But he didn't talk. He just looked at her. And she looked back. After a minute or two, it became ridiculous. She began to wonder if he planned to just stand there, staring at her all night long.
She made herself walk toward him and she assumed a no-nonsense tone of voice. "We have to talk now, Billy. About what you plan to accomplish here and how long you intend to stay."
He said nothing, only watched her approach.
She stopped a few feet from him and demanded, "Billy. I mean it. I want you to talk to me. Now."
He spoke, then. But not about anything they needed to discuss. "You hide behind those ugly glasses, don't you, Prue? What are you hiding? What are you hiding from?"
She gaped at him for a moment. Then she shook her head. "I do believe you are the rudest man I've ever met."
He actually smiled, a charming, rueful kind of smile. "Ever?"
And suddenly, she was thinking of her mother. Betsy Wilding had gone through a lot of men in her endless search for true love and a good provider. Some of those men had been considerably ruder than bad Billy Jones.
She sighed. "All right. I've met ruder men. But not many."
He was still smiling. "Now, about those glasses…"
"What about them?" She tried to sound confident, unfazed by him and his impertinent questions. "I need them. To see."
"You could get contacts."
"I don't know why I'm discussing this with you. We need to—"
"Contacts, Prue? Why don't you get contacts?"
"They … don't work for me. They make my eyes water."
"Soft contacts, what about them?" His voice was like velvet, the way he could make it when he sang those beautiful songs he wrote.
"Really. No. Not for me."
"And they're doing incredible things with laser surgery lately. I read about it in Newsweek, I think. Have you heard about that?"
"I don't want surgery."
"Well, fine. But even if you stick with glasses, they make thinner lenses nowadays, even for really powerful glasses, and I know they can blend them so you won't have that old-lady line in the middle."
"It's a bifocal line, I'll have you know."
"Right, and you can have it fixed so that line doesn't show."
"It's none of your business, Billy. Just leave it alone."
He lifted a hand in a gesture that indicated her glasses as it dismissed them. "How long have you had those things?"
"A long time. And I like them. And we really have to get down to—"
He shrugged. "I know." He turned without another word and went into the living room.
* * *
They sat at either end of the sofa.
He said, "I told you this morning I'd do better, and I meant it."
She didn't really believe him, but for Jesse's sake, she felt an obligation to give him another chance. "Say I take your word for it."
"All right. Say you do."
"How long, exactly, are you planning to stay?"
"A couple of weeks. How's that?"
Two weeks, she thought. How would she get through it? She wasn't used to the kind of tension being around him caused her. Whether he was climbing in the window drunk or showing up with roses and a baby-sitter, he had a talent for keeping her nerves on a razor's edge.
She cast about for reasons he shouldn't stay. "What about your club?"
"What about it?"
"Well, can you afford to be away from it for two weeks?"
"My manager, Alexis, runs the place just fine without me. The only thing she doesn't do better than me is book talent. But I took care of that before I left. So unless she calls me, she doesn't need me. Any other objections?"
She decided to just lay it right out there. "Your drinking."
"What about it?"
"I don't approve of it."
"I gathered."
"I don't want any more nights like last night. And I don't want to see you staggering to the bathroom in the morning, with Jesse looking on."
He glanced away, toward the far wall.
"I am serious, Billy."
He met her eyes. "All right. I won't get drunk again while I'm staying here."
"And if you do?"
"Then the visit ends. I'll take my guitar and go."
What else could she say to that but "All right"? She slipped off her shoes and gathered her knees up to the side. "Two weeks, then. And what's supposed to happen in that time?"
"We'll learn a few things."
"Like?"
"Like if I'm capable of being a decent father."
"And if you aren't?"
He looked around the room. "It's too quiet here. I hate quiet. I can hear the damn leaves falling off that locust tree out by the fence."
"Answer my question."
"You don't give a guy an inch, do you, Prue?"
"I want to know. I think I have a right to know. If you're not capable of being a decent father, what then? Will you just … go away?"
He actually looked thoughtful, then he grunted. "No. I don't think I could do that. It's crazy. I never asked for a kid, but now I've got one…" He let a shrug finish the thought. "I'll want to visit sometimes. I'll want to help out, with the money, you know?"
"Jesse doesn't need money. He's a very rich little boy."
"Look. I'll do what I can, all right? I'll help out some way. We can figure out how when the time comes. And I'll come to see him, now and then."
"You'd have to call ahead when you plan to visit. I don't want you just dropping by anytime the mood strikes."
"I could learn to call first, if that's how you want it."
"It is."
"All right, then. I would check with you ahead of time."
She gathered her legs up closer to her body – and made herself ask the next question, though she didn't really want to hear his answer. "What about if it turns out the other way?"
"What other way?"
"If you're … good with Jesse. If he's good with you."
He let out a short laugh then. "You think that's likely?"
"We're just talking. Covering the bases, considering all the possibilities. Aren't we?"
"Yeah. Okay. Right."
"So, what if it turns out you're good with Jesse?"
He lifted a hand, ran it back through his thick, dark brown hair. "I can't believe you're even considering that."
She told him honestly, "I don't want to consider it. And I certainly don't believe it will happen. But anything's possible. And I'd like to know what you'd want to do – if it turned out that being a father suited you, after all."
He tipped his head and studied her. "Prue, you're all right." It was a compliment, delivered with a musing smile.
His praise pleased her. And that made her feel vulnerable. She spoke briskly. "You haven't answered the question."
"Okay, let me put it this way. You're not exactly an easygoing gal. But you're fair."
"I try to be."
"Well, then. Whether I'm good with Jesse or not, I'll expect you to try to be fair in two weeks, when we talk about how much time Jesse should spend with me."
For some reason, Prudence thought of Randi then. Of the two of them, as teenagers, stretched out on the ugly shag carpet in their mother's house trailer, watching Some Like it Hot on television.
"Damn, she was good," Randi had said of Marilyn Monroe. "She was the best. But they used her. They won't use me, Pruey, you wait and see…"
And they hadn't. They hadn't used Randi Wilding. Randi Wilding had beat them all at their own game.
And still, she was gone. Lost to Prudence, forever.
How would she bear it if she lost Jesse, as well?
"Prue? Are you all right?" Billy's dark brows had drawn together.
That wasn't going to happen. No way in the world would Billy Jones prove himself capable of raising a child. Still, she felt the tears rising, pushing at the back of her throat. She tried to swallow them. "You are his father. I want to do the right thing."
One tear escaped and slid down her cheek. Billy watched that tear, remembering how he had raised his glass to her earlier, in a teasing toast about loving Jesse too much.
He saw then that her love was nothing to joke about. She loved Jesse enough to do what she thought was right for him, no matter the cost to herself. He didn't know if he'd ever seen love that pure before.
And for the first time he consciously admitted to himself that his son was not the only one he'd come to North Magdalene to get to know.
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
The delivery van showed up in front of the house at nine the next morning. Prudence answered the door to find two men standing there. They wore matching shirts with the words Stereo Express embroidered on the breast pocket. "Delivery for Mr. Jones."
Billy came up behind her then. "Oh, yeah. Great," he said when Prudence cast a questioning glance over her shoulder at him. "Bring the stuff right on in."
"You got it." The men headed back for their van.
Prudence turned to face Billy. "What stuff?"
"Stereos, Prue. Two of 'em. One for my bedroom and one for the rest of the house."
"Stereos?" she repeated, as his meaning slowly sank in.
"I told you I was busy yesterday. I drove into Grass Valley. And I went shopping. You saw all those CDs I bought."
"Yes. I saw them. So what?"
"Well, where did you think I planned to play them?"
"How about your car stereo?" she suggested hopefully.
He smiled and shook his head. "I got extra speakers, too. To put in the kitchen and dining room."
"Billy, I think you're unsure of the concept here. This is my house. And I don't need one stereo system. Let alone two."
"But I do."
"Billy, you can't just—"
He pulled her away from the door, so the men could get through with the boxes of equipment. "Please, Prue. I can do without the booze. But don't ask me to give up my music jones. I won't be able to do that, no way."
"Oh, stop it. There is no such thing as an addiction to music."
"Yes, there is. And I've got one."
"Billy—"
"I got headphones. Remote headphones. If it drives you too crazy, you won't have to listen. But then again, there is Jesse to consider."
"Jesse?"
"A music jones is an inherited condition, didn't you know? Think of it. The kid's probably sustained neural damage already, from poor management of his disease."
"Oh, you just stop."
"I mean it, Prue. Headphones. This won't be a problem for you, I swear."
One of the delivery men stepped up with a clipboard. "Mr. Jones?"
"That's my name."
"Sign here."
* * *
Billy was still setting up his stereos when the bed arrived two hours later. Prudence, who'd somehow ended up hovering nearby and handing Billy things when he asked for them, looked out the picture window over the sofa and saw the furniture van pull up.
She had a sinking feeling. "What is that?" Jesse, who was sitting in one of the stereo boxes, wearing a currently nonfunctioning pair of headphones and chewing on a teething ring, let out a happy little chortle and a few nonsense syllables.
Billy took his head out of the back of the stereo rack and looked through the window, too. "Oh, that. It's the bed."
"Pardon me. I don't need a bed."
"I know. But Jesse does."
Billy stopped fooling with the stereo long enough to show the men the way to Jesse's room. Prudence scooped up the child and trailed along after them.
"The crib has to go," Billy said, and started shoving it to the other side of the room. Prudence stood in the doorway, holding Jesse, wondering how to stop this madness before it went any further.
Grunting and breathing hard, the deliverymen set the frame down. It was a bunk bed, bright red, made of some kind of metal tubing, with the springs built right into the frame.
"C'mon, Leroy," one of the men said to the other. "Let's get the mattresses. And the ladder." The two men went out, edging around Prudence muttering, "'Scuse me, ma'am."
She was left holding Jesse, staring at Billy, who was looking at Jesse's crib as if he'd like to burn it.
She tried to remain reasonable. "Billy, he won't stay in a bed. I can barely get him to go to sleep in his crib."
"You got an attic, right? Or a basement? Someplace we can store this thing, until you can get rid of it?"
"Billy, you're not listening to me."
"Sure I am. And we still need a place to put this crib until you can have it hauled away."
"I'm trying to tell you that I'm not ready to have it hauled away."
He looked at her levelly then. "Jesse's ready for a bed."
"No, Billy. He's not."
"Dow, Woo. Dow." Jesse was pushing at her. She bent and let him go. He headed right for the big red metal thing that sat where his crib had been. He wrapped both hands around the lower part of the frame and braced himself there, then he babbled out, "Abee me?"
"Yeah," said Billy, as if Jesse's chatter made perfect sense. "That is your bed. You'll be sleeping in it from now on."
Jesse bent and put his mouth against the frame. After gumming it happily for a moment, he looked up at Billy again and pronounced, "Awa baba."
"Yeah, you're gonna love it."
"Billy, I don't think this is a good idea."
"Prue, you have to let go a little. Let him grow up."
"He's barely a year old, for heaven's sake."
"Let me handle this."
She spoke with careful precision. "All right, I will. I'll let you handle it one hundred percent. I'll let you be completely responsible for putting him to bed. And making sure he stays there, for as long as you're visiting here. But I am not getting rid of that crib. I just might need it again, when you go."
"'Scuse us again, ma'am." The deliverymen were back with one of the mattresses. Prudence edged out of their way. "Uh, would somebody move that kid?"
Billy went over and grabbed up Jesse. The men set the mattress on the bottom bunk, then went out again.
Billy eased Jesse to the floor once more. "I bought sheets and blankets, too. Yesterday. They're out in my Jeep."
"Billy, you never said a word about this bed to me."
"Sure I did. I've said lots about this bed. You just haven't been listening."
"You know what I mean. You never said you actually went out and bought one."
"Look. Lighten up, will you."
"I hate when you say that."
"This is gonna work out just fine."
"I mean it, Billy. Until you give up this idiocy and let him go back to a crib, bedtimes and naps will be your responsibility."
"Don't you worry. I can deal with it."
She looked at the top bunk. "Wait a minute. You're not thinking of putting him up there, are you?"
Billy looked injured. "Hell, no. What kind of father do you think I am?" He caught the look she gave him and frowned. "Never mind, don't answer that. The top bunk's for later. You know, when he wants to have friends over."
"Oh, right. You're just looking ahead."
"You bet I am."
"You have never looked ahead in your life."
Jesse babbled out something incomprehensible.
"See," Billy said, "this kid is ready. Aren't you?"
"Me yeah," Jesse replied.
* * *
Billy had to suspend his stereo assembly that afternoon, so he could stand guard over Jesse's nap time. Once she saw that Billy really intended to deal with the problem he'd created, Prudence resolutely stayed out of it. Soon enough, she knew, Billy would grow tired of spending half the afternoon and a good portion of his evenings making sure Jesse stayed in his bed. Jesse would go back to his crib. And Prudence would be proved right.
Billy spent that night in the top bunk in Jesse's room. The next morning, while Prudence was feeding Jesse his breakfast, he car
ried the crib down to the basement.
"You'll have to bring it up again yourself," Prudence said to him when he came into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffeepot.
"I'll bring it up. When whoever you give it to comes to collect it." He poured himself coffee, then turned around and leaned on the counter, sipping. "Let him feed himself."
Prudence mentally counted to ten. "Billy, you can't take over everything."
"Come on. Give him the spoon."
Actually she had read somewhere that most babies could feed themselves by the end of the first year. Maybe she had been a little slow to encourage Jesse to move on. On this particular point, anyway. She handed Jesse the spoon.
Twenty minutes later, there was baby cereal and canned fruit everywhere. But Jesse had fed himself an entire meal for the first time.
Prudence was changing his diaper, getting him cleaned up for church, when Billy leaned over her shoulder and suggested, "Have you thought about teaching him to use the toilet? I thought maybe I'd get him one of those little kid's potties, you know? And maybe we could switch him to training pants and—"
"Stop. We can talk about this later. Right now, I'm going to church."
"Fine. You can leave Jesse here. You only take him to some nursery anyway, right?"
"That's true." Prudence reached for a pair of toddler-size red corduroy overalls and started snapping Jesse into them. "Maybe you'd like to go to church with us?"
"Sure. And maybe your friend Nellie Anderson would like a double Scotch on the rocks."
Prudence shot him a long-suffering look. "I don't believe that Nellie indulges in alcoholic beverages."
"Fine. Nellie Anderson doesn't drink. And I don't go to church. We all enjoy different forms of entertainment."
"Oh, Billy," Prudence said, smiling because she couldn't help herself, though she knew it only encouraged him. "Are you sure you can handle Jesse alone?"
"I'm sure."
"Have you ever changed a diaper in your life?"
"Don't worry. I'll figure it out. I've watched you a few times."
"All right, then." She picked up Jesse and handed him to Billy.
Billy adjusted the suspenders on Jesse's overalls. "You get to stay here with me today. How's that?"
The Taming of Billy Jones Page 9