out with conniving women.” She giggles. “Too much work. All that scheming and shit. I like my relationships simple. Easier to handle that way.”
No matter how perfect of an opening this is to address the promiscuous behavior she exhibits in her relationships, I refrain. Considering the amount I’ve had to drink, I will undoubtedly muck it up. Yeah, and that conversation will require tact—and sobriety. I make a mental note to definitely say something next week. Or the week after. Maybe over coffee. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
“Doesn’t he come across as insensitive to you?” I ask. “I mean, like, the poor woman. He seems more wrapped up in what the baby will cost him than the fact he might become a friggin’ father. What about her? Who’s going to be there for her when she has the baby?”
“Hey now, drunk girl. Don’t go projecting your own fears of being in the same situation—and alone—onto her. She has parents who support her financially, she has money, so she can hire help. Hell, if she initially snagged Tony for a date, you know she has got to have looks and possibly brains. Hopefully her parents sent her to a good college.” Carla leans forward and annoyingly snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Snap out of it, Heather! You don’t need to worry about her—you need to worry about you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Haven’t you thought about how this affects you? Do you want to be involved with a man with this kind of baggage? If you stay with him, do you want to have another woman’s kid in your life for the next eighteen years? Do you want to be involved in a relationship that contains a shrewish harpy who chases the almighty dollar on the premise of caring for a child?”
I stare at my blond friend, liking her hair more now that it’s grown out a little from her previous pixie cut. “Doncha think you’re being a little harsh?”
“Whatever.” She gulps more of her wine. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”
Dread settles in my middle and the wine sours. “Peachy. Thanks a lot.”
“S-s-s-ooOooo?” she slurs the word. “Whacha you gonna do?”
I drink the rest of my wine, glad we didn’t open another bottle. “I dunno. I’ll have to think on it.”
Carla snorts. “Damn skippy, you better.” She stands and heads to the kitchen. “Have any chocolate in this dump?”
I’m late to work the next day, my eyes feeling like sandy glue was poured in them overnight and my stomach ready to rebel at a moment’s notice. God, I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking.
Could have been because you didn’t each much dinner, genius.
Yeah, that could be it.
My morning went from bad to worse when Tammy told me she went on a date last night with the cute new sales guy, Jimmy. Ugh. I froze like a deer in headlights. Nodded my head and said something stupid like, “That’s nice.”
My inability to act has led to this. My fault. Totally. If I had said something to her earlier about what a sleaze ball he is, she could have avoided him, told him no, been safe from a broken heart. Instead, I did nothing.
What the hell are you doing? Is this some special take-the-blame-for-everything kind of crap? She’s a grown woman. You’re not responsible for who she chooses to date.
Sure. That’s what I’ll tell myself when she cries like I did.
The day passes in a mindless blur of numbers, various emails, and phone calls. I’ve fielded two texts from Tony. Both were gentle inquiries on his part, wondering if I was ready to talk and how my day was going. My responses were short and to the point, telling him I needed to focus on work and we’d talk later.
A baby. Holy crap. I’m not so sure talking it over with Carla last night made the situation any clearer. Do I want to help raise someone else’s child? How do I feel about dealing with the wrinkle of Portia’s inclusion in our lives?
The money really isn’t my concern, but I see how in this case having money puts an entirely new spin on things. Could she sue him for millions in child support? How will he deal with that? Will it sour him to having kids again? And if yes, what does that mean for me?
This is real world stuff I hadn’t bargained for when dating him. It would be nice if everyone you met had a clean slate with no history, no mistakes, no emotional baggage… but this situation Tony’s in has become more and more common for people in their late twenties and early thirties.
People make mistakes. People fall in love with the wrong person. Then they wake up when the glow of lust has worn off and find themselves in a relationship with someone they don’t really like or have much in common with. Hell, who am I to judge when I made a mistake with choosing Jimmy? No one is infallible. We all mess up relationships once in a while.
Does that mean people don’t get a second chance? What would I have done if my birth control failed and I got pregnant with Jimmy’s child? Would I have stayed with the womanizer out of fear of raising a child on my own? Carla doesn’t truly understand the fear of shouldering that kind of responsibility when you literally have no family to turn to.
An email comes through on the company server, pulling me from my maudlin musings. It’s from Oliver, telling me I need to go to Philly tomorrow to deal with the finer details of freeing up assets in one of our long term investments. This one requires board approval and that means, as the CFO, the job falls to me. Several meetings have been set up, the first a meet and greet breakfast at eight a.m.
I respond that I’ll be there, inwardly grateful for the break it will grant from the recent personal dramas. I fire off an email to the travel liaison requesting a train ticket for tonight, returning tomorrow evening, and to book a hotel near the office building.
This work excursion will give me much-needed space to think. Does this business trip and my sudden enthusiasm to go mean I’m running from my current problems? I shake my head. Work is work. Tony shouldn’t take it personally. He knows what it means to be ambitious and care about your job. I’ll explain it when I talk to him again.
Before three thirty, I get an email back confirming a ticket to Philly for six p.m. I prepare what I need to take, shove it all and my tablet into my oversized bag, and leave, still having to head to my place and pack clothes. Early morning meetings are never fun, but I’m glad to be spending the night before the appointment. I won’t be dealing with morning commuters from here to there at five a.m. to make the first meeting.
I head out, catching an elevato
r to the lobby while searching the weather on my phone to plan on what to wear.
A familiar, and unwelcome voice, jars me from my thoughts. “And where are you bustling off to before the work day ends?” Jimmy’s voice slides over me, practiced and charming. “Secret meeting?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
A grimace twists my mouth as I keep walking. “Uh, no. Isn’t that more your speed?” I fire off my response without thinking, the old resentment closer to the surface regarding his past trysts than I was aware.
He chuckles. “Can’t help if the ladies can’t resist me.” He falls into step beside me, keeping pace despite my antagonistic remark.
Unbidden, my response spills out in haste. “Oh, was that the problem? I thought you had a faulty zipper and your dick kept falling out of your pants.”
Laughter, sharp and loud, spills from him. “Good one. You’ve become more feisty. I like it.”
I turn and stare at him, hesitating for a brief moment in my exit. “You like it? That’s rich. I’ve grown up. You haven’t. Back off. We’re not at work and I don’t have to be polite to you here.” I storm out the revolving doors, anger and a tinge of fear lighting my nerves on edge. Will he yell at me like he did that day in the hall outside my apartment? Will he make a scene in public?
I turn back and glance at him briefly, catching sight of the speculative look on his face. At least he’s not yelling. I hope to God he leaves me the hell alone.
Chapter Fourteen
Tony
Around six thirty a text comes through from Heather. The longest one I’ve received from her all day.
Have to go to Philly tonight for meetings tomorrow. On train now. I’ll be back before five tomorrow. Want to get together for dinner?
Vanilla Twist: A Walk on the Wild Side Novel (Heather and Tony, Book 2) Page 9
