Punchline (7 page)

Darryl put his hands up. “I know how this looks, but Belle gave me a key,” he said.

“Belle would never give a man her key,” said the woman.

“I’m Darryl Horak.” When that name didn’t evoke instant recognition, he added, “I’m staying with her to research a story on pregnant women.”

To his vast relief, Darryl saw moonlight glint off the gun barrel as it was lowered. “Oh, you’re that man on the beach! The one who took our pictures.”

The woman reached for the light switch, and a blinding brilliance smashed into his face. Both of them stood blinking for a while, and then he recognized the octogenarian who had worn a bikini along with Belle’s other recruits in the centerfold picture on the beach.

“I’m Belle’s neighbor, Moira McGregor.” She stuck out her hand, then noticed the gun and transferred it to her left before extending the right again.

Darryl shook it. “Sorry about the noise. I’m supposed to move in tomorrow but I couldn’t sleep.”

“Belle can, obviously.’’ The woman squinted at him as if double-checking his identity. “Well, I guess she knows what she’s doing. Say, you folks need any more models, you just let me know. I’m not as shy as I used to be about my body. There’s a lot of old geezers who buy magazines like yours and they get tired of those young girlies.’’

“That’s why we took your picture,” Darryl said by way of sidestepping the issue. “Maybe you’d better get back to sleep now.” Realizing she might resent the implication, he added, “Not that you need it. But you probably left some young stud in your bed and he might get lonely.”

Moira chuckled. “In my dreams. But thank you.” And out she went.

Darryl shut the door behind her, then rubbed his sore hip and examined the room. What a load of mismatched junk. Where did Belle get her furniture, the city dump?

A deep yawn reminded him that even masculine vigor doesn’t last forever. One bedroom had the door tightly shut, so he hauled his suitcase into the other one.

Switching on the light, he discovered that it contained a daybed too short for his six-foot-one-inch frame. The sheets smelled dusty, and the pillow was flat as a doormat. Other than that, the room contained only a bedside table and a desk so fragile it looked as if a heavy wind might carry it off.

With the sense of having arrived in a strange hotel in a city where no one spoke English, he popped open his suitcase and began to unpack.

B
ELLE LAY IN BED
trying to levitate a box of crackers from the kitchen to her bedroom, but it didn’t work. Then she
remembered that she had been dreaming about Darryl Horak.

In the dream, he had moved in with a camera crew, two models in bathing suits and his art director. Every time Belle had shuffled into the kitchen or needed to use the bathroom, they’d all followed her.

The truth probably wouldn’t be much different. This was Darryl’s day to show up on her doorstep, and she doubted she would know peace again until she got rid of him.

Belle wondered what time he would arrive and hoped it would be sometime next year. Or the year after. Or maybe in time for his child’s high school graduation.

Clenching her teeth, she rolled out of bed. After washing up, she pulled on her bathrobe and started down the hall.

A noise from the spare bedroom sent her heart skittering into her throat. Spiders and crickets made periodic invasions of the premises, but she had never had to contend with anything loud enough to snuffle. The sound came again, and resolved itself into breathing.

A large animal. The only animal that big would be a bear or a human, or possibly Darryl Horak.

Nudging open the door, Belle spotted the subject of her nightmare. She couldn’t believe the man had had the nerve to move in while she slept. It was an affront to decency, even if they had once been intimate.

Pushing the door wider, she anchored herself with a hand on the frame and studied her unwelcome guest. He sprawled across the daybed, his feet sticking over the end. When she’d bought the thing, it hadn’t seemed particularly small, but then, she hadn’t bought it with a six-foot-something male in mind.

From here, she had a pretty good view of his body, covered only by a pair of tiny black underpants. Lord, the
man
was
built like an Adonis. It was too bad to waste a body like that on such an annoying personality.

As if on command, he groaned and rolled over, crushing his dark hair against the pillow. Now she got a clear look at Darryl’s features. In sleep, his mouth seemed softer and his cheeks had a gently rounded sweetness, almost like a child’s.

Belle was dismayed by the illusion of innocence. Seeing him this way, she could even imagine that he had once been a child. The horrifying conclusion was that this tiny creature inside her might someday grow up to be just like Daddy.

It had to be a girl, she decided. Then she would never gaze into her child’s eyes and see Darryl staring back at her.

And he
was
staring. The man had come fully awake without passing through that dazed state that, for her, usually lasted half an hour.

Too late, Belle realized that she had left her bathrobe gaping open, revealing a short nightie that clung to her curves. Her guest’s eyes opened, and opened some more, and then got wider still.

She hoped he was enjoying the view. It was, she felt determined, the last time he would ever see it.

“N
O
,” D
ARRYL SAID
for the third time. “I am not leaving.”

They sat at the kitchen table, each wrapped in a robe. He was consuming coffee and a nonfat coffee cake that he’d taken from Belle’s freezer without asking permission.

She was drinking tea with her toast and trying not to gag at the smell of coffee. “You can’t live here,” she said. “You don’t even fit in the bed.” Surely he would acknowledge that point, at least.

“We could share yours,” Darryl suggested between mouthfuls.

“We tried that, and look where it got us.”

“Come on! Our situation isn’t that bad.” He leaned back, his long legs intruding into Belle’s space until she kicked him in the ankle. Then he swung them lazily away.

“Oh, it isn’t?”

“Look at it this way.” Darryl’s eyes glittered. “We both like being single, right? But sooner or later we were likely to get the urge to have children, especially you.”

“Me?”

“The way I see it, you’re the big winner in all this,” her unwanted tenant continued, ignoring her sarcastic tone. “Women get this big maternal urge in their thirties. Well, I’ve taken care of that for you.”

“How kind,” Belle growled.

“I don’t see why you’re being such a bad sport.” He took another swig of coffee. ‘‘You don’t see me complaining.”

“What do you have to complain about?” she demanded. “Other than the fact that I may garnishee half your paycheck for the rest of your life.”

That stopped him. It was at least thirty seconds before Darryl resumed tearing apart the coffee cake. Then he said, “We’ll reach a financial arrangement, I’m sure. But you’ve already got a two-bedroom condo. How much more could it cost to raise a kid?”

“I’ll have my lawyer draw up an accounting,” she said. “Now would you please go home?”

“In a month or so. We’ve got the issue all planned, with my article on the cover. Can’t let down the troops, can we?” He got up and went to pour himself a second cup of coffee.

She didn’t understand why he was being so stubborn. The man couldn’t enjoy her company. These days, Belle didn’t even enjoy her own company. And surely he could research that article without physically imposing on a pregnant female.

Besides, it was only two weeks until Thanksgiving, and she had plans. She hadn’t confirmed them, but they had taken on the solidity of accomplished fact in her mind.

“My parents are coming for Thanksgiving,” she said. “They’ll be staying with me, so I’ll need the bedroom.”

She didn’t intend to admit that her folks always preferred to stay in their enormous motor home. For two years, since her father’s retirement, they’d been crisscrossing the country. Belle wanted them to be able to stay with her, if they chose to.

“They don’t live in the area?” Darryl said.

“No.” She explained about their long-suppressed love of travel. “They don’t have a permanent address. When they go overseas, they leave the camper at my sister’s
house in Maryland. It’s just a short connecting flight to Miami or New York.”

“Sounds like a nice life.” He appeared lost in reflection, no doubt trying to figure out how to maneuver her into letting him stay.

“As a matter of fact, they’re going on a Caribbean cruise for Christmas and New Year’s,” Belle went on. “Which makes it especially important that I see them at Thanksgiving.”

“That’s quite a drive,” he said. “I mean, if they plan to leave here at the end of November and drop their motor home in Maryland by the middle of December.”

“They’re used to driving.” He did have a point, though. Belle’s parents hadn’t promised they would come to California.

When had she invited them? Last August or September, she recalled. And, with a jolt, she realized she hadn’t talked to them in more than a month.

“Have you told them yet?” Darryl asked. “About the baby?”

She shook her head. The last time she’d spoken to them, they’d been visiting friends in Las Vegas. There’d been loud voices in the background, and she hadn’t felt comfortable bringing up such a sensitive topic.

Besides, she’d intended to convey the news in person, at Thanksgiving. That way she could explain the circumstances in detail.

But it surprised her that she hadn’t heard from them in four weeks. They must have gotten caught up in seeing shows and playing the slot machines. Between morning sickness and work, she’d lost track of the time and hadn’t thought to call them, either.

“We’re not as close as we used to be,” Belle admitted. “I was sort of their favorite, growing up. I was the one who starred in the class play and won a scholarship. They were always telling me how proud they were.”

“Brothers and sisters?” he asked.

“A younger sister,” she said. “Bari and I competed a lot.” She felt sad, realizing that their instinctive rivalry had kept the two of them from becoming close. It hadn’t helped that Belle had almost always come out ahead in the academic realm.

“What does she do in Maryland?” Darryl returned the remaining coffee cake to the refrigerator and rinsed his plate and cup. Score one for him, Belle thought.

“She’s a homemaker with a four-year-old daughter.” Belle was getting an uncomfortable feeling. If her parents were going to be island-hopping over Christmas, wouldn’t they want to spend Thanksgiving with their granddaughter?

But they
had
to come here. Something about pregnancy made her feel young and vulnerable. She wanted her mother to fuss over her and her father to shake his head in that indulgent, look-what-Belle’s-up-to-now way of his.

“I’ll bet they just dote on that kid,” Darryl observed as he washed his hands.

“Mikki’s a cute little girl,” she admitted.

Very cute. And in the four years since the first grandchild had been born, Belle had ceased to be the center of her parents’ attention. Until this moment she hadn’t realized it, but Bari had won their lifelong competition by the world’s oldest stealth tactic: having a child.

Now it’s my turn.
But this wasn’t a competition. Becoming a mother made her feel closer to her sister. She wished Bari didn’t live so far away.

“Maybe they’re not coming for Thanksgiving.” Darryl turned at the sink, one eyebrow arching. “Maybe I can stay here, after all.”

“They’re coming!” she insisted. “And you’re going!”

“Why don’t you give them a call? If they can’t make it, you might be glad to have me around. I’ve always wanted to try cooking a turkey.”

“Good idea—the phone call, not the turkey. I’d like to confirm when they’re arriving.” Trying to act unworried, Belle marched into the bedroom and dialed the number of her parents’ cellular phone. It rang three times before someone picked it up.

“Yes?” Her mother always sounded hesitant when answering, as if afraid there might be a salesman or an extraterrestrial at the other end.

“Mom, it’s Belle.” Her spirits rose as she heard her mother call the news to her father, then deflated as he growled back, “Where’s she been, anyway? Too busy to talk to her parents?”

“Belle?” said her mother into the phone. “We’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.”

“You have?” she frowned. “I haven’t received any messages.”

Come to think of it, she hadn’t been getting messages from anybody except at the office. With a sinking sensation, Belle glanced at the bedside machine.

The tiny red “On” panel was dark. She must have accidentally turned the thing off.

“Well, we’ve called several times,” said her mother. “I know we talked about coming out for Thanksgiving, but we just can’t disappoint Mikki. We promised we’d be at her house. You’re welcome to join us.’’

Belle was tempted, but in her present state of discomfort, she couldn’t face crowded airports, delayed flights and narrow airline seats. Besides, flying wasn’t recommended for pregnant women, was it?

“I can’t,” she said. “But, Mom, I need to see you guys. Couldn’t you swing by here before you head east?”

“Honey, we’re in Kentucky. We can hardly ‘swing by’ California.” That was one of the maddening things about
cellular phones. Until this moment, Belle had assumed her parents were still in Nevada. “If you can’t make it to Maryland, we’ll try to visit you next spring.”

Belle was on the point of arguing, but stopped. She didn’t want little Mikki to be disappointed at Thanksgiving, did she? And her parents had a right to enjoy their granddaughter.

It flashed into her mind that she ought to tell her mother about the pregnancy right now. Frantically, Belle searched for the right words. She couldn’t just blurt it out. A matter like this required a certain delicacy.

Then her father called out that he needed to phone the highway patrol to report a wreck they were passing on the interstate. “Two cars and a horse trailer. They’ll need help pronto!”

“I’ve got to go,” her mother said. “Is everything okay with you?”

“Fine,” said Belle.’ ‘You’d better call the cops in case somebody’s hurt.”

As she hung up, a weight settled onto her shoulders. She’d never been sentimental about holidays. And she’d believed she had long ago weaned herself from relying on her parents emotionally.

Yet at this moment she felt abandoned. Maybe it was due to hormones, but Belle had never experienced such a wave of loneliness.

Her emotionalism distressed her even further. How could she pity herself when in Kentucky two cars and a horse trailer had just collided? Why was she blowing this situation out of proportion?

Rational arguments didn’t help. Darn it, she
was
alone, and she felt like a little kid.

To Belle’s dismay, tears overflowed, spattering the pinks and purples on her quilt.

S
TANDING IN THE HALL
outside the bedroom, Darryl couldn’t believe it. He’d overheard enough to realize Belle’s parents weren’t going to make it for Thanksgiving, but he was surprised to see how deeply it affected her.

Since his own father had died and his mother had moved too far away for frequent visits, Darryl had filled the holidays with charity and promotional events, plus throwing parties for his pals. But he supposed that expecting a baby might make a woman want to have family around.

Well, he was living here, so it was up to him to do something, he decided.

Belle didn’t seem to notice when he entered the room. She was too busy snuffling into a wad of tissues, her shoulders shaking with grief.

Darryl couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. A woman had a right to miss her mother at a time like this. Besides, she looked cute curled around a Kleenex, her red mane wilting.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Uh-oh.” Even sorrow couldn’t quench Belle’s sarcasm. “Why do I assume this has something to do with your staying?”

“We have to get this baby off to the right start,” he said. “I propose we cook a turkey and invite our friends.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Like I said, I’ll cook the bird. You can take care of the side dishes.” There was still no answer, so he continued, “Maybe some wild rice, or how about tabouli? A big salad and steamed broccoli. We could get some fat-free packaged stuffing, too.”

“That’s the most disgusting idea I ever heard.” Belle emerged from behind her tissue, red-eyed but geared for battle. “Tabouli at Thanksgiving? Steamed broccoli? And you are not bringing any fat-free stuffing into my house, mister.”

“Don’t you want to eat healthy for the baby?” he asked.

“Not on Thanksgiving!” she said. “What were you planning to have for dessert, baked apples?”

“That sounds good.” Darryl decided not to mention that he would prefer those apples baked in a shell and doused with butter, cinnamon and sugar. Everyone was entitled to a few weaknesses.

“You’re un-American!” She snatched another wad of tissues and blew her nose loudly enough to throw a squadron of geese off-course. “Sweet potatoes buried beneath brown sugar and marshmallows! Stuffing loaded with turkey fat! Gravy and mashed potatoes, and if there’s any broccoli to be found, it’s drowning in cheese sauce. Got that?”

He shuddered. “Haven’t you ever heard of choles terol?”

“In my opinion, it’s overrated,” snapped Belle, and climbed off the bed, her tears forgotten.

His urge to argue died suddenly. At least she’d agreed to his suggestion. “The point is, we should celebrate Thanksgiving as a family.”

“You’re not my family,” she said.

“I’m part of your baby’s family,” he countered. “And I always will be.”

That remark stopped her in midstride. She sucked in a couple of long breaths.

Darryl, too, recognized that he’d hit on a basic truth. He really was going to be linked to Belle for the rest of their lives. Even if they married other people and lived far apart, they would always be this child’s parents.

Someday that might be him sitting alone in a bedroom, talking on the telephone about a Thanksgiving celebration of which he wouldn’t be a part. He tried not to dwell on the possibility that he had glimpsed the ghost
of Thanksgiving future. The present was all he could handle right now.

“Sweet potatoes would be all right’ he said. “And you could serve the broccoli with the cheese sauce on the side. Let’s really have fun with this. Let’s invite everyone we know.”

“Greg and Janie would kill each other,” she protested.

“They can put aside their petty squabbles for one day,” Darryl said. “And so can we.”

Belle’s chin tilted upward as if she were about to dispute that possibility, but she must have seen the sincerity on his face.

“All right, I guess we can fix Thanksgiving dinner together.” Suddenly she grinned, and he could have sworn her red hair perked up. “If nothing else, it’ll shock the hell out of everybody.”

B
ELLE GROANED INWARDLY
when she returned from some last-minute grocery shopping and watched Darryl pry open the oven and baste the bird. Darryl, who wore jeans and a turtleneck beneath a spotless white apron and chef’ hat, had managed to clean himself up but hadn’t bothered with the kitchen.

It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that the kitchen was a mess, it was two o’clock, the guests were due to arrive at four and she had four items to make. Still, he
had
prepared the turkey, and stuffing to serve on the side, claiming it had less fat that way.