The Cloning

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, even more concerned at seeing a bandage on his forehead.

  “Sure I'm sure. But I learned a lesson, I'll tell you that . . . about going out in public.”

  “Why did you do it?” she asked censoriously.

  “It was a snap decision,” Marc explained lamely. “Anyway, I’m back now.”

  “What were you doing on the Via Veneto anyway?”

  “I stopped off on the way back to do a little shopping,” he replied evasively.

  “Shopping?”

  “I guess I've been caught.”

  “At what?” she asked impatiently.

  “Tomorrow's your birthday, isn't it? I had to get you something.”

  “You nearly got killed to buy a present for me?”

  “Twenty-one's a big birthday. Take a look in that drawer,” he said, pointing to his bedside table. Maria took out a small velvet box. Inside was a simple bracelet of twisted gold.

  “Oh Marc . . . it’s beautiful,” she managed to say despite her rising emotions. He placed the bracelet on her wrist.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, barely fighting off the tears. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

  This singular moment, pregnant with myriad possibilities, was interrupted by the unexpected and untimely arrival of Cynthia Jordan. “Hello, handsome,” she breathed to Marc.

  “Cynthia! What the hell are you doing here?” he asked in total surprise.

  “A new client sent me over to do some scouting. And your pal, Father Stephen, arranged for me to get in to see you. Wouldn't you know I'd find you in a bed,” she said sexily, then turned to Maria. “Congratulations to you, Maria. The pictures of your baby are adorable.”

  Barely able to hide her displeasure at this interruption, Maria muttered her thanks, casting a quick, envious glance at Cynthia's svelte figure, feeling more aware than ever that she hadn’t lost all the weight she’d gained while pregnant.

  “Are you going to be all right?” Cynthia inquired of Marc.

  “Sure. I'll be out of here tomorrow.”

  “Perfect,” she purred. “I've taken a villa near Ostia. I can pick you up in my car and whisk you away incognito. How about it?”

  “Oh, you think I’ve had time to ‘learn my lesson?’”

  “We’ll have to see, won’t we? I’m game if you are.”

  “If Maria will give me another day off from the Viewing Room . . . sure,” he said with a look in Maria’s direction.

  “I'm not your boss,” Maria assured him. “You can have as much time as you want. Excuse me, I have to get back to my baby,” she explained, then hurried from the room.

  *

  Instead of sleeping that night, Maria spent every long hour pondering the mixed signals she was receiving from Marc. On one hand, he had come back to the Vatican instead of returning to the United States. And he seemed to care very much for her; he even risked his life to buy her a birthday gift. On the other hand, without a moment's hesitation he jumped at the chance of going off with Cynthia Jordan whose mature charms seemed so irresistible to him.

  Exhausted the next morning at breakfast, Maria had little appetite. Sister Costanza stood nearby and watched her picking over the food. “Your breakfast is not good?” she inquired.

  “I'm just not hungry, thanks,” Maria replied. “You can take it away. Is Alpha still sleeping?”

  “Yes, Signora,” the nun said, clearing away the breakfast things. “That is a very beautiful bracelet you're wearing.”

  “Thank you,” Maria replied, unwilling to confide where she got it. After the Sister left, Maria felt an overpowering rush of anger, and she removed the bracelet abruptly. But a few moments later, her mood reversed itself and she returned it to her wrist. She rose and moved to the window hoping to distract herself.

  “Happy birthday,” came Marc's voice from the doorway.

  Although Maria was surprised to hear him, she managed to control herself. She turned casually. “Thank you so much.”

  Marc immediately picked up on her formal tone. “What's wrong?” he asked artlessly.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm fine. Are you better?” she asked, noting the smaller bandage on his forehead.

  “I'm fine too,” he assured her.

  She turned back to the window and remarked, “It's a great day to go to the country.”

  Marc watched her for a long moment, then moved to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Don't!” she said, shrugging off his touch.

  “Something's wrong,” he pressed.

  Unable to hold in her feelings any longer, she whirled back to him. “What do you expect? It's my birthday, you're the only person I have to talk to, and now you're leaving again.”

  “There are other people to talk to.”

  “Who, the Pope? Or a lot of boring nuns? Big whoop!”

  “Cynthia only invited me for the day,” he proffered.

  “And the night, I'd guess.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Oh, you are such a retard! Can't you understand? I don't want you going away to make love with Cynthia. I want you here.”

  “Why?” he pressed.

  “Because I love you, stupido!”

  “Why didn't you say so sooner?” he asked, at the same time pulling her into his arms and softly kissing her. When the kiss ended, he added, “I'm not going to Cynthia's.”

  Maria was incredulous. “You're not?”

  “She had some sort of business problem in Boston . . . had to fly back last night.”

  “Why didn't you just say so . . . instead of letting me go on and on?”

  “It seemed like a good chance to find out exactly what's been on your mind?”

  She was incensed at being manipulated so easily. “You devil!” she hissed, raising her hand to slap him. But he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close again.

  “You're not precisely a saint yourself!” And he kissed her once more, this time fully, and Maria responded in kind.

  But then she struggled out of his arms again and demanded breathlessly, “Are you sure you didn’t sleep with her?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I spent the night in the infirmary. Ask Doctor D’Annunzio if you don’t believe me.”

  “But you were planning to sleep with her, weren’t you? All that double talk about ‘learning your lesson’?” Maria pressed.

  “No. As a matter of fact I wasn’t planning to sleep with her.”

  “Then why did you accept her invitation? Explain that!”

  “Because I wanted to see how you’d react. I wanted to know what’s been going on in that pretty head of yours.”

  “Well, now you know! But what about you?”

  “What about me?” he asked with feigned confusion.

  “Say it!”

  “Say what?” he continued innocently.

  “You know what! What I said to you.”

  “You mean, the ‘L’ word?

  “Yes.”

  He couldn't resist teasing her a bit more by hesitating a moment longer before finally saying, “Okay. How could I help it? I love you. A lot.” And they kissed again, even more ardently.

  “I want to make love with you,” she told him, running her fingers through his dark curls.

  “Oh God, I want you too.”

  “How long have you felt this way?”

  “I don't know,” Marc shrugged. “I don’t know what’s been going on with me, but I guess it’s been in the works for a long time.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I honestly didn’t realize it was happening to me. Love wasn’t part of my vocabulary.”

  “But when you finally did realize it, why didn’t you let me know?”

  “I guess I was afraid of going out on a limb. I wanted some sign of how you felt first, and Cynthia just happened to show up at the right moment.”

  The sound of Alpha’s whining interrupted, a
nd they quickly pulled apart. “Excuse me, Signora,” the old nun said as she entered with the baby, “but it's time for his nursing, and then you must go to the Viewing Room.”

  “Yes, of course,” Maria replied, trying to control her frustration. “Later,” she whispered to Marc.

  *

  In the Viewing Room, Maria hummed a lullaby to Alpha until he fell asleep. She gently placed him in his crib, then looked up as Marc entered. He moved directly to the one-way window, then turned his back to it so that he faced away from the prying eyes behind the glass.

  “I love you,” he said.

  Instinctively, she warned him to be careful.

  “They can't hear me,” he said, indicating the viewers directly behind him. “And they can't see my lips. Do you really love me? Even if I didn’t play quite fair?”

  Maria's face became a radiant smile. “Of course.”

  “When can we be together?”

  “Tonight. Afterwards.”

  “After what?”

  “They’re giving me a special birthday dinner,” she informed him.

  “I'm hungry already,” he grinned.

  CHAPTER 15

  For Maria’s birthday, the nuns dressed the dining table with a filmy lace tablecloth and fresh flowers, not to mention antique silver and crystal to make the evening more festive. Maria wore a pale blue silk dress with a double strand of pearls that the Pope had sent as a birthday gift, and she had her hair in a French roll that lent a special elegance to her appearance. Marc donned a dark suit and tie for the occasion. The sumptuous dinner, served by candlelight, included all of her favorites, and ended with a twenty-one-candle birthday cake. Although they managed to eat heartily, they could hardly keep their eyes off each other. Their mutual yearning was only just under control.

  As soon as the table was cleared and they were alone, Marc leaned forward and took her hand in his. “You're beautiful. Like a Renaissance painting.”

  “Fat, you mean?”

  “Magnificent, like a Madonna by Raphael.”

  “I don't know Raphael,” she confessed.

  “You should have spent more time with me in the Vatican museum,” he smiled.

  “I wanted to, but I didn't want to be obvious.”

  “You mean . . . you’ve felt this way . . . for a long time?” Maria nodded coyly. “When did it start for you?” he continued.

  She hesitated, sorting through the events of the past year. “Probably when I woke up after the surgery, and you were asleep in the chair next to me.”

  “That long ago?” She nodded once more. “Boy, I'm pretty inept about some things.”

  “Like I said before” she laughed, “stupido.”

  “I'm willing to make up for lost time.”

  “Good. But we have to be careful.”

  “Agreed,” he said, taking his hand from hers just as the old nun entered carrying Alpha. Marc didn't think the nun had noticed their touch.

  “I think he wants to see his mother,” the sister said, handing the baby to Maria.

  “Have you missed me, my little darling?”

  “I'll wait outside,” the nun offered.

  “No, that's all right, sister. I can tuck him in. I'll see you in the morning.”

  “You're certain, Signora?”

  Maria glanced quickly at Marc. “Absolutely.”

  After the old woman left, Marc winked. “Good work.”

  “Look at Alpha! Did you see the expression on his face when he heard your voice? He’s so glad you’re back.”

  “Well, after all, we have a few things in common,” Marc said, giving the baby an affectionate pat on the head. “He’s getting more hair, isn’t he?”

  “And it’s going to be curly like yours.” Maria smoothed Alpha’s hair, gazed quietly at him for a long moment, then turned to Marc with a very serious expression. “What'll happen to him, Marc . . . when he grows up?”

  “God only . . .” Marc started, then stopped himself.

  “I think you’re right. God does know,” she ventured. When Marc didn’t laugh or reject the idea outright, she continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot while you were away, about all that’s happened to us. It’s like a miracle that God planned out, just for us. Don’t you feel that too?”

  “Not a bit,” he replied without a second's hesitation. “I never believed in miracles before this, and I’m not about to start now. ”

  “How can you not believe, after all the things that have happened to us? There couldn’t be that much coincidence in the whole world.”

  Marc smiled tolerantly. “It’s improbable, true . . . in fact, highly improbable. But the fact that all these things have actually happened doesn’t constitute a miracle. It just stretches the theory of probability to the outer limits.”

  Maria persisted. “Do you honestly think it's just a coincidence that my name's Maria? And did you know that my mother's christening name was Anna, just like the Virgin Mary’s mother?”

  Marc was instantly skeptical. “You're pulling my leg.”

  “No! It's true. You can look on my birth certificate. What were your parents’ names?”

  He hesitated, then said, “I wasn't going to tell you. My father's middle name was Giuseppe. But they Anglicized it when they named me after him.”

  “What do you mean?” she queried.

  “Giuseppe means Joseph in Italian. My middle name is Joseph.”

  She was completely shaken by this admission . . . and thrilled. “No, it can’t be. You're not serious.”

  “I knew you'd say that.”

  “Well, of course I'd say it. My name is Maria and your name is Joseph. The baby was born on Christmas night . . . under a Star in the East. I’m totally freaked! We’re almost exactly like the holy family!”

  This time Marc did laugh. “You're forgetting one very important thing. I'm the one who decided to make this little guy . . . not God.”

  She threw up her hands in dismay. “Oh, men are so literal. Especially scientists. Don't you understand that God led you to do it?”

  “Prove it,” he challenged.

  “You prove that He didn't,” she shot back.

  “Let's not argue any more . . . on such a special night,” he suggested, leaning across the table to give her a gentle kiss.

  “Good idea,” Maria agreed.

  Neither of them noticed Sister Costanza peeking around the door of the serving pantry, her face a hardened mask of disapproval.

  *

  To expedite matters, Maria gave Alpha a bottle of formula, and he fell promptly asleep. “Isn’t he a wonderful baby?” she said as she and Marc looked down into the crib.

  “The best,” he agreed.

  She adjusted the coverlet once again before taking Marc’s hand. “Let’s go,” she said and led him toward the adjoining room.

  It wasn’t the first time Marc had seen her palatial bedroom; she’d showed it to him with great excitement the first day she moved into the suite. The ceiling was high, coffered with superbly carved detail. The walls were covered with a soft green moiré silk and exquisite floral paintings worthy of a great museum. But seeing the room tonight was a very different experience for him. Maria went directly to the windows to be certain that the curtains were completely closed, then returned to Marc, put her arms around his waist, and lifted her face to his. They kissed again, gently at first, then with increasing fervor as their attraction for one another was allowed full expression.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

  “Absolutely. Why? Aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am. But I don’t want to make any trouble for you.”

  “There won’t be any trouble,” she assured him. “I’ve read all about it, and tonight’s completely safe.”

  He touched her soft, dark hair, and then kissed each of her ears as he ran his hands down the curve of her back. She shivered from pleasure and anticipation.

  “But there’s one thing . . .” she began haltingly “It’s hard fo
r me to say.”

  “This is your first time . . . I know.”

  “Yes,” she acknowledged hurriedly, “so if I’m not pleasing you, will you tell me what to do? I want it to be perfect.”

  “It will be perfect. Don’t worry any more.” He led her toward the huge canopied bed, but she pulled away.

  “I’ll be back in just a minute. Will you light those candles, please?” she asked as she hurried into her dressing room.

  Marc did as she’d requested, then dimmed the lights and looked around the magnificent room. He moved to her bedside table and smiled at the potpourri: books on parenthood, magazines of every description, and the inevitable mail-order catalogs. He also noticed a small double picture frame with photographs of her parents; her mother had been a beautiful woman with dark, sparkling eyes very like Maria’s. Amazing, he ruminated, how her mother’s devotion is still alive in an odd way. The seeds she sowed lay dormant and ignored for years, but now they’re taking on a new life, in her daughter. Maria’s convictions aren’t as surprising as they might seem.

  Then Marc looked up and for the first time noticed a large crucifix over the bed. He immediately thought of the Pope and what the old fellow would do if he knew what was going on—practically under his nose—in his very own palace. Marc had grown to respect the Pope deeply and hadn’t had the opportunity of telling him how things had worked out after the retreat to Sienna. He’ll be pleased, Marc was certain, then smiled to himself at the prelate’s uncanny knack of bringing Marc round his way. He knew there was a risk of hurting the Pope if this were found out, but what the hell . . . he and Maria hadn’t taken any vows of chastity. And they wouldn’t be found out!

  The door of her dressing room opened, and there she stood, radiant in a fantastic white nightgown, trimmed in lace. Her freshly brushed hair shone, and her eyes reflected the glow of the candles.

  “Wow!”

  “I ordered it from Victoria’s Secret.”

  “When?” he asked in surprise with a laugh in his voice.

  She blushed, then confessed that it had been well over a month ago.

  “You knew this was going to happen?”