Punchline (12 page)

She clicked on the TV and collapsed onto the couch. After a few minutes, the Channel 17 news team announced they had Darryl Horak’s response to Belle’s announcement about her pregnancy.

Her hands twisted in her lap.
Say the right thing. I don’t know what that might be, but you‘re the one who did me wrong, so it’s up to you to find it.

On camera, Kate Munro and Darryl stood in his living room. Or what used to be his living room. Now wood chips littered newspapers spread on the floor, while a power saw lay on the couch.

“What are you building?” asked the reporter, standing at a safe distance.

Belle’s heart leapt. He was making her a bookcase—a peace offering. But her hopes were dashed with his next words.

“A crib!” Darryl indicated a skimpy framework of boards. “I’m just getting started, as you can see. We’ll be running a series of articles
in About Town
for fathers on how to build things, how to be your kids’ soccer coach, how to take them camping—you know, the stuff dads do best.”

As he spoke, he ran one hand along the crib’s railing. The structure shuddered. With a stiff smile at the camera, Darryl gripped the railing to steady it.

“I’m not putting my baby in that thing!” Belle announced to the screen. She couldn’t believe the man was still trying to prove that fathers made superior parents, especially not with this pitiful attempt at carpentry.

“We’ll have experts writing the articles, of course,” Darryl added. “This is kind of an experiment here.”

“So you
are
planning to sue for custody?” pressed the reporter.

One leg of the crib wobbled. Darryl glared at it.

“Mr. Horak?” said the reporter.

“Belle needs to understand that kids need fathers, too,” he said as the crib shifted off-center.

Kate regarded his handiwork dubiously. “Are you sure that thing is made right?”

“Actually, the directions were missing from the kit but I thought I could figure it out.’’ Darryl gave the leg a light kick to straighten it.

The response was prompt and startling. A screw flew out, and then the entire crib imploded, boards shifting and falling until the structure lay shattered on the floor. Still holding the railing in midair, Darryl stared at it in shock.

The scene returned to the newsroom, where the two anchors were clutching their sides trying to stop laughing. Belle clicked off the set.

It annoyed her that Darryl had made a point of how fathers were better than mothers at carpentry and sports and camping. After all,
Just Us
was running an article in the May issue on women, sports and the outdoors.

That was when inspiration hit. It didn’t come out of the blue; it was more a matter of pieces fitting into a jigsaw puzzle.

The magazine would sponsor a weekend campout for women only! With a little expert guidance, they were going to hike, fish, pitch tents and learn survival skills. It was a perfect opportunity to refute Darryl’s point and promote
Just Us
at the same time.

Best of all, it would give Belle something to keep her mind off the fact that she wished he were here so they could laugh about that stupid crib together.

S
OON IT WOULD BE
Valentine’s Day. Sitting at his desk staring blankly at his computer, Darryl wondered whether there was any point in sending Belle flowers.

She would only throw them in the trash. The way things were going in his life, he might as well throw himself in the trash.

He missed her. All he’d wanted to do on TV last week was to make Belle see that the baby needed him, and instead he’d made a fool of himself.

Darryl would never get the smell of sawdust out of his carpet. And he would never get the memory of that collapsing crib out of his mind.

Neither, he felt sure, would Belle.

This ends here,
he decided. No more feuding. No more proving himself. He would let time work its magic, and maybe by the time the baby was born in another four months she would forgive him.

Outside his window, the sky had gone dark, although it wasn’t quite five o’clock. On nights like this, a man ought to be heading home to a hot meal and some stimulating conversation, preferably with a peppery redhead.

A light tap on the door preceded Elva’s entrance. “Sorry to disturb your blue funk,” she said. “I came to tell you I figured out who betrayed our theme to
Just Us.
”

Darryl had almost forgotten. “Oh, yeah. Well, who’s the quisling?”

“I did a little checking on who might have seen our posters. Then you mentioned that you’d noticed a certain person at Sandra Duval’s New Year’s party. When I confronted her, she confessed.” Elva’s voice floated back as she headed for the hall. “I’ve got the little rat right here.”

For one heart-thumping, irrational moment Darryl thought it might be Belle. Then he saw Mindy gritting her teeth as Elva propelled her forward.

“You?” he demanded, trying to work up a head of steam for Elva’s benefit. Personally, he no longer cared, especially since he and Sandra were making great progress on their joint project.

“I’m sorry,” Mindy said. “Please, Mr. Horak, don’t ruin my career.”

“Line her up against the wall!” said Elva. “I’ll throw the first dart!”

The model turned a yellowish green shade. Darryl felt a wave of sympathy. After all, his magazine hadn’t suffered any real harm. “It’s okay,” he said.

“No, it’s not okay.” Elva fixed him with a piercing stare.

He didn’t want to terrify Mindy, but neither could he afford to offend his art editor. Maybe he could pacify Elva and get some information at the same time. “Have you been at the
Just Us
offices recently?” he asked.

Mindy nodded hesitantly. “Just to take a little Valentine’s present to Mrs. Duval. Kind of a thank-you for having me at her party.”

“How about giving us a scoop on whatever they’re up to these days?” Darryl didn’t expect her to know anything of value, but he was hungry for any details about Belle. “You help us out, and we’ll call it even.”

The model licked her lips nervously. “Um, well—”

“This had better be good,” growled Elva.

“There’s just this—this campout thing,” Mindy said.

“Campout thing?” he prodded.

“Belle said you claimed that men are better at taking kids camping,” the model ventured. “So
Just Us
is going to sponsor a Strong Woman Campout in May. To coincide with a special issue on women and sports.”

“Belle’s going to take a bunch of women camping to prove me wrong?”

“I guess so,” Mindy said.

“She can’t,” Darryl said. “The baby is due in May.”

“The campout’s in early May and she’s not due until late May,” explained the model. “That’s what she said. She claims even a woman who’s eight and a half months’ pregnant can handle a campout.”

“That’s insane,” said Elva.

Darryl didn’t doubt that, under ordinary circumstances, Belle could pitch tents and light camp fires. But a few weeks before the baby was due?

“Can I leave now?” asked Mindy.

“We’d have learned about the campout pretty soon, anyway,” countered Elva.

“She’s off the hook.” Darryl waved them both away.

The model scurried out the door as fast as her high heels would take her.

“Oh, all right,” Elva said as she, too, departed. “I suppose the little traitor has learned her lesson.”

Darryl scarcely heard her. His brain was crowded with images of terrible things happening to Belle—a mountain lion attack, a brushfire, a UFO kidnapping.

But maybe he was being overprotective. Or domineering, as she would no doubt claim.

She was a grown woman and had the right to make up her own mind. Besides, he had resolved to make peace, which meant staying out of Belle’s way.

Grimly, Darryl pushed aside any thought of interfering and went back to his work.

I
T WAS THE MIDDLE
of April, and Belle hadn’t heard from Darryl in nearly three months. She didn’t know what to think.

He hadn’t shown up on her doorstep or called to demand that she stay home from the campout. He hadn’t sent flowers, or stinkweed, either.

She couldn’t figure out what the man was up to. Could one humiliating episode on television have deflated his ego that thoroughly?

In a fit of weakness, she’d bought the March issue of
About Town
and had read Darryl’s article carefully, trying to be objective. His devotion to his unborn child came through crystal clear. Belle only wished the man cared even a fraction as much for her.

Her house echoed with the long-vanished sound of his voice. Her bathtub still bore a spilled dab of his shampoo that she never managed to clean. The pans he’d put away in the wrong places somehow remained there.

Thank goodness for the Strong Woman Campout. Roughly a hundred participants had signed on, and a site had been arranged in the nearby San Gabriel Mountains. A female guide had been hired to oversee the weekend and teach the participants basic camping skills.

Belle was so busy that she rarely had time to feel lonely. Only when she happened to see a pregnant woman on her husband’s arm did a pang of regret knife through her.

She would survive this. She could survive anything, and she was going to prove it to the entire world.

And so, on a sunny April day, she sat in her office nibbling a red, white and blue cream cheese confection and editing a story called “Personal Fireworks: How to Make the Fourth of July Your Own Independence Day.” Sometimes in the magazine business it was hard to remember which month it really was, or even which season.

That fact was brought home to her half an hour later when Sandra Duval flitted in wearing a gray satin bonnet trimmed with menorahs and dreidels. After a brief discussion of plans for the August and September issues, Belle said, “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s that for?”

The publisher touched the ornaments as if reminding herself what they were. “Oh! This is my Passover hat!”

“Passover?” said Belle. “That’s a Hanukkah hat.”

Sandra’s blue eyes widened in alarm. “No!”

“I’m sure of it,” said Belle. “On Passover, there’s a special dinner called a seder, and people eat matzo.”

“They don’t light one candle every night?” asked Sandra. “And spin those little tops?”

“Definitely Hanukkah,” said Belle.

A breath of dismay whooshed from her employer. “I have to go home and change. I’m attending a fund-raiser at the Music Center this afternoon, with the mayor and everybody. I simply can’t wear this!”

“I suppose not.” Belle was about to return to her editing when Sandra tossed back a comment on her way out the door.

“You’ll have to fill in for me. I promised to meet Dar-ryl Horak at his office in fifteen minutes to go over the final presentation for Mira Lemos.”

The publisher vanished. “I can’t!” Belle called after her.

“I wanted your opinion, anyway,” Sandra’s voice drifted back.”You’ll love what we’ve done!”

Belle lurched from her desk but couldn’t catch her, not with an extra thirty pounds throwing her off balance. By the time she reached the doorway, Sandra was out of earshot.

Lisa glanced up from her desk. “Is something wrong?”

“She wants me to meet Darryl Horak at is office.” Belle complained. “Then the pink ghost does her famous disappearing act!”

“Do you want me to call him and cancel?” asked the secretary.

Belle was on the point of agreeing, when she remembered that Sandra had an appointment with the mall’s executive staff in the morning.

Her next idea was to send Janie, but that wouldn’t be fair. Janie, too, considered the
About Town
premises to be hostile territory.

“Thanks, but no, don’t cancel,” she said, and went to get her purse.

The About Town
building was only a block away along Wilshire Boulevard. To Belle’s irritation, the brief walk left her abdominal muscles aching and her lungs short of breath, due to pressure from the baby.

She wondered, not for the first time, how she would fare trekking along mountain trails. However, the campout was planned for a campsite not more than a mile above a parking lot.

Their professional guide would lead the scheduled activities. Belle could sit around and paint her toenails all weekend if she wanted, except that she could no longer reach her toenails.

Between a video store and a deli, she spotted a narrow door bearing the magazine’s name. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she opened it.

Inside, four stories of balconies ringed an interior courtyard. From the scuffed linoleum to the peeling paint, the place was decidedly lacking in style.

Darryl owned this building, Belle reminded herself. His equity probably amounted to several hundred thousand dollars. She didn’t intend to waste any sympathy on the fact that he couldn’t afford to decorate it.

According to a hand-scribbled sign, the editorial offices occupied the third floor. A creaky elevator carried her upward.

Graffiti covered the walls of the lift, mostly humorous references to political figures. Sandra would have had them removed.

It gave Belle a funny feeling, to see the place where Darryl worked. Without realizing it, she’d been picturing offices that resembled those of
Just Us.
Now, she realized how little she knew him.

It shouldn’t have bothered her to discover that there were aspects of Darryl’s life she wasn’t familiar with. But it did.

And why did she feel so apprehensive about seeing him? There was nothing between the two of them. Besides, she was the one who’d thrown
him
out.

He had probably reverted to his old self by now, frolicking in the surf surrounded by gorgeous models. Of course, she didn’t suppose he frolicked in the surf in his office.

Belle and her enormous stomach waddled off the elevator at the third floor. No one had redecorated here, either, she noticed as she stepped into an office.

A young man at the front desk gave her a startled glance and hurried to find Darryl. Belle had to smile at the man’s astonishment.

She was glad now that she hadn’t called ahead. The element of surprise gave her a sense of being in control.

“Looking for someone?” came a voice from behind her.

Belle turned to see Darryl looming in the outer doorway. Darn it, how had he managed to sneak up on her? Now she felt off-center and ruffled.

She didn’t remember his being quite so tall. His but ton-down shirt did nothing to disguise the masculinity of his build, either. He had some nerve, coming to meet her without a jacket. He might as well have emerged stark naked. Now, there was an interesting idea

A jolt in her midsection shocked Belle into speaking. “Oh! You woke up the baby!”

“I did?” Amusement gleamed on his high-boned face.

“You startled me,” she said. “When I jumped, it woke up the baby.”

“I didn’t notice you jumping,” Darryl murmured, strolling forward. “He knows my voice, doesn’t he?”

She fought down an impulse to retreat.
“She
knows enough to be scared of ogres.”

“And may I ask the nature of your business here?” he inquired, stopping inches from Belle’s tumultuous abdomen.

“Sandra asked me to take her place. She had to go home and change hats.”

“She had to do what?” He stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.

“Change hats,” she repeated.

He grimaced. “That woman is peculiar. One minute she’s a genius, and the next minute she’s redefining the word
shallow.”

“It was a Hanukkah hat,” said Belle.

“Excuse me?”

“It had little menorahs and dreidels on it. She thought it was for Passover.”

Darryl started to laugh. Belle couldn’t help it. She started to laugh, too.

“Why would a person even own such a hat?” he asked. “Who makes these monstrosities?”

“Beats me,” she said. “All she wore in college were baseball caps and tennis visors.”

From the corridor, she glimpsed Greg and Elva strolling by. Elva missed a step as she recognized Belle, but the entertainment editor pulled her onward.

“We’d better get this over with,” said Darryl. “Sandra and I are due at the mall tomorrow morning, so if you have any problems with the posters, this is our last chance.”

He led her along a back hallway. The place was like a rabbit warren, Belle reflected. Through some offices, she could see doors that opened onto the balcony. Other offices appeared to function like railroad cars, one leading into the next.

“It’s kind of a maze,” Darryl conceded. “If we make enough money off this promotion, I’m bringing in an architect to redesign it.”

Reaching ahead, he opened the door of the conference room. Belle squeezed past, trying not to notice how tantalizing he smelled. Just a whiff brought back memories of sweaty sheets and powerful couplings. Embarrassed to be caught fantasizing, she shifted her focus to her surroundings.

Posters crowded the small L-shaped room. Stacks of magazines held the renderings upright on chairs and tables. No wonder Sandra had agreed to keep the display here. The
Just Us
publisher despised clutter.

The first item to catch Belle’s eye was the new motto. “The High Desert Megamall: It’s About Us!”

“Who came up with that?” she asked. “I like it.”

“Your boss did.”

She passed before sketches of manikins in various settings throughout the mall. Ideas and scenes from both presentations had been incorporated.

The overall impression was of couples working and playing together. No longer did Adam bring Eve to Paradise; the two walked hand in hand, sharing Paradise together.

The only picture Belle didn’t like was the wedding. “This bothers me.”

“Why?"’ Darryl watched her quietly from one side.

“It’s stiff,” she said. “In the others, the people seem to have been captured in motion. This reminds me of wax figures on a wedding cake.”

Darryl shrugged. “Well, if it bothers Mira, I’m sure she’ll say so.”

“But it wouldn’t be reason enough to turn down the whole presentation,” Belle conceded. “The rest of it’s great.” She stopped as a tightening in her abdomen made her grip the edge of the table.

Darryl hurried to her side. “What’s wrong?”

She let out a deep breath. “It’s nothing. All pregnant women get these little contractions. It’s kind of a preparation for labor.”

He pulled out a chair and guided her into it. “I thought you weren’t due for another five weeks.”

“I’m not,” she said. “My book says women get these contractions for weeks, even months, before they deliver.”

He swung a chair backward and straddled it, facing her. “Your book? Aren’t you taking childbirth classes?”

“I didn’t have a coach,” Belle confided without thinking, then added, “I mean, I didn’t want one. Most women end up having anesthesia, anyway. Besides, I hate pain.”

Darryl’s mouth opened as if to argue, but all he said was, “I’m not too fond of pain myself.”

She knew she shouldn’t bait him, but Belle couldn’t resist. “Aren’t you going to tell me that men endure hour after hour of their wives’ labor without so much as wincing?”

“I suppose I overdid things a little ’he conceded. “But you should have asked me to be your coach. We could still take a class.”

She entertained the prospect for a moment, then rejected it. “I don’t have time. Not with the campout coming up.”

A lock of hair fell across his forehead as he leaned forward. “You can’t go tromping around in a remote area when you’re so close to delivering. Just a few minutes ago you could hardly stand.”

“It passed, didn’t it?” Belle countered. “Besides, I won’t be alone. We’ll have a professional guide. Janie and Anita are going, and a photographer, and my neighbor Moira, not to mention about a hundred other women.”

“But not Sandra?” Darryl cocked an eyebrow.

“She never goes anywhere that doesn’t have a Jacuzzi,” Belle admitted.

“That woman has more sense than the rest of you. I don’t mean to sound patronizing, but what are you ladies going to do if you get attacked by a mountain lion?”

“The same thing a man would do,” Belle retorted. “Run like hell.”

“What if you go into labor?” he asked.

The doctor had mentioned that two weeks before one’s due date was considered full term. He hadn’t said anything about delivering three weeks early, so why worry about it?

“I’ll be fine.” She caught a resigned expression settling onto Darryl’s sharp features. “What?”

“I, personally, am not a big fan of sleeping on rocks and eating out of cans,” he said. “But for your sake, I’ll endure it.”

“You will not!” The words emerged louder than she intended.

“I have an obligation to protect you.” Darryl folded his arms across his chest. “That incident a minute ago was not ‘nothing,’ no matter what your book says.”

“This is the Strong Woman Campout,” Belle flared. “Not the Hairy-Chested Male Campout!”

“Be reasonable,” Darryl said. “Having a guy around isn’t exactly a liability. Besides, you can’t discriminate against men. It’s illegal.”

He was right. Most men wouldn’t
want
to go on a women-only campout, but she couldn’t forcibly eject him. Darryl would probably sue if he didn’t get his way.

“All right, you can come,” she said. “But believe me, I’ll skewer you in my story when your tent collapses.”

The reference to his disastrous efforts at crib-building brought a splash of red to Darryl’s cheeks. Still, he refrained from lashing back. “I’m glad you agree. And in the meantime, if there’s anything you need—”

“Thanks but no thanks,” said Belle, and decamped.

B
ALANCING A CUP
of herbal tea, Belle made a final checkoff of the items cluttering her living room floor.

Backpack—check. Sleeping bag—check. Childbirth book to study while the others were out hiking—check. The four-person tent was already lashed to the top of Janie’s station wagon, which should be here any minute.