City Boy

by Thompson, Jean

  After forty-five minutes he went back to the room to check on Chloe. She was curled up, asleep, the blanket pulled over her. The window curtains were drawn and the room was dim. He used the bathroom, came out, spoke her name. She didn’t stir. She looked as if she’d fallen from some great height. Jack shut the room door behind him and went back to the lounge.

  He sat at the bar and ordered a sandwich. The beer was making him feel thickheaded, so he switched to scotch. The sandwich came and he got busy with it.

  “Fight?”

  It was their waitress from earlier. She was standing next to him at the bar. “Excuse me?”

  “You two have a fight?”

  After a moment he said, “Not this time.” He hadn’t really noticed her before. She was older than him, mid-thirties perhaps, and she looked like she’d been a cocktail waitress all her life. Something thin, wiry, and worn down about her. Cigarettes-and-coffee skin. Pretty in spite of it. A band of green eyeliner along her upper lid, black below. Her eyelashes were shaggy. Red hair, chemical and overbright, but Jack thought it was probably meant to look dyed, it was red for fun, the same way people did hair pink or purple. Her name tag said Susie.

  She said, “I know. None of my business.” She raised one eyebrow, as if waiting for him to decide between baked potato or fries.

  “Susie.”

  “That’s me.”

  “You married, Susie?”

  “Twice. I think I’m over it. Don’t listen to me. I’m a girl with an attitude.” There was Wisconsin in her voice, in the bleating as and the upward twist she gave her sentences.

  Jack turned on his bar stool and surveyed the room around him as a conversational tactic, a way to look at something else besides her. “All these people are happily married,” he announced.

  “You think? I could tell you some stories. Well. Back to work. I’m sure glad you nice folks didn’t have you a spat.”

  Jack watched her as she made the rounds of her tables. The resort went in for middle-of-the-road sexiness when it came to uniforming their servers. White ruffled blouses, cleavage available if you looked hard enough, short black skirt with just a hint of dirndl. She moved with a measured efficiency, picking up, putting down, dispensing chat, smiles, change. He was trying to remember if he’d left her much of a tip.

  He finished his drink and his sandwich, paid his tab, and went back to the room. Chloe didn’t seem to have moved. Jack leaned down to feel her cheek. She wasn’t feverish, and her breathing was calm. You couldn’t really be angry with someone for falling asleep.

  He went back out to the deck. By now the sky was completely dark. The resort had illuminated their portion of the docks and shoreline with small electric lanterns, so as not to be sued by guests who might otherwise fall into the drink. There were a few lights visible on the lake’s far shore. A cool breeze was blowing. It smelled of lake damp and pine. He turned his head so that he was facing only blackness: tree, water, sky. Whatever else might happen, he was glad to be in this place where you could have the illusion of peaceful nothingness.

  After a minute Susie came out of the lounge to take his order. “I don’t need anything, thanks. Just getting some air.”

  “She didn’t kick you out, did she?”

  “She’s sleeping. Catching up on her sleep.”

  “Glad to hear it. Saves a lot of trouble. Thought we’d have to find you a flop.”

  Jack took in her tough, serviceable little body, the jut of her hip as she balanced her tray, her watchful eyes in their rings of makeup. He said, “No need. Thanks.”

  “You come up here for the fishing? Golf ? Just a little getaway? Quality time for the two of you? What’s your name, hon?”

  Jack told her. “Nice to meet you, Jack. Look, don’t mind me. It’s what I do for a living. Cocktail talk. Smart mouth. Cheer people up. A lot of guys go for it.”

  “I bet they do.”

  Her attention lifted from him to a table of golf buddies who were reaching the bottom of their glasses. “Well, don’t sit out too late. We’re not supposed to tell the guests, but sometimes those damn bears come right up on this porch, looking for something tasty.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  He watched her walk over to the golf buddies, jolly them up, watched them decide to stay for one more round. After a little while he got up and went back to the room, stripped off his clothes and lay beside Chloe in the strange bed. He couldn’t give himself much credit for passing up something he didn’t want in the first place, but at least he was capable of making a normal, adult decision.

  Jack woke up to the sound of a running shower. He opened his eyes to the room’s unfamiliar light and shadows. Chloe came out looking scrubbed and small in a white terry-cloth robe. “Oh. You’re awake.”

  “How’s Sleeping Beauty?”

  “God. You must have thought I’d died on you.”

  “You slept right through dinner. I bet you’re starved.”

  But when they were seated in the knotty-pine and gingham dining room, facing a menu that swam in syrup and butter and offered five different kinds of pancakes and four different kinds of pig, all Chloe wanted was juice and toast. “What,” said Jack.

  “Nothing.”

  “If you’re sick …”

  “No, I just don’t feel like, whatever it is you got, moose-meat pie and spaghetti.”

  “Biscuits and gravy. Fine. Don’t eat. Cheaper that way.” Chloe still looked tired, out of sorts, and the last thing he wanted was to push her into some stupid argument for no reason. It brought home to him how very badly he wanted this small interlude where he could pretend that everything was well between them.

  After breakfast they wandered along the lakefront. It was a clear, bright day with the wind from the north and it was possible to imagine that someday soon it might be autumn. They got in the car and took a tour of the local country, the roadside stands selling corn and white peaches and cherries and honey, the gift shops where you could buy ugly quilts and wood burnings and teddy bears and cheese, cheese, cheese. They ate lunch at a tavern that did indeed have deer heads and fish mounted on the wall, and rest rooms labeled Pointers and Setters, and Chloe had her appetite back now and ate a club sandwich and potato salad, and for a joke they put quarters in the jukebox and played all the polka songs, the ones with tubas and accordians. An old man at the bar, as dry and spry as a grasshopper, asked Chloe to dance. When she protested that she didn’t know how, he took her hand and guided her up and down the plank floor, slow at first, then a merry, bouncing pace that made her gasp and wheeze with laughter. Jack watched the old man’s face kindle with pleasure and he thought how it was a harmless kindness, in certain circumstances, to share your pretty wife.

  The music ended and Chloe sat down, fanning herself and out of breath, and the old man clapped Jack on the shoulder and wanted to buy him a drink, and Jack said thanks, but they’d better get a move on.

  The old man told Chloe to come back sometime on her own, leave Junior at home, and everybody in the place got a good laugh out of that one.

  They were still smiling when they got in the car, and Jack said, “Well, that was—”

  “Look, there’s something I have to tell you, and I don’t know how else to do it except just say it.”

  His first thought was, Not now. Not this happy, high-water moment that would be taken away from him. He stared out the windshield and waited.

  “I’m surprised you don’t know already, I mean, it’s right under your nose …” Jack turned toward her, shaping words. “I’m pregnant.”

  Then she said, “Say something.”

  Jack shook his head. “Incredible.”

  “Tell me you’re happy.”

  “Sure.” He started the car. “That’s great. Yay us.”

  “Mornings are getting a little rough. That honestly happens. What? What is it?”

  “Shell shock. Give me a minute.” He turned onto the highway and headed back toward the lodge. “You’re s
ure about this?”

  “I did one of those tests. I guess I should go to a doctor to make sure. But I swear, I can tell. I feel all fertile.” She waited for him to insert some enthusiasm.

  “So when is all this … When?”

  Chloe’s expression grew avid. “You’re supposed to count from your last period, but I know it’s got to be a couple weeks after that, so July August September October November December January February March. Sometime in March.”

  Jack kept his eyes on the road and reached over to pat her hand. “Pretty amazing.”

  “Tell me you’re okay with this.”

  “Sure I am.”

  Chloe settled back into her seat. “I know I didn’t do a great job of telling you, but at least I got it out.”

  “Full disclosure. Yep.”

  “I took the test a week ago, but I sort of knew before then.” The turnoff to the resort came up and she braced herself as Jack slowed and swung into it. “We’ve got like a million things to decide.”

  “Plenty of time for that.” He found a parking space, shut the engine off. He kissed Chloe on the top of her head. He asked her what she felt like doing for the rest of the afternoon and she said maybe a massage. She was going to load up on all the pampering she could between now and March. Jack said he’d just hang out, maybe go buy cigars. They kissed again and he watched her walk across the lobby. You couldn’t tell anything by looking, it was way too early for that.

  When he was sure she’d gone to the spa, he went back to the room and lay down on the bed, but, unable to stay still, left again and went outside to wander the landscaped pathways that allowed for the illusion of walking through forest. He spent more than an hour there, and this time when he got back to the room, Chloe was there, reading a magazine.

  “How was the massage?”

  “Fantastic. I don’t have a bone in my body.”

  “How about a boat ride? I saw where you can rent canoes. If you’re up for it.”

  “You don’t know how to paddle a canoe.”

  “Sure I do. I took a video course. Come on.”

  He was pulling her off the bed, and she squealed. “What, this minute?”

  “Best time of day. No mosquitoes.”

  The canoes were green, broad beamed, sturdy, designed to be forgiving of amateur boatmen. The teenaged attendant gave them paddles and life vests, and had them sign a waiver releasing the resort from any responsibility in case of loss, injury, or drowning. Chloe wobbled and hesitated as she took her seat. “I don’t know about this. I don’t think I’m going to be much good at paddling.”

  “Relax, I’ll drive.” He pushed them away from the dock, labored to get into a rhythm, then found it, dipping cleanly from one side to the other. He could feel the muscles in his back, shoulders, arms, stretching and articulating. He tried to remember the last time he’d done anything physical, besides punching out the jerk in Wrigley Field. Maybe he should start going to a gym.

  The breeze had died and the day had grown warm. Midges danced over the water’s surface. Gold-edged clouds piled up on the western horizon. Chloe let a hand trail over the side of the canoe. Jack paddled them away from the lodge, toward the most thickly forested part of the shore. Trees closed in overhead. He drew the paddle up and allowed them to drift. It was silent, except for scraps of birdsong, very high and far away. Chloe, who had been half dozing, opened her eyes. “Rest break?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry I’m so lazy.”

  “I guess you’ve got a good excuse.”

  “It’s not a nine-month illness. I’m going to be one of those super-healthy pregnant ladies. Prenatal aerobics. Wheat germ.”

  The lake barely lapped at the canoe. There was no current. The sky was blue porcelain. Jack said, “Whose is it?”

  She didn’t hear him, didn’t understand at first. Her placid smile didn’t change. Then she saw his face. “What?”

  “Is it mine, or the other guy’s?”

  Even now he hoped to see something in her that would mean innocence. Her eyes flickered. They were as small and hard as grains. “What?”

  “Doesn’t work. Nope. Sorry.”

  “That’s a horrible, horrible … I’m going to wait for you to apologize.” “This would be so much more convincing if I didn’t already know.”

  “Jack. Stop this.”

  “I want to hear you say his name.”

  “Tell me what’s the matter. Why you’re doing this.”

  “Let’s just sit right here and have us a talk.”

  Chloe looked at the shoreline, a hundred yards distant, the placid water, darker where the trees shadowed it. “All right, if you want to talk, let’s go back to the room.”

  Jack held up both paddles, grinned, and shook his head.

  “Are you crazy? Did you suddenly have some kind of brain event?”

  She was beginning to cry. “Oh please,” Jack said. “Could we just skip this part?”

  Chloe wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I want to get out of this boat.”

  “Canoe. I’m insisting on calling things by their right names today. Spade a spade.”

  “Jack, whatever’s upsetting you, we can work it out.”

  “That’s right. Paternity tests. Affidavits.”

  Her voice rose to a shriek. “Take me back or I’ll jump, I’ll jump.”

  Jack waited for the sound to reach its dead end. The trees and water gave back no echoes. “That’s pretty much your only other option, but I don’t think you’ll do it.”

  Chloe hiccuped. “It’s your baby.”

  “Possibly.”

  She made another sound, lower down in her throat.

  Jack said, “I think you got chickenshit when you found out about this baby. Decided you’d better suck up to hubby. Clean up your act.”

  She was crying hard now, lifting her face to the sky so that tears streamed down her throat. Jack said, “Something like that? Huh?

  Come on, Chlo. Show some spunk.”

  “Why do you hate me?”

  “This doesn’t have to take all night. Up to you.”

  “You make me sound like a monster.”

  “You were scared, you didn’t think you were going to get pregnant, or not this soon, while you were still fucking both of us—”

  “Stop it.”

  “—because that’s so messy. Have you told him yet? I think he deserves equal notification.”

  Chloe made some movement in her seat, trying to get farther away from him, it seemed, and the canoe rocked and pitched. She yelped and sat back down. “What do you want, what do you want me to do?”

  “Tell me the truth, for once in your screwed-up life. God. I can’t stand it that I love you. I really can’t. It’s like a character defect.”

  “It’s your baby.”

  “And we know this why?”

  “Because the other times I always—we always—used …”

  He was aware of the sun beating down on the top of his head, the blinding reflections on the water.

  “Used stuff. I was careful. I kept track. I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry.”

  Her sobbing quieted to a steady, keening sound.

  “Say his name.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Or we could do it like charades. You know, one syllable, sounds like.”

  “This is a crappy way to behave, Jack. Whatever I’ve done, this is still crap. You never did anything wrong? You’re perfect? You can hate me because you’re perfect?”

  “Yeah, perfect,” he muttered.

  “I want to go back now. You’ve humiliated me, that’s what you wanted.”

  His head hurt from the light slicing the surface of the water. It was tearing at some root of him to continue, but he couldn’t stop. “So what should we call the little nipper? Here’s a suggestion. Hyphenated names.”

  Chloe screamed. The sound shook the birds into silence.

  Another green canoe nudged around the corner of
the forested point. Two people, Mom and Pop types, paddled toward them. Chloe said, “I’ll scream again. I swear I will.”

  The canoe came closer. Cheery hellos traveled across the water. When they got within conversational distance, the man called, “They told us there was somebody else out here. Some great day, huh?”

  “It is,” said Jack. “Damn nice.”

  “But next time I’m going for a powerboat.”

  “Good call.”

  “Too much of a workout. Where you folks from?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Hey, so are we!” the man wore a bucket-shaped canvas hat, and a pink shirt a couple of shades lighter than his sunburn. His wife was dumpling shaped with a nest of gray hair. They both radiated goodwill. “I guess they get most of their business from Chicago area. I said Chicago, but we actually live in Oak Park.”

  “Close enough,” said Jack.

  “Excuse me,” said Chloe. “Could you take me back to the lodge?”

  “Take you where, hon?”

  “If you have room. If I could get in your boat.”

  “Canoe,” Jack reminded her.

  “For God’s sake, leave me alone.”

  The couple’s expressions had not so much changed as retreated. The man said, “Everything okay here?”

  Jack said, “My wife’s pregnant and we’re trying to figure out who the father is.”

  Chloe said, “He’s crazy and I need to get away from him. I need to get out of this boat.”

  “Actually,” Jack said, “we’re almost through here.”

  The two canoes bobbed and drifted in a pool of ripples. “Now look,” said the man. “We’re going right over there and sit tight while you folks settle your business.”