by Dana Taylor
Reba flipped the small metal bar back and released the lock, allowing Maddie to push open the door. Reba's swollen eyes and red nose marred her doll face.
Reaching her hand out, Maddie said, "Come on, you can pull yourself together in my office. The bell is about to ring. You don't want to be caught in here when the throng descends."
Reba's jagged recital of Phil's behavior filled Maddie with guilt-tinged fury. Obviously some sort of transference had transpired. She'd heard of his strong-arm tactics in the earlier gym class. Now he'd turned tyrannical in the history class. This is what came from allowing a personal relationship to develop between people who should keep things on a professional level.
She needed to clear the air, set him straight, show him the Woodbridge-Harris starch. After sending a calmed Reba onto her next class, Maddie dispatched a note to Phil.
"Dear Coach Wilcox,
Please see me in my office after school to discuss your behavior of this morning.
Madeleine Harris"
Phil read the message in the gym as the class monitor waited for his reply. Receiving that note on top of her disappearing act, her failure to return his phone calls, and her ridiculous announcement in the morning meeting, was like waving a red flag before a bull.
He drawled his answer to the courier. "Tell Miss Harris I can hardly wait for three o'clock."
* * *
As Randy strolled down the school hallway with the bomber jacket draped over his arm, he congratulated himself on portraying the hetero fiancé with true joie de vivre. Maybe this whole baby thing with Maddie would transform his life. Randy's compartmentalized existence had its satisfactions. He loved teaching, directing, producing the shows; watching young talent unfold.
He tried to keep too busy to notice the huge black hole in his personal life. He could easily blame his dependent mother for keeping any real relationships from developing. He made occasional trips to Little Rock and mingled with the gay community. But he kept acquaintances at arm’s length. He'd been stabbed in the heart years ago and didn't want to face that kind of pain again. He saw too much switching of partners, in love one minute and bitching the next. Who needed it? Lately, he'd avoided the trips all together because he'd come really close to caring about one person in particular, and it scared the hell out him.
Better to take this opportunity with Maddie to focus on her and the child. She'd need him; the baby would need him; his mother would forever need him. He'd be too busy to notice who he needed.
At 2:55 Randy peeked his head inside the door of Maddie's office. "Hey, love, do you want me to dash you home before I start tonight's rehearsal?"
He'd picked Maddie up for work this morning so they could plan their happy announcement on the way. He'd found her poised over her toilet bowl, upchucking, and managed to pour her into her assistant principal togs and cover the green of her complexion with his cosmetic expertise.
Looking up from her desk, Maddie said, "Not quite yet. I'm expecting the coach in a few minutes. Why don't you stick around? I could use the moral support."
Randy closed the door behind him, slipped into the bomber jacket, thereby taking on the flyer fiancé character once again. "If you say three, mister, you'll never hear the man count ten."
Maddie smiled. "John Wayne in The Quiet Man."
***
Phil slammed the gym door and headed for the main school building. If background music had accompanied his pounding feet, the insistent syncopation from the theme of Jaws would surely have been the score of choice. He felt every bit the angry shark circling before the kill.
Ignoring the friendly greetings of secretaries as he passed them on his way to Her Majesty's inner sanctum, he thrust the door open, firmly shut it and stood, feet planted wide like Conan the Barbarian, ready to do battle.
Maddie and Randy riveted their attention on the scowling figure before them.
Phil crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow. "You summoned me?"
Maddie swallowed and gathered all the chutzpah she could muster, searching desperately within herself for the old Bostonian Iron Maiden. "Yes, Mr. Wilcox, I appreciate your punctuality."
"Believe me, sweetheart, I counted the minutes." He pulled the crumpled note out of his pocket. "What is this crap about my behavior this morning?"
Clasping her hands before her on the desk, she said, "It came to my attention that there were two injured players in a highly competitive basketball game this morning in your gym class. I also found Reba Finn crying in the girl's bathroom after you flunked and humiliated her in front of the history class. I can't help but think that my marriage announcement put you in a foul mood, and I will not tolerate a teacher allowing personal emotion to disrupt the order of the school."
Randy watched the vein in Phil's temple pound and considered clamping a hand over Maddie's mouth before the coach lunged across the desk and strangled her.
Phil stepped to Maddie's desk, put his hands down on the cold surface and leaned in over her. "Well, maybe after you took a powder on Saturday from our cabin, you should have taken my reactions into consideration before walking into the meeting this morning as The Princess Bride." Phil shot Randy a look. "And what kind of guy proposes marriage to a chick who's been shacked up with someone else the day before?"
Maddie shot to her feet. "We were not 'shacked up'!"
"Honey, if I hadn't taken that tumble in the poison ivy, we'd have kept the fire burning in that cabin all weekend and never lit the fireplace. You'd have my love bites all over your lily white body."
Maddie's eyes turned ice blue. "You can be the crudest, most vulgar individual I've ever met."
Phil kept his voice to a low growl. "And you're still an irritating, stuck-up, pain in the ass."
Randy was enjoying the show, but he knew his cue when he heard it. Time to play macho lover man. "Well, I guess we'd better come clean, baby." Randy sidled next to Maddie and wrapped a possessive arm around her. "The truth is the little lady was on the rebound. I'd broken off our relationship when she started talking marriage last summer, told her I wasn't the marrying kind. She only went off with you to make me jealous. It worked, too. When she called me on the phone and described your love nest, I knew I had to get her away from you and put my brand on her, pronto."
Pushing back from the desk, Phil took measure of Maddie's stiff composure, locked in Randy's casual embrace. "I'm not buying any of this bull for a minute, but I do know I don't like being played for a sucker. Whatever your game is, I can tell you no guy likes a tease. At least with a five dollar hooker, a man knows where he stands." His voice cut like a knife. "I thought you were something different—a woman with a heart, mind and soul. God help me, I thought you'd be loyal. Christ, I'm an idiot, thinking I'd found gold in you. But you're just like all other women–faithless, lying users. You're just fool's gold. And I was the fool."
Phil turned on his heel and slammed out the door.
Randy released Maddie and heaved a sigh of relief as an actor does when the curtain goes down.
Maddie stood frozen, staring into space trying to put her disjointed thoughts into some logical order, when the door abruptly opened again.
Phil strode across the small room, snagged one arm around Maddie's waist and the other hand gripped the back of her head. "I forgot to kiss the bride."
His lips crushed hers in the urgent need to put his brand on her, claim her as his own, throwing logic and common sense to the wind. She'd, by God, remember him no matter whose arms were around her. His tongue swept her mouth and blazed his taste, his scent into her memory. He wanted to toss her back on the desk and impale her, thrust himself inside her with a powerful rhythm pounding on and on until they both exploded and he thoroughly possessed the proper Miss Harris. He wanted her lost in passion, fighting, scratching, surrendering, then lying limp and spent beneath him. But he settled for the searing kiss. She'd lost all strength by the time he suddenly released her on buckling knees. A parting glimpse of her gave him a glimmer of
satisfaction. Randy had caught her from behind to keep her from completely collapsing on the floor.
Holding the door handle, Phil uttered a final shot. "Let's see if you can do that to her, flyboy."
Chapter Eleven
Take my wife–-PLEASE…
Rodney Dangerfield
Randy and Maddie drove to Little Rock on Friday afternoon, the last couple to stand before the judge at the courthouse for a quick civil marriage ceremony at 4:45. Two chatty court clerks with deep drawls served as witnesses and offered best wishes. It was a done deal by 5 o'clock. The best friends were now Mr. and Mrs. Randall Bailey.
Standing on the windy old concrete steps before the brick courthouse, they stared at each other, suddenly speechless, each wondering if they'd made a big mistake. Then they laughed. They were still plain ol’ Maddie and Randy, no matter what a piece of paper called them.
Randy put on a jolly face. "Let's have dinner on the river. I know a picturesque spot where we can watch the sun go down as the barges sail by."
Maddie plastered on a smile. "Sounds wonderful."
As an orange disc sank in the western sky, they sat next to a glass wall in the posh restaurant gazing across the wide expanse of the Arkansas River. Forgetting all about their marriage seemed the most natural course and they discussed Randy's upcoming production of Dames at Sea and his decision to cast Reba Finn in the lead role. For some reason, talking about the baby didn't feel right. They didn't know how to approach the subject.
Over entrees of pasta primavera for Maddie and lamb chops for Randy, they worked on ideas for the sets. Randy excitedly sketched on a paper napkin.
The outline of a mock ship took shape as he bent over the table. Neither of them noticed their visitor until a perfectly manicured hand rested on Randy's shoulder. Maddie looked up and inspected a lithe, sandy-haired man in the expensive suit who gazed at Randy with calm familiarity.
"Randall, it's good to see you in town." The man possessed a cultured baritone voice.
Randy's expression of uncomfortable recognition and the stranger's subtle caress where his hand lay told Maddie more than she wanted to know.
Randy pulled back, sloughing off the resting hand. "Hello, Brent."
"It's been a while," Brent said, as he cast a questioning look at Maddie.
Randy made introductions. "Maddie, this is Brent Farnsworth. Brent, this is…my w-wife, Madeleine." Maddie smiled politely as she noticed he'd nearly choked on the "w" word.
Brent blinked at her as if she was a mirage. "Your wife? And what does Mother say about that? Or have you kept Madeleine a secret, too?"
Randy stood up, throwing the napkin from his lap down onto the table. "Excuse us, Maddie. Let's go have a chat in the bar, Brent."
Brent shot Randy a steely look. "Yes, let's. It was very nice to have met you, Mrs. Bailey."
Maddie watched Randy and Brent walk to the mahogany bar. They carried on an intense, whispered dialog. Randy used a lot of hand gestures in his usual dramatic way. Brent appeared to be the more stoic type. Brent stood straighter and straighter as the conversation continued. He cast Maddie a serious gaze, causing her to quickly look at the river view. She shifted her head back to see Brent turn on his heel and depart the restaurant in rigid anger.
Randy's accustomed mask of impish whimsy was suddenly ripped away, replaced by a soul-revealing, sad countenance. His shoulders drooped as if the weight of the world had been thrust upon them. He stood frozen at the bar staring at Brent's departing back, unaware that Maddie looked on. His face mirrored so much internal pain, she turned away, embarrassed by her unintentional invasion into his private life.
By the time he returned to the table, he'd painted his happy face back on. "How about sharing an order of 'Death by Chocolate' for dessert?" he said as he took his seat.
"Perfect," Maddie agreed.
* * *
Their river walk hotel room featured two queen beds, dresser, entertainment center and full bath. Blue and burgundy tied all elements of the decorating together with efficient monotony. Maddie took the bed closest to the picture window. From the fifth floor the view of the river flowed long and peaceful, even at night. Tall lamps along the winding sidewalk cast a yellow glow as far as the eye could see.
Maddie rested her forehead against the cool glass, standing in her stocking feet, gazing at the water. City lights obscured the stars. No moon appeared in the evening sky, just hazy darkness against the skyline. She longed to get out of her constricting clothes. For the first time, she'd had to find a safety pin to hold her skirt together around her expanding waist.
Randy stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in pajamas adorned with cartoon characters. "It's all yours. How do you like my honeymoon jammies?"
Maddie pulled her equally sexy flannel nightgown out of her bag. "Fetching, very fetching."
She took a long, hot shower that felt heavenly. God, what a stressful week. Surely, she'd been through the worst of it. Now it was simply a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and carrying on like the Woodbridges before her. She hoped that darned, unpredictable Harris blood didn't get her in trouble.
Refreshed by their showers, Randy and Maddie enjoyed a kind of slumber party, watching the romance channel while eating junk food and drinking caffeine-free soda. She fell asleep before eleven o'clock to the sounds of the TV and the blowing air conditioner.
The room was dark and quiet when she awakened two hours later with terrible indigestion. She imagined a sparking firecracker sizzling in her stomach. Groaning as she sat up, she tried not to awaken Randy as she stumbled to the bathroom. She turned on the light and poured herself a glass of water, hoping it would douse her flaming insides. Gulping liquid in the doorway, she glanced back into the room to see if she'd disturbed Randy.
Light pouring out of the bathroom revealed his bed, empty, still perfectly made up. He was gone. The bridegroom had flown the coop. She sat on the edge of the bed and composed a mock press release in her mind.
"The Randall Baileys have returned from their rapturous honeymoon where the pregnant bride endured miserable gas as the groom was off visiting with 'friends.'"
She'd gone through the looking glass into a tilted wonderland.
That's when she noticed it—the full moon now high in the sky. She switched off the glaring bathroom light, crossed to the window in her billowing nightgown and opened up the curtains as far as they could go, allowing moonlight to bathe the room. The heavenly body remained at once her friend and foe, affecting the tides of her being.
Tonight a mixed mood enveloped her, joyfully sad, as she realized she was no longer alone with the moon. She leaned back on her pillow and placed her hands on the small tight mound forming beneath her bellybutton. A new body, a fresh soul grew every moment of every day, developing in her womb, under her heart. A bubbling thrill coursed through her veins.
But at the same time, she felt so…lonely. She wanted to share the miracle, tell someone about all the minute changes happening to her. But, it wouldn't be Randy. She knew that now. Their friendship only went so far. It didn't go to the deepest intimacies. Tears formed in her eyes as loneliness descended on her like a blanket. She stared up at the moon and sank into the forbidden wish that Phil's warm arms were around her tonight.
* * *
Phil puffed an expensive cigar as he sat on the cold concrete steps in front of his apartment staring at the light bulb moon. Smoking wasn't a regular habit, but every once in a while he craved a good cigar. The famous Kipling quote floated across his mind. "A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke."
His team had barely won tonight's game, thanks to a last minute interception and sprint into the end zone. He should have been happy. The team was three for three; Melissa had joined the squad as water girl and personal advisor to the coach. His life counted for something again. So, why did he feel hollow and empty inside?
Sum it up in three words—Madeleine Woodbridge Harris. Christ, he probably needed to add
the Bailey by now. The earlier anger of the week had been easier to deal with than these sorry blues. He had to laugh at himself, looking over his shoulder all night long for Maddie's honey blond hair in the crowd. Instead, he found only bleached blond Pam waving wildly at him at every opportunity.
He'd known about Randy and Maddie's hurried trip to Little Rock, having overheard gossip in the teacher's lounge. Still, he'd been foolish enough to hope the rumor was false. Shoot him for being a friggin' idiot. That overwhelming, territory-marking kiss he'd left on Maddie had backfired on him big time. While instilling his taste and scent in her, he'd inhaled her essence, implanted her flavors in the center of his psyche. Which was why he sat shivering outside in the cold, attempting to put a damper on his ardor. It beat tossing and turning in his empty bed.
A few more puffs on the cigar focused his thinking. What the hell had happened? Why would she run off to marry that twinkle-toes? The facts just wouldn't add up in his mind. She was the kind of woman who would have a big to-do wedding, a lah-dee-dah affair back in Boston with the upper crust. This turn of events resembled an old-fashioned Arkansas shotgun wedding where the bride was barefoot and pregnant.
Barefoot and pregnant…barefoot and pregnant
Son of a bitch…He'd be a goddamned son of a bitch!
Phil stood and ground the cigar out under the heel of his shoe. Could pregnancy be the missing piece of the puzzle? The age-old explanation for hasty marriage rang some gut-level bell of truth.
Had Maddie and Randy actually conceived a child? Nah, he couldn't buy that one, but he could see marriage to Randy being her way out to respectability. So who was the mysterious stud? Some summer fling? At any rate, he knew one thing for sure—it wasn't Phil Wilcox.
No, Phil was just a damn fool who couldn't get one woman out of his mind. He knew he'd be watching her whether he wanted to or not. Would she soon be wearing blousy outfits? Would Randy perform another teachers' meeting skit to announce the coming of the stork? This time they’d probably do a scene from Father Knows Best. Randy might smoke a pipe and call Maddie "kitten."