Wanted: Wife

by Jones, Gwen

  I couldn’t believe I’d actually told Brent I wouldn’t mind if he came for Thanksgiving dinner, and the truth was it didn’t bother me at all. Fact was, amid the hubbub over my return, I pretty much didn’t feel anything anymore, except when something innocuous would punt a memory byte to the fore. Such as the twinge I felt reaching toward the cheese tray, passing over the brie for the stack of crackers beside it.

  “Brie should be served with a nice crusty baguette,” I said, nipping into a cracker.

  “What?” said Richard idly, finishing the tweet. The crowd roared on TV and he looked up. “Son of a bitch!”

  “Damn, there goes Penn State down the shitter,” said Denny. “I should’ve went to Louisiana.”

  “Yes, just imagine our float in the Sugar Bowl parade,” Brent drawled, coming in from the kitchen. “Total queens from Gay Bingo.” He flipped a towel over his shoulder. “Okay, my quarterbacks—dinner is served. Ya’ll.”

  I dropped the cracker back to the cheese plate; suddenly the idea of cramming myself full of turkey and fixings held as much appeal as a root canal, even though Brent was an excellent cook. I took another sip of wine instead.

  Richard inspected the bottle. “Wow, we pretty much killed that, didn’t we?”

  “Don’t worry,” Denny said. “We have a couple of bottles of this great pinot for dinner. Got it from a local vintner up in Bucks County.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Richard. “Anyone I know?”

  “Silver Drum Winery,” Denny said. “Ever hear of them?”

  His eyes widened. “Oh yeah. They’re fantastic. Had a bottle of Beaujolais from them last week. Good stuff.”

  Beaujolais . . . I thought, sipping again. Serve Beaujolais with a nice, fresh . . . My head began to spin. Before I knew it the glass slipped from my hand I was staring up at Richard.

  “Julie!” he cried, blanching. “Julie!”

  It suddenly occurred to me I was crumpled on the floor. I scrubbed my hand across my eyes. “What . . . happened?

  He helped me to the sofa. “One minute you were sipping wine, then the next you dropped like a rock.” He grabbed a magazine from the table, fanning me. “Have you eaten anything today?”

  I caught the clock on the mantel; it was going on three. “Coffee, this morning. I think.”

  “Damn girl—cried Denny, “get over to this table and eat!” But as I made my way to it I felt my knees weakening. I grabbed the wall, feeling ready to go down again.

  “That’s it,” Denny said, his arm around me, “you’re going to the hospital. Brent!”

  He already had his jacket on. “I’m getting the car.”

  “I’ll get your coat,” Denny said, leading me back to the sofa. “Now stay put.”

  I felt more horrible than I ever had in my life. I picked up a cracker and nipped it; as benign as it was, I wanted to hurl.

  I felt the sofa sink as Richard sat beside me. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No,” I shook my head. “That’s not necessary. I’ll already have two nursemaids.”

  He slipped his arm around me, turning my face toward his. “I’m not asking your permission. I’m going.” He felt my forehead. “My God, you’re warm.”

  Another memory byte clicked. “Probably an old snakebite come back to haunt me.”

  Richard looked at me. “What?”

  Within a half-hour, I was on the fast track to the ER, the patient load surprisingly light for a holiday. After answering about three dozen pertinent questions, I was zipped to an examining room, ordering all my protectors to stay behind. A nurse came in, poked, prodded, took my temperature and blood pressure, and had me pee in a cup, all while letting a glucose drip snap me surprisingly back into focus. About a half hour later a doctor came in.

  “How’re you feeling?” she said.

  “Much better,” I said, sipping water.

  “You were pretty dehydrated,” she said.

  I instantly felt stupid. “I’ve been pretty busy lately.”

  She smiled. “I know. I’ve seen your pictures all over town. So is this the new Julie?”

  “Ha!” I laughed. “Are you shocked?” I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” she whispered, detaching the IV. “But you really do have to take care of yourself. Especially now.”

  “I know, I know,” I said, properly chastised. “But my trainer wants me to lose some more weight, and that’s probably why I got so dehydrated.” I sipped more water. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”

  “It better not,” said the doctor. Then she stared at me. “Wait a minute. You don’t know, do you?”

  I was mystified. “Know what?”

  She stood, crossing her arms as she came up to me. “Ms. Knott—you’re pregnant.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  * * *

  Mother Knows Best

  THANK GOD PENNSYLVANIA doctors were bound by privacy laws. So far, she was the only one who knew I was pregnant. And that’s how I intended to keep it, at least until I could think straight again.

  “You didn’t know, did you?” the doctor asked.

  “No,” I said, gulping water now. “But I should’ve. Oh my God—am I about six weeks?”

  “Yes, very early on. Is that about the time of your last ovulation?”

  “About the time I forgot to start the next month of pills.”

  “Hm,” she said, sitting down to fill out her report, “that’ll do it. I’m assuming you have a gynecologist? Might I suggest seeing her as soon as possible? Your urine came back positive, but you do need other tests to be sure.”

  “Doctor . . .” I said tentatively, hoping it wouldn’t come out wrong, “may I please ask that you don’t . . .” I hoped my expression told her the rest.

  “Ms. Knott—I wouldn’t think of it,” she said with all candor. “I did the urine test myself, so believe me, no one knows.” She patted my hand. “Don’t worry. That’s not what we’re about here. You just take care of yourself. As far as the official diagnosis goes?” She scribbled onto the report. “I’ll put down dehydration and fatigue, which are the real reasons you ended up here anyway. Now, I want you to take a couple days rest. Does that work?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said. Pregnant! Andy’s face flashed into my head, and I nearly burst into tears. As if we weren’t complicated enough, this only made it worse.

  She scribbled a bit more then handled a folder to me. “Take this to the desk over by the door, and you’re ready to go.” She held out her hand and I shook it.” Take care, my dear. I sincerely hope it works out for you.”

  So do I, I thought, but instead I just smiled gratefully and took my folder to the discharge desk. Maybe I still had a few things to feel grateful about, like having health insurance. Wasn’t any question now how badly I needed this job now. But how long would I be able to keep my condition off-camera? I already knew the answer. As if I could keep it from anyone for very long. Especially the one person who needed to know about it the most.

  As I entered the waiting room my three escorts quickly surrounded me. “How are you? What’d they say? Are you all right? Do you need a wheelchair?” they all said at once, bombarding me with questions.

  “I’m all right!” I said, fending them off. “I was just pretty dehydrated and I need something to eat.”

  “Thank God, darling,” Brent said, visibly relieved. “Might I suggest we return to Thanksgiving?”

  “Right after this punt,” said Denny, turning back to the TV.

  “Dude, I’m so winning this game,” Richard said, his fingers wrapped around a Starbucks. “This kicker sucks.”

  Brent sighed. “I’ll get the car and meet you out front.”

  Richard turned to me. “You are okay, right? I mean, we’re due at 30 Rock Monday.”

  I leveled my gaze. “I’m fine. I just need food and a good night’s sleep.”

  He eyed me a moment. “Stellar.” Then turned back to the game. �
��Ooh! Damn! Look at that!”

  “Ha!” Denny yelled, arms raised. “You owe me, dude! You frickin’ owe me!”

  I’d already come to this conclusion a while ago, but its impact was never more apparent: I knew too many men. As Richard adjusted his package, as Denny spit into the trash can, before I became asphyxiated by their testosterone smog, I needed to get in touch with my sisters in the worst way. In the worst possible way.

  I ARRIVED EARLY at the studio Monday morning after spending the long Thanksgiving weekend angsting and sleeping off a turkey tryptophan overdose. I wanted to catch Terri, my assignments editor, potential confidant, and the mother of four, before Richard and I left for New York and NBC. As expected, she was in her office pouring over leads. I knocked on the jamb and she smiled, waving me in.

  “A man just called saying he has a two-headed cat.” She squinched her face in distaste. “I’m betting one’s vestigial. Gross.”

  “No kidding.” I looked over my shoulder, slipping into a chair. “Terri . . . do you have a minute? I’d like to talk to you about something, if it’s okay.”

  “Absolutely,” she said, looking concerned. “Close the door.” After I did, she said, “What’s going on? Is everything okay, sweetie?”

  I had thought about the best way to tell her, but decided to just come out with it. “I’m pregnant.”

  She slapped the desk. “I knew there had to be a reason you hooked up with that snake again!” Then all at once, she reddened. “Oh my God—I’m so sorry! Don’t take that the wrong way!”

  It took me a moment before it sunk in. “You mean you think . . .?” I made a gagging noise. “Oh Terri! Hell no! It’s not Richard! Jesus! No.” We both laughed, then all at once I teared up. “Actually, it’s much worse than that.”

  Terri handed me a tissue. “Tell me, sweetie, then who?”

  I blew my nose. “Remember the day Richard dumped me? And you sent us to do that story about the flyer you found on a utility pole?”

  She thought a moment. “You mean that guy looking for a wife?” Her face went from confusion to clarity. “It’s his? But Denny came back saying you never got the story! Holy cow—talk about off the record! What’d you do, meet him on the sly?”

  “Better than that,” I said. “I married him.”

  “What? When?”

  “Six days after we met. I wasn’t at my parents like everyone heard. Except for breaking up with Richard, they think nothing in my life has changed. They still don’t know I married Andy and moved off the grid into the Pine Barrens. In fact, very few people do.”

  “And how was it?” Terri asked, wide-eyed.

  I swallowed hard, trying to put it into words. “Like nothing I ever imagined, Terri. Like a great big wonderful dream.”

  Saying it cracked the floodgates, because after that I couldn’t stop. I told her about Andy’s contract and the book deal, about our wedding and the house in the woods, about Jinks and Bucky and Betsy, about the lake, the garden, the peach trees and the chickens, and about the fire and our honeymoon, at least as much as I could say. The telling made us laugh and at the end, when I told her about Marcel and the real Andy, we were both grabbing tissues.

  “You have to let him know, Julie,” Terri said. “It’s his child, too. That is . . .” Her face grew stern. “If you decide to keep it. If you think he’ll take that choice away from you, then maybe you—”

  “Terri, I love him. And I miss him so much I don’t know how I make it through the day.” I blew my nose. “I want to go ahead with this pregnancy, but he needs to want me in spite of it. I don’t want him back if he feels obligated. I want him to love me because of me and not because of this baby.”

  “Which sounds like a tall order, from this end.” She sat back in her chair, looking as non-committal as I’d ever seen her. “So what do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Right now he’s in France, and since I threatened to disappear if he tried to see me again, I don’t think he’ll come unless I call him. So I’ll just go on with work until I figure it out.”

  “Or you start showing,” Terri said. “With some bulky clothes—and you thank your lucky stars it’s going on winter—you could probably stall out anyone knowing through your fifth month. Unless he’s got you with twins or you start blowing up like a Macy’s balloon. I’d watch the salt if I were you, keep a light exercise schedule, and just try to eat healthy. Does Richard know?”

  “No, just you. By the way, once everything’s set I’m blowing Richard off.”

  “Good luck with that. From everything I’ve seen he looks like he wants back in.”

  I got up. “Then bet on the two-headed cat. That’s got a better chance of happening.”

  MY GRAND RETURN came and went, and I was firmly back in the saddle. I moved into my new digs, and with the aid of my new salary, declined Richard’s offer of paying my first six months’ rent. My first spot premiered on “Morning Joe” the second week of December, and by the third I had appeared live on the panel as a guest. My star was rising unabated, and with the station ratings shooting up, Gil was more than happy, even hiring Denny back with a solid, five-year contract. I felt responsible for him losing his job, so I took some solace in the fact that, whatever I decided to do, he was taken care of. While all this was going on, I quietly passed my ten week mark, now starting each morning with my head in the crapper. With my gynecologist’s Seal of Approval, I was officially pregnant, and although healthy as a horse, I’d never been more miserable.

  Every week my belly grew I missed Andy more and more. Over and over I debated calling him, especially when I was in the studio and I had unlimited access to overseas calls. But I also wondered why he hadn’t called me, why he hadn’t pushed past Brent when he had the chance, busting down the door if he had to. Then I got to thinking maybe he would’ve if he truly loved me, which only got me more depressed. Christmas came and so did New Year’s, which I spent with my parents in Florida, wanting family around me even if it was the detached facsimile that was my own. But my parents were warmer to me than they’d been in years, and I thought maybe they could somehow sense their line continuing inside me. I truly wanted to tell them, but it almost seemed traitorous to Andy, and truth be told, way too sticky. Odd, wasn’t it? That for me, telling strangers was easy, but telling those closest to me was impossible. I pondered that on long walks in the Florida sun, thinking maybe that’s why I’d always been drawn to the peculiar, feeling out of place with anything cutting too close to home. Maybe it was the distance that attracted me, polar opposite to someone knowing me too well. Maybe I, like my parents, found a measure of emotional security in that detachment. Maybe only now we were discovering it didn’t work.

  The holidays over, I was back on the street, the winter rewarding me with a wealth of outdoor crazies, allowing me to bundle up in a thick coat and hide my growing girth. Thank God for Denny, as he always knew how to shoot me at perfect angles, my scarves and jackets leaving no one the wiser. Yet I was well aware it was only a matter of time as by mid-February I was closing in on fourteen weeks, my thickening waistline and bulging breasts were getting more and more difficult to camouflage.

  “This is going to be one big baby,” the doctor said, prodding me. “Get up. You’re going to the ultrasound room.”

  I instantly panicked; I’ve been trying to get out of it for weeks. Although I had long become accustomed to being pregnant, I still hadn’t fully accepted the fact there was a real baby inside me. And I knew a sonogram would put an end to that right quick.

  She poked me up. “Go. Now.”

  A half hour later, with my bladder ready to burst, my doctor stood behind the technician as she moved the wand over my jelly-slathered belly. My head was turned to the wall, my mouth so dry I couldn’t swallow.

  “Ah now—see that?” my doctor said. “Everything looks terrific. And not a twin in sight, just one big baby. Come on, Julie, take a look.”

  My heart pounded out of my che
st, which only kicked up the fetal heartbeat. “I don’t know if I—can.” The words clumped in my throat like chunks of bile.

  The doctor took my hand. “Julie, it’s okay, she’s beautiful. That’s if she is a she, it’s too early to tell.” She tilted the monitor toward me. “Come on. Look.”

  I couldn’t hold out any longer; if anything, curiosity took over and then something even stronger: the need to make whatever inside me real. I turned my head.

  “There now,” the doctor said, “see?”

  I couldn’t breathe, my hand flying to my mouth. Up on the screen an arm moved, floating in the amniotic air, and suddenly I wasn’t alone in this anymore. There were two of us in it now, me and this child Andy and I had put together. And both of us wanted him now more than ever.

  “He’s—perfect,” I said, my eyes clouding.

  The doctor squeezed my hand. “He sure is. Now, no more worries. You’re doing great inside there, okay?”

  Perhaps, but as I got dressed, I knew that wasn’t the inside I was worried about. My heart wanted to call Andy, but my head still cautioned me to wait. I was never more confused. Then my phone dinged! for a text. It was Terri.

  A woman staying at the Ritz-Carlton left a message; says her story’ll beat anything you’ve ever done; wants to see you ASAP; leaving tonight. I called to verify; you’re expected; Presidential Suite Viviane Mercier. Good luck.

  “Jesus Christ.” I grabbed my purse.

  I ran from the medical building to the street, throwing up my arm. In less than a minute, a cab pulled to the curb, just as a blue Bentley passed us on the other side of the street. I slunk back. Oh God, please don’t let that be Richard.

  “Ritz-Carlton,” I said to the driver, “and hurry.”

  I SOON FOUND out that the marble-columned façade of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, as well as the drop-dead gorgeous Presidential Suite, perfectly suited the penchant for drama that was Viviane Mercier. I was let in by a distinguished-looking man in a jacket and tie, who I took as the butler.