Color Me Crazy

by Carol Pavliska

  She ran her fingers over his bare chest and kissed a tattoo. “I’ve missed this.” She kissed another one. “And this…” She slipped her tongue under a nipple ring.

  “Shit, I love it when you do that,” he said.

  So she did it some more.

  “You, um…want me to get up and lock the door to keep Nurse Nellie out?” he asked.

  Before she could say yes, a Braxton-Hicks squeezed the air out of her. She produced a strangled moan, which Julian obviously misinterpreted. He jumped up and locked the door, saying, “The last thing we want is a three-way with Marcus.”

  Cleo curled up in a ball as the fake contraction did a good imitation of a real one. Either that or she had an elephant sitting on her stomach.

  Julian sprinted back to the bed. “Don’t hold your breath, baby. Let it pass.” He extended a hand toward her.

  “I swear to God, if you touch me, I’ll kill you,” she wheezed. And she meant it. She couldn’t stand anything touching her. In fact, she needed to get her pajama bottoms off. They felt like a tourniquet. She struggled with them, then stopped to pull her socks off, because her feet were hot. She had to have some air. Dang! She couldn’t breathe again.

  “I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this if I can’t touch you,” Julian said.

  “Are you stupid?” Cleo said, once she got her breath back. “You think we’re going to have sex? While my pants are trying to kill me?”

  She blew a tuft of hair out of her face, an act that took everything she had, and a look of pure terror crept into Julian’s eyes. That’s right, Guitar Boy. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

  “Never mind,” he said quickly. “You know, about the sex.”

  He swallowed loudly, and the sound of his fear made her happy. In fact, if she could breathe, she’d unleash a wicked laugh, maybe even levitate. She was either possessed or…she was in labor.

  “Cleo?”

  “Are you still talking?” she wheezed. “Here, help me get my pants off. I’m hot. Are you hot? Where’s Marcus?”

  She managed to get her pants down to her knees and one arm out of her shirt, while Julian did nothing but stare at her, even though she’d clearly asked for assistance.

  “Oh, God.” She was hit by a contraction so strong all she could do was grunt.

  “Marcus,” Julian screamed. “Get up here!”

  Marcus’s footsteps pounded up the stairs, followed by a loud smack as he hit the locked door.

  “Oops,” Julian said, bounding to the door.

  “What are you doing to her?” Marcus asked, peering into the room.

  “Nothing,” said Julian. “She’s ripping off her clothes and acting crazy.”

  The contraction dissipated. Muscle by muscle, she relaxed and began breathing. “Whew,” she said. “That one was bad. Get me a nightie, would you, Marcus? My pajamas are constricting.”

  “Is she in labor?” Julian asked.

  Marcus, digging through Cleo’s drawers, said, “Sometimes the Braxton-Hicks contractions are strong. She hasn’t lost her mucus plug.” He sighed as if Julian were the most exasperating person in the world and gently tossed a nightgown to Cleo.

  “What the fuck is a mucus plug?”

  “I’m pretty sure I lost it this morning,” Cleo said, noting the disgusted look on Julian’s face.

  “Why didn’t you call me in to look at it?” Marcus asked.

  Julian paled. “Why the hell would you want to look at it? What’s wrong with you? And if the plug’s fallen out, what’s keeping the baby in?”

  “Good lord, it’s not like a bathtub plug. The baby doesn’t just swoosh out,” Marcus said.

  Cleo was a mess. “Help me, would you?” Her head was somehow stuck in the nightgown. Through the gauzy fabric, she saw Marcus push Julian aside to get to her.

  “Here, sweetie,” he said. “Let me help you with that.”

  Julian grabbed Marcus. “Get away from my practically naked girlfriend.”

  Cleo struggled to pull her head through.

  “I’m a nurse,” Marcus said indignantly.

  “So?”

  “I’m a gay nurse!”

  Cleo finally pulled the gown over her head, but it was through the armhole. And it had taken such effort. “Leave him alone, Julian. And would you please help me?”

  Julian looked at her and laughed, easing the tension. “Let’s get the right parts in the right holes, shall we?”

  “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “I guess I’ll just leave you two alone.” Marcus sniffed. He turned to leave, but when he did, Cleo had the air knocked out of her again.

  “Ooh,” she gasped.

  Marcus ran to her side. “Are you all right?”

  Again with the elephant. She couldn’t speak.

  Julian sure was pale. The contraction eased, and Cleo said, “I need my socks back on. My feet are cold. And my teeth are chattering.”

  “Honey,” said Marcus, “maybe I should check and see if you’re dilated?”

  “Bloody hell, Marcus,” Julian said. “Put that finger away.”

  Cleo gasped, then inhaled. Oh, yeah, that’s how that works. She was in labor. Where was her brother?

  “Cleo, you’re making me a little nervous.” Julian said. “Because these are coming close together, and we’re a good drive from a hospital.”

  “I’m making myself a little nervous,” she said.

  “I think we should start timing,” Marcus suggested.

  “So, you think she’s in labor? For real?” Julian’s voice was high and shrill.

  “Yes, I’m in labor, you idiots,” she said. “And here comes another one…oh, no…”

  Marcus started timing. Cleo tried to breathe through the contraction. And she needed the freaking light turned off. It hurt her eyes. She grunted, and oh, it felt great.

  “Are you pushing?” Julian asked. “Because I don’t think you should be, and you look like you are.”

  “Shut up,” she grunted.

  A door slammed downstairs. “That’s Ben,” Julian said. “Thank God. We’ve got a doctor in the house now.” He shot out of the room. In a few seconds, he returned with Ben and Sheik.

  “How often?” Ben asked.

  “This one came on in under a minute,” Marcus said. “But it’s the only one we’ve timed, and her water hasn’t broken.”

  “I’m going to take a look, sis.”

  “Should I call the doctor and get her things in the car?” Marcus asked.

  “Yeah, that would probably be a good idea,” said Ben, lifting her nightgown. Sheik turned and rushed after Marcus.

  The pain had lessened considerably, and Cleo felt drowsy.

  Ben peeked under the gown. “With the next contraction, give me a tiny push and let’s see what happens.”

  Cleo grunted, and a gush of warm fluid rushed out. “And there’s the water breaking,” Ben said.

  A thudding sound shook the second story of the house.

  “And there’s Sheik fainting.” Marcus sighed as he came back into the room. “Is there no limit to the number of morons we can fit in this house?”

  “See to him,” said Ben.

  “What? We don’t have time for that. We need to get Cleo to the hospital.”

  “Actually,” said Ben, “that’s the one thing we don’t have time for.”

  ...

  Julian couldn’t believe what was happening. Cleo was in active labor, the pushing stage. Ben was calmly between her legs, like this was all no big deal, and Marcus had done a hurdle jump over what was apparently Sheik’s prone body blocking the doorway. “Call an ambulance,” Julian yelled.

  “Bring me my bag,” shouted Ben.

  “Do you think the ambulance will make it in time?” Julian asked.

  “Nope. But it’ll be here for after, and we’ll get them both to the hospital to be checked out.”

  Shit. He had to hold it together for Cleo. She was red in the face, panting and crying. And he was sitting
here panic-stricken, which was exactly what he’d been afraid would happen when push came to shove, so to speak.

  Blue, green, and gray—oh, no, not gray—swirled around in his peripheral vision. Cleo’s moans and sobs didn’t provide any hint of the orange her voice usually carried. There was nothing to focus on but his own fear. He closed his eyes, but the swirling colors—they looked like a fucking hurricane—became even more brilliant in his mind. He shook his head, trying to clear it. A tremor began to move through him, the precursor to the buzzing that would soon take over and render him useless. Biofeedback could get him through concerts, but apparently not through childbirth.

  Someone called his name. It was Ben.

  Julian opened his eyes. Ben stared at him, brows furrowed and lips drawn into a straight line.

  “I said get behind her. Help her scoot to the edge of the bed.”

  Julian did as he was asked, and Cleo leaned against him, her hair tickling his nose. He inhaled. Tangerines. Thank God. The swirling colors separated and floated away.

  Cleo turned her pretty face up to his. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  That moment of sweetness nearly killed him. “I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s have a baby.”

  He knelt in the spot where her water had broken, dampening the knees of his jeans. Ben asked him to reach forward and bring up Cleo’s knees, but she shook her head. “No. Not like that.”

  Marcus came in with Ben’s bag. “Yikes,” he said. “Don’t make her lie on her back with her legs up. That’s what got her into this mess.”

  “Jesus, Marc.” Ben sighed.

  “Well,” he said, “she needs to be on all fours or squatting. That’s what they said in the hippie childbirth classes.”

  “Here comes one,” Cleo whined.

  “Get her up,” Marcus snapped.

  Marcus was the one who’d been there for Cleo these many months. He was the one who attended childbirth classes. Not Julian. “Marcus?” he said. “Should you be doing this?”

  “Don’t be silly. Just do what I say,” Marcus said.

  With Marcus instructing him, Julian helped Cleo into a squatting position and wrapped his arms across her chest.

  “Makes more sense, doesn’t it, Mr. Fancy-Pants Know-It-All Bone Doctor?” Marcus said to Ben.

  “That’s Dr. Fancy-Pants,” Ben said. “And yes, it makes more sense. Push with the next contraction, Cleo. You’re doing great.”

  A contraction came, and Cleo bore down. A rush of power surged through them both as she pressed against him. When it ebbed, she melted into his arms, and he hummed softly, until her body tensed with the next contraction.

  “I love you,” he said in her ear. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed, holding her through another hard push before she collapsed against him.

  “I’m so proud of you right now I could burst,” he whispered.

  “I’m the one who’s bursting.” Cleo panted. Then she was back up for another push.

  “Whoa! That was good, Cleo,” Ben said when it was over. “This is not going to take long at all.”

  Julian patted Cleo’s damp forehead with the corner of the sheet. Maybe the next contraction wouldn’t catch her too soon. Marcus pulled out a sterile, waterproof pad and placed it gently beneath her. Then he placed another pad on the floor next to Ben and meticulously laid out instruments. None of them looked good.

  “Don’t worry,” Marcus said. “Ben’s only going to need the scissors to cut the cord.” He also placed a couple of towels on the bed, although it seemed a bit late for that. Mostly, Marcus seemed to be trying to busy himself.

  “Marcus,” Julian choked out.

  “Hmm?”

  He wanted to apologize for being a jealous shit, but his throat was swollen shut. Marcus smiled briefly, nodded his head, and said, “Okay, Cleo, another push.”

  “What’s going on in there?” Sheik yelled from the hallway.

  “We’re having a baby,” Ben hollered, laughing like a kid. Then he got serious. “Okay, Cleo, lean back a minute. Julian, change places with Marcus so you can see your daughter being born.”

  Julian moved next to Ben, peeked at the action, and felt light-headed. He inhaled deeply, searching for the scent of tangerines. He found it, and a sense of peace poured over him like a warm waterfall.

  “I think this one’s gonna do it,” Ben said. “Push!”

  Cleo pushed. And the top of their daughter’s head emerged before slipping back into the birth canal. “Cleo,” Julian said. “Red hair, love. She has red hair! One more push, okay?”

  Cleo sobbed and laughed when the next contraction came. Seconds later, Julian stared into his daughter’s scrunched-up face. She opened her eyes and quickly shut them, her tiny eyebrows knitting together in a familiar way that sent an arrow straight to Julian’s heart. Then she opened her mouth and belted out an impressive first wail. Sweet pipes.

  “Cleo,” Julian said. “She’s like the sun.”

  Epilogue

  Cleo gazed at the dreaming baby in her arms. The teakettle whistled downstairs, and the little one furrowed her tiny brows.

  “There, there, it’s just a teakettle,” she soothed. “Get used to it. It’s all Daddy knows to do at times like these.” The baby produced a milky grin, melting Cleo’s heart.

  Padded footsteps squeaked their way up the stairs, accompanied by the sounds of a clattering tea tray. Cleo looked up to see Julian pausing at the door, gazing at her as if she were the most beautiful creature in the world instead of a postpartum wreck of a woman.

  “Want some tea, love?” he asked. “I have anise and fennel…milk production and all that.”

  “If I produce any more milk, I’ll be able to feed a third-world country.”

  Julian smiled and set the tea tray down on the cedar chest that overflowed with diapers and baby blankets.

  “Time to baby-gaze,” he said, climbing onto the bed. He snuggled against Cleo’s breast, where the baby nursed, and leaned in to kiss a tiny cheek. He sniffed the baby’s fuzzy head, and Cleo felt him shiver.

  “The ocean?” she asked.

  Julian nodded and smiled in a state of dreamy intoxication. The only sounds were the baby’s suckling and the soft buzzing of an amp in the corner.

  A downstairs door slammed, and Julian flinched. “Mommy,” a high-pitched voice screamed. “Uncle Sheik has to put five dollars in the F-word jar!”

  Julian stood and faced the door—a shield between the baby and what was about to burst into the room. Goldie was first, with Ruby hot on her heels. With no trouble at all, they dodged their father and jumped onto the bed.

  “Don’t wake the baby,” Goldie screamed at her sister. The baby began to wail. “I told you. I told you you’d wake the baby. Mommy, Ruby woke the baby.”

  Cleo didn’t bother pointing out that two-year-old Ruby, with her thumb firmly embedded in her mouth, hadn’t produced a peep. Goldie, on the other hand, was a five-year-old human foghorn.

  Ruby pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “My kiss bebe Asher?”

  “It’s Azure, Ruby,” Goldie screamed, standing on the bed. “Like zha zha zha boom.” She swung her hips and plopped down hard, bouncing the baby in Cleo’s arms. “It means blue. Because she cries blue sounds, right, Daddy? Ruby keeps saying Asher but that’s wrong. She still has baby talk.”

  Ruby leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on the crying baby’s head, while Goldie continued her running monologue. “Azure means blue, and Ruby means red, and Goldie means yellow, but not because I have yellow hair, right, Daddy? I have red hair. And Ruby has brown hair. Isn’t that funny, Daddy? We don’t have the right hair, any of us. Because you named us for our colors that only you can see.”

  “That’s right, angel,” Julian said. “Ruby cried jewels, and you were like the rays of the sun.” He tousled her hair affectionately. “And now you’re like glass in a blender,” he murmured, just loudly enough for Cleo to hear.

  “And Azure sounds blue and smells like the ocean,”
Goldie continued. “But to me she just smells like poop.”

  “Who wants to take a nap?” Julian asked, and Cleo recognized the tone of forced enthusiasm.

  “Not me, Daddy,” Goldie said. “Because I’m not even a little bit sleepy.”

  “Of course you’re not.” Julian sighed. “But Ruby is. And Mummy is. And you need to be rested for when Joey Ramone comes over later.”

  “I’m gonna marry Joey Ramone,” said Goldie, decidedly.

  “You most definitely are not,” said Julian.

  “Am, too. I like how he plays guitar.”

  “Oh, dear,” Cleo said.

  “He sucks,” Julian grumbled.

  “Julian. Good grief, he’s six.”

  “He still sucks,” Julian replied as everyone settled in. Goldie snuggled up against Cleo, and Ruby settled into her favorite spot, the crook of Julian’s arm. Without dislodging her, he reached over and grabbed the old Martin acoustic.

  He strummed a chord, and Cleo waited for the usual naptime set, “Ruby Red Kisses” and “Golden Was the Day.” But something new floated out instead. Something dreamy and sweet and…blue.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “‘Azure Skies, Midnight Cries,’” Julian whispered. “It’s a work in progress.”

  “I like it.”

  “I was thinking about dusting off the Les Paul later. I think you might like that better,” he said.

  “Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind, Guitar Boy?”

  “The usual,” he said, running his fingers over the strings and switching seamlessly to “Playing Cleo.”

  Her heart skipped a beat at the melody.

  “We’ll start out with something nice and slow,” Julian said. “Then we’ll work our way up to something a little faster…and dirtier.” He grinned, causing her skipping heart to thud instead.

  “And?” she asked. “Then what?”

  “Then,” Julian purred, “we’ll stop in the middle when the baby cries.”

  Cleo laughed. That was their song, all right. And she couldn’t wait to play it again.

  Did you love this Entangled Select? Check out more of our titles here!