Heartbeat

by Danielle Steel

  “I'll wait for you here,” he told her at the front door, feeling a little foolish. She left the front door unlatched, but closed so he couldn't see in. It was as though she was hiding something in her apartment. And a moment later, he heard a tremendous crash, and without thinking twice, he dashed inside to help her. She had dropped two soda bottles, and they had sprayed soda all over the kitchen. “Did you get hurt?” he was quick to ask with a worried glance, and she shook her head as he grabbed a towel and helped her clean the mess up.

  “That was really stupid of me,” she said. “I must have shaken them without noticing, and then I dropped them.” It took them two minutes to clean it up, and he hadn't noticed anything unusual about the place, until she brought out more sodas and he realized there was no furniture in the kitchen. The place where a kitchen table might have been was empty and there was a lonesome stool sitting near a phone at the other end of the kitchen. And as they walked through the living room, it was almost eerie. There was no furniture anywhere, and there were marks on the walls where paintings had been, and then he remembered Steven loading furniture into a van almost two months before. She had said they were selling everything and buying new, but in the meantime, the apartment looked bare and depressing. But Bill didn't say anything, and she was quick to explain it. “We ordered a lot of new stuff. But you know what it's like. Everything is a ten- to twelve-week delivery. It'll be August before this place looks halfway decent again.” In truth, she hadn't ordered anything. She was still expecting Steven to come home with the old stuff he'd taken with him.

  “Of course. I know how that is.” But something didn't ring true, and he wasn't sure what it was. Maybe they were too poor to buy furniture. Maybe it had all been repossessed. People in Hollywood lived like that. He had a lot of friends who did. And it was obvious that Adrian was embarrassed about something. “It's a nice, clean look,” he teased. “And it's easy to take care of.” She started to look embarrassed again and then he teased her gently. “Never mind. It'll look great when all the new things come.” But in the meantime, it certainly didn't. The place looked somehow abandoned.

  And as soon as they left, they both forgot about it, and they had a wonderful time at the beach. They stayed until after five when it started to get cool, talking about theater and books, and New York and Boston, and Europe. They talked about children and politics and the philosophies behind both soap operas and news shows, the kinds of things he liked to write, and the short stories she had written in college. They talked about everything and they were still talking as they drove back to the complex in his woody.

  “I am in love with your car, by the way.” He had admired her MG the first time he'd ever seen it.

  She looked pleased at the compliment. “So am I. Everybody's been trying to get me to give it up for years, but I can't. I love it too much. It's part of me.”

  “So is my woody.” He beamed. This was a woman who understood what it was to love a car. This was a woman who understood many things, like caring and loss, and integrity and love and respect, and she even shared his passion for old movies. The only thing wrong with her, aside from her eating enough for two families, was the fact that she was married. But he had decided to ignore that and stop chafing about it, and just enjoy her friendship. It was rare for men and women to be friends, without expecting anything sexual out of it, and if they were able to have a real friendship, he was going to consider himself very lucky. “Do you want to have dinner on the way back? There's a great Mexican place in Santa Monica Canyon, if you want to try it.” He treated her like an old pal, someone he had known and loved forever. “Or you know what, I've got a couple of those steaks left. Do you want to go back to my place and I'll cook you dinner?”

  “We could cook them at my place.” She had been about to say that she should probably go home, but there was no reason to, and she didn't really want to. It was a lonely Sunday night, and she was enjoying him too much to give it up just yet. And there was no real reason why she couldn't have dinner with him.

  “I'm not exactly dying to eat them off the floor,” Bill teased her. “Or is there more furniture I haven't seen yet?” Only her bed, but she didn't say that.

  “Snob. Okay,” she said playfully, feeling like a kid again, “let's go to your place.” It had been years since she'd said that to a man. She and Steven had gone out for two years before they'd gotten married. And here she was, suddenly, five years later, having dinner at a man's apartment. But she had to admit, she didn't mind it. Bill Thigpen was terrific. He was smart, interesting, kind, and he gave her the impression of taking care of her, no matter what he did. He was always concerned if she was thirsty, hungry, wanted an ice cream, a soda, needed a hat, was warm enough, comfortable, happy, all the while keeping her amused with his stories about his soap opera, or the people he knew, or his two boys, Adam and Tommy.

  And when she walked into his apartment, she saw yet another dimension. There were beautiful modern paintings on the walls, and some interesting sculptures he had collected in the course of his travels. The couches were leather and comfortable and well worn. The chairs, enormous and soft and inviting. And in the dining room there was a beautiful table he had found in an Italian monastery, a rug he had bought in Pakistan, and everywhere there were wonderful pictures of his children. There was a feeling of hominess about it that made you want to browse around, walls of books, a brick fireplace, and a beautifully designed large country kitchen. It looked more like a home than an apartment. He had a cozy den where he worked, with an old typewriter almost as old as his beloved Royal, and more books and a big cozy leather easy chair that was all beaten up and well loved and had been his father's. There was an attractive guest bedroom that looked as though it had never been used, done in beige wools, with a big sheepskin rug, and a modern four-poster, and there was a big colorful bedroom for the boys, with a bright red bunk bed that looked like a locomotive, and his own bedroom was just down the hall, all done in warm earth tones, and soft fabrics, with big sunny windows that looked out on a garden that Adrian hadn't even known existed in the complex. It was perfect. It was just like him. Handsome and warm and loving. And parts of it looked a little worn from the hands that had touched it. It was the kind of place where you wanted to stay a year, just to look around and get to know it, and it was in sharp contrast to the expensive sterility she had shared with Steven until he walked off with all of it, leaving her nothing but the bed and the carpet.

  “Bill, this is gorgeous,” she said in open admiration.

  “I love it too,” he admitted. “Did you see the kids' bed? I had it made by a guy in Newport Beach. He makes about two a year. I had a choice between that and a double-decker bus. Some English guy bought that, and I got the locomotive. I've always had a thing for trains. They're so great and old-fashioned and cozy.” He sounded as though he were describing himself as Adrian smiled at him.

  “I love it.” No wonder he had laughed at her empty apartment. His had so much character and so much warmth. It was a great place to live or to work.

  “I've been trying to talk myself into buying a house for years, but I hate moving and this is so comfortable. It works. And the boys love it.”

  “I can see why.” He had given them the biggest room, even for the little time they spent with him, but to him, it was worth it.

  “When they're older, I hope they spend more time here.”

  “I'm sure they will.” Who wouldn't, with a father like him, and a home like this to come back to. It wasn't that the place was so big or so luxurious, it wasn't. But it was warm and inviting, and it was like a big hug just being there. Adrian felt it as she settled into the couch to look around, and then went out to the kitchen to help him with dinner. He had built most of the kitchen himself, and he was adept at cooking their dinner.

  “What can't you do?”

  “I'm rotten at sports. I told you, I'm terrible at tennis. I can't build a fire in the wilderness to save my life. Adam has to do it whenever we go
camping. And I'm terrified of airplanes.” It was a short list compared to what he could do.

  “At least it's nice to know that you're human.”

  “What about you, Adrian? What aren't you good at?” It was always interesting to hear what people said about themselves. And he asked her as he carefully chopped fresh basil for their salad.

  “I'm not good at a lot of things. Skiing. I'm so-so at tennis, terrible at bridge. I'm lousy at games, I can never remember the rules, and I don't care if I win anyway. Computers, I hate computers.” She thought seriously for a moment. “And compromising. I'm not good at compromising about what I believe in.”

  “I'd say that's a virtue, not a flaw, wouldn't you?”

  “Sometimes,” she said thoughtfully. “Sometimes it can cost you a lot.” She was thinking about Steven. She had paid a high price for what she believed in.

  “But isn't it worth it?” he said softly. “Wouldn't you rather pay a price and stick to what you believe? I always have.” But he had ended up alone, too, not that he really minded.

  “Sometimes it's hard to know what's the right thing to do.”

  “You do your best, kid. Give it your best shot, and hope that does the trick. And if the folks don't like it,” he said, shrugging philosophically, “them's the breaks.” Easily said. But she still couldn't believe what had happened as a result of her sticking to her guns with Steven. But it wasn't as though she'd had a choice. She couldn't have done otherwise. She just couldn't. There was no reason to. It was their baby, and she loved him. It made it impossible to get rid of it, on a whim, just because it frightened Steven. So she had lost him.

  “Would you stick by what you believed in, no matter how someone else felt?” she inquired as they sat down to the big juicy steaks he had cooked while she watched him. She had set the table and made the salad dressing, but he had done everything else, and the dinner looked delicious. Steak, salad, garlic bread. And there were strawberries dipped in chocolate for dessert. “Would you hold your ground no matter what?”

  “That depends. You mean at someone else's expense?”

  “Maybe.”

  He puzzled over it for a minute, as she helped herself to the salad. “I think it would depend on how strongly I felt. Probably. If I really thought my integrity was at stake, or the integrity of the situation. Sometimes it doesn't matter how unpopular you get, you just can't deviate from what you believe in. I know, as one gets older one is supposed to get more moderate, and in some ways I have. I'm thirty-nine years old and I'm more tolerant than I used to be, but I still believe in taking stands about things I care about. It hasn't exactly won me a lot of gold stars, but on the other hand, my friends know I'm someone they can count on. That counts for something, I think.”

  “I think so too,” she said softly.

  “How does Steven feel about that?” He was getting curious about him. Adrian spoke of him very little, and he wondered how well they got along. He wondered how much they had in common. Just looking at them, they seemed very different.

  “I think he feels strongly about his opinions too. He's not always very good about understanding other people's positions.” It was a classic understatement.

  “Is he good about adjusting to you?” Their marriage intrigued him. He wanted to get to know them both, since he couldn't have her to himself, much as he would have liked to.

  “Not always. He's good at …” She groped for the words and then found them. “Parallel living is the best way I can describe it. He does what he wants to do, and he lets you do what you want without interfering.” As long as he thought you were doing the right thing to get ahead. Like working in the newsroom.

  “Does that work?”

  It used to. It did. Until he moved right out of her life because he didn't like what she was doing. She took a breath as she tried to explain it to Bill Thigpen. “I think to make a marriage really work, you need more involvement than that, more intertwining, more interaction. It's not good enough to let each other be, you have to be something together.” It made sense to him, and he had figured that out when he was married to Leslie. “But I only figured that out recently.”

  “The kicker is that that's the whole secret. A lot of people will just let you do your own thing. The trouble is, there are damn few people who want to do the same thing you do. I've never found one. Though I have to admit, I haven't looked very hard in the last few years. I haven't really had the time, or the inclination,” Bill added.

  “Why not?” She was intrigued by him too. He looked as though he would have enjoyed being married.

  “I think I was scared. It hurt so much when Leslie and I broke up, and when she took the boys, I think I never really wanted to do that again. I never wanted to care enough to get that hurt, or have kids someone could take away from me just because the marriage didn't work out. It never seemed fair to me. Why should I lose my kids because the woman I'm with no longer loves me? So I've been careful.” And lazy. He had purposely not looked for a serious relationship for a long time, telling himself he wasn't ready.

  “Do you think she'll ever give the boys to you full-time, or more than for just a few visits a year?”

  “I doubt it. She thinks she has a right to them, that they're hers, and she does me a big favor by sending them to me at all. But the truth is, I have as much right to be with them as she does. It's just bad luck that I happen to live in California. I could always go back to New York, to see more of them, but I always thought it would be even more difficult there. I don't want to be ten blocks away from them every night and wonder what they're doing. I want to wander in and out of the room when they're talking on the phone, doing their homework, hanging out with their friends. I want to stand there and get tears in my eyes when I watch them sleep at night. I want to be there when they're sick and throw up and have runny noses. I want to be there for the real stuff. Not just a few weeks of Disneyland and Lake Tahoe in the summer.” He shrugged then, he had let her see what really mattered to him, and it really touched her. “But I guess this is all I get. So I make the best of it. And most of the time, I just accept what isy and I don't worry about it. I used to want to have more kids one day, so I could 'do it right' this time, but I think by now I've decided it's better this way. I don't want to go through all that heartbreak again, in case someone decides they don't really like me.”

  “Maybe next time you could keep the kids.” She smiled sadly and he shook his head. He knew better than that.

  “Maybe next time it would be smarter not to get married and have children.” Which was what he'd done for years, but deep down he knew that wasn't the answer either. “What about you? You think you and Steven will have kids?” It was a rude question, but he was so comfortable with her that he dared to ask it.

  She hesitated for a long time before answering, not sure what to tell him. For a moment, she almost wanted to tell him the truth, but she didn't. “Maybe. Not for a while. Steven is … a little nervous about children.”

  “Why?” That intrigued him. Bill thought they were one of the best things about marriage. But he had the benefit of experience, so he knew that.

  “He had a difficult childhood. Dirt-poor parents. And Steven decided early on that kids were the root of all evil.”

  “Oh, dear. One of those. How does that sit with you?”

  She sighed, and her eyes met Bill's. “It's not always easy. I'm hoping he'll come around eventually.” Like by January maybe.

  “Don't wait too long, Adrian. You'll be sorry if you do. Kids are the greatest joy in the world. Don't deprive yourself of that, if you can help it.” To him not having children seemed like a real deprivation.

  “I'll tell Steven you said so.” She smiled, and Bill smiled back, wishing Steven in perdition. It would have been so nice if she were free. He reached out and touched her hand, not in a rude way, but a warm one.

  “I've had a wonderful day, Adrian. I hope you know that.”

  “So have I.” She smiled happily, and poli
shed off the last of her steak, as Bill finished the salad.

  “You know, for a skinny girl, you eat a lot.” He was honest, but teasing, and they both laughed.

  “I'm sorry. It must be all the fresh air.” She knew exactly what it was, but she wasn't going to tell him.

  “You're lucky, you can afford it.” She had a beautiful figure, and he liked the fact that she obviously enjoyed his cooking.

  They talked until about ten o'clock and she helped him clean up the kitchen, and then finally he walked her back to her place, carrying her beach bag. It was another beautiful night, with hardly any smog in evidence, and the stars bright above their heads. She hated to go back to work the next day. It was the Monday holiday of the three-day weekend, but she had said she would work because she had nothing else to do except wait for Steven to call. And they had their regular show to do, despite the long weekend. And so did Bill.

  “Do you want to come by tomorrow?” Bill asked. “I should be in the office by eleven.”

  “It sounds like fun.”

  “We go on the air at one o'clock. Come on by if you've got a free minute. You can watch the show, tomorrow's a good one.” She smiled at the prospect, and this time she was more relaxed as she unlocked the front door. He had already seen her empty apartment. There was nothing to hide from him anymore.

  Except the fact that Steven had left her two months before, and she was pregnant.

  “Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?” He was about to say no, and then decided he would, just to prolong the evening. She pulled up the stool and offered it to him as she made the coffee and then they went to sit in the living room with their cups. They sat on the floor because there was nowhere else to sit. It was a far cry from his comfortable apartment.

  He noticed as they sat that she didn't even have a TV or a radio, and then he noticed where there had obviously been stereo speakers. And it dawned on him suddenly that she wouldn't have sold them. There was absolutely nothing left in her place except the light fixtures and the doorknobs, a carpet in the living room, and an answering machine on the floor next to the telephone. Even the table the phone had been on was gone. It looked like a place someone had just emptied to move out of, and as he thought the words, he suddenly realized what must have happened. He looked at her as though he had spoken the words out loud, with a startled look, as the idea came to him, but he didn't dare ask her.