by Sylvie Fox
Chapter Eight
Nick looked at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. It was only an hour into his six-hour cross-country flight and he was already restless. He was mentally cursing himself for leaving L.A. without finding out what Holly felt for him, and whether she was ready to make some kind of commitment beyond inundating their relationship with rules. Not knowing where they stood was wrecking his ability to concentrate on the tasks that lay ahead.
He fidgeted again, taking the cell phone from his pocket. Per airline regulations, the device was switched off. There would be no “message waiting” light beckoning him at thirty-five thousand feet. But, looking at the blank LCD screen, he still wondered if she’d left him a voice mail, maybe sent him a text message. Nick normally didn’t take no for an answer. He couldn’t say why he’d let Holly off the hook so easily.
The woman next to him paused her in-flight movie with the remote control and looked him directly in the eye. “Nick,” Helena said. “It’s going to be a really, really long flight if you don’t stop squirming around so much. Why are you so restless? You’re usually a pretty good flyer.”
Nick looked at Helena, his closest friend and business partner for the past two years, and remained quiet. Their close working relationship meant very often no words were necessary for Nick to get his point across. When they were filming, much of their communication was non-verbal. She could read him across a room, much less across an arm rest.
“Ah, it must be a woman,” she said knowingly, a sparkle in her eye. “I wondered when you’d finally succumb. Are you over Drew’s ex-wife? Found someone who’s—mmm—available?”
The intense glare he shot her, subdued Helena. “I see I’ve just stuck my pudgy little foot in it. So, bringing Holly to the Esperanza Nueva graduation wasn’t some bid to raise money from Equia, was it? It was an honest-to-goodness bona fide date. I should have known something was going when you guys rushed out like that without even saying goodbye.
“Nick, don’t get me wrong, I like Holly well enough. She’s a really nice person, but are you doing the smart thing here?”
“Helena… ” Nick warned.
“What? Don’t look at me like that. I’m genuinely happy for you,” Helena said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “It’s just that we’ve known Drew for years. He mentored you when we were both at the network. I mean, he’s the one responsible, at least partially, for these meetings this week. Solstice is still a fledgling company, and we’ve been lucky so far. I don’t want to lose that momentum. This is my business and career, too, you know.”
He looked at her hard, but she continued anyway.
“All I’m asking is, are you sure she’s not on the rebound? Our relationship with Drew is valuable to our careers, especially in a town like Los Angeles where ‘who you know’ is everything. He’s our best contact. Not to mention his help with financing the post production on the Esperanza film.”
“Don’t you think I’ve thought of all that, Helena?” Nick exploded. “I’m not sure of anything at all, except I’m in love with her.”
They both fell silent after Nick’s proclamation, the thrum of the jet engine roaring in the background.
After a long moment, Helena asked in a quiet voice, “Are the feelings mutual?” Clearly she still adhered to her rebound theory.
“I don’t know, but I really hope so.”
Holly tried flipping through the news magazines piled high on her doctor’s waiting room coffee table, but she couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t wrap her head around the idea that she could really be pregnant. The latest tax cut policy detailed in the magazine on her lap paled in comparison to her amazement that a small life could possibly be growing inside her.
She’d wanted a baby for so long, and it could finally be happening. The circumstances weren’t perfect. Far from it, she knew. She’d wanted to be married, maybe have a house, and at least be settled. Her doting husband would be by her side to share this momentous occasion. Instead she was carrying the baby of her sometime booty call, maybe boyfriend who wasn’t by her side at all but in New York City, oblivious to her predicament.
“Holly Prentice?” A short Hispanic nurse dressed in hot pink scrubs called her name. Her small rectangular name tag identified her as Catalina.
“I’m here,” Holly said. After she weighed in at one hundred twenty-five pounds, she followed Catalina into the examination room. She hadn’t gained any weight. Perhaps this was all in her imagination after all.
“Holly, your test results are in,” Catalina said softly while tightening the blood pressure cuff. “The doctor will be here to discuss them with you in a few minutes. Please take everything off from the waist down and cover yourself with this.” The nurse handed Holly a paper gown before leaving. Holly undressed, and put her hand on her stomach, wondering if the fluttering she felt was butterflies or her little boy or girl.
Her petite doctor’s megawatt smile gave her the answer. “Congratulations!” she trilled.
“Oh, my goodness! I’m pregnant,” Holly said more to herself than the doctor. After all these years of waiting for Drew to be ready, and wishing so many times that she was the mother pushing the stroller through the park. She should be happy. So why were tears streaming down her cheeks?
“These are tears of happiness, right?” Dr. Bettencourt asked, handing Holly a tissue.
Unable to speak, Holly nodded, dabbing at her eyes and wiping her running nose. At Dr. Bettencourt’s direction, Holly put her feet in the stirrups and tried to relax while the doctor conducted a pelvic examination. The cloth draped around Holly’s knees obscured the doctor’s face, but they could still carry on a conversation.
“When was your last period?”
“I think it was the last week in August, but I’m not that sure.”
“It would be helpful if you could remember, so we can more accurately predict the due date.”
Holly smiled ruefully. “That’s not a problem, I know the exact date of conception.” She told the doctor the date in September.
Dr. Bettencourt snapped off her latex gloves, the examination completed.
“Based on your conception date, I’d say your due date is going to be around May 25th of next year, though first babies are often late.” The doctor scribbled something, then handed her a card. "As you’ve probably figured out, you’re about six or seven weeks along.
“Here is the name of an obstetrician I recommend. You should make an appointment right away to set up your prenatal check-ups, and talk about your birthing options.” Dr. Bettencourt looked down at the chart. “It doesn’t say anything about you being married. Was your divorce finalized? Is there a new guy in the picture?”
“Nick and I… aren’t married,” Holly said. Aren’t really anything to each other—yet, was what she really wanted to say.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Look at me,” Dr. Bettencourt said gesturing toward her graying hair. “I’m being old fashioned. What I’m asking, rather inartfully, is whether the father, or partner, or whoever will be involved in the pregnancy?” When Holly didn’t answer, the doctor continued.
“Even though marriage may be an arcane notion these days, I still think it’s important that you get support at a time like this. We like to see the father involved in the process. They can learn a lot coming to these regular check-ups,” the doctor said.
“To be honest, Dr. Bettencourt, I haven’t told him yet. The pregnancy wasn’t planned, and our relationship isn’t really that solid. I’m not sure what to do. I’m kind of at a loss here.”
“Do you want my advice?” Dr. Bettencourt asked. When Holly nodded, she continued. “Tell him.” It was a long moment before the doctor spoke again. “From my years of experience, it’s better to find out now if he’s on board, not when he doesn’t show up in the delivery room.
“A baby is stressful on a relationship. It is best for you and for the baby to know if you’re on solid ground. But enou
gh preaching,” she said, tearing a small page from the pad on the counter. “Here’s a prescription for some prenatal vitamins, folic acid, and the like. Follow the instructions on those bottles, but most important, call the OB and get your schedule set. You have a lot of exciting things coming up, including your first sonogram.”
During the entire twenty-minute drive home from the doctor’s office, Holly replayed the conversation with Dr. Bettencourt in her head. A big part of her wanted to share this, the greatest joy of her life so far, with Nick. In her wildest dreams, it would solidify their relationship, and they could welcome this new person into the world with joy and happiness. But just as the fantasies started to take over, reality set in, and she realized that she was just Holly Prentice, woman on the rebound, pregnant by a twenty-six-year-old guy who didn’t own a couch.
When the phone rang later that night, Holly answered it absently, thinking it was Sophie or one of her other work friends inviting her out for a drink or a last minute sushi dinner. Neither of which, she realized now, she could do for a while. Instead, it was Nick.
“I know, I know, I said I wasn’t going to call you,” Nick said, rushing ahead before she could get in a word of greeting. “But I needed to hear your voice.”
Flustered, Holly started talking about work, the only neutral topic she could think of. She gave him a rundown of her latest philanthropic project, a professional clothing drive for women moving from homeless shelters to permanent housing. While they were talking about everything and nothing, and certainly not what they felt for each other, or the fact that she was carrying his baby, Holly, with the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, sorted through her closet, seeing what gently used suits she could donate to the charity. When the metal rail holding many of her suits crashed to the floor, the phone clattered to the floor as well.
“You okay?” Holly heard Nick’s distant voice yelling from the receiver lying on the worn wood planks. Before she could straighten the rack or make sense of the jumble of clothes, she retrieved the phone from the floor. “Nick, I’m fine. I just pushed too much stuff to one side and the closet rod caved in.” Holly picked her way through the pile of clothes and pulled the folding doors closed to cover the mess. “I can’t deal with this now. Maybe I’ll look at it in the morning.”
“Are you feeling any better? I really wish I didn’t have to leave you while you were sick like that. If these meetings weren’t so important… ”
“I’m okay, really. I’m feeling a little better every day. Don’t worry; I’ll be one hundred percent by the time you get back.”
“Just leave the clothes for now. I want to talk to you without distractions for a second.” Nick’s voice had changed, the shift subtle but perceptible.
“You’re right, it’ll be there in the morning,” Holly said as she padded to her bed and propped herself on her frilly, decorative pillows. Until she laid down, she hadn’t realized she was exhausted. “So, you coming over?” she said using the sexy invitation he’d gotten used to over the last few weeks.
“Don’t tease me like that,” Nick said, his voice even huskier than it had been just moments ago. “I feel like Pavlov’s dog around you. Just thinking about you is giving me a hard-on.” Nick was breathing heavily by now. “What are you wearing?”
“Seriously?” She adopted a playful tone.
“Just tell me.” His was not.
“I’m wearing my red silk kimono.”
“Anything else?”
“Just panties.”
His breathing deepened. “What kind?”
Holly stroked herself lightly through the silk, swept up in the moment as much as Nick. “Just a pair of hot pink bikini panties.”
“Open it for me,” Nick pleaded. “The kimono, Holly.”
“Nick,” Holly whispered into the phone, embarrassed by her obvious reaction to his words, even with him more than three thousand miles away.
“Touch yourself. Let me imagine the silk slipping from your body. In my mind, your dusky nipples are pebble-hard, your thighs are parted, waiting for my touch.”
As if pulled by invisible marionette strings, Holly complied. She heard the rasp of his zipper through the phone, and imagined Nick stroking himself as slowly and deliberately as she would, reveling in the feel of silk over steel. Instead, at his direction, she stroked herself. His words guided her fingers to pluck her nipples, her hand to her mons, her knuckle to her clitoris.
Nick’s rapid breathing and words of encouragement, not to mention her self-manipulation, brought her to the edge then pushed her over. His pleasure came almost simultaneously. In the back of her mind, she thought she heard another declaration of love on the hoarse shout of his satisfaction, but any words that came from his lips were lost in the echoing crescendo of her cries.
The trilling doorbell woke Holly from a dead sleep. She was still a little groggy when she pulled her robe tight around her nude form, wondering who would be calling at this time of day. Sophie knew better than to bother her, especially now with all the fatigue and morning sickness. So she was surprised to see Nick’s father, Dominic, standing there sheepishly, toolbox in hand.
Holly tried to act like she hadn’t just rolled out of bed at—she looked at her grandmother clock—so named because of its diminutive frame—ten-thirty in the morning.
“Dominic? This is unexpected.”
He bustled his way in, not waiting for her invitation. “Nicky called me, said you were getting over a bug. You having some problems with your closet?”
Holly hoped he couldn’t see the blood she could feel rushing to her cheeks, thinking about what passed for “conversation” between her and Nick last night. “Um, yeah, kind of. It’s not really a problem. It’s just that the clothing rod crashed down last night. I didn’t put it back because I figured the configuration of my closet is not quite right for the stuff I have in there.
“Did Nick send you here to fix that? It’s really not necessary. I was going to get my handyman to do it when he had time.”
“No need to call him. I’m here at your disposal all day. Just show me what you need.”
Holly showed him the closet in the master bedroom, and left Dominic in the room with tape measure in hand.
After she put on the kettle, she called to him from the kitchen. “I know it’s kind of late, but have you eaten breakfast? I could make you a little something.”
“I just had some coffee,” she heard him say. “I don’t want to put you out or anything.” Dominic came into the kitchen, notepad in hand, stubby pencil tucked behind his ear. “I have to get a couple of things at the lumber yard.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have something waiting for you when you get back.”
When Dominic closed the door, Holly threw off her robe and took a quick shower. By the time Nick’s father returned, supplies in hand, she had waffles steaming in the iron. “Come, sit, I’ve set a place for you. I hope you don’t mind tea.”
Dominic sat, awkwardly placing her starched, linen napkin in his lap. Watching Holly bustle around the kitchen, he fiddled with the heavy silver she’d laid by his delicate china plate. With a small spatula, Holly lifted the fluffy, steaming waffles from the iron, piled them on his plate, and put a dish of butter and a pitcher of syrup on the table. Filling Dominic’s mug, then hers with fragrant tea, she sat down.
“I hope you like the waffles. It’s one of my favorite breakfasts.”
Dominic wasted no time in tucking into the food. “These are delicious. My Nicky is a lucky man. Aren’t you having any?” he asked around a second or third mouthful of the golden waffles.
Holly rubbed her stomach unconsciously. “This, um, bug I’ve been fighting makes me feel a little sick in the mornings. I’ll reheat some a little later.”
“I didn’t want to put you through any trouble. Nicky would be upset if he knew I had you here working when you’re supposed to be resting.”
“I’m fine, really. Went to the doctor yesterday. Now eat up.�
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“So,” Dominic said between bites, “how do you like Nicky’s house? He did most of the work, you know, my brother and I only helped him out a little. He’s quite talented at both rough and finish carpentry.”
Holly smiled to herself. Was Dominic touting Nick’s good qualities? Little did he know, she was pretty much sold. “I was there last weekend. The place is coming along nicely.”
Dominic continued listing Nick’s positive attributes like it was a job interview and she was up for the job of “wife.”
“I heard you went to that charter school in South L.A. with Nicky as well. Have you seen his films? When he said he didn’t want to join his uncle and me, I was disappointed at first, but he’s got some real talent. He tells wonderful stories with his films. His mother, Iris, God rest her soul, would so be proud of him.” Dominic looked down at his clean plate, chasing a few remaining crumbs with his fork.
“I’ve seen his documentaries, Dominic. I’ve always thought he was a better filmmaker than network executive.”
“But the best part is that he’s not one of those artsy-fartsy types, you know what I mean? He understands how to do his job well, and make a good living from this.”
“Nick seems to be doing quite well,” Holly said, amused. “You should be very proud of him.”
Dominic looked woefully at his empty plate while Holly sipped at her ginger and mint tea, an anti-nausea combination she’d read about on the Internet. He stood up, ready, she assumed, to get to work on the closet, but he spoke again instead. “Holly, I don’t know you really well, but you seem like a nice girl who can cook, that’s for damn sure. Nick likes you a lot. Maybe he wants to marry you, I don’t know. But I’m not getting any younger, and I’m looking forward to enjoying my grandchildren before I get too old to play with them. Are you serious about him?”