Desperate Measures

by Fern Michaels

  The sun was setting when they woke.

  Pete swung his legs over the bed. They had a routine of sorts now, after months of togetherness. They always made love after a run or a jog, showered, and then he cooked a meal for the two of them. If they weren’t too stuffed from Pete’s culinary expertise, they either watched television or took in a movie, then made love again. It was almost a habit, or if not a habit, then a settled routine. And wasn’t that the same thing? he often wondered.

  He loved Maddie. He really did. It was so wonderful to belong to someone emotionally. He thought about Barney then because he always thought about Barney. Barney was part of the settled routine. He wanted to talk about him to Maddie, but he didn’t want to hear that strange laughter again.

  “So,” Maddie said from the bathroom doorway, “what gastronomical, culinary delight are you going to prepare for us this evening, Mr. Sorenson?”

  He almost said shit on a shingle. What the hell was wrong with him? “How about my super-duper chili, which is so hot we have to keep the fire extinguisher on the table?” he said with forced cheerfulness.

  “That sounds better than my ragout and noodles. After we’re married, I’m going uptown and take a cooking course. It will have to be at night. I can’t have you doing all the cooking. How will that look?”

  “Like you don’t know how to cook?” Pete said briskly as he headed for a second shower.

  “I’ll change the bed while you shower. I know how you like to sleep on crisp, clean sheets. This bed,” she chuckled, “looks like a bunch of chickens have been scratching around on it. Do you want me to chop the onions and peppers afterward?”

  “After you take your shower.”

  “That’s what I meant, Pete. I love working with you in the kitchen. Everything is so homey and ... and I missed all that. Pete, is anything wrong? You seem kind of quiet. Is it that discussion we had about your friend?”

  “My friend has a name, and yeah, it’s still bothering me a bit.”

  “Good, you’re being honest. I like that. I swear, Pete, I will never stand in the way of your friendship. I detest jealousy, and yes, I’m jealous and it’s obvious I have to work on that and I will. That’s my promise to you.”

  “That’s good enough for me. I guarantee, you are going to love Annie. I wouldn’t be surprised if you two become best friends. Wouldn’t it be great if I could find Barney? God, my life would be perfect if that happened.”

  “Life’s funny, Pete. One of these days you might be walking down Madison Avenue and you’ll bump into him. Stranger things have happened,” she said, giving the pillowcase a vicious yank. Feathers sailed upward. “You need to get foam rubber, Pete.”

  “Take my Bloomingdale’s charge and order some. Better yet, get them on your discount,” Pete called over his shoulder. Maddie stared after him a full minute before she pulled off the second pillowcase. Like I really have time to shop for pillows, she thought. Maybe she could get her assistant to order some. She would do whatever had to be done to put a smile on Pete’s face. She buried her face in the pillow and muttered, “I hope he never finds that Barney. Annie what’s-her-name is going to be hard enough to deal with. Add a Barney and it would be all downhill.” Selfish tears burned her eyes. She just wanted him to want and need her. She didn’t need anyone else, so why did he?

  “Your turn,” Pete called from the bathroom.

  Maddie bundled up the bedding and carried it to the front hall.

  Pete was already in the kitchen browning frozen meat when Maddie joined him. With weeks of long practice, she set about getting the chopping board, the wicked-looking knife to chop with, and the vegetables ready.

  “I already washed the peppers,” Pete said. Maddie nodded. She just dumped the stuff in the refrigerator or tossed the whole plastic bag in the vegetable bin. This way when the stuff got rotten, she just tossed out the bag.

  “Are we having dessert?”

  “I have some frozen cake and frozen pie. It says ‘Belgian Apple’ on the box. It looks like it has a lot of syrup and crushed nuts on the top. Cool Whip should make it go down real easy.”

  “That’s so sinful. Move over, I’ll slide it in the oven.”

  While they waited for the dinner to cook, Maddie sat in her nest of pillows on the floor, irritation rivering through her. Damn, Pete always made such a production of rummaging for the tape. It was the only one they ever watched, and it was right on top of the pile. Still, he had to make this . . . ritual. And it was a ritual, of finding the tape, leering at her, smacking his hands in glee that they were going to watch the stupid tape for the hundredth time, maybe it was the two hundredth time. She knew the dialogue by heart, knew the exact sequence of scenes. Who in their right mind watched Invasion of the Body Snatchers? She felt like screaming when Pete said, “Shall we watch the original or the remake?”

  “The one with Donald Sutherland.” For the life of her, she couldn’t remember if it was the original or the remake, and she didn’t give a hoot either. Why couldn’t they just once watch something light and funny? Because, Maddie, she told herself, you pretended to like it to make points with Pete, and now you’re stuck. You’re also stuck pretending you like Bob Marley. Too late to fess up now.

  She knew to the minute how long the movie was, how long it took the chili to cook, how long it would take the pie to bake.

  The moment the opening credits were over, Maddie plastered herself against Pete and squealed at the same time he did. Pete laughed in delight. A ritual. “God, I love this movie.”

  “I know,” Maddie said, forcing a laugh.

  When it was over, Pete rewound the tape for the next time and placed it back in the video cabinet. “Let’s check on our food.” He popped in the Bob Marley tape on his way to the kitchen. She smiled when Pete sang along with the singer.

  “Why do we eat this stuff?” Maddie gasped. She reached for her tall glass of milk, which was supposed to ease a burning tongue.

  “Because it’s good,” Pete said, slurping from his own glass of milk. He continued to eat the red-hot chili. “It is good, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll let you know tomorrow if my insides burn out. I love it,” she said, wiping at her eyes. She did love it, but the aftermath always left her weak for days.

  They had their pie and coffee in the living room as they watched the Sunday night movie.

  At eleven o’clock, when it was time to go to bed, Maddie said, “It was a wonderful day, Pete. Probably the best day of my life. I can’t wait to be Mrs. Peter Sorenson. Are you aware we didn’t talk about it at all?”

  Of course he was aware. He’d been waiting all evening for her to say something. To bring out the calendar and choose a date. “I thought maybe you wanted to think about it, maybe talk to Janny or something, and then we’d settle down to work out the details.”

  “When are you going to tell your friend Annie?” Maddie asked, fluffing up the pillows.

  “Maybe I’ll go up next week, or maybe the end of this week if I can free up my calendar. It’s not something I want to tell her over the phone. I want her to see how happy I am. That will be important to her.”

  “ ’Night, Pete,” Maddie said, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you, and thanks for giving me such a wonderful day. I’ll treasure it always.”

  Pete drifted into sleep, knowing, like Maddie, he would treasure this day for the rest of his life too.

  Maddie lay awake for a long time. She diddled with the idea of getting up and going into the kitchen for something to ease her heartburn, but she didn’t move. If she did get up, she could close the draperies. But if she did that, she’d have to get up early to open them so Pete could see the sun come up. She’d wanted to fuss about the drapes, but like the movie, the chili, and Bob Marley, she hadn’t wanted to rock her own little security boat.

  It occurred to her then, as it had many times over the past months, that she was being dishonest with Pete, pretending to like and love certain things so he would believe they ha
d so much in common. The truth was, they had nothing in common, not really. Sex today pretty much proved that.

  And yet, she loved Pete. She really wanted to marry him. She’d managed, so far, to stall talks about children. She didn’t want kids. It wasn’t that she didn’t like children; she did. She didn’t want to be tied down, didn’t want to have to go through nine months with a fat belly, didn’t want to be called Mommy. Children were for other people. She simply wasn’t parent material, whereas Pete was. If there was guilt anywhere in regard to Pete, this was it. Pete wanted lots of kids. He’d play ball with them, hike with them, teach them to swim, go to all their plays at school and be an all-around pal and father. She’d be left alone unless she participated, and she didn’t like any of those things.

  She loved Pete, she really did. He was so generous, so kind, so endearing. And why not? When you had the kind of money he had, it was easy to be kind, generous, and endearing, because you didn’t have to worry about money. At times she thought he was a millionaire several times over. She’d tried to tease and trick him into telling her, but he’d clammed up and would only say she’d never want for anything. He was backing her at the store, which proved to her that he had more money than he could spend.

  She remembered the first time she’d set eyes on him at Swoozies. She’d been staring at his suit, the cut of it, the way it fit him, and trying to figure out what it cost. She knew for certain it wasn’t an off-the-rack suit. Now she knew he had them custom-made in Hong Kong and they cost less than she thought. He had suits from England too, custom-made, as were his shoes. She herself didn’t own anything that was custom-made. That would change soon.

  Maddie smiled in the darkness. And Pete thought their eye contact was kismet or something just as corny. She had to do something about her heartburn. Maybe she could hide Pete’s chilies. If she never ate chili again, it wouldn’t bother her.

  In the kitchen she dropped two Alka-Seltzer tablets in a glass of water and waited for it to stop fizzing. She guzzled it, burped, then burped again. She drank a second glass and waited for it to work.

  Maybe she should sleep on the couch. The nights she stayed over, she never got any rest. Pete was all over the bed, throwing out his legs, flinging his arms every which way. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was snoring so loud the shades rattled. After they were married she was going to suggest twin double beds. Dark circles and a certain irritability would convince him they each needed their rest. Yes, the couch would be the ideal place to spend the rest of the night. She would crawl back into bed with Pete before dawn. Thank God he was such a sound sleeper.

  She loved him. She really did.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Pete whistled happily as he towel-dried his hair. Today was going to be one of those never-to-be-forgotten days. If he had anything to do with it.

  He’d had the idea for a Maddie day as he was dozing off. He’d gotten so excited, he reached for the pad next to the bed to make his list. And an impressive list it was. Wake Maddie up, head for the Battery to watch the sun come up. Water and sun at the same time. He knew in his gut Maddie had never watched the sun come up. Then a long walk, breakfast at the Regency, and from there to the Plaza, where they’d make arrangements for their wedding. On to Bergdorf for Maddie to choose a wedding gown. Lunch at Lutèce. Another walk. Then Central Park with a fuzzy yellow blanket, where they’d cuddle under some tree and talk about everything under the sun. Having children, pets, their dream house, food, clothes, business, what colleges the children would go to. Retirement. What kind of his and hers rocking chairs for their front porch, wicker or oak rockers. Their travel plans for retirement. Starting off with a round-the-world trip.

  He had so much love stored in him, love that had to come out. Sharing it with Maddie was the dream of his life.

  “So, tell me, Barney, what do you think? Jesus, I wish you were here. I’d like to hear what you think of Maddie. I’ve never been in love before. It’s an awesome feeling. There are days when all I do is think about Maddie. Sometimes I can’t eat or sleep. Sometimes I get this sick feeling in my stomach, that same awful feeling as when they took me away. The only thing that kept me going was knowing you were gonna take care of me, that we were going to be buddies for all our lives. Some shrink would probably love to get inside my head if I ever told him how I talk to you. I’m not nuts. Jesus, I just want to belong to someone. I want to be able to count on someone no matter what. You know, the way I counted on you, and the way I counted on ... Annie. It comforts me to talk to you the way it comforts . me when I talk to Annie.

  “I need to talk to Maddie about Annie. She doesn’t understand how close we are. She doesn’t understand about you either. I’m not sure if I should press it or roll with it. I could use some advice, but since you aren’t here, I guess I’ll just kind of roll with it.

  “I gotta tell you something, Barney. You know what hurts the most? The fact that you aren’t here to be my best man. I’d kill for you to be here. I mean that. I never made a best friend. I know a hundred guys I can ask to stand up for me, but it isn’t the same. Time to sign off if I want to pick Maddie up and get to the FDR Drive to watch the sun come up.

  “Signing off, Barney,” Pete said, flipping a smart salute.

  So what if he talked to an invisible person? You do what you have to do to keep going, and it pleased him to have conversations with an old friend. It was changing, though. Before, the conversations meant he was under stress. Now the conversations took place at any old time.

  Twenty minutes later Pete let himself into Maddie’s apartment. He headed straight for the bedroom, where he took a minute to stare at the sleeping woman who was soon going to be his wife. Jesus, she was beautiful, with her hair fanned out around the pillow. How soft and vulnerable she looked in sleep. And she loves me, he thought. She wants to marry me. She wants to belong to me just the way I want to belong to her. She wants to grow old with me.

  A pair.

  A set.

  Us.

  Pete tapped her on the rump. “Hey, sleepyhead, wake up. I have a Maddie day all planned. You have fifteen minutes to get dressed.”

  “Pete. C’mere,” she said sleepily, holding out her arms.

  “Nope, come on, we’re going to do things today. Us things. Things for you and me. C’mon, Maddie, up and at ’em.” When she still didn’t move, he said, “We’re going shopping!”

  “For what?” Maddie asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

  “The biggest diamond Tiffany has for sale. Move it, Maddie. You have time for a three-minute shower. No time for makeup. You’re beautiful enough without it. The clock is ticking, honey.”

  Munching bagels and cream cheese they picked up from the Korean deli around the corner, they took the FDR Drive to the Battery, parked the car in a lot, and raced to the park overlooking the harbor and the Statue of Liberty in time to watch the sun creep up.

  “Our first sunrise together, Maddie. I love sunrises. It’s such a great way to start a day. Sunsets are great too, because the long day is over and you can look back and say I did this or I did that and tomorrow is another new day.”

  Maddie smiled. “You’re a sentimental softie. Guess that’s why I love you so much.”

  Pete kissed her. All his emotions, all his longings, went into the kiss, and Maddie responded to it in kind. “I love you, Maddie, so very much. Every day I thank God I went to that guy’s making-partner party at Swoozies. I almost didn’t go. I can’t even remember what his name is.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Maddie replied. “What-ifs don’t count. We’re here, we’re together, and that’s all that counts. We’re going to be happy, aren’t we, Pete?”

  “Damn right we are. I’m going to work at it twenty-four hours a day. We’ll probably have arguments, we’ll probably have a few knockdown, drag-out fights along the way too. I want us to agree, right now, that we will never go to bed angry with each other. Can you promise me that, Maddie?”

 
“I want that too. I can’t imagine anything worse than you on your side of the bed and me on mine and then waking up and not talking to one another. I promise. What do you think about separate beds?”

  “There’s nothing to think about. No way. Married people are supposed to sleep together. I think I’d take that as a rejection if you wanted separate beds. You don’t, do you?”

  “No, of course not. I just asked a question.”

  “You scared me there for a minute,” Pete said happily. “Listen, it’s a beautiful morning. Let’s walk. I can come back later and pick up the car. You game, Maddie?”

  “Sure. Where to?”

  “The Regency.”

  “That’s a long walk, Pete.”

  He grinned. “So we’d better get started.”

  In fact, they took a cab partway uptown, at Maddie’s insistence. Famished, they ate without talking. They were on their third cup of coffee when Pete said, “What colleges do you think we should . . . you know, prepare for?”

  Maddie’s stare was blank. “For our children,” Pete explained.

  “You want to plan for . . . for colleges now?”

  “I think it’s worth a discussion, don’t you? We do want children, don’t we? I know I do, and you said you do too. So, we should sort of, kind of, talk about it.”

  “Well, yes, but I thought . . . a couple of years . . . we need to get some stability to our lives. A couple of years,” she repeated.

  “That’s fine. But you need to plan now. We never really said how many kids . . . what kind of dogs we’re going to get. I kind of like cats too.... I’d like three kids, maybe four.”

  “Pete, I’ll be pregnant forever. That’s thirty-six months of pregnancy for four, twenty-seven for three. For God’s sake, think about me. I don’t have that many childbearing years left, and I will not even think about having a child after forty. Now, if that upsets you, I’m sorry. This is my body we’re talking about here.”