We were ushered into the ballroom. It was as indulgent as our room and was intricately dedicated to the art deco style of the hotel. Large floor to ceiling windows were framed with sweeping brocade curtains which fell heavily to the ground in thick luxurious folds, tied back with thick silk tasseled cords. The material bunched at the broad threads where the bottom of the curtain had been arranged to fan out over the marble floor.
Black twin lines framed the cream marble floor, following the edges of the room in a geometric pattern. Silver framed post-impressionist posters dotted the walls, depicting women dressed in long flowing gowns and gesturing with elegant cigarette holders. Here and there was a bronzed statue of a naked woman holding a billowing ribbon in the breeze. The effect was dramatic. I felt like I had stepped back into the 1930s.
The room buzzed with muted conversation from the other hotel guests. Music from the small five-piece band danced around the room, but not loud enough to make conversation hard. To my surprise the room was full. I looked at the faces, glowing in the flickering candlelight from table tops and recognized some of the hotel guests from our walk. The bride and groom were not here. I exhaled a sharp breath.
A waiter brought over a bottle of champagne and poured the bubbling fluid into our glasses. Andy picked up his glass. ‘To us and our night together.’
‘Andy, you know I can’t drink alcohol now.’ I said, slightly annoyed.
‘Why’s that?’
‘You shouldn’t drink alcohol when you’re pregnant and because the main and only reason we are here is so that we become pregnant, I’m amazed you overlooked that fact.’
I motioned over the waiter. ‘Could I have some water please?’
‘Madam, is there a problem with the champagne?’
‘No, not with the champagne,’ I said.
The waiter disappeared and returned shortly with a tankard of clear, cool water. He poured me a glass, bowed slightly and left our table side.
‘Sara, I’m sor-’ Andy began.
I cut him off, softening. ‘It’s okay. I just want everything to get off on the right foot. The doctors all say that alcohol is damaging, especially in the first trimester, I want to give our child the best start.’
I was being such a bitch. I hated hearing the words I was speaking come out of my mouth but I couldn’t seem to stop them. Andy had gone beyond trying hard to make this work. I was being so hard on him. The least I could do was try to enjoy his efforts.
‘Does the father need to abstain as well?’ Andy lifted his champagne flute up in salute.
I laughed. ‘No. They say it helps. Especially with conception.’
His pupils expanded until just about all colour disappeared. We clinked our glasses together with a melodic ding. He took a sip and kept looking at me. This was the Andy I loved. The Andy that would do anything for me, even when I wasn’t exactly myself. The Andy that still desired me like he was taking his last breath.
Our dinner arrived with a flourish. Huge white dinner plates were set in front of us. The food was arranged artfully across the white space — deconstructed, I think they called it. Sauces swirled, cracked pepper sprayed, spindly lettuce leaves garnished. Works of art in themselves.
I looked over at Andy enthusiastically devouring the first course. I had not picked up my knife and fork. He glanced up, his arm stilled. A piece of goat’s cheese dropped to his plate. ‘You’re not eating.’
‘Andy… I can’t eat this,’ I whispered, hating I had to say anything.
His expression hardened. He lowered his uneaten mouthful to the plate. ‘What’s wrong with this?’
‘Goats cheese, shell fish, sushi, pâté … It’s a cocktail for listeriosis.’ He gave me a blank look. ‘An unborn child can be infected through the mother’s blood supply. Andy, it can cause miscarriage.’ I was channeling my inner bitch but I couldn’t seem to stop her from raising her ugly head. I wanted to scream in frustration, stamp my foot, cry, yell, screech. But I didn’t do any of those things. Just stared at Andy and made him feel bad, but I was frozen somehow, like I was having an out-of-body bitch experience.
‘Sara, you’re not pregnant. Yet.’
‘Don’t remind me!’ I blinked tears away, elastic emotions tumbling every which way.
Andy pushed my plate away and rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand. He dragged his hand down his face and cupped his chin in the palm of his hand. The other hand was bunched into a fist and rested on his hip. He looked at me, his mouth squashed through his fingers.
‘Maybe…’ I started
‘Maybe what, Sara?’
‘Maybe we go local. There has to be somewhere around here that can serve well cooked meat.’
‘Can’t we just stay here and eat? There must be something else on the menu you can have.’
‘I don’t know. With all this raw food, I don’t trust that salmonella won’t go through the whole kitchen. I’m not prepared to take that risk.’
He put both hands to his forehead and massaged his temples. ‘As long as it keeps you happy, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.’
We drove down the winding Sherbrooke Road in silence.
Andy pulled into a parking spot in the main drag of Belgrave in front of a small fish and chip shop. We sat at a bench in the front window in our black tie dress. I ate chips. Andy ate a hamburger. He didn’t look at me. We didn’t talk.
We drove back to The Tavern in silence also. I didn’t know what to say to him. In a far corner of my mind I knew I was being unreasonable and by the muscles clenching and unclenching at his jaw, I knew Andy was at the end of his tether.
I wasn’t going to let that take my mind off the big picture though. I imagined my self as pit bull, burying its teeth into the leg of a thief, growling and snarling, shaking my head to and fro but not letting go. Even if it meant my teeth were going to be ripped out of my head. I had a goal and I was going to reach that goal.
I steeled myself. Andy’s mood was not going to put me off. I wanted him to do a job and he was damn well going to do it.
We arrived back at the room. Andy flopped onto the bed, picked up the TV remote and flicked it on. The raucous chorus of a footy match filled the room. At least that would give me fifteen minutes.
I headed for the bathroom to prepare.
I needed to get Andy in ‘The Mood’ after our dinner disaster, so I whipped out my secret weapon. It had cost a fortune. I wasn’t sure if I would need it, considering we had abstained for four weeks, so I hadn’t taken the price tag off, hoping to be able to take it back the next week. I bit through the plastic attachment and spat it into the bin. I held the scrap of lace up against myself and looked in the mirror, sucked in my breath and started to put it on.
I foolishly felt like a virgin.
I poked my head around the doorframe popping a couple of folic acid pills in my mouth — just to help the baby along. Andy was lying in the middle of the bed, propped up on pillows. The flashing light from the screen washed over him.
I felt the soft lace against my skin, the sheer pantyhose rubbing against my thigh. The corset encased my waist, squashing my insides to give me extra curves, my boobs were held tight with nipple-less cups. The whole ensemble was topped off with splashes of black lace here and there to not quite hide the naughty bits. Surely this would be wicked enough to get the action happening. Naughty and nice.
This could be ‘The Night’ where we would bring a new life into this world. A mix of emotions ricocheted through me, bouncing into each corner of my being. I was anxious, excited, apprehensive, electrified, hesitant, thrilled.
I took a small step towards Andy. I mentally shook off the disaster of dinner and slunk further from the bathroom. Andy turned his head and stilled, the TV remote dropping from his hand. My breath caught in my throat. I stood immobile, the soft light from the bathroom spilling around me.
‘Are you ready to make a baby? I asked breathlessly, nervously.
‘I don’t know about a baby, but I�
��m really, really ready to make you the happiest woman on earth.’
My reservations snapped and I moved across the floor to him. Andy met me on the bed and flung his arms around me. I immediately felt safe and secure. He turned me onto my back and lay on top of me. He ran his hands down my arms, waist and thighs. Goosebumps skidded across my skin where his fingers trailed. I hadn’t realized it, but I was so thirsty for his touch. A raw need for him boiled to the surface and I could hardly contain myself.
The muted light from the bedside lamp outlined his face in a golden glow. His hair had fallen across his forehead, shadowing his eyes. I traced the line of his jawbone, cheeks, and lips with my finger. His expression changed into something hungry. Hungry for me. I wound my hands and arms around his neck, in his hair and pulled him down to me.
He kissed me softly, tenderly; his kiss became more insistent, deeper, more urgent. He dipped his tongue in my mouth and I met his stroke, delighted in the feel of the slick heat.
His hand moved to my breast. I ran my fingers over his back and started to lift his shirt over his head, dragging my nails across his skin. I could smell his freshly washed skin and his cologne. I breathed deeply, savouring his fragrance. Clean, earthy male.
He threw the shirt over his head and onto the floor, heedless of where it landed. I brought my hand to his chest and circled his nipple with my thumb. He sucked in a breath and lowered his head to my breast.
‘Nice outfit,’ he mumbled then his tongue grazed my nipple and I didn’t hear any more.
He slipped the straps from my shoulder and lowered them to my waist. He lay over me and kissed me deeply again. I felt on fire where our skin touched. The heat radiated and enveloped me. He had his hands on my arms, my breast, tangled in my hair. It was glorious. My thoughts melted away with each touch. I almost forgot about making a baby.
Almost.
He slid his hand beneath the lace knickers against my hip and slowly, agonizingly drew them down the length of my legs and away from me. They landed on the floor next to his shirt. His pants followed.
His fingers grazed the inside of my thighs and bells started ringing in a triumphant yes-beat. Images of schematic penises, scrotums and fallopian tubes burst into my mind. I could see the journey the sperm had to take, little arrows pointing the way from the scrotum, to gush forth into the uncharted territory of the cervix to meet the solitary egg that was making its way down the fallopian tube. I could imagine a sperm finding the egg like a heat seeking missile, its tail wiggling furiously to crack the surface and bury itself in the core.
I hoped Andy’s sperm would be swimming the right way this time.
Andy’s hands encircled my waist and move slowly up my back, stopped and then moved again to my shoulder, then neck, then … Hang on. How can Andy’s hands be at my waist and on my neck at the same time. He didn’t have three hands.
I reached around and shrieked as his ‘hand’ suddenly grew eight legs and jumped into my hair. ‘Spider! Spider!’ I screeched, jumping up and down on the bed.
I thrashed my head around, hysterically swiping my fingers through my hair. The spider seemed to become more entangled the more I thrashed about. I could feel it wiggling next to my scalp frantically trying to squirm through the strands.
‘Andy, get it out of my hair. GET IT OUT!’
All I could hear was. ‘Arghhh! Spider! Spider!’
I looked around and saw Andy cowering by the bathroom door, hugging the wall and pointing at my hair, his face contorted in horror.
Arachnophobia. Shit.
I got angry. I got livid. This little bastard was not going to wreck my chances of getting pregnant. This was my special night. This was my special time. I had waited long enough.
I ran into the bathroom, threw open the top drawer and grabbed the scissors. The blades gleamed hard sliver in the light. The brown wiggling lump was encased in a ball of tangled hair just above my ear. I grabbed the lump and raised the scissors. There was a metallic snip as the blades closed and the severed lump of hair fell from my head.
I seized the spider, mesmerized. Hair stuck out from between my fingers, obscenely entangled in the long legs of the Huntsman.
I could feel it writhing around in the palm of my hand. Eight elastic bands rolling together like hard rubbery tentacles. I could see its hundreds of gleaming black eyes trying to find the most succulent part of my hand to take a bite out of.
‘Non venomous, but it bloody hurts, doesn’t it?’ The voice of my sixth grade teacher exploded in my mind when I had come running to her after I’d been bitten.
Snapping out of my trance I raced across the room to the glass doors which overlooked our balcony, revulsion filling my mouth.
‘Sara!’ I heard Andy call, but I didn’t stop. ‘Don’t!’
I threw the spider with all my strength to get it as far over the balcony as I could. My muscles strained. I almost ripped my arm from its socket. Shane Warne would have been proud of the run up and speed with which I was able to launch it through the air. Better and faster than one day cricket. The spider hurtled through the air like a hairy black blurry missile.
‘Take that you little bastard!’ I screamed, thinking about the mood it had unwittingly wrecked. My breath hissed in and out through clenched teeth.
The spider hit the glass of the door with a wet sloppy bang and slowly oozed its way downwards, leaving a smear of entrails in its wake. Its legs were outstretched against the glass in all different angles, its body flattened abnormally.
‘I shut the door.’ Andy said.
I watched the spider as it stopped, stuck to the glass a foot from the floor. Its innards now apparently congealed enough to stick it there forever.
‘The glass is so clean,’ I mumbled. ‘I can’t even see it.’
I knocked on the glass of the door to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, that the spider could not possibly be hanging in space.
Andy moved to stand next to me, spellbound by the site of the hairy beast. ‘Breed ‘em big around here, don’t they?’ He bent down to take a closer look. ‘Must be the lake. Big insects. The eating’s too good for ‘em. This one must be as big as your hand!’ He held up his palm, fingers outstretched.
I just managed not to stamp my foot. There were more important things to achieve here than to marvel about the size of a spider, not to mention the hundred dollar hair cut it had ruined.
I grabbed Andy’s arms and hauled him back into bed.
I brushed aside the image of the exploded Huntsman and focused on my ovaries and the work I wanted them to do. I needed to get back in the mood. I needed to get both of us back in the mood.
I poked, prodded, sucked, massaged, rubbed, kneaded, pressed, pulled, pushed, nudged, elbowed, jolted, joggled and cajoled. My muscles were beginning to ache like I had just done two marathons. With exasperation I jumped off the bed and threw the pillow on Andy’s head. ‘You are not rising to the occasion. Now is not the time to play dead!’
‘You’re putting too much pressure on me. I have to be at least a little bit relaxed, and having you tugging at me like you’re hauling in a fifty kilo marlin is not helping.’
‘What is it, stage fright?
‘You’re stressing me out.’ Andy’s eyes flashed angrily. If I was in my normal state of mind I would have noticed it. But I wasn’t in my normal frame of mind. And I didn’t notice it.
I started pacing the room heedless of my crotchless lingerie ‘You’re stressed out. What about me! I’m the one who has to have internal examinations every month. And if you think that Dr Braeduke warms up his hands, think again.
I grabbed my sheer black lacy dressing-gown and yanked it on with jerky movements. ‘I’m the one who watches what I eat, I’m the one who takes all the vitamins and supplements. I’m the one who has to measure my temperature and hormone levels. All you have to do is one little thing, and you can’t even do that!
‘I should have known, you really don’t want to have a baby, do you? Noooo, that’
s because you like being the baby, being waited on hand and foot by a wife who has nothing else to do, no one else to take care of. I come in where you mother left off, don’t I? When were you going to tell me? When it’s too late and I’m in my late forties. What would you say? ‘Well there, there, it’s all-right, Petal. At least we don’t have to worry about the school fees!’’ I panted heavily.
Andy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Sara, you are not the only one here who has been trying to have children. You are not the only one who has been poked, prodded and tested.
‘I’m not just a walking penis, ready and waiting to get you pregnant. Far be it for me to bring this to your attention, but you are not the only one in this relationship that hurts because we don’t have any children.’
‘Maybe we’re just not compatible with each other.’ My voice cracked, tears welling and threatening to cascade down my cheeks. ‘Maybe the trouble we’re having isn’t just you, or just me. Maybe it’s just us. Together.’
‘That is ridiculous!’
‘Is it?’
This was bigger than both of us. I was slowing him down. Stopping him and the happiness he deserved. I had been selfish, not just for me, but for him as well. If we never managed to have a baby, it could eventually tear us apart.
‘Don’t let me slow you down any more, Andy. If that’s what you want, I’ll give you leave to go and find another child bearing woman who can actually conceive. Try the newly-weds down the corridor. They don’t seem to have had any problems. Maybe she has a sister.’ I threw open the balcony door. The spider hit the edge of the wooden door frame and dropped to the soft carpet.
I blindly ran down the three flights of stairs, over the lawn to the path in the hedges. I charged past the spot-lit Celtic Cascade, the Japanese maples and the heavily flowering hydrangeas. I didn’t know where I was going. I only knew I didn’t want to stop.
The path was barely lit, but I charged on at full pace. Branches whipped my face. My breath hissed out, condensing in the frigid night air, but I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything except the horrendous stomach-churning ache in my soul.
Getting Preggas Page 3
