by Leslie Pike
“Babe, did you take my last razor blade?” Paul calls from the bathroom.
“I took THE razor blade. I only used it once. It’s in the shower on the shelf.”
Good thing he can’t see my face, because he’s know I’m feeling guilty. I hear him mutter something under his breath. It’s probably an expletive. He doesn’t swear half as much as I do, and when he does it’s for good reason.
“I’ll be in the kitchen. Esme and Finn will be here soon,” I say.
“Okay. Hey, pour me a drink.”
“Jawohl mien heir!” I click my heels in fake obedience.
As I walk into the kitchen, I see Cora sampling the appetizers. She doesn’t try to hide it, in fact quite the opposite. Her expression is challenging me to say something.
“Are you enjoying those?” I say casually.
“I don’t care for the fishy ones,” she answers chewing away.
“Well, damn it Cora save some for the guests. Look at the tray. There’s holes in it now. We look like we’re too cheap to get enough food for four people.”
Instead of responding she just pushes the canapes around to fill in the gaps. Then she looks at me with a smug expression.
“I don’t know why I put up with your crap,” I say tightening my lips.
She smiles. “I do. It’s because no one else will put up with yours.”
The doorbell sounds. She doesn’t move.
“No, let me get that,” I say sarcastically.
“Okay.”
“Make Paul his drink at least.”
She gets right to work. She clearly likes him more than me. So do I. I’m laughing under my breath all the way to the door. I can hear one of our guests ringing the bells hanging from the reindeer on the porch. I’m betting it’s Finn doing the jingling.
“Hello, you two happy elves,” I say greeting my friends.
They’re carrying gifts, and I’ve got theirs waiting under the tree.
“Hello, darlin’.”
Finn looks cool as usual, with his red scarf hanging loosely around his neck. Esme’s her lovely self. Her natural all-American beauty goes well with Finn’s bad boy swagger. They complement each other visually.
“You two belong on a Christmas card.”
“Something smells good, all the way out here,” Esme says.
I make way for them to enter. “Come in. Yeah, if my housekeeper doesn’t eat everything in sight I think you’ll like what we have to nibble on.”
“There they are,” Paul says meeting up with us in the living room.
The men exchange affectionate hugs and the requisite pats on their backs.
“Your house looks beautiful, BB. I love the tree,” says Esme taking off her coat.
I’d have to agree. Our eight-foot Douglas Fir looks divine.
“She spent four hours putting each ornament in the exact right spot,” Paul says.
Finn grabs a handful of nuts from the bowl on the coffee table.
“I think in that one respect they’re all alike. Esme asked me to stop helpin’ because I was doin’ it wrong.”
“Good thing they don’t want our help. If it was up to me I’d have a fake one,” says Paul.
Esme and I groan our disapproval.
“What’s everyone drinking?” Paul asks.
That starts the night off right. We begin with cocktails and appetizers, and progress to wine and a succulent pork roast dinner. All the while Christmas carols play in the background, setting the mood.
“Um, Paul, can I be talkin’ to you in private for a minute? No big secrets girls, I just need to ask him something about Esme’s gift.”
Esme doesn’t seem fazed by this odd request, but I smell something rotten.
Paul gets up. “Sure, let’s go outside and have a cigar.”
The men make their exit, and I watch them through the glass doors. I don’t see either of them lighting up. Finn’s doing all the talking.
“What do you think they’re discussing?” I say suspiciously.
“I guess my gift.”
But she breaks eye contact with me when she says it. She’s a horrible liar, which is no surprise. She’s the sweetest of us all. I see Paul grab Finn’s shoulders in a hearty grasp. He’s happy about something.
“Apparently Paul’s very excited about your present,” I kid.
The men come back into the house without having enjoyed their phantom cigars.
“What are you two up to?”
Paul walks over and sits by my side. “Okay. Finn’s got a present for you. I haven’t seen it but I’m betting you’ll want to. It’s a video of what happened at the bachelor party. He says it explains everything.”
I didn’t expect this. My face feels flush and I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Let me see it.”
“It’s goin’ to piss you off darlin’, but you’ll see your man was tellin’ you the truth. Esme said you’d want to see.” He reaches in his pocket and takes out his cell phone. “I found this on the internet. I guess they’re proud of what they did.”
He brings up what he’s looking for, and we watch the scene play out. It’s the party bus Jack hired. Someone’s filming it from the outside as they talk to the driver. Two young female voices are artlessly flirting with the fifty-something out of shape man.
“Hi. Looks like you’re lonely in there. Want some company?”
By the look on his face, he can hardly believe his luck. He looks toward the back of the bus. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The guys will be out here any minute.”
The second female voice persists. “Come on. We just want to see the inside of one of these fancy party buses. Can’t you make an exception?”
“We’ll just be in there five minutes. Come on, you look like a hip guy. You should be the one renting this for your parties. Do a few girls a favor.”
He looks back again then whispers, “There’s a guy in here passed out. Don’t do anything to rouse him. I don’t want him to tell the client I let you come onboard.”
“We won’t. We promise,” they say excitedly.
We watch as the girls climb into the bus then turn their camera toward themselves.
“Video selfie!” one teenager exclaims.
They’re very young, maybe seventeen, but they look as if they’ve been around a few blocks. I’m already pissed at them and I haven’t even seen anything damning yet, but I feel a little pity too. The camera pans the interior. I see Paul passed out and sprawled across the couch. He’s got one leg on and one leg hanging to the floor.
“Look!” the blonde says.
“Shhh! Please, girls!” the driver pleads.
They start laughing at his attempt at corralling them.
“Come on, Tessa. Let’s take a picture. Get out your cell.”
They walk over to Paul and kneel down beside his body. They lean in and act like they’re going to kiss him, duck lips poised. They take at least ten pictures while the video is also recording.
“Oh, he’s a stud! Look at those guns!”
The brunette squeezes his biceps.
The blonde starts laughing. “Forget his guns, look at the outline of his dick! It’s half way down his thigh!”
“Okay that’s it! This was a bad idea. Get out, girls! Please! You’re going to cost me my job.” The driver sounds as if he’s about to cry.
“Don’t worry, old man. We’re not doing anything bad. We just want to show our girlfriends we were at Jack Alden’s party.”
“Don’t forget Finn! He’s the best part.”
The look on the bus driver’s face tells us he knows he’s been had.
The blonde lets him know how they did it. “We saw the pictures posted online from inside the restaurant. We thought we’d come track them down.”
The driver takes the brunette by her elbow and stands her up.
“I need you both to get out of here right now.”
But as he does, we can see the blonde’s head lean over to Paul�
�s crotch and give it a big kiss. The driver didn’t catch her do it, and Paul didn’t feel it either.
Finn stops the tape. “That’s it really.”
Paul takes me by my shoulders and looks me straight in the eyes. For once in my life I’m speechless.
“And that, my dear, is how I got a lipstick print on my pecker.”
Chapter Sixteen
NICKI
“Wake up, sleepyhead; Santa’s been here.”
I hear Jack’s voice, but I’m still tired and not quite ready to get out of bed. This headache’s killing me, and lately I’ve been able to actually hear the rush of blood in my head. Woosh, whoosh, whoosh. It sounds every morning. Jack doesn’t need to know anything about it; I’m not going to make him crazier than he is already. He’s trying so hard to cater to me through all of this, so I roll over and give him a good morning smile and pretend all is well.
“I’m not sure I still believe in Santa Claus,” I say.
He sits on the bed and pulls back the stray strand of hair falling over my face. “Oh, he’s real. He brought some packages for you. And he ate the treat you left out for him,”
“I don’t remember leaving a snack,” I say, knowing full well Jack made himself a midnight munch.
“You did, though. Don’t you remember? It was some of your mother’s sushi and a malasada from your grandmother.”
I give a little laugh. “Santa sure has global tastes.”
“Well if not him, who does? How you feeling?”
I lift my shoulders in response. “The same. I seem to have a lot of symptoms.”
“Doctor Nakamura said it’s different for every woman. But remember you didn’t show any protein in your urine, so that’s good. You’ve got gestational hypertension. Just a little high blood pressure.”
“You sound like a doctor yourself.”
“I’m just paying attention to what she tells us. Hey, let’s take your pressure now,” he says as if he’s offering me a treat.
Before I can protest, he goes for the machine in the top drawer. There’s no stopping him anyway. He’s taken my blood pressure more times in the past three weeks than I’ve taken it my entire life.
“You know too much. You read too much about what could happen.”
He ignores my comment. “Push up your sleeve.”
He wraps the band around my arm and rests it back on a pillow. “Okay, be quiet now.”
“Yes doctor.”
We wait for the grinding sound of the meter and the tightening of the band. After a few seconds it releases its hold. Jack looks at the reading. He’s trying not to have the reaction he’s feeling, but I know that face.
“What is it?”
“I think it’s an error. Let’s try again.” He works to reposition the band.
“Did it say error?” I ask.
“No, but I don’t think it does in every case.” He presses the start button again.
“What was the reading?”
He puts his finger to his lips to silence me while the test proceeds. It seems like it takes five minutes, but it’s actually no more than thirty seconds. It releases.
“Let me see,” I say picking up the meter. “One forty-five over eighty-five. Shit.”
“I’m calling the doctor,” he says.
“It’s Christmas Day; you won’t be able to get ahold of her.”
I see his face take on a more serious expression. “I’d better fucking be able to. If I have to drive to her house, I’m going to get ahold of her!”
“Calm down, Jack. You’re not making me any more relaxed.”
He completely changes tact. His face and body relax. “Okay. You just stay in bed and I’ll take care of things. No big deal. I’m not nervous,” he says unconvincingly.
“All right. Call her. I’m going to shower and dress. Our families will be here in a few hours.”
I see he’s about to protest but thinks better of it.
“Okay. The shower will do you good.”
And it does. By the time I step out, my headache has passed and I feel better. I think he’s been on the phone with the doctor for the entire time I was gone, because I hear him still talking. Passing through to our room, I wrap my towel around me and reach out for him to pass the phone to me.
“Nicki wants to say something, Doctor. Okay, I will. I promise. You’re right, I’m sure. See you soon for the big reveal.” He laughs at something she’s said and passes the cell to me.
“Hello, Doctor. I’m sorry for disturbing your Christmas celebration.”
“Don’t be silly. I’d rather talk to you and Jack than entertain my husband’s family.”
“Okay, good. I guess he told you about my numbers.”
“Yes. They’re high, but I’m not overly concerned. You’re monitoring regularly?”
“Oh, yes. You know Jack. He’d follow me around with the machine if I’d let him.”
I see Jack give me that look.
“Here’s what I want you to do. If the numbers climb over one fifty over ninety, then you call again and I’ll put you on something safe to control it. But we’ve been following you closely, and I haven’t seen any signs of preeclampsia. You don’t have any vision problems and your weight is under control. Your swelling has been consistent since your first trimester. These are all things I look at to determine a mother and baby’s risk. I do want you to stay hydrated and continue to take your 1300 milligrams of calcium every day. You’re coming to see me this week, so we’ll talk more then.”
“Good. I always feel better after I talk with you. Did you talk my husband off the ledge too?”
She laughs. “I’m not sure that’s possible. But I did tell him for the hundredth time it wasn’t good for you to get too anxious, and he pretended to hear me.”
“That sounds about right. You have a great rest of your holiday.”
“You too, Nicki. Bye-bye.”
We disconnect.
“See, I told you. It’s all perfectly natural. You worry too much,” he says, as if it was me and not him having the meltdown.
“You’re right. I’ll try to be calmer next time.”
He’s glad I’m playing along and gives me a wink of approval. Then he goes into his theme song of the day.
“Ohhh, you better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, I’m telling you why…”
He waits for me to finish the lyrics.
“Santa Claus is coming to town.” I sing off-key.
I’m the grand poohbah of the day’s celebration. Jack’s mother, Ellen, and my mother have made a kind of a throne for me to sit on while the presents are opened. I’m propped up in one of our plush wingback chairs with my feet resting on the wide leather ottoman his father Oscar has moved in front of me. I’m like the most popular kid in the lunchroom. Everyone wants to sit next to me. My mother and grandmother almost had words about who’s sitting where, so Jack gave up his place so they each could have the preferred spots. He finds the whole thing funny, and so do I. His family is better behaved than mine. At least the members I’ve spent any time around. His parents are quiet, reserved people. Jack’s the wild card of the bunch.
There’s food resting on every surface of the living room. My spectacular Christmas decorations and the tall twinkling tree stand guard over plates of Japanese and Portuguese delicacies. Jack agrees with me; it’s a surprisingly good combination of flavors. Of course, I have to watch aeverything I eat. So even though my family pushes for me to have a taste of every dish, I’m firm in my refusal. It was Ellen who brought me a plate of fruit and veggies with a small portion of lamb. She listened the first time I said I didn’t want any of the goodies. We haven’t told any of my family about my health issues, because oh God they’d drive me crazy. It’s just easier to pretend I’m not hungry or it’s a case of vanity.
“Let’s open presents,” my grandmother says.
“That’s one of the things I love about you, Grandma. You still get excited about opening gifts. Not everyon
e cares.”
“Mais para mim!” she says.
I turn to Jack. “She says, ‘more for me’.”
He laughs. “Mais para mim, that’s going to be my new motto. Every month that passes as I watch your granddaughter’s gorgeous belly grow, I’m going to say ‘mais para mim’.”
Grandma pinches Jack’s cheek in approval. “Good boy.”
“He’s always been a good boy. It was the twins who were the little devils,” says Ellen. “His brothers were almost unmanageable.”
“Don’t remind me,” says Oscar.
For the next hour and a half we open presents. Jack and I are representing the younger set. In this group even Jack’s a kid. His brothers and my sister live out of state and weren’t able to join us this year. As usual, my husband is generous with all our gifts. It’s hard for me to stop looking at my ruby bracelet and earrings. He decided on all the gifts this year, but of course Anne had to do the heavy lifting. Jack looked through catalogues and pointed, and she did the rest. I didn’t have to do a thing. Not that I couldn’t have, but I was trying to take his attention off my problems and his own.
“Okay, Dad, I’ll grab the Hefty’s and we’ll clean up this mess.”
“How about I pour myself another drink and you start?” Oscar says.
“Your father’s knees are bothering him, Jack.”
“No problem. Pour one for me, Dad. I’ll take care of this.”
Of course that prompted my mother and my grandmother to get up and start helping him. That’s just who they are. No protests from Jack, or I would dissuade them.
“When do we find out the sex of the baby? Or are you doing that?” Ellen asks.
“I go for the ultrasound tomorrow.”
There’s a happy reaction around the room.
“I can hardly wait. I need to know if I’m having a granddaughter or a grandson,” my mother says as she crumbles a sheet of wrapping paper.
“At least we know it isn’t twins,” says Jack, returning from the kitchen.
“Thank God for big favors,” Oscar adds. “Your brothers almost killed us.”
