Manhattan Lullaby (10 page)

Harry automatically received the bundle. He hadn't held a baby in over a quarter of a century and it took him a minute to settle the child in the appropriate orientation—face up.

While he did so Maxine stripped off her soggy blouse, and dropping it on the bedroom floor, she walked across to her closet to get something dry to put on. It took them both a moment before they realized that she was half naked except for her bra and that this automatic gesture of intimacy that would have gone totally unnoticed during any one of the previous twenty-five years was now suddenly the focus of both their attentions.

Harry, still clutching the baby as he watched Maxine walk across to the closet, felt a pang of embarrassment combined with a proprietary feeling of familiar interest. Watching one's wife undress was, he had always felt, one of the great benefits of being married. It was how he imagined Ben Cartwright must have felt when he looked out across the Ponderosa. A feeling of ultimate possession with No Trespassing signs all around it. Except of course that his No Trespassing signs were now supposed to be erected around Joyce. He cleared his throat.

Maxine quickly pulled another blouse from its hanger and, with her back to Harry, slipped it on and did up the buttons.

When she turned around she took a clean towel from a pile on the chair in front of the dressing table and laid it on the bed. “Here,” she said, reaching out, “give it to me.”

“It has a name,” said Harry, handing the baby to her.

“Rogue is not a name. It is a political statement imposed by someone with pink hair.” While she spoke, and with a little deft maneuvering, she managed to lay the baby on the dry towel and toss the wet towel onto the floor next to the blouse. Reveling in the sudden freedom, Rogue cooed and kicked his feet one at a time and then both together.

“Pass me the baby powder,” ordered Maxine, and Harry, quickly scanning the objects on the bed, managed to pick out the right container on the first try.

She sprinkled some on one hand and then, putting the container down, she clutched his ankles between the thumb and first two fingers of her free hand and lifted both his legs together. Harry watched fascinated. How did women know how to do all this? With his legs thus suspended and his shoulders still resting on the bed, Rogue received a healthy dusting of baby powder around his bottom. Maxine then laid him down again.

“Get me a diaper, will you,” said Maxine, waving toward the closet door.

Harry went to the closet and after fishing around for a minute or two came back with a tea towel he had found in a red plastic laundry basket. “I couldn't find any diapers and what's that laundry basket doing in the closet?”

“The laundry basket is his bed until I have time to get him a crib and that is a tea towel, not a diaper.” Maxine gave him a look that said she had always suspected he was an inept father. And with a sigh of exasperation she went to get the diaper herself.

She returned a moment later. “
This
is a diaper,” she said, waving the bulging paper panty under Harry's nose.

Harry defended himself. “I was looking for the other kind, like Bradley used to wear.”

“I never diapered Bradley in a tea towel.” Maxine worked the paper padding under the baby's bottom.

“Did I know?”

“You were his father.”

“And Iacocca is the chairman of Chrysler. It doesn't mean he knows how to service a car.”

“No, he probably gets his
mother
to do it for him.” She turned the little body on the bed and was just about to work the thick part of the diaper up between his legs when Harry stopped her.

“Wait!” he cried. Harry was looking at the baby. He shook his head and moved in for a closer inspection.

“Are you sure that's Bradley's child?”

Maxine stopped fiddling with the diaper tabs. “You think I do this for strangers?”

“It doesn't look like him.”

Maxine took a long look at the baby. Harry was right. “So, maybe it looks like the mother.” She shrugged. All babies looked like a cross between Winston Churchill and Barney Rubble at this age.

“No, I don't mean that way.” Harry waved in the direction of the open diaper. “I mean
that
.”

Maxine took another look. “Oh, that. From what I saw of the mother she was more likely to hang an earring from it than to cut it off.”

“Don't you think you should talk to Bradley about it?” Harry said seriously.

“Harry, this past week has not exactly been full of moments for discussing circumcision. You son has been lying on his bed looking at the ceiling like a lovesick puppy—you should excuse the frame of reference. I've had Doris on the telephone at work, at home, and I'm sure if she could manage it she'd call me in the subway and in the elevator. She wants me to do
something
. As if there was anything I could do. Then, I've still got a job to do. You remember my job? I got a ton of mail this week and it all has to be read and sorted out for next month's column. Plus I have to look after this”—she pointed at the baby—“because our son seems to have no idea how to and no desire to learn.” She stopped to catch her breath. “And furthermore—”

Harry held up a hand. “O.K., O.K., I'm sorry I asked.”

“And I'm sorry we didn't have a daughter.” She sounded weary.

“I know, I know.” Harry made a couple of comforting pats on her shoulder.

“No, you don't,” said Maxine flatly. “I thought I was finished with all this. That I could get on with my life. I'm not ready to be a single grandmother!” Her voice went up a decibel or two.

At the sound of a raised voice, or maybe because he wasn't getting any attention, Rogue Kraft let out a wail that would shatter glass. Instantly both sets of eyes were on him.

“He wants his bottle,” said Maxine with the authority that only knowledge can bring. And she finished fastening the diaper, wrapped him in a blanket and headed toward the kitchen.

Naturally Harry followed. And a few minutes later they were both sitting on the couch in the living room as Rogue greedily consumed his fifth bottle of the day, nestled against Maxine's left breast and tightly clutching the finger that Harry had so foolishly introduced into his left fist.

“My arm's got pins and needles,” whispered Harry, easing his finger away. But Rogue was not about to give it up. He stopped sucking and opened his eyes.

“He's going to start crying,” warned Maxine. And he did.

Instantly Harry thrust his finger back into the tiny fist and the baby settled down to a bout of contented sucking.

“So tell me,” said Maxine, “what are you doing here tonight anyway?”

“I—that is—Joyce has a doctor's appointment just around the corner and I thought that while I was waiting for her I might as well come over and see how you're doing.”

Maxine nodded. “Well, now that you've seen how I'm doing, have you got any suggestions about how I can stop doing it?”

Harry sighed. “I'm sorry this happened, Maxine. I told you, Bradley could have moved in with me, but he wanted to come home after Janie threw him out. I guess he wanted to be near his mother.”

“Be near his mother! You mean he wanted to be near a babysitter,” snorted Maxine. “But I suppose it's better off with me. You and Lois Lane don't know the first thing about babies.”

Harry thought for a moment. She was right. Neither he nor Joyce had any room in their lives, let alone their apartment, for children, never mind two generations' worth of children. It wasn't fair, but Maxine had been the obvious and only choice. Still, he felt he had to say something. “I'll talk to him.” Although he had no idea what he would say.

Maxine felt she had made her point, and for a few moments a comfortable silence descended over the room, broken only now and then by the sounds of sucking and the odd sigh of contentment from Harry.

After a time Harry broke the silence. “You know something? This kinda reminds me of the old days.”

“What?” said Maxine, whose thoughts had been busy running forward, not backward.

“You know, when you and I used to sit here with Bradley.” Harry sighed wistfully. “They were good days, good days. There are times when I really miss being part of a family.”

Maxine picked up the signals immediately. Nostalgia was about to rear its sentimental head again. “Don't start with the past again, Harry. I've got enough to deal with as it is. I don't need you resurrecting the ghost of our marriage. Is that clear?”

“All I said was—” But before Harry could come to his own defense the telephone rang. “I'll get it.” He started to get up.

“No,
I'll
get it,” said Maxine, handing him the baby and the bottle. “It's probably for me. After all, I'm the one who lives here.”

Harry took the hint and the baby and got comfortable. He heard Maxine say “Hello” and then “What're you doing calling me at home?” Maybe it was Dr. Berman.

Maxine listened to the caller and then said, “I see. Look, we've already talked about that before.” And then another pause. “Jeffrey, please, I've got enough to cope with at the …”

Harry stiffened. Jeffrey? Not Jeffrey Mondavi, that little runt from advertising. But his sudden movement dislodged the nipple and Rogue screamed.

Harry hastily shoved the nipple back into the baby's mouth. He didn't want to miss what was being said.

“Just dinner?” said Maxine into the receiver. “Well …”

Harry took advantage of the pause. “Maxine, dear, could you come here a moment, please?”

“Just a minute,” said Maxine, putting one hand over the receiver. “What is it?” she called.

“I think your
grandson
needs you.”

The emphasis and the implication did not escape Maxine. The course of action was clear. Instantly she saw a way in which she could quite easily kill two birds with one stone. Get the salivating Jeffrey off her back once and for all and shock Harry out of the idea that somehow, their divorce notwithstanding, she was still his wife. Though the Dr. Berman incident hadn't been terribly effective on that issue because of the way it had backfired—and in fact the only effect her disastrous date had had on Harry was to make him more jealous and protective—perhaps a date with someone closer to home, someone younger, someone normal would do the trick.

“I'd
love
to have dinner with you, Jeffrey,” she said a little louder than necessary to make sure Harry got every word. “Yes, next Wednesday would be fine.” And satisfied that her decision was going to ease her that much farther down her road to a new life, she hung up the receiver and returned to the living room.

“That was Jeffrey Mondavi,” she volunteered unnecessarily.

Her admission was greeted by a stony look from Harry.

“We're going out for dinner.”

Harry said, “The bottle's empty.”

Maxine nodded. “Time for a burp.” And she reached for the baby.

Just as she was rubbing the center of the tiny back, however, there was another knock at the door.

“Now what?” said Maxine, sounding annoyed and waiting for Harry to say “I'll get it.” But he didn't. So, still rubbing the baby's back, she went down the hall to the door, threw the locks without bothering to ask who was there and was surprised to see who was standing unsteadily in the hall.

“Joyce!” It was both an exclamation and a question. “You look awful. What did the doctor say?” And all the time she was talking she was rubbing the baby and herding the pale and tottering Joyce into the apartment.

“Joyce!” said Harry, leaping to his feet. He was both surprised and guilty. He had forgotten all about her.

Maxine guided her unsteady visitor to a chair. “Here, sit. Sit before you fall down. Can I get you some tea? A glass of water?”

Joyce weakly waved the offer aside and gratefully sank into the chair. She looked at Harry. “I waited for you at the doctor's office,” she said accusingly, though without much energy.

“I'm sorry, honey, time just slipped by.” His lips curved up into a sheepish grin. “We were … ah … just looking after the baby.” Harry looked at his ex-wife for confirmation.

Maxine raised a circumspect eyebrow that said “we who?”.

“Good,” Joyce said, taking a deep breath. “You're going to need the practice.”

Harry's brow furrowed into a questioning “why?” Somehow, though his brain had already processed the question and retrieved the answer, he knew why. Oh brother, did he know why! And the knowledge gripped him like a vise as it began to sink in.

“Congratulate me,” said Joyce as one big fat tear slid down her cheek and did a swan dive off the end of her chin. “I'm pregnant.”

Chapter Nine

“Oh, shut up!” Janie snapped at Chester, who was singing the refrain from “Blue Moon” as she waited impatiently for the coffee maker to do its job.

Offended by this sudden outburst of verbal aggression, Chester flapped his wings, and then, in an effort to dissemble, he reached around and scratched behind one feathered ear with his longest toenail.

For the next few moments the only sound was the muffled gurgle of the coffee machine. “Why does it always take so long?” demanded Janie, glaring at the empty pot.

Finally the dark stream of steaming liquid began to descend, filling the kitchen with the kind of deep nutty aroma that would bring joy to the heart of Juan Valdez. Satisfied for the moment, Janie turned her attention to retrieving two mugs from the cupboard and cream from the refrigerator.

Chester, shaken from his enforced torpor by this sudden burst of activity, took it as a signal that all was forgiven and began to croon again. “
Blue mooooon, you saw me …”

Janie grabbed a peanut from a bowl on the counter and threw it at him. He ducked as it sailed past his head, and then he watched where it landed. A moment later he dove off the perch to retrieve it. As far as he was concerned, he could sing all night long if there were peanuts being offered.