Jasmine

by Maggie Wells

  Just then, Geri approached the table.

  I rose. “Geri, do you know Kent?” I asked.

  They greeted each other and air-kissed.

  Before he left, Kent and I exchanged cards and scheduled a call for the following week.

  Geri sat down.

  “How are you?” Geri asked. “You look amazing. I’m so sorry that we lost touch after you left the show. You’re obviously feeling better.”

  “I was pregnant, Geri,” I said. I immediately regretted saying that. I didn’t want to give her any details—about Eddie, or giving Orchid up for adoption. I didn’t want to say that I was in town for her birthday party. The high I had been feeling a minute before was gone. I suddenly felt like shit.

  TWENTY ONE

  “WELL, IT LOOKS LIKE YOU’VE REBOUNDED,” GERI SAID. “I wish I could say the same for myself.”

  “What are you up to?” I asked.

  “Since Eddie fired me, I’ve been freelancing, looking for work,” Geri said. “When I got your email, I thought maybe there is some way we could work together. I know every producer and director in town. Your idea of building a feeder school is absolutely brilliant.”

  “I wish I could take credit,” I said. “My partner, Diane, came up with it. But it is a good idea, isn’t it? Funny, Kent said the same thing—the old way of finding talent by posting fliers around town or announcing casting calls on Backstage.com is so random, right? What if we could cultivate talent via a network of training schools and talent scouts?”

  We agreed to set up a call with Diane the following week to nail down the financial arrangements of a partnership.

  Geri gave me a big hug. “It’s great to see that you’re doing so well,” she said.

  I paid the bill with my corporate card and went back upstairs to my room to rest before the ten o’clock show.

  I texted Diane: Great meetings here. I’ll schedule follow-up calls for Tuesday when I’m back

  I lay down on the bed, and the next thing I knew my alarm was going off. Shit, nine p.m. already? I needed to fix my face and get dressed. I had brought a silver sequined sheath—not something I’d ever wear in New Jersey, but it was perfect for Vegas. I touched up my hair and makeup and rushed downstairs where my driver was waiting to take me to Bally’s. The line at will-call was long and I just barely made it to my table before the house lights dimmed.

  Bacchanal! I had never been in the audience before. The music swelled and the showgirls strutted out. Wow! It really was exciting. When it came to my part in the show where the set opened to reveal the dark-skinned, half-clothed beauties, shimmying and high-kicking to reveal a glimpse of what might have been their naked pussies, the crowd gasped, gratified that their money had been well-spent. Geez, Eddie, I thought, this is really hot!

  Eddie had agreed to meet at the Indigo Lounge at eleven-thirty. I got there early and found a table near the window with a spectacular view of the Strip. I ordered a diet ginger ale and nervously fingered the straw in my glass while I waited for him.

  I saw him the moment he entered the bar; his graceful swagger was unmistakable. I watched him as he crossed the room, looking expectantly around him. He sized up the girls to his left and right as he advanced toward my table.

  Suddenly I realized what a bad idea this was. What does he want? I wondered. For that matter, what did I want?

  “Eddie, hi.” I rose to greet him.

  “Jazz,” he said. “You’re looking amazing as ever.” He waved the waiter over and ordered a dry martini.

  “So, what are you up to?” he asked. He looked me straight in the eye and I couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking.

  “As I said in my message, I’m running a dance school in New York.” I said. “My partner, Diane, and I thought there might be a need for a feeder program for young talent.” I couldn’t get the visual out of my head—feeding young, impressionable young girls to a shark that had Eddie’s face.

  “I don’t actually know that many people on the Strip,” I said. “So I thought I’d reach out to you and see if you could make some intros for me.”

  “Happy to,” he said. “I know Kent Robbins is working on a show targeting a younger audience—this could be good fit.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I met with Kent.”

  “You did?” He sounded surprised. “How do you know Kent?”

  Had he no memory of our last meeting?

  “Well,” he continued. “I don’t take girls younger than eighteen, so that won’t work.”

  Take girls, I thought. That’s an interesting choice of words. Like you took me?

  “Let me think about it,” he said as he finished his drink. “If I hear of something, I’ll call you.”

  I was dying to bring up Orchid and tell him that his daughter was a year old. But then I thought better of it. He might track her down. God knows he had the resources. He would find the Martins and make their life a living hell.

  “Thanks, Eddie,” I said. “I would appreciate it.”

  I watched him walk out of the bar, and suddenly I pitied him. Sure, he had money and fame. But he had no love in his heart.

  On Sunday morning, I woke up confused, unsure of where I was, and wondering what this weird feeling in my chest was. Then I remembered. I was going to see Orchid today. How was I going to control my emotions? I didn’t want to get all weepy in front of everyone. And how was I going to restrain my urge to snatch her and make a run for it?

  As I showered and dressed, I worried about the outfit I had chosen. I had packed Kate Spade Capri pants and a cropped tee, wanting to look like a responsible adult, not some slutty teen mom. But what did that say to Orchid? If I was so successful, why did I abandon my baby? Part of me thought I should tart it up—cut-off jeans, a halter-top—playing the part of the loser mom.

  “She won’t remember this,” I said out loud. And that thought brought tears to my eyes. What if I hadn’t panicked and called Dr. Bergen? What if I had just packed up and drove to New Jersey with Orchid tucked into her car seat? How could I have known that within a year I would be co-owner of a successful dance studio, clearing enough cash to pay for rent and day care?

  Hold it together, girl, I ordered myself. I packed my purse, double-checking to see if I had my room key, rental car keys, iPhone, and plenty of Kleenex.

  I pulled into the parking lot of the county park, not sure where I would find the party. I checked my make-up in the mirror. “Are you really doing this?” I asked my reflection.

  I locked the car and started strolling across the park. I decided the Kate Spade outfit made me appear less threatening, just part of the suburban scenery.

  And then I saw them—a happy, boisterous gathering. The older kids were running around, attempting to launch a bright blue-and-yellow kite. I stood and observed them from a distance. The adults were seated on a checkered blanket, drinking from red Solo cups. There she was. Orchid sat in Allison’s lap, happily banging a Solo cup on the ground, bang, bang, bang.

  She spoke first. “Jasmine, hi!” Allison shouted across the lawn.

  I sucked in my breath and strode bravely toward them, holding my emotions in check.

  “You look great,” Allison said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Orchid looks wonderful.”

  “Sit,” Allison said. “Let me make you a plate. Can you hold her?”

  Can I hold her? I thought. Can I hold my baby? Shit, yeah, I can hold her!

  Allison handed Orchid to me as she busily filled a plate with fried chicken, potato salad, baked beans and coleslaw.

  “Hi, baby,” I said to Orchid. I attempted to snuggle her, but she struggled in my arms and reached for Allison. She’ll recognize me in a minute, I thought—my smell, my touch. I tried to kiss her but she turned her face away. I felt such distress as I realized that Orchid was no longer mine; she had bonded with Allison.

  I handed Orchid back to Allison and took the plate of food. I made a show of pushing the food around with my plastic fork as A
llison introduced her sister, her neighbor and the kids, but my stomach was in a knot. I had no appetite. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Orchid, and I felt Griffin’s eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.

  “Let me get a group shot,” he said, aiming his iPhone at me and Allison with Orchid perched between us.

  “This will be a nice memory for her,” Allison said. “Baby’s first birthday with both of her mommies.”

  It dawned on me how generous Allison was—inviting me to share this moment. She was a good person, and Orchid was very lucky to have her.

  I didn’t stay long. I made some excuse about meeting some friends. Allison walked me to my car with Orchid in her arms.

  “Someday I want to have a family,” I said. I stroked Orchid’s head and she buried her face in Allison’s chest. “And I hope to be as good a mom as you.” I started to cry. “Hell, I’d like to be as good a person as you.”

  “Group hug,” Allison said, embracing me with her free arm.

  On my way back to the hotel I texted Tadge and he called an hour later.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  I fought back tears. “I’ve lost her,” I said.

  “Come home,” he said.

  TWENTY TWO

  TADGE PICKED ME UP AT NEWARK AIRPORT AND WE drove to his house. He lived in Guttenberg in a house overlooking the Hudson with an amazing view of Manhattan from his living room. The vehicles on the West Side Highway looked like Matchbox cars whizzing by.

  “What a view!” I said.

  “My great-grandfather built this house in the twenties.” he said.

  “Where’s Greta?” I asked.

  “She’s at a sleepover,” Tadge said. “We’re all alone tonight. Would you like a glass of wine? And maybe a tour of the house?”

  I followed Tadge upstairs to peek into Greta’s room. I asked to use the bathroom and he led me through the master bedroom to the master bath. Inside, there was an enormous claw-foot tub.

  “Tadge,” I said. I found him downstairs in the living room. “This is going to sound crazy, but would you mind if I took a bath? It’s been a really stressful day.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Let me get you some towels and the bubble bath that Greta got for Christmas.”

  Tadge carried my bag upstairs and laid the towels and a clean robe on the bed.

  “You know that’s a two-person tub,” he said.

  “Would you like to join me?” I asked.

  Tadge drew the bath and we climbed into the steamy bubbles together. I sat between his legs and rested my back against his chest. He gently massaged my neck and shoulders.

  “This is heaven,” I said.

  “I know,” he said.

  “I need to get her back,” I said.

  “Orchid?” he asked. “Let’s go over the adoption papers tomorrow and see what the possibilities are. She’s been with the Martins for nine months already. It may be too late.”

  “I thought about that,” I said. “But the father never gave consent.”

  “You know who the father is?” Tadge asked.

  “I’m pretty sure,” I said.

  “Does he know about Orchid?” he asked.

  “Yeah, he knows,” I said. “And he threatened me that he’d file for full custody if I filed a paternity suit. I was scared—I had no money to fight him in court. When I realized I couldn’t take care of her, adoption seemed like the only option. But, I’m doing so much better now.”

  “Who is this asshole?” Tadge asked.

  “His name is Eddie Watson,” I said. “He was the director of the show.” I shared the whole story of the dress, the party, the pool, the pills and waking up in Eddie’s bed.

  “Let’s go out there next weekend and see him,” Tadge said. “If he threatens you again, we’ll threaten him with a rape charge.”

  “You’ll come with me?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “We’re in this together.”

  He wrapped me in his arms and held me until the water started to cool.

  “Let me get you a towel,” he said as he climbed out of the tub. “Do you want to stay over?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  That night I had sex for the first time since, oh my God, I couldn’t even remember. Since, of course, I didn’t remember actually having sex with Eddie. I didn’t even realize how much I had missed it—I hadn’t really thought about dating since Orchid was born. Tadge fell asleep with his arms wrapped around me so tight I had a hard time sleeping. But it was so soothing to lie in his embrace and listen to his soft breathing. I think I love this man!

  In the morning, over coffee and toast, Tadge booked us two tickets to Las Vegas.

  “What’s the best way to do this?” he asked.

  “The show is dark on Friday and Sunday,” I said. “Last week I was able to meet him after the Saturday show, but I don’t think we want to do this in a bar. I’ll see if I can schedule a meeting in his office on Saturday or Sunday.”

  “You saw him last week?” Tadge asked, surprised.

  “Just about the school,” I said. “Diane had asked me to do some networking while I was out there and he’s one of only a handful of people I know in the business. Not that he was helpful, he doesn’t work with girls younger than eighteen.”

  “And he didn’t ask about the baby?” Tadge asked.

  “No,” I said. “Every time I’ve seen him, he always acted like he had no memory of the last time. He’s a weird dude.”

  “Do you think he’ll help us?” Tadge asked.

  “He’s my only shot at getting her back,” I said.

  I texted Eddie: I need a favor. Can we meet on Saturday at your office?

  An hour later, Eddie replied. Come to the house Saturday afternoon. Around 3?

  I replied: Thanks. See you then

  We flew out of Newark on Saturday morning.

  “I spoke with a family law attorney in Las Vegas,” Tadge said.

  “You did?” I asked. I was very impressed with his planning and organization skills. Must be the engineer in him!

  “We’re meeting with this guy, Neil Mullins, this afternoon at one.” Tadge said. “I explained your situation. If you can get Eddie to agree to contest the adoption, Mullins can take care of everything. Let Mullins prep you before you talk to Eddie.”

  We landed just before noon and took a cab straight to the attorney’s office.

  Once we were settled into the conference room and had exchanged pleasantries, Mr. Mullins asked me to go over the story again.

  “So to sum it up, Ms. Walker,” Mr. Mullins said. “Mr. Watson knows what happened on the evening of December eighteenth. He also knows that you gave birth on September twenty-first.”

  “That is correct,” I said. “There is a possibility that he is not the father, but I really doubt it. Katrina—she was one of the dancers in the show—she pretty much confirmed for me that Eddie was alone with me that night.”

  “And,” Mr. Mullins continued. “Mr. Watson threatened you with a custody suit if you filed a paternity suit. How do we know he doesn’t want custody?”

  “If he wanted custody, he would have already filed a suit,” Tadge said. “He just wants to avoid financial responsibility.”

  “Correct,” Mr. Mullins said. “And you’re willing to waive his parental responsibilities in exchange for his help in contesting the adoption?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I don’t need anything from him.”

  “But Mr. Watson was never informed of the adoption, correct?” Mr. Mullins said.

  “Correct,” I said. “Technically I had no proof of paternity, so no paternal consent was required.”

  “Are the Martins aware of any of this?” Mr. Mullins asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Yes?” Tadge exclaimed. “You never told me that part!”

  “I told Allison,” I said. “I didn’t want Orchid to grow up thinking I was some slut who didn’t know who her father was.”

  “T
hat’s great,” Mr. Mullins said. “That will make everything easier. So here is our approach. You’re meeting Mr. Watson at three this afternoon?”

  I nodded.

  TWENTY THREE

  MR. MULLINS CONTINUED. “YOU NEED TO CONVINCE Mr. Watson that A) you are releasing him from all financial responsibility, B) you were desperate and signed the adoption papers under duress. You regret the decision, and the only way you can get your daughter back is with his help. He will never hear from you or your daughter again without his explicit consent.”

  Tadge was taking notes.

  “Do not get emotional,” Mr. Mullins said. “Do not make any accusations of raping or drugging you or anything else. Convince him that whether or not he is the father, you need his help to get your daughter back. Once we prove paternity and his attorney files a claim with the court, it will be a slam-dunk.”

  “Tell him we will cover all of his legal fees, too,” Tadge said.

  “Have his attorney call me,” Mr. Mullins said as he handed me his card. “We can file all the paperwork this week and have your child back in your arms soon.”

  “Oh my God,” I cried.

  “Honey, don’t get emotional,” Tadge reminded me. “You need to be cool with this dude. Don’t give him any reason to feel threatened.”

  “What if he refuses?” I asked.

  “We can force the paternity test and legally overturn the adoption on the basis of fraud,” Mr. Mullins said. “It might get a little ugly. You’d be accused of fraudulently submitting a petition for adoption. The judge will be forced to rule in your favor, but it could get a little unpleasant. You’d have to face the Martins in court and admit that you suspected that Eddie was the father but didn’t seek his consent. You would be forced to plead poverty and ignorance, and that will all be in the public record for Orchid to discover one day. However, since you told Allison the whole story, that makes the Martins party to the fraud.”