by Pike, Leslie
He doesn’t listen. Off comes his shirt. He kicks his shoes in the air, one landing among my purses, the other in a row of heels. Three shoes tumble to the ground.
“No waiting! Tarzan want Jane now!” he teases. He comes closer.
I get up from my seat and back away. “No, wait, Jack! I’ve got plans for our big night!”
“I’ve got your big night right here.” He’s smiling his threat while he drops his pants to the floor.
“Stop! My Chanel, Jack!” I scream laughing.
“Fuck your Chanel. I’ll buy you ten more.”
He comes in for a kiss, and poof there goes my willpower.
A hundred kisses later, we lie recovering from the last half-hour sexcapade. My perfectly-formed gardenia lies crushed and discarded.
“This carpet’s really soft,” I say, running the back of my hand over the fibers.
“So am I,” he says poking his deflated cock. “What got into you woman? Was it the proximity to the Chanel?”
“No, love, it was just you. You’re enough inspiration.”
He lifts his head, and his brows draw together listening for something I don’t hear.
“What?” I say.
“I hear something downstairs. Do you have anything in the oven? It sounds like…”
“Oh crap!” I say, realizing my roast was done forty minutes ago.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Your dinner. Damn it! Your beautiful dinner.”
I quickly throw on my kimono and take off for the kitchen. I hear Jack’s voice call to me as I leave the room.
“Don’t worry, Nicki. We can have cereal or take-out.”
“Not tonight we’re not!” I answer.
As I’m running down the stairs I hear him saying something, but I have no idea what it is. Damn it to hell, I wanted this to be a perfect meal and now it’s going to taste like shoe leather. If we can eat it at all. The ‘timer is relentlessly sounding its warning. As I reach the last few steps my foot slips off the riser. I catch myself on the iron banister before I go down. Stop, Nicki. I can’t take that chance anymore. Slow your roll. The meals already ruined. Getting there fifteen seconds sooner won’t make any difference.
A thin trail of smoke escapes the oven as I walk into the kitchen. Crap! I open the oven door, and the burnt smell of charred meat reaches my nostrils. Oh God, that’s disgusting. My stomach twists. The smoke alarm goes off in a loud cry. It’s an assault on my senses.
Trying not to throw up, I grab the potholders on the island and remove the burnt remains. Setting it down, I attempt to hold still seeing if this nausea passes. I hear the heavy sounds of Jacks footsteps coming down the stairs. He comes into the room and picks up a dishtowel from the counter and starts waving it in front of the detector.
“I think the meat is done, honey,” he jokes. Then he sees my face. “What’s wrong?”
I wave his words off because I’m about to puke. The wailing warning stops, and Jack comes to my side.
“What happened?”
The wave of sickness passes as quickly as it appeared. I stand up straight.
“That smoke made me sick. I thought I was going to vomit.”
“You okay now?” he asks.
I see his concern and it’s heartening. I’m going to require lots of that in the coming months. Is this what morning sickness feels like? But it’s seven at night. I think it was the smell that did it to me. I’ve heard other women saying that about pregnancy. Great.
“I’m fine. But your main course is DOA.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll have whatever’s left. What have we got? I see potatoes, we can nuke those,” he says agreeably.
“There’s a beautiful salad too,” I say, not putting up too much of a fight.
“Perfect. We’ll start with a nice bottle of wine.”
Oh no. now what? I think fast. “I don’t think my stomach’s up for that tonight. But you go ahead. Definitely.” It sounds plausible because it’s the truth.
“You sure? We can share a nice Sauvignon.”
His words make my stomach react. Just the thought of drinking makes me want to gag.
“Are you going to be sick?” Jack says. His face shows the care and confusion he’s feeling.
“I’m okay. I think I better get away from this smoke smell. Let me go upstairs and finish getting ready then we’ll sit down for a romantic dinner. Albeit without the main course.”
He turns me around by my shoulders and points me in the right direction. “Go splash some water on your face. I’ll set the table and start the potatoes.”
I don’t think any splash of water’s going to cure what ails me, but it’s sweet of him to try.
He calls after me. “Or would you rather eat in the family room? Watch a little TV? I’d even watch our neighbors, the Orange County Housewives if you want.”
I look over my shoulder as I leave the room. “The table under the loggia is already set. We’re dining alfresco tonight. And the Housewives are the last thing on my mind.”
I see his bright smile and his relief. He can’t stand all the yelling that goes on between the women on that show. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop watching. Maybe we’re back on course. Time to reboot. This is going to be a magical night, if I have to kill myself trying.
As soon as I get back into my closet, I retrieve my hidden underwear and put them on. Taking a look in the full-length mirror amuses me. Never would I wear a baby-blue bra together with cotton candy pink panties. But nothing’s normal about tonight. This should be funny. I’ll give him as many clues as he needs, till he figures out the surprise. He won’t be trying to undress me now, since we had sex a half hour ago. Besides he knows I’m not feeling well. That’ll buy me a few hours at least. Once he sees I’m fine all bets are off. The man has a big drive. Not that I’m complaining. We’re well matched in that arena.
Once I get downstairs I’ll start the music. There was so much thought put into this part of the fun. I wonder if he’ll figure out that all the songs from playlist one are from our younger days? I remember what he told me about how important music was to him, even as a child. His dad is a jazz lover and exposed him to it early on. His mother loved rock and roll and pop. He’s going to be blown away when he hears the mix. But it’s a stretch to think he’ll figure out he’s going to be a father from listening to songs from his younger days. I’m just setting the stage though.
I figure my second playlist is a little more obvious. Every song has the word “baby” in the title. Let’s see how long it takes him to solve that puzzle.
Should I put on my satin bow now? If I don’t and he figures the music out then I’m screwed. I can’t stop everything and say, “Wait! Let me go upstairs and get my bow.” No, let me see how well I can hide it under here, because it’s the final clue. If all else fails, I’ll just drop my kimono and hope it sinks in then.
I go to my bathroom and retrieve the bow from behind the door, then wrap it around my torso, and position it directly over where the baby lays. All right! That works beautifully. It’s flat enough to be hidden by the wrap of the fabric, and I don’t detect a trace of it showing through. But there’s too much going on. The words pastel loving hooker come to mind, wrapped as a gift for the conventioneers. Making an executive decision I lose the pink and blue bra and panties . I give my new look the once-over, get my heels from the closet and head downstairs.
“How you feeling?” Jack asks as I enter the kitchen. He’s got the salad out and he’s putting the potatoes in a bowl. I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s using the wrong bowl. Even though it’s taking everything I have to shut my mouth. Our table is set with Versace china and Baccarat crystal, but Jack has chosen a huge stainless bowl, with the logo of the Pittsburg Steelers, his favorite team, stamped prominently on the front. Make the right decision, Nicki. Some things are better left unsaid.
“I’m much better. I see you’ve been busy. Let me take over.”
“No.
I’m going to serve you. By the way, you look delicious. Extra delicious tonight.”
See, I would have missed that if I had been anal about the bowl.
“Thank you, love. It’s all for you. I’ll get the music started and meet you outside.” I give him a kiss.
I leave the kitchen and pass through the Great room on my way out. One click of the remote has started the music. Ray Charles wails his “Hit the Road Jack” classic, and it fills the house and streams outside as well. This one’s going to throw him. What he doesn’t know is that it was number one on the charts October 16th, 1961, the day Jack was born. He’ll never put that together, but I love secretly knowing. This CD and the next will most assuredly be included in the baby’s time capsule.
I hear Jack call all the way from the kitchen. “I love this song! Are you trying to tell me something?”
I’m laughing as I pass through the doors and into our backyard paradise. What a gorgeous sunset. The fading light of day sparkles on the waves below, and the muted purple sky is a lovely backdrop. Mother Nature has so many artful tricks up her sleeve.
And the table under the vine covered loggia is stunning. It’s intimate and romantic. The scent of the flowers is almost unbelievable, as if I’d sprinkled expensive perfume everywhere.
“Beautiful! Did you do this all for me?” Jack says as he takes in the vista and the loggia.
“I even ordered the sunset for your pleasure. My husband deserves the best.”
He sets the salad and potatoes down and comes to me. He tames the wisp of my hair as the breeze lifts it to a dancing tendril. Then he tilts my chin up and looks deeply in my eyes. “You. You’re the most beautiful thing I see.”
He takes my kiss with his incredibly soft lips. Resting my head against his chest I savor these last moments before we become three. Maybe he needs a little clue.
“I have a gift for you, but not yet. Let’s eat first.” We walk to the table.
He holds out my chair and I take my seat. Gentleman. Then he comes around the table and joins me. “What’s this gift you speak of? I thought you gave it to me earlier. There’s more?”
“There’s more. And who knows, maybe this ‘music is a clue.” I hint at a hidden meaning.
As I serve us both and begin to eat Jack’s just listening to the music. He’s trying to tie the songs together.
“What does “Hit The Road Jack”, and “How Deep Is Your Love?” have in common? Just tell me is it the lyrics or the titles?”
“Figure it out yourself. Your potato is getting cold.”
He looks stymied.
“I’ll give you one more clue. It’s not just the songs individually, but the entire playlist. That’s all I’m saying. You’re smart, figure it out.”
He’s never going to figure it out.
For the next half hour Jack looks for the common thread between the songs. It’s an impossible task because I’ve included my favorite childhood songs too. That’ll throw him.
He throws his hands in the air. “I give up. What the hell is it? I want it now. Go get it,” he pleads.
“I don’t have to go get it. I have it right here. But first, a few more clues.”
“On you? On your person? Let me see.” He leans over and starts to look inside my kimono.
“Stop! I mean it, Jack. Let me do this one more thing, and I promise you I’ll give you your present,” I say clutching my neckline together.
He leans back and I can see I’ve bought myself a few more minutes. So I get up and head for the house. It’s time for the second playlist. I’m feeling butterflies now, and my heart is beating fast. I feel for the bow and center it for maximum effect.
Once inside, it takes just a moment to select playlist two. I hear the first notes of “Be My Baby” and the sweet lyrics. I walk back to find Jack enjoying his wine while he listens to the song. It’s almost dark now, and it looks like a storm is forming far out over the ocean. He watches me walk down the stone steps.
“I’m already your baby,” he say.
“I know that.”
“So what does this song mean? Here, I poured you a glass of wine. I can see you’re feeling better.”
I stand before him. “I’m better, but I can’t have that.”
It’s time. I can’t wait another minute. And all at once my words and the words of the song begin to sink in. I watch Jack, as the first inklings of understanding appear on his face. I open my kimono and reveal my naked body wrapped in the white satin bow. The ribbon’s ends are blowing in the wind, which has just picked up.
“Wait. What?” He looks absolutely stunned. His smile faded. “Am I reading you right? Are you pregnant?”
“You’re going to be a father, Jack. We’re going to be parents.” I start crying with an unspeakable joy. But he doesn’t join me. His reaction couldn’t be further from mine. It almost looks like fear. He just stares out at the ocean.
“I thought you were taking birth control pills.” He looks at me with an accusatory expression.
I can’t even form the words to respond. My soul weeps. After a silent minute, I turn and walk away. He doesn’t follow.
“Wait. Nicki, let’s talk,” he says halfheartedly.
But I’ve heard and said enough.
Chapter Five
BLISS
“Calm down, honey, I can’t understand what you’re saying. Nicki, what happened? You’re scaring me.”
Steven and I are in bed making an early night of it. He’s put his book down, and he’s looking at me wondering what’s going on. I mouth the word crying. He makes a puzzled expression and stands by. When the phone rang a few minutes ago I saw it was Nicki calling, but I didn’t give it any cause for alarm. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Nicki cry. She’s very stoic and contained. What the hell happened?
“Come on, take a deep breath and tell me.”
I hear the breath and the hiccup in her cry. She brings it to a stop.
“I’m pregnant.” Before she gets the second word out, she starts crying again.
But I hear her words loud and clear. The shock of the idea hits me like someone threw ice water in my face.
“What? How wonderful!” I turn to Steven. “Nicki’s pregnant!”
He’s shocked too, as evidenced by his open mouth.
“Oh God! Great news! Congratulations,” he says loudly so she can hear.
“See, that’s the right response. That’s how a man is supposed to react,” she says through her tears.
Oh hell, what did you do, Jack?
“What happened?” I say.
“I planned this elaborate evening with his favorite dinner and music, and I wrapped my belly in a fucking idiotic bow, and it all went to hell.”
Her tears are falling, but it gives me a beat to come up with something positive to say.
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Jack loves you so much. Maybe you misread him, or maybe it’s your raging hormones.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth I wish I could take them back. That last part didn’t sound positive at all. I hate when a man mistakes a woman with an opinion for hormonal swings. I must be panicking.
“I’m not hormonal!” she spits out. “When I told him he was going to be a father, he showed absolutely no joy. Instead he went into a stupor. Then he asked if I had been taking my birth control pills. It was a nightmare, Bliss.”
I widen my eyes in shock and shake my head to Steven, to tell him things are bad. He lifts his shoulders up in question. He wants more information.
“Where is he now?” I ask her.
“Not here. I’m in the bathroom and he’s still outside I think. He didn’t even follow me when I walked away.” She dissolves into tears.
That idiotic fool— I wish I could kick him in the balls right now. For my friend. Instead, I’m going to try to defend his actions and give Nicki some hope.
“Oh, Nicki, I wish I could put my arms around you right now. It’s going to be okay. Hey, the man’s fifty-f
our years old and it probably shocked him. He’ll think about it and come around.”
“Fifty-four is old enough to figure out I’m not about to…”
Her angry voice is interrupted. I can hear the loud knock on her bathroom door and Jack’s voice. “Nicki! Let me in.”
“I’ve got to go. Call you tomorrow,” she whispers. Then she disconnects.
I look at Steven and shake my head. “Oh, this isn’t good.”
“What happened? I take it Jack wasn’t his jovial self.”
“I guess nothing went as planned. Least of all his reaction. I don’t think he’s too happy about the baby. How devastating for her.”
“What’d he do?”
“Nothing. He questioned her about her birth control.”
“Oh shit.”
“Maybe you should call him,” I suggest lightly.
“I am not calling him. Get that out of your pretty little head right now.”
“Why not? He’s your best friend, Steven. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. Tell him it’s going to be all right.”
He laughs at my plan. “How do I know it’s going to be all right? I’ve never had a kid. It might be a shit storm. Plus, that’s too personal a subject. If he wants to talk to me about it, he’ll call. I’m not sticking my nose in his business.”
Men. I can tell I have zero chance of changing his mind. He’s watching my face and is one step ahead of my thoughts.
“And promise me you won’t be calling him either,” he says.
I just stare at him.
“Come on, Bliss. This is too private. It’s not a girlfriend to girlfriend thing. Or guy to guy. It’s husband to wife. None of us are teenagers, and we don’t need anyone telling us how to behave. What’ll happen is that it’ll blow over and we’ll be the assholes who interfered. Please stay out of it. You’ll be glad you did. Okay?”
I begrudgingly agree with a nod of my head. I really hate it when he’s right.
* * *
All day long I’ve been rolling Nicki’s situation around in my mind. I’ve called her cell at least four times, but it always went to voicemail. Maybe that’s a good sign. They could be working things out and don’t want interruptions. That’s what I’m going with anyway. She’ll call when she wants to talk.