Heartbeat (16 page)

“Hi,” he said as they collided in the aisle where he was picking up two huge containers of ketchup. “I haven't seen you all week,” he teased, and he realized as he saw her that he had missed her. There was something so fresh and appealing about her face that he liked just looking at her, and the intensity of her smile always warmed him. “How's the news?”

“The same. Wars, earthquakes, explosions, tidal waves, the usual stuff. How are things on
A Life?”
The thought that he was involved with a soap opera still amused her.

“Same as the news …wars …tidal waves …earthquakes …explosions …divorce …illegitimacy …murder …the usual happy stuff. Maybe we're both really in the same business.”

She smiled at him then. “Yours sounds like more fun.”

“It is …sometimes …” He had been lonely since Sylvia left the show, but he had to admit that it was stupid. She had been fun to be with from time to time, and they had provided each other with something comfortable and easy. But the truth was that she didn't really improve the quality of his life, nor he hers, and she was better off with her clothing manufacturer in New Jersey. She had sent a postcard to the cast after she'd left, rhapsodizing about the house Stanley had just bought her. And looking back, he felt foolish now, for being with her. He felt that way now about most of the women he'd gone out with. And he had decided to turn over a new leaf, to get involved only with women who really meant something to him, but the trouble was that most of the women he met just didn't. He met a lot of actresses through his work, a lot of women who just wanted to get laid in exchange for a great part, or an opportunity to appear on his show. They considered it a fair exchange, and the attitude was hardly conducive to high romance. As a result, he hadn't been out with anyone in over a month, and he didn't really miss it. He missed having someone to talk to late at night, someone to bounce his ideas off for the show, someone to share his joys and sorrows with. But he hadn't had that with Sylvia anyway. In fact, he hadn't had that since Leslie.

“Are you coming to the barbecue tomorrow night?” he asked Adrian hopefully. He liked chatting with her, and he was curious about her husband. She had told him he was in advertising, but to Bill he looked more like an actor. But he hadn't seen him in almost two weeks, since he'd loaded all their furniture into a van and removed it. “The Fourth of July barbecue at our apartment complex is my biggest annual culinary moment. You really shouldn't miss it.” He waved at the things in his cart and grinned at her. “I do it every year, previously by popular demand, nowadays out of habit. But I make a great steak.” He smiled again. “Did you come last year?” He couldn't remember seeing them, although he knew he would have. He wouldn't have forgotten a girl who looked like her, or maybe he had just been distracted.

But she shook her head. “We usually go away. I think last year we were in La Jolla.”

“Are you going away again?” He looked disappointed.

She shook her head. “No …I …Steven …my husband is out of town again. In Chicago.” The words came out awkwardly, and Bill looked surprised.

“Over the Fourth of July? That's a bummer. What are you doing while he's gone?” He wasn't being fresh, he was just being friendly. They had enjoyed chatting by the pool several times. And he knew she was married, and he understood that.

“Nothing much,” she said vaguely, looking nervous.

“Come to the barbecue, then. I'll fix you a famous steak a la Thigpen.” She smiled at the look on his face, he looked so eager, and she really liked him.

“I …I'm having dinner with friends.” She smiled, but her eyes were sad again and he saw it. “Maybe next year.”

He nodded, and noticed the clock on the wall behind her. It was twelve-thirty at night, and they were chatting as though it were ten in the morning. “I guess I ought to get the rest of my stuff,” he said regretfully. “Come by if you change your mind. Bring your friends. I've got enough for an army.”

“I'll try.” But she had no intention of going to the barbecue as she shopped for the rest of her groceries. She remembered seeing a sign-up sheet in her mail weeks before, but she had thrown it out. She had other things on her mind at that point, and she didn't regret it. The last thing she wanted was to hang around a bunch of lonely singles at the complex. She had her own life to lead, and she was not interested in cultivating new relationships, or dating. She was married, and all she had to do was wait for Steven to come to his senses. It was just a matter of time, she was sure of it. And when he came back, they could concentrate on having the baby. In the meantime, she had put that on a back burner too. She hardly ever thought of it. She had made her decision and gone ahead with the pregnancy, but now she put it out of her head as much as possible. And it was still easy to ignore for the moment, except for an occasional moment of queasiness, and an increased appetite the rest of the time, and some fatigue, she could just about forget that she was pregnant. Nothing showed, and she was only three months pregnant. And all she needed to think about was her work, and waiting for Steven. When he left, at first, she had told herself that it was all over, that he would never come back, and if he did, their relationship would be permanently damaged. But in the past two weeks, she had managed to convince herself that it was a temporary lapse, a moment of insanity in the otherwise healthy life of their marriage. She refused to believe that the fact that he never called, that he wouldn't take her calls whenever she called him, and that she hadn't heard from him since he'd removed everything he owned from their condo was a sign that he felt the marriage was truly over.

She caught a glimpse of Bill again in the checkout line, with three carts loaded to the brim trailing behind him. She carried her own meager purchases to the car, feeling sad again. She could fit a week's groceries into two bags now. Everything about her life seemed to have shrunk, ever since Steven had left her. And when she got home, the apartment seemed so ridiculously empty. She put her groceries in the fridge, turned off the lights, and went upstairs where the box spring and mattress still sat on her bedroom floor, and her clothes still sat
in
the boxes on the floor where Steven had left them. She lay in bed awake for a long time, thinking of him, and wondering what he was doing all weekend. She was tempted to call, to beg him to come home, to tell him she'd do anything …anything except an abortion. That wasn't the issue anymore. The issue was carrying on her life without a husband. It still surprised her to realize how lost she felt, how bereft and deserted. After two and a half years, she couldn't even remember what she used to do with herself to keep amused before they were married. It was almost as though she had never lived alone before, as though there had never been a life before Steven.

It was after three when she finally fell asleep, and almost eleven when she woke up the next morning. It was the one thing she seemed to do easily now. She could sleep all day if she had the chance. The doctor said it was because of the baby. The baby. The idea of it still seemed unreal. The tiny being who had cost her her marriage. And yet she still wanted it. Somehow it still seemed worth it.

She got up and showered, and made herself some scrambled eggs at noon, and then she paid some bills and did her laundry. She looked around the empty living room and laughed. It was certainly easy keeping house these days. There was nothing to straighten out, or dust, no spots to worry about on the couch, no plants to water, he had taken those too. All she had to do was make her bed and vacuum. And at two-thirty, she went out to the pool, and saw Bill busily preparing for the barbecue. He was conferring with two other men Adrian had seen before, and there were two women putting a big bowl of flowers on a long picnic table. This was obviously going to be an event, and she was almost sorry she wasn't going. She had nothing to do, and nowhere to go. Zelda was in Mexico with a friend, and all Adrian could think of to do was go to a movie.

She waved at him as she headed toward the pool, and lay floating in the hot sun for a long time and then she lay down on one of the lounge chairs on her stomach. And he came and sat down next to her a little while later, looking happy but exhausted.

“Remind me not to do this next year,” he said, as though they were old friends. But they were actually growing familiar just from running into each other regularly in all the same places. They lived and worked in the same place, and even bought their groceries at the same midnight market. “I say that every year.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “These people drive me crazy.”

She grinned as she looked at him. He was funny without meaning to be. And he looked wonderfully harassed, but he also looked as though he enjoyed it. “I bet you have fun doing it.”

“Sure I do. Sherman probably had a hell of a good time with the march on Atlanta. But it was probably a lot simpler to orchestrate than this.” He leaned closer to her so no one else would hear him. “The guys figure that maybe this year I should have bought lobster, they said I've done steak, burgers, and hot dogs for the last three years and it's getting old. The women think we should be having it catered. Christ, did you ever go to a catered picnic when you were a kid? I mean whoever heard of a catered hot dog for the Fourth of July?” He looked outraged and she laughed, the idea amused her. “Did you go to a Fourth of July picnic when you were growing up?”

She nodded. “We used to go to Cape Cod. When I was older we went to Martha's Vineyard. I loved it. There's nothing like that out here. That wonderful feeling of summer towns and perfect beaches and the kids you play with every summer and wait all year to see. It was great.”

“Yeah.” He smiled at his own memories. “We used to go to Coney Island. Ride the roller coaster and look at the fireworks. My father would do a great barbecue at night on the beach. When I was older, they had a house on Long Island and my mom did a real picnic in the backyard. But I always thought the Coney Island days were better.” He still had wonderful memories of the things he had done with his parents in his childhood. He had been an only child and he had been crazy about his parents.

“Do they still do that?”

“No.” He shook his head, thinking about them, but the memories were all tinged with warm feelings now, the grief was gone. The shock of losing them was long over. He looked at Adrian, he liked what he saw in her eyes, liked the way her dark hair fell over her shoulders. “They died. After they got the house on Long Island. A long time ago …” Sixteen years. He'd been twenty-two when his father died, twenty-three when his mother died a year later. “I think I do this whole Fourth of July production because of them. Maybe it's my way of saying I remember.” He smiled warmly at her. “It seems like most of us out here don't have families, we have girlfriends and kids and dogs and friends, but our aunts and uncles and parents and grandparents and cousins are all somewhere else. I mean, seriously, have you ever met anyone who grew up in L.A.? I mean someone normal, who doesn't look like Jean Harlow and is actually a guy who happens to be madly in love with his sister?” She laughed at him. He was so real, and so deep, and so solid, and at the same time he was lighthearted and funny. “Where are you from?”

She wanted to say L.A., but she didn't. “I'm from Connecticut. New London.”

“I'm from New York. But I hardly ever get back there. Do you get back to Connecticut sometimes?”

“Not if I can help it.” She grinned. “It stopped being fun right about the time they stopped going to Martha's Vineyard, when I went to college. My sister lives there, though.” She and her kids and her incredibly boring husband. It was so hard to relate to any of them, and ever since she'd married Steven, she didn't even try. She knew she had to tell them about the baby one of these days, though, but she wanted to wait until Steven came home, after he came to his senses. It would be just too complicated to explain that she was pregnant and he was gone, let alone why, all of which was why she was trying to put the pregnancy out of her mind for the moment.

“It's too bad you can't make it tonight,” he said forlornly. She nodded, embarrassed about the lie, but it was just easier not to go. She got in the pool and swam again, and he went back to his preparations for dinner, and a little while later he went back to his apartment to marinate the steaks. The barbecue sounded like a big production.

And at five o'clock she went back to her apartment and lay on the bed and tried to read. But she couldn't concentrate. Lately it was hard to do that most of the time, there were just too many things on her mind. And as she lay there, she could hear the sounds of the barbecue going on. At six o'clock people started to arrive. There were music and laughter, and she could hear what sounded like about fifty people. She went out on her deck after a while, where she could hear the noise and smell the food, but they couldn't see her, and she couldn't see them. But it all sounded very festive. There was the clinking of glasses, and someone was playing old Beatles albums and music from the sixties. It sounded like fun, and she was sorry she hadn't gone. But it was too awkward to explain why Steven wasn't there, even though she had said he was in Chicago on business. But it was embarrassing going out alone. She hadn't done it yet, and she wasn't ready to start. But smelling the food was making her desperately hungry. She finally went back downstairs and looked in her fridge, but nothing looked as good as what she smelled, and all of it was too much trouble to cook. She was suddenly dying for a hamburger. It was seven-thirty and she was absolutely starving. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and she wondered if she could just slip into the group, grab something to eat, and disappear again. She could always write Bill Thigpen a check later for what she owed for participating in the dinner. There was no harm in that. It wasn't really like going out. It was just eating. Like going to a fast-food place, or Chinese takeout. She could even grab a hamburger and bring it back. She didn't have to hang around for the party.

She hurried upstairs again, looked in the mirror in her bathroom, combed her hair, pulled it back and tied it with a white satin ribbon, and then she slipped on a white lace Mexican dress she and Steven had bought on a trip to Acapulco. It was pretty and feminine and easy to wear, and hid the tiny bulge that didn't show but made it difficult to wear slacks or jeans now. But it still didn't show in her dresses. She put on silver sandals and big dangly silver earrings. She hesitated for just a moment before she went back downstairs. What if they all had dates, or if she didn't know anyone at all? But even if he had a date, at least she knew Bill Thigpen, and he was always easygoing and friendly. She went downstairs then, and a moment later, she was hovering at the edge of the crowd near one of the big picnic tables where the food was laid out. There were groups of people clustered everywhere, laughing and chatting and telling stories, some were sitting near the pool, with their plates on their laps, or drinking wine, or just relaxing and enjoying the party. Everyone looked as though they were having a good time, and standing at the barbecue in a red-and-white-striped shirt and white pants and a blue apron over them was Bill Thigpen.