She Woke Up Married

by Suzanne Macpherson

  “Give it up, Turner, I’ve seen the package.” Paris flung her comment at him as she passed. She hid the huge smile that hit her mouth by turning into his bedroom door and vanishing. What a clown that boy was. Some things never changed.

  Oh, brother. Turner bounced to his feet and finished pulling his pajama bottom on and fastening the button just in time to see Sarah standing at the other end of the room, staring. Oh, brother, again.

  “I’m so sorry, it got pretty hot last night and I had to shed some layers.” Turner apologized.

  Sarah smiled an odd smile. “Millie is going to teach me how to make breakfast.” Then she scooted back down the hall like a high-strung dog. He better not even think those words or he’d end up with one of those, too. Now, how was he going to get some fresh clothes and a shower around here?

  First, he was going to barge in on naked Paris. He’d only gotten a short look at her as she’d passed for the second time, but it was enough to make him wish his wife would reconsider sharing his bed. Her bed. Whatever. She was so round and delicious, and her breasts were so…well-proportioned. He remembered her in the tub on their wedding night, all slippery and wet.

  That got him all hot. He got a semi-erection thinking about her that way. Enough to make his pajama bottoms bulge. But hey, this was his wife he was thinking about.

  Sarah came back in the room. Her eyes just grazed over him as she headed for the kitchen. He saw her cheeks go scarlet. He was just not even going to think about that. Turner headed for his old bedroom with speed and determination. He knocked on the door, then turned the knob and went in. By now, the offending erection had wilted into submission.

  “Hey!” Paris groused.

  Although why, he didn’t know. She was back under his covers. In his nice, firm bed.

  “I’ve seen the package, Mrs. Pruitt.”

  “Humph. This mattress is hard as a rock. What is this, a reverend thing? Denying the earthly pleasures?”

  “If I was into denying myself earthly pleasures, I wouldn’t have married you, my dear.” Turner danced around Paris’s trunks and suitcases so he could get to the large antique armoire at the foot of the bed. There was just enough room for him to manuever the drawers open.

  “Sweet-talkin’ Turner. I’m going shopping. What the hell time is it anyway?”

  “About five-fifteen in the morning. Sarah’s learning to make breakfast, Millie is going to consume a pot of coffee, and I’m going to eat and run. I’ve got business back at the chapel.” Turner pulled the clothing he needed out of their neatly folded piles.

  “Figures.”

  “What does that mean?” Turner turned to look at her.

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m here for you, Paris. You can call me any time. I’m leaving you the chapel phone number, and anyone there can tell you where I went if I step out. I’m helping Reverend Vernon go over some music. I’m also going to get the names of a few doctors. We’ll need a good OB.” Turner turned back to the armoire. “Maybe Sarah would like to go shopping with you later. We’ll also need some groceries for this crowd. I’ll leave you some money.”

  “Oh, that kind of shopping. I don’t do that kind. Don’t you just call the grocer and have it sent up?”

  “No, we don’t have it sent up. We get up off our fannies and buy milk and bread.”

  “How very primitive of you.” Paris sounded cranky. Then again, she’d sounded cranky since they’d gotten on the plane in New York.

  “Why don’t you just rest today. Have a good meal, get your bearings. Millie can take Sarah shopping,” Turner suggested. “I’m going to take a quick shower and get going.” He finished selecting clothes, then shut the armoire doors and all the drawers. He was going to nab that bathroom for a shower before it was gone forever.

  “Have a nice day, honey.”

  “You too, darling.” Turner marched out of the room with his clothes and made it to the open bathroom. A shower. A cold shower.

  Paris couldn’t believe she was wide awake at five-fifteen in the morning. She picked out one of her suitcases and opened it on the floor. Bears. Bears! Well, they couldn’t just stay in there forever, they’d get musty and unhappy. She grabbed an armful and placed them on the bed. She’d just unpack everything and make this room more bearable…bear-able. She giggled at her own joke.

  She was getting on the phone to the nearest department store as soon as they opened. This mattress had to go. Maybe even the bed. Plus she’d need her own linens. They should be in one of these trunks. Unless it was a trunk the airline was bringing over later. She’d just buy some new linens anyway, just in case. And since she could not fit into a single pair of pants she owned, she’d have to go maternity shopping. Donna Karan had maternity clothes, didn’t she?

  Paris busied herself unloading the contents of her suitcases and trunks onto Turner’s bed. She found paper in his bedside table and started making a shopping list. Her kind of shopping. Three-hundred-thread-count shopping.

  Turner took a two-minute shower to conserve the hot water. Only time for one verse of “You Left Me Cryin’ in the Chapel.” Plus he had things on his mind, and he’d think much more clearly in his own office—away from here. He had questions to sort out. Like how he was going to support three women, and how he was going to get Paris to stop thinking she’d be the worst mother on earth, and how he was going to keep his hands off her.

  Maybe working two jobs would help. Besides his job at Graceland Chapel, there was always work for a good Elvis in Vegas. There were lots of private parties and conventions. Also, summer in Vegas through September was the peak wedding season, then things quieted down until December and New Year’s.

  It was a good thing that he’d found the interim reverend. Danny could stay on as Turner’s assistant. That would be a first, having an assistant. Turner would have some free time.

  Turner knew Graceland Chapel could easily support a part-time assistant. He’d gone over the books carefully when he’d bought the chapel a few years ago, and it’d barely been breaking even at that point, but he’d done a few do-it-yourself renovations to class the place up, and business had picked up nicely. Enough to pay the overhead and a little on the side.

  But he’d need more than a little on the side if he was going to keep up with Paris, Sarah, Millie, and baby makes four. He’d have to save up for a larger apartment—or a house. First and last months’ rent could really add up on a decent place.

  He’d just have to put his name in to the Elvi booking agency and get some action going. He wiped the fog off the bathroom mirror and peered at his reflection. He’d have to let the sideburns grow out again.

  When he left the bathroom, fully dressed, Turner heard all sorts of banging and thumping coming from his bedroom, so he decided to join Millie for a cup of coffee and a muffin instead of attempting another round with Paris.

  “You’ve got yourself a wildcat there, Reverend,” Millie said. She had to remove the Tootsie Pop from her mouth first. Turner figured that was her replacement for the usual morning cigarette.

  “Looks like it.” He poured himself a cup of coffee in a non-cartoon mug and sat down heavily on a kitchen chair. “Any suggestions?”

  “Just let nature take its course.” Millie smiled. “Everything will work out.” She took a gulp of coffee and stuck the sucker back in her mouth.

  “You should be preaching this Sunday, Millie. These are great muffins. Thanks for baking so early in the morning.”

  “Sarah made them. She’s not too stupid in the kitchen.”

  Millie hadn’t bothered to take out the lollypop that time, so it had come out a little garbled, but Turner got it. Just then Sarah emerged from the hallway, looking very conservative in a white high-necked, long-sleeved blouse and a dark floral skirt. Turner hoped she hadn’t heard Millie.

  Then he remembered she’d seen him…inflated. He just hoped Sarah wasn’t very observant. Fat chance, but Turner hoped anyway.

  “Sarah, good morning.”


  “Good morning, Turner.” She gave a wan smile.

  “Millie tells me you made these muffins. They’re very nice. Apple spice?” Turner went for the distraction.

  “Yes, thank you. Millie is a good teacher.” Sarah got a cup down from the cupboard, went to the stove, and poured herself hot water. She squeezed a wedge of lemon into the cup and added a little honey. All this had been carefully laid out next to the stove, Turner noticed.

  “I thought I’d go to the chapel for a while, then run over to the college and see about enrollment forms for you.”

  “Oh,” Sarah said. “I thought we’d do that together. Or I’m happy to do it myself.” She carefully sat down across from him with her hot lemon water and sipped it slowly.

  “I can’t let you just wander around Vegas alone. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go together.”

  “I’d love to come and see the chapel, Turner. Can I just go along?”

  “Of course.”

  Millie had a smirk on her lollypopped lips. She removed the sucker and spoke up. “I thought I’d hit the Piggly Wiggly early before my calling hours. Can we do that first, come back here, then you and Sarah can go to the chapel?” Plop. Back in it went.

  “Sure. I guess we’re a one-car family at present, so we better make do,” Turner replied. He took a deep draw off his coffee. If this day was any indication of the complications that awaited him, he was going to need more than patience to get through it.

  Paris stalked through the bedroom door, sniffing the air. Turner twisted in the chair to see her approaching in some kind of flannel gown. Her hair was all crazy. She looked like Raggedy Ann, but meaner. She also looked more like six months’ pregnant. Turner thought this was odd. He guessed he hadn’t noticed when he’d glimpsed her glorious body earlier.

  “What’s that I smell?” She got closer. She spotted muffins. She dove in and practically stuffed one in her mouth whole. “Hmmmm. Good.”

  Sarah was staring at her.

  “Paris, I’m going to take Millie and Sarah food shopping, then drop Millie back here. Then Sarah and I are going to the chapel and later over to Nevada State College to get some enrollment information. Would you like to come along?” Turner asked.

  Paris got a strange look on her face. Her left eyebrow twitched up high on her face. She looked at him for at least thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of some women’s deadpan stare is very unnerving. Then she peeled another muffin out of its paper wrapper, took a big bite, and chewed. That took some time as well. Finally, she answered him.

  “I don’t care what you do. I’ve got some shopping to do too, so when you and Dara are all done, you’ll need to drive me to the nearest mall. Hopefully there’s a decent department store nearby. There wasn’t any when I left here years ago.”

  “Sarah,” Sarah said.

  “Oh, right.” Paris flounced to the cupboard, picked out one of Millie’s Siamese cat cups, poured coffee out of the Mr. Coffee, and plopped dramatically in the other kitchen chair, leaving Millie standing.

  “Neiman Marcus, Macy’s, that’s about it. There’s a Saks on Las Vegas Boulevard, and a few other high-end stores out on West Sunset,” Millie rambled. “Darn good coffee, Sarah. Paris, you shouldn’t be drinking this crap.”

  “Okay, ladies, we’ll get this all worked out. Sarah, Millie, let’s roll. I’ll bring the car to the front of the building.” Turner slugged down the rest of his coffee, got up, backed out of the kitchen, and made a break for it. He heard the sound of female arguing in the distance as he grabbed his jacket and keys and ran out the door.

  Turner finally snagged a Load and Unload Only spot in front of the building. He eased the station wagon into the parallel spot and turned off the key. He was thinking very unpreacherlike thoughts by now about how to unload all these women out of his life. But apparently this was his journey to take, and he better make the best of it.

  Besides, he was married to Paris now, and he’d have to make the best of it. She just needed some understanding. And a reality check. And maybe a spanking. He smiled at that thought. He better watch himself, he’d get all hot for her again. He thought about bills and baseball for a while.

  He waited. And waited. He turned on the radio to the oldies-but-fifties station. He sang along to “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” at the top of his lungs. A few people opened their windows and started to yell, but didn’t. He hoped that was because a little music in the morning wasn’t a bad thing.

  Where were those women? He would go up and get them, but that would be like walking into the jungle…at night…with a T-bone steak in his pocket. They’d eat him in three bites. So he sang three more songs, this time a little softer.

  A glint of color caught his eye, and he turned to take in the amazing trio of women headed his way. Paris was dressed in a black dress and big hat, her standard fare. Sarah didn’t have the conservative skirt and blouse on anymore; instead she wore what looked like one of Paris’s wrap dresses, even though she’d buttoned a sweater over the top to cover up any cleavage visual.

  Millie looked very nice and even had a hat on. Kind of a Mamie-Eisenhower-goes-bad thing.

  Millie swung open the front passenger door, but Paris flew past her like a true New Yorker. Millie shrugged and climbed in back with Sarah.

  “Where did you get this monstrosity?” Paris said as she slid into the seat next to him.

  “This isn’t a monstrosity, it’s a 1969 Vista Cruiser Wagon,” Turner replied.

  “It’s my car,” Millie said. “It’s my showgirl car-pool wagon. We’d load up a pile of us long-legged ladies and get to work. It saved us all money, and we had a great time. We all chipped in on the car. Then we all retired one by one and I ended up with it. It’s a beaut, isn’t it?” Millie settled back into her seat. “I only let Turner drive it,” she added. “Turner, you should take the back way. The morning traffic is starting up.”

  “Don’t drive all jerky. I’ll get sick,” Paris added.

  “Can you go through downtown? I’d love to see a few sights on the way,” Sarah asked.

  Turner sucked his breath in slowly and put the car in drive. God help him, because nobody else would.

  10

  Double Trouble

  Dr. Shapiro ran the ultrasound bar over Paris’s gooped-up stomach three more times and stared at the monitor intently. He pointed at the monitor and made humming noises. Turner stood behind him, nodding. This was pretty much pissing Paris off.

  “What is it, an alien?”

  “It’s twins.” Dr. Shapiro shifted the monitor so Paris could see. She propped herself up and stared at the wavy gray lines, trying to see what they were seeing.

  “See here?” Turner stepped over and pointed. “Two heads.”

  “I have a two-headed baby.” Paris fell back against the hard hospital couch with a thud.

  “No, you have two one-headed babies.” Dr. Shapiro laughed.

  “How the hell will I get them out of me?”

  “It’s been done before,” the doctor replied. He put down the ultrasound bar and wiped some of the gel off her with a soft cloth.

  “You did this. You put two in there.” Paris felt like crying. She bit her tongue to try and keep the tears in.

  “My apologies,” Turner said. He went around beside her and took her hand in his. She pulled it away.

  “How can you tell so early?”

  “The size of her uterus, for one, and the ultrasound quite clearly shows two separate sacs. Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll have a chat about it in my office. I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

  Swell. A chat. Paris grimaced at the doctor. Trust Turner to come up with some happy jolly sort of obstetrician. The two of them were just beaming. Turner shook the doctor’s hand.

  Paris sat up by herself. “I’m so glad you two are so happy. It’s peachy, isn’t it? Now I have two huge kids in me and I’ll be stretched till I pop.” She swung her feet over the side of the bed and slid down. She got dizzy. T
urner steadied her.

  “You can get dressed, and I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Mrs. Pruitt.” Dr. Shapiro did his vanishing act.

  “And now you’ll have two babies to take care of, Turner. Have you taken that in?” Paris tore off the flimsy paper gown they’d given her.

  “Look at you! I should have known. I thought you were a bit bigger than average.” Turner patted her belly.

  “Cut that out.” She pushed his hand away. “This is horrible. It was bad enough before.”

  “You’re going to be fine, Paris. But we need to take even better care of you now,” Turner said.

  She wrestled away from him. “Get out. I want to be alone.”

  “I’m not going to leave you, Paris. I’ll be here for you, no matter what.” Turner put his arms around her.

  She felt herself be unresponsive. She wanted to lean on him and cry and be comforted, but she just couldn’t bring herself to break down and let him in. He let her go, but he kissed her gently on the cheek, then walked out the door and shut it quietly behind him.

  Paris sat down in the green leather chair next to the ultrasound bed. She felt the tears roll down her cheek. She wiped them away. What was she going to do? It was bad enough, the whole idea of her handing one baby over to Turner and getting on with her life, but two? Everyone would think she was a monster.

  But deep in her there was a monster. It was just like her mother’s monster. And two babies would make it twice as bad. She’d never be able to make it. She’d crack up, and it would be just like her mother with her little sister. She remembered how her mother would cry for days at a time, not change the baby, and even gave up nursing her. Paris had started feeding it and changing it and trying to cover up for her mother. She’d cut school until they’d come to get her.

  Then they’d started with the doctors, and her father just hadn’t been able to deal with it, and everything had gone so, so wrong. Paris remembered the day when they’d taken her mother away in a car. A nurse had stayed with her and the baby. Her father had just put his head in his hands and cried. If she’d just been older than eight, she could have taken care of her broken-up family. If they’d just left her alone and let her stay home with them.