RSVP...Baby

by Pamela Browning

  “I think you’re supposed to either come out or invite me in,” Neill said. He was looking at her with admiring eyes whose gaze swept her from head to toe, never mind that she noticed and he noticed that she noticed. She was wearing white shorts and a white polo shirt; nothing fancy.

  To divert him, she adopted a lighthearted tone. “Let’s face it—that Swiss finishing school didn’t teach me anything about manners except how to pour tea and serve crumpets. I suppose you might as well come in for a minute. And let me see that racquet,” she said. She unzipped it from its case and swished it through the air, trying it out. The racquet was nicely balanced and felt comfortable in her hand.

  “Will it do?”

  “I’ll manage. Come on, let’s go.” Suddenly she wanted Neill out of her room. Sharing her personal space with him was too uncomfortable, and the unmade bed made her think thoughts that would be better off unthought.

  “You used to be a pretty good tennis player,” Neill said as she pulled the door to her room shut behind her.

  “Used to be? I’ll still beat the socks off you,” she told him with a challenging grin over her shoulder.

  “You always claimed that you could beat the pants off me,” he said slyly.

  Bianca felt her cheeks flush and was grateful for the narrow hallway that didn’t allow them to walk beside each other or see each other’s faces. “I’ll leave beating the pants off you to Winnie,” she said.

  Neill laughed. “No chance. I had to sit with her at breakfast and listen to an extremely boring account of her debutante ball. She wore the funkiest white dress, and it was the funkiest ball, and the men were funky, and she’s sure that no wedding could top that funky time in her life, which is why she’s never getting married. Come to think of it, maybe she’s a pretty smart girl at that.”

  “Fun-ky,” said Bianca.

  Neill punched her shoulder playfully. “Don’t say that word again upon pain of death,” he told her, and she glanced back at him, unable to keep from laughing.

  They had reached the lobby with its bowls of fresh flowers, highly polished brass doorknobs and collection of antique furniture. No one was there except the properly deferential assistant-assistant manager, thank goodness, so they didn’t have to stop and make empty conversation with other members of the wedding party; they quickly moved through the lobby to the terrace. A brick path wound through a forested area toward the tennis courts and swimming pool. Once they were out of the building, it seemed awkward not to talk.

  “So Winnie doesn’t want to get married?” Bianca said.

  “No, I think she just likes the chase.”

  “I predict that eventually she’ll tire of it.”

  “Oh? Some people never do.”

  “Men. You’re talking about men.”

  “Well, hey, it’s a gender I know firsthand,” Neill said.

  “A lot of people—men and women—prefer to settle down after a while,” Bianca said carefully.

  “And get married?”

  “Sure.”

  “Everyone to his own taste, said the old lady as she kissed the cow.” Neill looked determined not to argue.

  “My mother certainly likes being married. Her problem is staying married.” Bianca offered this with a wry little smile.

  “Maybe her current marriage will work. I’ve always liked your mother. She’s interesting and fun.”

  “I don’t think your father thought so,” Bianca retorted.

  Neill shrugged. “Who knows what their problem was? Unless it was Dad.” He laughed, startling a couple ahead of them on the path. When they broke apart and started toward them, Bianca recognized Kevin and Suzie, the girl she’d seen working behind the desk in the lobby when she checked in.

  “Where’s everyone this morning?” Neill called to Kevin.

  “If you mean Nana, I don’t know. Some of the women are shopping, Caroline’s with her parents, Eric’s sleeping late and I have no idea where Lizzie or any of those odd friends she brought are. Joe is also missing. As for me, you haven’t seen me.” Kevin winked, and the girl smiled up at him. They ambled on through the woods, their shoulders brushing.

  “Looks like we’ve got the courts to ourselves,” Neill said as Bianca took her position on the opposite side of the net. “Too bad, because I’d like to have an audience to watch me win.”

  Bianca accepted the challenge. “In your dreams,” she said. She met his first serve with a solid forehand swing, and after that she was so intent on the game that she didn’t think about anything but winning. Since she hadn’t played since the baby had been born and for some time before, her muscles had lost tone. Her serves were still at the top of her form, but Neill was a worthy opponent.

  It turned out to be elegant tennis, reminiscent of their Lake Forest days. Neill won the first set, but she pulled herself together and won the second. In her first serve of the next game, a string on Bianca’s borrowed racquet broke.

  “Well,” she said ruefully, “so much for tennis. Winnie’s going to love me for this.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll drop it off at a shop in town and have it fixed before she even knows it’s broken. That was fun, Bianca. I don’t get many chances to play tennis in the part of the world where I live.”

  Bianca wondered what he’d think about her game if he knew that she’d had a baby only three months before. But, “You did fine,” was all she said. She wondered why she’d let herself be manipulated into playing tennis in the first place. Her knees were so shaky she couldn’t believe Neill hadn’t noticed. But she had proved she could still play, and she had gained Neill’s respect. In this area at least.

  She resisted the urge to suggest a moment’s rest at one of the tables near the court. Instead she slid the racquet back into its case and handed it to Neill.

  “Why don’t we eat an early lunch? Or brunch?” Neill suggested, following her as she headed for the path.

  Bianca was hungry; she’d barely had time to gulp down a cup of coffee in her room earlier, and playing tennis had taken every bit of energy she had. But there was Tia to consider.

  “I don’t think so, Neill,” she said.

  The woods as they passed through were quiet and provided a cool respite as they walked between leafy oaks and maples. From the swimming pool nearby they heard the laughter of children accompanied by much splashing.

  As they traversed the terrace past the open door to the hotel dining room, Neill stopped. “Let’s take a look at the menu,” he said. It was posted on a stand next to the door.

  “I really have to run along,” Bianca said, although running wasn’t a method of locomotion that was an option right now. Her calf muscles were protesting bigtime.

  Neill was apparently in no mood to take no for an answer. “There’s eggs Benedict on the menu, and I’ll bet the hollandaise sauce is great right here in the middle of Wisconsin dairy country. You used to love eggs Benedict, and Ursula would make it as a special treat when I was home from college. Remember, she and Dad always drank mimosas with it.”

  As he spoke Bianca was transported back to those days. During the warm summer months, the five of them had often eaten brunch on the patio of the big Bellamy house, and she had hidden her attraction to Neill Bellamy behind a charade of teenage flightiness.

  “Once Eric and I poured champagne into our orange juice like Mother and Budge did, and they never even noticed,” she said.

  “Is that the time when you two decided to take a joyride on the gardener’s riding mower and ended up lopping off the tops of Dad’s prize bearded irises?”

  Bianca was surprised that Neill remembered that, although she supposed that was one of their more memorable mornings as a family. “No, when we were sneaking champagne we didn’t want anyone to know we’d been imbibing, so we acted very dignified,” Bianca said, remembering. On the morning of the mower incident she and Eric had idly been waiting outside for brunch to be served and had wandered into the gardener’s shed where the lawn mower was stored. The
y’d wanted to see how fast it would go. Too fast, unfortunately; Budge had been livid.

  That time seemed so far away, so simple. And yet it had been anything but.

  “Why, Ms. D’Alessandro, how nice to see you!” Franny’s mother, Doris, wearing a pleasant smile to go along with her waitress uniform, finished setting a table on the terrace.

  “I didn’t know you worked here,” Bianca said.

  “Well, with two kids still in college and another set to go in the fall, every little bit of money helps. I hope you’re planning to eat brunch with us this morning.”

  “Definitely,” Neill said, and, with a flourish, he held out a chair for Bianca. Suddenly her hunger was overwhelming; she astonished herself by sitting down, and Neill joined her.

  “I’ll bring your water in a minute and send your server right out,” said Mrs. Ofstetler. Better send cold Packs for my knees, too, Bianca added to herself as she surreptitiously massaged one of them under the table.

  Neill tossed his sweater across the back of a neighboring chair. “Now. How about explaining this nonsense that you and Eric knew how to be dignified?” he said, smiling at her.

  Bianca made herself act as if his smile had no effect at all on her, which was anything but true. She concentrated on his question.

  “Oh, Eric and I managed to be dignified once or twice in those days, but the day we pretended we were racing the lawn mower in the Indy 500 wasn’t one of the occasions.”

  Neill seemed eager to reminisce, which surprised Bianca. She wouldn’t have expected someone so averse to family life to relish such memories. “Maybe,” he said, “after all these years you can tell me why you pushed Eric into the koi pool that time. He was sure angry afterward.”

  “I pushed him because he was making faces. Like this,” Bianca said, and she drew her cheeks in and opened her eyes wide, moving her lips in a perfect imitation of Japanese carp.

  Neill started to laugh, and the waiter approaching their table stopped in his tracks and stared. Bianca quickly pulled a straight face and tried to look nonchalant, even though the waiter seemed transfixed.

  Neill ordered mimosas and eggs Benedict for both of them, and after the waiter left, he leaned across the table. “That was a pretty realistic imitation,” he said.

  “You should see me do my impersonation of Petsy,” Bianca said.

  “Go ahead.”

  Bianca shook her head. “If I’m not mistaken, dear Petsy is heading our way. Let’s hope she doesn’t decide to be sociable.”

  Neill turned slightly and waved with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “She has Lambie and Fawn with her.”

  Bianca swiveled and treated them to her own lackluster wave. Petsy bared her teeth in what passed for a smile.

  “We went to see the horses at the stable,” shouted Lambie.

  “This big, big horse named Maisie slobbered green stuff all over my hand,” said Fawn.

  “That’s because Fawn gave her a sugar lump. Horses always do that when you give them a sugar lump.”

  “Yug,” said Fawn, plainly disgusted.

  Lambie shoved Fawn. “I’m going to ride that horse Maisie if they’ll let me. She’s for children.”

  “Both of you quit shouting, stop pushing and keep moving,” Petsy said, clearly put out. They disappeared around the corner of the building.

  “Talk about someone I’d like to slam-dunk into a fish pond,” Bianca said.

  “Me, too,” Neill told her. “I pity Petsy’s poor husband. He didn’t come to the wedding, by the way.”

  “He found a way out of it? Smart fellow.”

  “Not too smart. He married Petsy, remember? However, they’re splitting up.”

  “Well, he must have been in love with her once.”

  “Lots of people fall in love,” Neill said as the waiter appeared with their order.

  “I wonder if—” Bianca began, then reconsidered.

  “Go ahead,” Neill said. His eyes on her were steady, inquiring.

  “If our parents loved each other when they got married,” she said.

  “Of course they did. They were nuts about each other. All you had to do was look at them in those days and you could tell.”

  “Was that love—or sexual attraction?”

  “Both,” Neill said. For a moment it seemed as if he would elaborate, but then he appeared to think better of the idea and became quiet.

  Bianca was feeling in a pensive mood as well, although it was time, she thought, for a change in topics. She delved into the food on her plate.

  “The hollandaise sauce is good,” she said after her first taste. “Not made from a mix. Rich and with exactly the right amount of tartness.” Like Neill, she thought involuntarily, and she almost laughed.

  “So I get credit for being right about the hollandaise at least?” Neill was teasing her again.

  “You were probably right about Mother and Budge’s being in love, too,” she conceded, thinking before the words were even out of her mouth that she couldn’t seem to stay off what was a touchy subject. “I don’t remember much about their marriage. I suppose I was focused only on my own all-important teenage self.”

  “You were more or less insufferable at times,” Neill said, and even as she bristled he smiled at her. “So was I,” he added. “A big bad college man and intent on impressing everyone with my importance.”

  “You were—” But she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t tell him how she’d idolized him in those days. Even now she couldn’t. Especially now. “You were hardly ever home.”

  “I think I was around enough to know that as far as Dad and your mother are concerned, things probably would have stayed all right between them if they hadn’t gotten married,” Neill said.

  “Spoken from the perspective of a big bad college man? Or the wise adult you are now?” She smiled at him to show that she wasn’t being confrontational, was merely interested in his opinion.

  “This is the wise adult speaking. The jaded, outspoken adult who probably should keep his mouth shut.”

  “If our parents hadn’t married, I’d never have met Eric. Or you,” Bianca said, almost involuntarily. Nor would I have had Tia, she added silently.

  “I’m not sure about that,” he said. “What if Ursula and Dad had decided merely to live together? You and Eric and I couldn’t have avoided knowing each other.”

  “So you’re saying that it’s better to live together—what’s the phrase? ‘Without the benefit of marriage’?”

  “For a Bellamy, maybe so. I suppose Dad and Ursula couldn’t merely cohabit; they would have worried about setting a bad example for us.” He managed a curt laugh. “As it is, they turned into one more miserable example of why marriage can be a bad idea.”

  Bianca toyed with the napkin in her lap. “What is this Bellamy curse you keep harping about?” she asked. They were treading on shaky ground here, she thought, but she found herself wanting to know more about how Neill’s mind worked. All those years admiring him from afar, all those years daydreaming about him, and she didn’t really know the person he’d become. She was the mother of his child and she hardly knew who he was.

  “You don’t think my dad’s a good example of the Bellamy curse in action?” Neill said, eyebrows lifted.

  She struggled for a light reply. She’d never cared for Budge Bellamy. “Well, look at it this way. Budge is not cursed but blessed to have been married to four wonderful women.”

  “Uh, right,” was Neill’s response, but he was looking at her as if she were out of her mind.

  Bianca decided to elaborate. “It would have been nice if Budge could have stayed married to your mother. It would be nice if all marriages worked out. But lots of marriages fail these days, Neill. Not just your father’s. Not just Bellamy marriages.” She thought about her mother, currently ecstatic about her new husband. It must be wonderful to feel so much in love—and so loved—that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with someone. Or would try to, anyway.

  �
��Well,” Neill said tersely, “this is one Bellamy who isn’t going to many. If it is a curse, it ends right here.”

  Bianca gazed over the tops of the trees. A few puffy white clouds hung suspended from a serene blue sky. “Then you’ll never know if it could work for you,” she said quietly.

  “Why are we talking about me? You don’t seem like the marrying type any more than I do.”

  She forced herself to look straight at him. “I haven’t noticed anyone proposing,” she said in her most matter-of-fact manner.

  “Are you so busy with your business that you don’t have time for men in your life?”

  It was true that D’Alessandro absorbed a great deal of time. She was busy with Tia. And she hadn’t been interested in other men since that night in the gazebo. How could she be when it was this man she wanted, this man she’d always wanted?

  “Well?” Neill was staring at her from beneath a furrowed brow, his eyes so intent on her face that she almost flinched. And yet she found herself wanting him to look at her that way forever, to absorb his expression and create from it the hope that he might really care for her.

  It would never happen, and suddenly she knew she couldn’t stand any more of this. It was time to cut and run.

  “I really have to go,” she said. She stood and tossed her napkin down, unheedful of where it fell.

  Neill stood too, polite and perplexed. “I’m going to drive into town for a while this afternoon. Why don’t you go with me?”

  Because when I’m around you, I can’t think straight. Because my heart speeds up and my mouth goes dry and my knees turn to Jell-O. Well, maybe it was playing tennis that had given her the wobbly knees. And maybe not.

  “There’s something else I’d rather do. Thanks for the brunch, Neill.” She was striving for pleasantry but her smartly clipped words ended up sounding aggrieved and snappish.