by Tawni O'Dell
She laughs at something he says and they walk off in the opposite direction without seeing me. I realize instantly that it’s Shannon and Kozlowski, but the shock of seeing them and seeing them together keeps me from reacting right away.
I recognize Shannon’s car parked down the street. I run back to my own car wondering how I’m going to clandestinely tail someone while driving the only yellow Subaru within the tri-state area.
Fortunately it’s dark, and as long as I keep a fair distance behind her, she’ll only notice a pair of headlights.
I swing around the block and wait in a nearby alley where I have a good view of them.
It’s taking a little time for Shannon to ease her bulk behind the steering wheel. My original theory about Kozlowski’s lack of a license must be accurate. Otherwise, I can’t imagine him not taking over the driving duties.
I follow her out of town, keeping well behind her. It doesn’t take me long to realize she’s taking Kozlowski back to his motel.
She pulls into the Comfort Inn parking lot, and I pull into the Uni-Mart next door. She doesn’t drop him off. She gets out of the car, too, and goes inside with him.
I give them a few minutes to get situated.
I know Kozlowski’s room number from when I picked him up on Saturday. He had a few more phone calls to make before we went out, and invited me up while I waited for him.
“Who is it?” he calls out when I knock.
“I want my sister.”
There’s some hurried, hushed conversation behind the door.
“Now,” I say loudly.
Kozlowski opens the door. Shannon is sitting propped up on the bed with a couple pillows behind her and one under her feet.
“Hello, Gerald. Shannon,” I greet them. “Isn’t this cozy? Maybe I should call Pamela and the Russian and we can all sit around with our guns and checkbooks and wait for the baby to arrive.”
“The Russian?” Shannon asks.
I point at Kozlowski.
“He sent him after you.”
She pushes herself up off the pillows.
“You sent that crazy motherfucker after me?”
“I didn’t send him after you,” he replies calmly. “He came to me. He called me and said he was looking for you on Mickey’s behalf. Somehow he heard you were pregnant again and was hoping he could buy this baby. I began to think maybe we could get Mickey to offer more money than the Larsons, and we could get a bidding war going. Technically, Mickey does have a vaguely legal claim to one of your babies, since you ran out on the previous contract. I thought we could use that information to scare the Larsons. And since I also needed help finding you, I thought Dmitri’s call was a godsend. I knew if anyone could find you, he could. I told him what I knew about Jolly Mount, and by then I also knew about your sister.”
Shannon gets off the bed and lumbers toward a chair where her purse is sitting. She starts rummaging through it.
“I didn’t run out on anything,” she tells him coldly. “I changed my mind. It’s a mother’s prerogative. Mickey’s wife is nuts.”
“You’re the one who made her nuts,” he tells her. “Sending those photos of aborted fetuses was really over the top. Who’s Pamela?”
She takes out a pack of cigarettes and starts to light one.
He tells her to put it out.
“Shut up, Gerry,” she snaps at him as she tosses her lighter back in her bag. “When have I ever failed to produce a less-than-perfect baby?”
“So Dmitri is the Russian’s name?” I ask.
“No, Dmitri is the fucking Chinaman,” she snaps at me.
I maintain my cool.
“Do you want to explain Pamela to Gerry?” I counter sweetly.
She narrows her gold-brown eyes at me.
“How do you know Pamela?”
I shrug.
“This is bullshit,” she says grabbing her purse and her coat. “I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not. I’m going to have a talk with Gerry here, then I’m taking you home with me. You’re grounded until the baby’s born.”
“Like hell I am.”
She starts toward the door. I don’t move out of her way.
“What are you going to do?” I ask. “Make a break for it? You really think you can out-waddle me?”
“You’re not funny.”
I reach into my purse and pull out my handcuffs. I always keep a pair with me. Restraining individuals was one aspect of my job I simply could never give up.
“What are you doing?” she cries as I grab her arm and clap one cuff around her wrist. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I drag her into the bathroom and connect the other cuff to the pipes under the sink while she continues to protest.
She has no choice but to lower herself onto the cold tile floor. I don’t help her. I pluck the cigarette out of her hand and flush it down the toilet.
Kozlowski smiles upon my return.
“Shannon said she could handle you. I guess she was wrong.”
“Listen, Gerry.”
“I prefer Gerald.”
“I don’t care. I’m not in the best of moods this evening. These past few days have not been very pleasant ones for me. I’ve been very worried about my sister and her unborn baby. And this Russian prick you put on her tail did this to me.”
I pull my hair away from my face so he can get a good look.
“He could have done it to her. A pregnant woman,” I add.
Kozlowski shakes his head.
“He wouldn’t have hurt her. He knows not to hurt her.”
“You lied to me.”
“I never lied to you,” he interrupts. “I may not have been forthcoming with some facts, but I never lied.”
I stare at him and wait for an example of his honesty.
“I’ve represented Shannon in a few adoptions. I get a substantial fee. She ran out on this one. I came after her.”
He shrugs and holds out his hands, palms up, as if this is the kind of situation I should be running into every day.
“Do you always take off in person after girls who run out on you?” I ask.
“I’ve never had it happen before.”
“What made you come to Jolly Mount?”
“I told you the truth. She told me this was her hometown. It was a hunch. That’s all. Running into you was pure coincidence.”
“But how did you find her once you were here?”
“Easy. She has an insane bacon craving. It’s a small town. There are only two restaurants that serve breakfast all day: The International House of Pancakes and Eatn’Park. I went to both and showed her picture around to the staffs and promised a cash reward to anyone who called me if she showed up. One of the waitresses at Eatn’Park said she thought she had already seen her there that morning with another woman. I assumed it was you. A few hours later I get a call from the IHOP. Who’s Pamela, by the way?”
“You’ll have to get Shannon to tell you. Good luck.”
I start heading back to the bathroom.
“I don’t wish Shannon any harm,” he says. “I just want my money.”
“I’ve already figured that out. The part about only caring about money. Once the baby’s born she’s on her own again,” I explain. “I’m not going to interfere with any of her decisions. But for now I’m taking her home with me, and you’re going to go back to New York and leave her alone. I’m not going to make you promise because I don’t trust you, but I will make sure you’ve checked out of here tomorrow and that you haven’t checked in anywhere else.”
“And what if I don’t leave?” he asks.
He offers what I’m sure he considers a very persuasive smile but his eyes are hostile. I think about what Vlad, or Dmitri, told me: that he finds girls and convinces them to get pregnant solely in order to sell their babies.
“If you cause any problems for Shannon or try to get in touch with her in any way while she’s staying with me, I have friends around here who will be happy
to hurt you for me, once I explain who and what you are. I could do it myself, but I wouldn’t feel right since you’re a customer.”
He laughs.
“Shannon told me you used to be a cop. Is that what you’re implying? Are you telling me the cops around here are actually stupid enough to think that they can beat up a lawyer from New York City—an officer of the court—as a favor to someone and get away with it?”
“I’m not talking about cops. I’m talking about coal miners.”
I turn my back on him and join Shannon in the john, closing the door behind me so we can have some privacy. Shannon looks extremely uncomfortable on the floor, although at her stage of pregnancy I doubt any position is comfortable.
She’s sitting against the tile wall between the sink and the toilet with her legs sticking straight out in front of her and spread slightly apart. The mound of her belly forms a ledge for her breasts to lie on. Looking down at her from this angle, I figure it would be easier to pull the baby up through her throat like a rabbit from a top hat than to try the traditional route.
I take a seat on the edge of the bathtub.
She has taken off the small plastic lids from the shampoo and moisturizer samples and is whipping them against the wall opposite her, where they hit with a click and fly back at her.
“What happened to you?” I ask her.
“Spare me,” she says dully without looking at me. “Don’t think you can give me a lecture because you kept your baby. We all know you’re so fucking wonderful.”
“What the hell, Shannon?” I respond angrily. “Is that what this is all about? I got pregnant and I kept my baby so you had to get pregnant and not keep yours? What kind of twisted sibling rivalry is that?”
“I assure you nothing I’ve ever done in my life has anything to do with sibling rivalry. And I’m not twisted.”
“And I’m not fucking wonderful.”
“Sure you are. Everybody’s wonderful in this situation except for me. I’m sure you think people like Pamela who adopt these babies are so wonderful, too, because they want the baby. Oh, they must be such amazing, loving people because they’re willing to spend all that money and go to all that worry over this baby, and I’m a monster because I don’t want the baby. They spend the money because they have it. Big fucking deal. They don’t give any more thought to the baby than they do to buying a yacht or a golden retriever. It’s one more thing for them to acquire, one more thing they can buy to fill up their stupid empty lives.”
I can’t stand the tone of her voice, the complete lack of feeling in it. I think about what Isabel said, how she thought Shannon had some disorder that kept her from loving people. I think about E.J.’s uncharacteristic display of emotion as he insisted she never cared about me or anyone else. I think about Jimmy not saying anything, because he agreed with them but he didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
But I also can’t stop thinking about my little sister, snuggled up next to me, sitting on Mom’s rag rug, looking at books filled with pictures of places we were still young enough to dream about seeing but already weary enough in our souls to know we would never get to. I think about her crying softly in her bed after Dad had finished beating me. Pretend you’re asleep, I always told her. And even after he’s gone, don’t come to me. Don’t risk making the floorboards creak. I think about the way I’d find her standing next to my bed the following morning, watching and waiting: the smile and the hug I’d get once she was sure I was still alive.
“So how can you do it?” I ask her. “How can you give your own child to people you hate?”
She winces as she shifts her immense frontal weight.
“Making babies is the only thing I’m good at. It’s my profession.”
I don’t say anything, but I must be making an expression of disapproval because she says, “Don’t look at me like that. What’s the difference between rich people paying men to work in their coal mines or paying a coal miner’s daughter to have a baby for them?”
I don’t have an immediate answer for her.
“Miners like Dad ruin their health,” she says. “They get killed. They give their blood for a salary. I’m doing the same thing. I do all the work. I take all the risks and face all the danger. In the end I get paid, and it may seem like a lot, but it’s not compared to what I’m giving them.”
“So what are you saying?” I ask. “You’re a baby mine?”
She begins to absentmindedly stroke her belly.
“But it’s not the same thing,” I insist. “If a man decides to work in a coal mine, he’s making a decision about his own life. You’re making a decision for someone else. An innocent little person.
“How can you give your child to Pamela Jameson?” I continue. “What if it’s a little girl? She’ll have to color-coordinate and earn an anti-stress badge.”
She smiles a little.
“I guess you have run into Pam. I have to admit I was impressed she followed me here. She has an unnatural fear of anything natural.”
“She’s not the only one who followed you here. What about this Russian?”
“He’s a full-time thug who works as a bodyguard-driver for this small-time New Jersey politician who’s mobbed up. Gerry and I tried to work out an adoption with him. I did a couple things to try and bump the price up. Gerry was putting on an act in there trying to seem like he was appalled at what I did. He totally approved.
“But Mickey’s wife turned out to be a complete bimbo bitch, and I didn’t want her to have the kid. I hear she’s crazy now. Sits in the baby’s room and cries all the time. Her husband knows plenty of hookers. Why doesn’t he just give one fifty grand to have his baby? What’s the big deal? People are such hypocrites.”
I want to hit her. I want to beat all the callousness and flippancy out of her and start fresh with an empty Shannon skin and stuff it full of goodwill and happiness, but it doesn’t work that way. I know firsthand that a beating from a loved one doesn’t teach you anything. It doesn’t fill you with respect for the beater or, surprisingly, even hatred. It simply makes you afraid of everything. Including love.
“And the Larsons?”
“They’re the family who’s supposed to get this baby. Gerry set up the adoption. I ran out on him so I could sell the baby to Pamela for more money.”
“And you had both families supporting you throughout your pregnancy?”
“Yeah. Pretty smart, huh?”
“I’m speechless with admiration.”
She stretches her arms behind her and begins kneading her lower back with her fingertips.
“It’s not a big deal. I’m usually scrupulously honest.”
“What happened this time?”
“I’ve decided to retire. I still have more childbearing years left in me, but I’m tired. I wanted to make a real killing with this last one before I quit. That’s why I was playing these families against each other and why I didn’t want to share any of the money with Gerry.”
“Even if this plan works, you can’t possibly make more than a couple hundred grand. How are you going to retire on that? You’re only thirty-four.”
“For one thing I’m not talking about never working again for as long as I live. I’m retiring from the baby game. That’s all. And I’m also not talking about retiring in New York City. I hate it there. I only live there because that’s where the marketplace is and when I do live there, someone else is paying my bills. I’ve got other money saved. I have a cheap little town picked out. I’ve even bought myself a cheap little house.”
“Is it in New Mexico?”
“Maybe.”
“So you ran away to the big city and sold babies to rich people all these years so you’d be able to afford to live in a town pretty much like the one you left in the first place?”
She doesn’t answer me.
“I don’t get it.”
“People can change their minds about where they want to live.” An edge of defensiveness creeps into her voice. “Just be
cause I didn’t want to live in a dead-end, bumble-fuck town when I was sixteen doesn’t mean I can’t decide to live in one when I’m older. You lived in D.C. all those years and look at you now. Right back where you started. I think that house of yours may actually be uglier than the one we grew up in.”
“I came back because I wanted to.”
“That’s what I’m doing, too.”
“So why not move back to Jolly Mount instead of some town in New Mexico?”
“Ha!” she barks. “No, thank you.”
“Why come back at all? Why are you here right now? I still haven’t figured that out.”
She doesn’t say anything at first. I swear I can hear the gears turning inside her head as she works on concocting her latest lie.
“When I was thinking where I could go to hide out and have the baby without anybody bothering me, I thought of here. I thought of you,” she finally answers.
“Did you ever think about me before?”
“I really want a cigarette.”
“Did you?”
“Don’t try and make me feel bad,” she replies.
“You were gone for eighteen years. Didn’t you ever think about me? About Clay and Dad? Jimmy and Isabel? Didn’t you ever once think about how worried we must be?”
“I didn’t care.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I said, I didn’t care,” she repeats slowly, staring me straight in the eyes and willing me to look away first.
“Just like you don’t care about your babies.”
“They’re going to good homes. I suppose it’s better to have abortions? It’s better to kill them?”
“It’s not the same thing,” I cry out in exasperation. “Women who have abortions are women who get pregnant by accident. You get pregnant with the sole intention of selling your children.”
“Pregnant by accident?” she says, her face screwing up in contempt. “There’s no such thing. That’s such bullshit. Women don’t get pregnant by accident. A woman knows how to get pregnant and a woman knows what birth control is. If she has sex and she’s not using birth control, she knows she can get pregnant. There’s no accident.”
“Sometimes there are accidents.”