Loving Emily (28 page)

“We were kind of freaked out. But then Daddy told us you were just venting.” Molly is always pleased to learn a new vocabulary word. “He said you’re all better now.”

“He’s right. I
am
better. And you know I think Mom and Dad are pretty cool, right?”

“But not as cool as us, right?” Maddy gets up and takes the ball from me.

“No, you guys are way cooler.”

Maddy shoots the basketball from across the room and sinks it. It’s a perfect shot.

C
hrissie’s a month from her due date when Mitzi finally schedules her audition for late on a Friday afternoon. Luckily, Emily’s in rehearsal, so I can escape to get Chrissie without telling her what I’m doing. Since Emily doesn’t know Chrissie went to the party, I can’t tell her about the audition.

Unfortunately, that’s not the only secret I’m keeping. Nat’s going to be there tonight, and I don’t plan to tell Chrissie he’s Michael’s father. No point in getting her worked up.

We are at Dad’s pre-production offices, sitting in an audition room. A couple of hard chairs sit in front of a white wall. That’s where the actors do their thing. The rest of us pile onto one of the sofas on the other side of the small room, facing the two chairs. Mitzi has just five actresses waiting, with Chrissie on last.

Jared’s there ready to read. In
Mystery Moon,
he plays a private eye in a romance with Elaine, a rich young widow played by his co-star Melinda Radnor. Roxanne’s a waitress at a coffee shop he frequents. He and Roxanne flirt and talk only three times, but the experience affects him deeply, destroying his relationship with Elaine and changing his life forever.

“So for it to be believable,” Dad tells me, “Roxanne’s gotta burn up the screen. She needs to have major chemistry with Jared and make a big impact on the audience in just three scenes.”

Mitzi brings in the actresses one by one. Trisha Hamilton, who’s gotten great reviews in a new TV drama, is really good, and Nat talks to her for a while. She’s a redhead with long legs and a sexy whisky voice. But I know Mitzi’s biding her time. She’s met with Chrissie a couple of times and has coached her.

“The last up is Chrissie Valentino. You met her at the party,” she reminds Dad and Nat. “She’s Ryan’s friend from the tennis club.”

When Chrissie enters, Dad and Nat both draw back a little to study her. She’s so massive it’s almost impossible to believe she’ll ever be thin again. She’s wearing her SaveWell uniform, the buttons pulling and gapping across her belly.

“It’ll be fine,” Mitzi tells Dad. “She’d be down to the right weight long before the shoot. It’d be a condition of the contract that she had to get in shape in time.”

Walking in, Chrissie looks tired and worried, but when she sees Jared, it’s as if she switches on this inner light. She’s suddenly this beautiful, exciting red-hot mama.

“Hey, gorgeous, you been waitin’ for me?” Chrissie says it in a way that jolts every man in the room upright in his seat, holding his breath to see what happens next.

“There she is!” Jared bounds to his feet, looking at Chrissie as if he’s Adam and she’s Eve, and he’s seeing a woman in a fig leaf for the very first time.

Without a break, Chrissie and Jared move into their scenes, which they’ve memorized, while Mitzi sits back, looking pleased with herself. Nat looks at Dad, and Dad looks at me, and I breathe this huge sigh of relief, because from the first line, it’s obvious and we all know it.

Chrissie was born to be Roxanne.

•   •   •

Afterward, I run up to Chrissie, hugging her and yelling about how incredible she was. “You got it! You got the job, Chrissie!”

She looks dazed. “This is way better than my commercial for Tidy Litter.”

Dad invites us all back to the house for dinner, where Chrissie takes up two places at the table. Totally up from the success of the audition, she’s sparkling, talking to Dad and Mitzi, her fingernails flashing bright pink whenever she moves her hands. Jared’s gone home, but Nat is sitting across from me. He’s so much quieter since Michael died and has gained a lot of weight. His hair’s gray everywhere now, instead of just at the temples.

Rosario brings in trays of her awesome Mexican food. I jump up to help her. “Thanks, Ro,” I tell her. I hand Nat a platter of quesadillas, feeling guilty.
He has no idea his grandchild is sitting at the table with him.

“You’ll need an agent,” Dad says to Chrissie. “I’ll introduce you to some people over at Hollywood Artists.”

“Hey, Chrissie,” I say, “Movies pay better than the SaveWell!”

“Thank the Lord,” she says. Then, “Ryan, now I can return the money to you for all those bills you paid!” Dad quietly chokes on his chimichanga.

Everyone’s looking at me. I examine my plate, noting the exact coordinates of my cheese quesadilla in contrast to the position of the refried beans. Choosing my words carefully, I say “Dad, I told you before. I’ve been helping Chrissie out, because she’s a friend. But it’s not my baby.”

Chrissie leaps into the conversation. “Oh, no,” she assures my dad. “This baby’s father passed away very suddenly. In a vehicle accident.”

Nat sits back in his chair, going pale. As he looks up, his eyes meet mine. In that instant, I see the light go on for Nat.

“Chrissie,” he says. “My son died this September in a car accident. His name was Michael.”

“
Oh!”
Her mouth pops open. For an instant, her eyes shoot over to me, with a look of total panic. I try to signal her back with my own—
it’s okay—
but the truth is I don’t really know if it’s going to be okay for her.

I’d be relieved that her secret is out if I didn’t have to worry she was going to disappear again. This time for real.

Meanwhile, Chrissie and Nat are staring at each other. But Chrissie never loses her cool for long. Her head goes up. “My relationship with Michael was brief,” she tells him, “but profound.”

Nat’s voice is choked. “How brief?”

“Once. In the Pro Shop.” She sets each word out so carefully, it’s like she’s afraid they’ll break. Looking as if he’s on autopilot, Nat moves over to where Chrissie’s sitting, and Mitzi gives him her chair. Chrissie’s very still and Nat’s chalk-colored, but the two manage to smile at each other anyway.

“Michael had a beautiful spirit,” Chrissie says after a minute. “This boy does, too.”

“It’s a boy?” Nat asks. His voice is shaking with emotion.

Chrissie nods. “I’m namin’ him Michael.”

I can hardly look at Nat. So many expressions are crossing his face at the same time: joy, grief, shock, regret. “It’s a gift,” he says. “From heaven.”

“Yes. It is.” Chrissie gives him a warm, beautiful smile, then jumps a little and takes Nat’s hand and puts it on her belly. “Your grandson’s waving to you right now. Feel that?”

An expression of wonder comes over his face. “Excuse me.” Nat reaches for his cell phone and punches a number. “Yancy?” he says. “You gotta get over here. Now.”

A
s Yancy hurries in, you can almost see the emotion in the room. Nat looks dazed, as if he’d like to be overjoyed but he’s afraid to be. Mitzi and Mom are in tears. Only my dad is expressionless, as if he’s thinking hard. I’m glad that I don’t have to keep this secret from my parents any longer.

“So you’ve been helping her for… what… months?” Nat sounds incredulous. He and Chrissie are transfixed by her belly. She keeps moving his hand around on it, yelling out “There’s another one!” and “Oh boy, that was a big one!” Yancy sees the two of them and stops short, her eyes narrowing.

I nod in answer to Nat’s question. “I was doing it for Michael. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. She’s due in a month.” The adults in the room are looking at us, astonished.

Yancy walks up to Chrissie, unsmiling, and extends her hand. “I’m Yancy Weston, Michael’s mother.” Nat takes his hand off Chrissie’s belly, giving Yancy a confused look.

Chrissie pulls herself to her feet. “How do you do?” she says, shaking hands with Yancy. There’s an awkward pause.

“So, you knew my son?” Yancy’s tone is neutral.

“Yes, ma’m.”

“And this is his baby?”

“Yes, ma’m.” Chrissie’s smiling, but I suddenly realize I’ve never seen her this pale. And, although her mouth’s smiling, her eyes aren’t.

“Time for dessert!” Mom calls out as Rosario comes in with platters in each hand. Mom bustles around handing out slices of cake that no one seems to want.

Dad has pulled Nat and Yancy aside, and now they come for me. The four of us go into the kitchen.

“Ryan,” Dad asks. “Are you a hundred percent sure this is Michael’s baby?”

“I asked her that,” I say. “She swore it was. And I know for sure Michael slept with her, because he told me himself. The night he died.”

They look as if they’re wondering just how many more secrets I’ve got hidden away.

“Did she approach you about this, ask you for money?” Dad asks.

“No way,” I tell them. “I looked her up when I found out she was pregnant. She’s never asked me for a dime. I paid some bills while she was on bed rest, but I had to twist her arm first.”

“But there’s no absolute proof he’s the father?” Nat asks. I shake my head.

“We need it,” Yancy snaps. “We need to know for sure.” So a few minutes later, I pull Chrissie aside, pluck up my courage and ask her. She says “Of course I will take a paternity test.” Being a great actress, she sounds cheerful and confident as she says it. But I know better.

Is she going to disappear again now? Then I think: Roxanne. Would Chrissie bolt from a major film role?

I don’t have the answer. I stand there, making conversation, while my intestines tie themselves into a series of pretzels.

•   •   •

After dinner, I give Emily a quick good night call, then take Chrissie home. By now, my car could drive itself to Chrissie’s house. It makes this powerful hum as I gun it up the 405, passing the few cars on the road with us. The whole way up, I’m thinking
what’s Chrissie going to do now?

As we reach the top of the ridge, the lights of the San Fernando Valley spread out before us like the jewelry spilled across my mother’s dressing table before a big event.

Chrissie leans her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes.

“You okay?” I ask her.

“I’m just tired.”

“What are you thinking? I mean, are you worried about Nat and Yancy?”

“I’m so tired right now I can’t think anythin’,” she says.

I help her up the stairs and to her apartment door. As she opens it and enters her place, I find myself hanging in the doorway, not wanting to leave. “Are you really okay?”

She nods. “I gotta go to the bathroom.” She disappears, while I flop down on some pillows on the floor. I hope Chrissie will be fine now. Nat and Yancy won’t cause any trouble. They’ll get to know her, and they’ll help her with the baby.

Her career, for sure, is off to a good start in Mitzi’s hands. Mitzi’s like a giant searchlight, always on the move. She’s one the best new-talent spotters in Hollywood, and right now the beam of her searchlight has stopped on Chrissie. I lie on the carpet and give a double thumbs up to Lucille Ball, looking down at me from her poster on the wall.

Chrissie, I’m noticing, has been gone a long time.

“Ryan?”

A warning shiver streaks up my spine. My head snaps around.

“Ryan, are you there?”

I’m on my feet in an instant and heading for the bathroom. When I touch the door, it swings open, and Chrissie is standing there, ghostly pale, one hand gripping the sink for balance. She has changed into a dress that hangs down past her knees, and her legs and feet are bare.

She has a leaky faucet; I hear the steady
drip, drip
of water. But I can see the faucet, and it’s not leaking. The
drip, drip
continues.

“Ryan, help me.” Chrissie stands as if she doesn’t dare to move.

Then I see it. It’s not water. A drop of red hits the vinyl floor between Chrissie’s feet and splashes up onto her ankle. A second drop and a third. The drops keep coming, joining the pool of blood on the floor at Chrissie’s feet.

Somehow, I wrap her up in a big towel, find her purse, lock her front door, and half-carry her down the two flights of stairs on the outside of her building.
Don’t let her fall, get to the car.

“Your beautiful car seats!” she wails, as I set her down on the soft, buttery leather.

“Forget it,” I say. I gun my car toward the hospital, pulling in at the Emergency Room and stopping with a jerk that snaps both of us forward.

An orderly takes her off in a wheelchair, while I park, then sprint back to the ER. It’s a different hospital, but the same smells, the same plastic tubing, the same needles in bruised arms. It’s the same exhaustion, the same fear, the same indifferent faces at the admitting desk.

I shake my head a little, thinking
Dude! Pull it together!
I find Chrissie lying on a gurney while a man in blue hospital scrubs puts a needle in her arm. They’re giving her blood. They’re not wasting any time, wheeling her up to a machine and laying a sheet over her waist and legs. From what they’re saying, I gather she’s getting an ultrasound.

Working fast, they pull up her shirt, exposing her belly, and put some kind of gel on it. They move a detector device around on the belly, while gray and white shadows swirl across a screen. Everything in their faces and movement says urgency, fear, danger.

Chrissie stares straight up at the ceiling, holding my hand for strength, like a little girl. I’m focused on the screen, looking for something, anything that will tell me the baby’s okay. From within the gray mass, a small foot emerges and disappears, and then a nose. I send an urgent mental message to the little guy.
Help’s on the way! Hang in there!

Two blue-dressed hospital people are leaning into the picture before them. At the same moment, they both point at a wrinkle of dark grayness in the swirling light gray picture. Wobbly tracings are coming from yet another machine they’ve attached to Chrissie, and some change there suddenly pushes both doctors into action.