“I'm having a baby!” she shouted as she came through the door, and then she saw that the accountant was with him. Fortunately there were no clients afoot.
“Congratulations!” the accountant said, looking stunned, but not as stunned as Bix. He looked up and stared at her and said a single word.
“When?” They had twenty-two Christmas parties on the books.
“In two weeks.” She beamed, and Bix looked like he was going to faint. “Don't worry. I won't take off till January. I'll bring the baby to the office. I'll find a sitter. I'll take care of it. You can baby-sit for me,” she said, and he groaned.
“Should I give you a baby shower?” he asked, looking panicked.
“Not till it's here, but thank you. We can play after Christmas.” He was rummaging in his desk frantically as she said it. “What are you looking for?”
“My Valium. I may have to OD. What's the due date, or whatever you call it?”
“That's what you call it.” She grinned. “December fifth.”
“Oh my God, that's the night of the Addison wedding.”
“I'll be there. With the baby, if I have to.” She was going to find a sitter quickly, and already had a call in to a pediatrician. She was going to hire a baby nurse, to help get her through Christmas. And in January she was going to take care of her herself. Now all she had to do was think of a name. But that was the last thing on her mind, as she made hasty notes about what she'd need, and Bix followed her into her office.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Paris? A baby is forever,” he said ominously.
“Yes, I know,” Paris said, looking at him. “That's the only thing that is.”
Chapter 32
Andrew Warren called Paris again the Monday before Thanksgiving. He said he had to come to town to see his client again that weekend. And while he waited around for him to write something, he wondered if she wanted to have dinner. She was spending Thanksgiving with Steven and Bix, and her kids were going to be in New York with Peter. Over the weekend she was going to buy things she needed for the baby, and beyond that she had nothing to do.
“That would be nice. Do you want to come here for dinner?” She didn't mind cooking for him. She had nothing else to do, and it might be easier for him, while he waited for his beleaguered screenwriter to hatch a script. They were within hours of the deadline, and the studio was making ugly legal sounds, so he wanted to stick around and breathe down the writer's neck.
“Is this what you always do, or is it above and beyond the call?” she asked after he said he'd like to come to dinner.
“Way beyond, but he's a nice kid, and I think he's in over his head. If I can help, I might as well. It's a quiet weekend for me.” He said he was spending the holiday with friends, since both of his girls were in Europe, and he hadn't had time to fly over and see them for Thanksgiving this year. He asked how she was spending it, since he knew that Meg and Richard were going to New York to see Peter, and she told him she was going to spend it with Bix.
“It's always fun being with them,” she said, and they agreed that he would come to her place for dinner on Friday night, strictly casual, sweaters and jeans.
But as it turned out, Thanksgiving with Steven and Bix was a lot less fun than she'd expected it to be. Steven cooked a perfect bird, and Bix's table was exquisite. But there were no other guests this year, except her, and Steven looked like he had a bad case of flu. He ate very little and went to lie down immediately after dinner. And while she helped Bix clear away the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, she saw tears roll down his cheeks.
“What's happening?” she asked as she put her arms around him, and he nearly collapsed against her. And before he even told her, she knew. It was Steven. He had AIDS. “Oh my God, no…it can't be …” But it was. She knew he had been HIV positive for many years. And they had both known it could happen one day.
“Paris, if something happens to him, I can't live through it. I just couldn't live without him anymore,” Bix said as she hugged him, and he cried.
“Hopefully, you won't have to,” she said, trying to be optimistic for him, but they both knew that sometimes life was cruel. “You just have to do the best you can, and do everything you can for him.” And she knew Bix would.
“He started taking protease and nucleoside reverse transcriptase inhibitors last week, and it's making him feel really sick. Eventually, they said it would make him feel better. But right now he feels like shit.” He had looked pretty rocky at the dinner table, but Paris also knew that he was still going to work. He had been on call earlier that day.
“Can you get him to take some time off?”
“I doubt it,” Bix said, drying his eyes and loading the dishwasher again.
“I'll cover all the parties I can for you. Just tell me what you need.”
“How are you going to do that?” he asked, looking discouraged. He couldn't even imagine a life without Steven at his side, but they had always known the risk was real.
“I found an adorable baby-sitter yesterday.” It seemed funny even to her to have to worry about baby-sitters, and schedules and formula and diapers. But she didn't mind the responsibility or inconvenience of it. She could hardly wait. She was going shopping for everything she needed the next day. Amy's due date was eight days away. She was having the baby at Alta Bates Medical Center in Berkeley, and all Paris had to do when the call came was race over the bridge. She had promised to be at the delivery with her. And hopefully, the baby wouldn't come as fast as Jane's, so Paris could at least get there in time to see the baby born. Amy had asked Paris to be at the delivery with her. And if the baby was healthy, eight hours after the delivery, Paris could take the baby home. The one thing she didn't have for the baby yet was a name.
But she turned her attention back to Bix before she left that night. They went in to check on Steven, but he was sleeping, and Paris noticed that he seemed to have lost weight recently, and looked very thin, and in the past month or two, he seemed to have aged. Bix could see it too. They both knew he could have years left, if he was lucky. But battling AIDS and living on medications was not going to be easy for either of them.
She thought about them as she lay in bed that night, praying that Steven would get better, and live for a very long time. She knew how much they loved each other, and how unusual a relationship like theirs was. She didn't want anything bad to happen to them. Life was always so challenging, and so full of wicked, unexpected turns in the road. She had discovered that herself two and a half years before.
She fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed about the baby. She dreamed that she was having it and Amy was standing next to her, holding her hand, and as soon as the baby came, someone took it away, and in the dream Paris was screaming. And as she woke up with a start, she realized that that was what she was going to do to Amy. Amy was going to work so hard to have the baby, and then Paris was going to take the baby away. Her heart went out to her as she lay in bed and thought about it. Things seemed to be so hard for everyone. Bix, Steven, Amy… and in the midst of it there was innocence, and hope, and love. The baby seemed to personify all the good things in life, all the joy that came with a new life. And it was interesting that even in the midst of sorrow, there was always some small ray of light. And hope to make it all worthwhile.
The next morning Paris rushed out, as she had intended to, to buy everything she needed. She went to a fancy little baby store to buy a bassinet and a changing table, some adorable furniture, with pink bows and butterflies painted on it. And she bought little dresses and hats and booties and sweaters, and a layette fit for a princess. And then she went to three more stores to buy all the practical things. Her station wagon was so full, she could hardly see to drive it, and she got back just in time to unload the car, and put all of it in the guest room upstairs. She was going to put the baby in the bassinet in her own room. But she was going to put everything she needed in the guest room next to hers. She was planning to spend the rest of the wee
kend organizing it. But there was no hurry. She had all weekend to do it, and at five o'clock she started dinner for Andrew Warren. He had promised to come by at six. Or a little later, if his screenwriter was finally producing something.
She put a roast and some baked potatoes in the oven, and made a big salad. She had bought some crab on the way home, and she thought they could have cracked crab to start, and she put a bottle of white wine in the fridge.
He arrived promptly at six o'clock, and looked pleased to see her. She looked comfortable and relaxed in jeans, and loafers, and a pale blue turtleneck sweater. She didn't make any fuss for him. She didn't consider him a date, but a friend, and he seemed to feel the same. He was wearing an old leather jacket, a gray sweatshirt, and jeans as well.
“How's it going?” she asked him with a warm smile, and he laughed and rolled his eyes.
“God save me from writers with writer's block. When I left, he was on the phone to his shrink. And he had to go to the hospital for an anxiety attack last night. I may have to kill him before we're through.” But he was remarkably patient. And he was more than willing to baby-sit him through it. The screenplay he was writing was for a major movie, with two very major stars, who were represented by her son-in-law. It was a family affair.
They sat in her living room while he ate peanuts and drank wine, and she put some music on.
“What did you do today?” Andrew asked comfortably. He liked her house, it was bright and cheerful, and on a sunny day it was awash with sunlight.
“I did some shopping,” she said, not volunteering what she'd bought. She hadn't told anyone about the adoption, except her kids and Bix so far. And for the moment, she wanted to keep it that way. She didn't want a lot of comments from people she barely knew. And as much as she liked Andrew, they didn't know each other very well. Although he seemed to be very fond of Meg, and said a number of very nice things about her, which touched Paris's heart. He thought she and Richard were going to be a great match. And Paris agreed with him.
They had dinner around seven-thirty, and he loved the dinner she had prepared. He said that crab was his favorite, and the roast came out just right.
“I'm a little out of practice,” she apologized. “I don't cook very often anymore. I'm either working, or I'm too tired to even think of food when I get home.”
“It sounds like you and Bix work very hard.”
“We do, but I love it. And so does he. Next month is going to be crazy for us, the holidays always are. Starting Monday we're going to be working almost every night.” And it was going to be even more complicated for her once the baby came. She was almost hoping it would be late. It would make it a lot easier for her. And Bix had already agreed to let her take off the month of January. But she knew that babies came when they wanted to, witness Jane's, which she'd almost had to deliver herself. At least she wouldn't have to do that this time.
“Do you ever think about just taking some time off for a while?” Andrew asked her casually, and she smiled to herself, thinking of what she had planned.
“Not for very long. I'm actually planning to take some time off after the holidays, but no more than a month. That's a long time for me.”
“I'd love to take a year off one of these days, and take an apartment in Paris or London, and just roam around Europe for a while. Maybe take a villa in Tuscany, or even Provence. It sounds like heaven to me. I keep telling Richard I'm going to do it, and he threatens to have a nervous breakdown every time I suggest it. His actors drive him crazy enough. I don't think he wants my writers on his neck too.” The agency was a huge success, so it wasn't surprising that they had a vast number of difficult personalities to deal with. It was the nature of their work, just as parties and hostesses and brides and their mothers and hysterical caterers were the nature of what she did with Bix. It was obvious that they both enjoyed their work.
They talked about their children then, and inevitably their marriages to a minor extent. Although he was sorry that his marriage didn't work out, he didn't seem to have an ax to grind about his ex-wife, which was something of a relief. Paris was so tired of all the people who hated their ex-spouses, the energy they put into it ended up being draining for everyone else. And although she would always be sad about Peter, she wished him well. Whether she had wanted it that way or not, they had both moved on. It had seemed to take her forever, but she was there at last.
She had just poured him a cup of coffee, since he said he was going to be up most of the night after he went back to his writer, when her cell phone rang. It was sitting in the charger in the kitchen where they were eating, so she leaned over and picked it up. She was fairly certain it would be Meg. But it was an unfamiliar female voice, and in an instant she knew who it was. It was Amy, and she didn't sound like herself.
“Are you okay? Did something happen?” Paris asked, sounding motherly and concerned.
“I'm in the hospital,” Amy said, sounding uncomfortable.
“Already? How did that happen?”
“I don't know. I had a lot of things to do with my boys. And my sister came today to pick up my little girl.” Paris couldn't help wondering if she'd been upset, anyone would have been. She knew the sister lived in Oregon, and had been planning to come down and pick up the child. It was a loss to Amy, no matter how helpful it was. And maybe she was just ready to have the baby, now that she knew she had a home. The psyche did strange things to the body sometimes.
“What did the doctor say?”
“He says I'm in labor. I'm four centimeters dilated, and the contractions are about fifteen minutes apart. I think you still have time.”
“Wow. Where are you? What room?” Paris grabbed a pen and paper and jotted it down, and Amy was having a contraction when she hung up. And suddenly Paris realized what was happening. The baby was coming. In a few hours, no matter how long it took, she'd be a mom again. And as it occurred to her, she looked at Andrew Warren, who'd been watching her and listening with a degree of concern. “I'm having a baby!” she said, right out of the blue, as though he knew what she was talking about, but he didn't.
“Now?” He looked shocked. He couldn't fathom what she meant.
“Yes…no…I mean, we're in labor….” She wasso excited she was incoherent, and he looked utterly confused.
“Who was that?”
“The birth mother. Her name is Amy.” And then she realized she had to slow down, at least long enough to tell him why she had to leave. She wanted to get to the hospital right away. “I'm adopting a baby,” she said, and smiled at him, and he was struck by how beautiful she was, but it seemed an inappropriate time to say anything about it to her, or maybe even notice it. She was a lovely-looking woman, and he liked her too.
“You are? What an amazing thing to do.” He looked pleased for her as he sat back in his chair with a warm smile. “Good for you.”
“Thank you. It's a week early. It's a girl. Thank God, I bought everything I needed today.” She was definitely jangled but in a wonderful, joyous way. “I have to go to the hospital,” she explained to him, as he smiled at her. There was something very touching about the whole scene. She looked like an excited little kid on Christmas Eve, knowing that Santa was coming any minute.
“Where? What hospital?” he asked, with a look of concern.
“Alta Bates in Berkeley,” she said, looking around for her handbag, and stuffed the piece of paper with the room number into it.
“Are you driving?” he questioned her.
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you're not.” She was too distracted to be safe. “Let me drive you, Paris. We can take your car, and I'll take a cab home. I don't think you should be driving in the condition you're in. Besides, you're having a baby. You shouldn't be driving yourself,” he teased, and she was touched.
“Are you sure?” She had to admit she didn't feel up to driving herself, and she was grateful to him.
“Perfectly. I'd much rather help you deliver a baby than my crazy clien
t deliver a script. This is a lot more fun.” He was excited for her, and pleased to be part of it. They left the house a few minutes later, and she chatted animatedly about the decision and how she had come to it. “That's kind of a radical position you've taken about dating, isn't it?” She had told him about that too.
“Believe me, after the blind dates I've had, you'd come to the same conclusion.” She told him about the sculptor from Santa Fe Sydney had introduced her to, and Andrew roared as they crossed the Bay Bridge.
“I don't date a lot either,” he said sensibly. “Or I haven't for a while. It gets so tedious exchanging all that pointless information about what you do and don't do, like and don't like, where you've been and where you haven't. And then you discover she's a dominatrix who feeds rats to her pet snake, and you can't help wondering what the hell you're doing there. Maybe you have a point. Maybe I should adopt a baby too.” He smiled.
“You can come visit mine,” she said proudly, and he looked over at her tenderly.
“Can I see the baby tomorrow after she's born and you bring her home? I'd really love to see her. I feel like I'm part of the official welcoming committee now.”
“You are,” Paris said, as they entered Berkeley. And a few minutes later he stopped at the hospital, and told her he'd park the car.
“Good luck,” he said. She had remembered to put the baby seat in the car to bring the baby home in, and he told her to call him on his cell phone if she wanted him to come back in a cab and drive her. He handed her a card with the number. And she leaned over to kiss his cheek and thanked him.
“Thank you, Andrew. You've been terrific. You're the first real person I've told. Thank you for not telling me I'm crazy.” It had been a reality check for her, particularly as she had a great deal of respect for him.
“You are crazy,” he smiled at her, “good crazy. This is very good crazy. More people should do wonderful things like this. I hope you'll both be very happy, you and the baby.”
Dating Game Page 34