Rosemary's Baby (10 page)

She drove into Brewster and called him. Service answered, the Friendly One: “Oh hi, dear, are you back from the country? Oh. Guy is out, dear; can he call you?
You’ll
call
him
at five. Right. You’ve certainly got lovely weather. Are you enjoying yourself? Good.”

At five he was still out, her message waiting for him. She ate in a diner and went to the one movie theater. At nine he was still out and Service was someone new and automatic with a message for her: she should call him before eight the next morning or after six in the evening.

That next day she reached what seemed like a sensible and realistic view of things. They were both at fault; he for being thoughtless and self-absorbed, she for failing to express and explain her discontent. He could hardly be expected to change until she showed him that change was called for. She had only to talk—no,
they
had only to talk, for he might be harboring a similar discontent of which she was similarly unaware—and matters couldn’t help but improve. Like so many unhappinesses, this one had begun with silence in the place of honest open talk.

She went into Brewster at six and called and he was there. “Hi, darling,” he said. “How are you?”

“Fine. How are you?”

“All right. I miss you.”

She smiled at the phone. “I miss
you
,” she said. “I’m coming home tomorrow.”

“Good, that’s great,” he said. “All kinds of things have been going on here. Rehearsals have been postponed until January.”

“Oh?”

“They haven’t been able to cast the little girl. It’s a break for me though; I’m going to do a pilot next month. A half-hour comedy series.”

“You are?”

“It fell into my lap, Ro. And it really looks good. ABC loves the idea. It’s called
Greenwich Village;
it’s going to be filmed there, and I’m a way-out writer. It’s practically the lead.”

“That’s marvelous, Guy!”

“Allan says I’m suddenly very hot.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“Listen, I’ve got to shower and shave; he’s taking me to a screening that Stanley Kubrick is going to be at. When are you going to get in?”

“Around noon, maybe earlier.”

“I’ll be waiting. Love you.”

“Love you!”

She called Hutch, who was out, and left word with his service that she would return the car the following afternoon.

The next morning she cleaned the cabin, closed it up and locked it, and drove back to the city. Traffic on the Saw Mill River Parkway was bottlenecked by a three-car collision, and it was close to one o’clock when she parked the car half-in half-out-of the bus stop in front of the Bramford. With her small suitcase she hurried into the house.

The elevator man hadn’t taken Guy down, but he had been off duty from eleven-fifteen to twelve.

He was there, though. The
No Strings
album was playing. She opened her mouth to call and he came out of the bedroom in a fresh shirt and tie, headed for the kitchen with a used coffee cup in his hand.

They kissed, lovingly and fully, he hugging her one-armed because of the cup.

“Have a good time?” he asked.

“Terrible. Awful. I missed you so.”

“How are you?”

“Fine. How was Stanley Kubrick?”

“Didn’t show, the fink.”

They kissed again.

She brought her suitcase into the bedroom and opened it on the bed. He came in with two cups of coffee, gave her one, and sat on the vanity bench while she unpacked. She told him about the yellow-and-orange woods and the still nights; he told her about
Greenwich Village
, who else was in it and who the producers, writers, and director were.

“Are you
really
fine?” he asked when she was zipping closed the empty case.

She didn’t understand.

“Your period,” he said. “It was due on Tuesday.”

“It was?”

He nodded.

“Well it’s just two days,” she said—matter-of-factly, as if her heart weren’t racing, leaping. “It’s probably the change of water, or the food I ate up there.”

“You’ve never been late before,” he said.

“It’ll probably come tonight. Or tomorrow.”

“You want to bet?”

“Yes.”

“A quarter?”

“Okay.”

“You’re going to lose, Ro.”

“Shut up. You’re getting me all jumpy. It’s only two days. It’ll probably come tonight.”

I
T DIDN’T COME
that night or the next day. Or the day after that or the day after that. Rosemary moved gently, walked lightly, so as not to dislodge what might possibly have taken hold inside her.

Talk with Guy? No, that could wait.

Everything could wait.

She cleaned, shopped, and cooked, breathing carefully. Laura-Louise came down one morning and asked her to vote for Buckley. She said she would, to get rid of her.

“Give me my quarter,” Guy said.

“Shut up,” she said, giving his arm a backhand punch.

She made an appointment with an obstetrician and, on Thursday, October 28th, went to see him. His name was Dr. Hill. He had been recommended to her by a friend, Elise Dunstan, who had used him through two pregnancies and swore by him. His office was on West Seventy-second Street.

He was younger than Rosemary had expected—Guy’s age or even less—and he looked a little bit like Dr. Kildare on television. She liked him. He asked her questions slowly and with interest, examined her, and sent her to a lab on Sixtieth Street where a nurse drew blood from her right arm.

He called the next afternoon at three-thirty.

“Mrs. Woodhouse?”

“Dr. Hill?”

“Yes. Congratulations.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She sat down on the side of the bed, smiling past the phone.
Really, really, really, really, really
.

“Are you there?”

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Very little. You come in and see me again next month. And you get those Natalin pills and start taking them. One a day. And you fill out some forms that I’m going to mail you—for the hospital; it’s best to get the reservation in as soon as possible.”

“When will it be?” she asked.

“If your last period was September twenty-first,” he said, “it works out to June twenty-eighth.”

“That sounds so far away.”

“It is. Oh, one more thing, Mrs. Woodhouse. The lab would like another blood sample. Could you drop by there tomorrow or Monday and let them have it?”

“Yes, of course,” Rosemary said. “What for?”

“The nurse didn’t take as much as she should have.”

“But—I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”

“Yes, they did
that
test,” Dr. Hill said, “but I generally have them run a few others besides—blood sugar and so forth—and the nurse didn’t know and only took enough for the one. It’s nothing to be concerned about. You’re pregnant. I give you my word.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go back tomorrow morning.”

“Do you remember the address?”

“Yes, I still have the card.”

“I’ll put those forms in the mail, and let’s see you again—the last week in November.”

They made an appointment for November 29th at one o’clock and Rosemary hung up feeling that something was wrong. The nurse at the lab had seemed to know exactly what she was doing, and Dr. Hill’s offhandedness in speaking about her hadn’t quite rung true. Were they afraid a mistake had been made?—vials of blood mixed up and wrongly labeled?—and was there still a possibility that she wasn’t pregnant? But wouldn’t Dr. Hill have told her so frankly and not have been as definite as he had?

She tried to shake it away. Of course she was pregnant; she had to be, with her period so long overdue. She went into the kitchen, where a wall calendar hung, and in the next day’s square wrote
Lab;
and in the square for November 29th,
Dr. Hill—1:00
.

When Guy came in she went to him without saying a word and put a quarter in his hand. “What’s this for?” he asked, and then caught on. “Oh, that’s great, honey!” he said. “Just great!”—and taking her by the shoulders he kissed her twice and then a third time.

“Isn’t it?” she said.

“Just great. I’m so happy.”

“Father.”

“Mother.”

“Guy, listen,” she said, and looked up at him, suddenly serious. “Let’s make this a new beginning, okay? A new openness and talking-to-each-other. Because we haven’t been open. You’ve been so wrapped up in the show and the pilot and the way things have been breaking for you—I’m not saying you shouldn’t be; it wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t. But that’s why I went to the cabin, Guy. To settle in my mind what was going wrong between us. And that’s what it was, and is: a lack of openness. On my part too. On my part as much as yours.”

“It’s true,” he said, his hands holding her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers earnestly. “It’s true. I felt it too. Not as much as you did, I guess. I’m so God-damned self-centered, Ro. That’s what the whole trouble is. I guess it’s why I’m in this idiot nutty profession to begin with. You know I love you though, don’t you? I
do
, Ro. I’ll try to make it plainer from now on, I swear to God I will. I’ll be as open as—”

“It’s my fault as much as—”

“Bull. It’s mine. Me and my self-centeredness. Bear with me, will you, Ro? I’ll try to do better.”

“Oh, Guy,” she said in a tide of remorse and love and forgiveness, and met his kisses with fervent kisses of her own.

“Fine way for parents to be carrying on,” he said.

She laughed, wet-eyed.

“Gee, honey,” he said, “do you know what I’d love to do?”

“What?”

“Tell Minnie and Roman.” He raised a hand. “I know, I know; we’re supposed to keep it a deep dark secret. But I told them we were trying and they were so pleased, and, well, with people that old”—he spread his hands ruefully—“if we wait too long they might never get to know at all.”

“Tell them,” she said, loving him.

He kissed her nose. “Back in two minutes,” he said, and turned and hurried to the door. Watching him go, she saw that Minnie and Roman had become deeply important to him. It wasn’t surprising; his mother was a busy self-involved chatterer and none of his fathers had been truly fatherly. The Castevets were filling a need in him, a need of which he himself was probably unaware. She was grateful to them and would think more kindly of them in the future.

She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her eyes and fixed her hair and lips. “You’re pregnant,” she told herself in the mirror. (
But the lab wants another blood sample. What for?
)

As she came back out they came in at the front door: Minnie in a housedress, Roman holding in both hands a bottle of wine, and Guy behind them flushed and smiling. “Now
that’s
what I call good news!” Minnie said. “Con
grat-u-la
tions!” She bore down on Rosemary, took her by the shoulders, and kissed her cheek hard and loud.

“Our best wishes to you, Rosemary,” Roman said, putting his lips to her other cheek. “We’re more pleased than we can say. We have no champagne on hand, but this 1961 Saint Julien, I think, will do just as nicely for a toast.”

Rosemary thanked them.

“When are you due, dear?” Minnie asked.

“June twenty-eighth.”

“It’s going to be so exciting,” Minnie said, “between now and then.”

“We’ll do all your shopping for you,” Roman said.

“Oh, no,” Rosemary said. “Really.”

Guy brought glasses and a corkscrew, and Roman turned with him to the opening of the wine. Minnie took Rosemary’s elbow and they walked together into the living room. “Listen, dear,” Minnie said, “do you have a good doctor?”

“Yes, a very good one,” Rosemary said.

“One of the top obstetricians in New York,” Minnie said, “is a dear friend of ours. Abe Sapirstein. A Jewish man. He delivers all the Society babies and he would deliver yours too if we asked him. And he’d do it
cheap
, so you’d be saving Guy some of his hard-earned money.”

“Abe Sapirstein?” Roman asked from across the room. “He’s one of the finest obstetricians in the country, Rosemary. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”

“I think so,” Rosemary said, recalling the name from an article in a newspaper or magazine.

“I have,” Guy said. “Wasn’t he on
Open End
a couple of years ago?”

“That’s right,” Roman said. “He’s one of the finest obstetricians in the country.”

“Ro?” Guy said.

“But what about Dr. Hill?” she asked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him something,” Guy said. “You know me.”

Rosemary thought about Dr. Hill, so young, so Kildare, with his lab that wanted more blood because the nurse had goofed or the technician had goofed or
someone
had goofed, causing her needless bother and concern.

Minnie said, “I’m not going to
let
you go to no Dr. Hill that nobody heard of! The
best
is what
you’re
going to have, young lady, and the best is Abe Sapirstein!”

Gratefully Rosemary smiled her decision at them. “If you’re sure he can take me,” she said. “He might be too busy.”

“He’ll take you,” Minnie said. “I’m going to call him right now. Where’s the phone?”

“In the bedroom,” Guy said.

Minnie went into the bedroom. Roman poured glasses of wine. “He’s a brilliant man,” he said, “with all the sensitivity of his much-tormented race.” He gave glasses to Rosemary and Guy. “Let’s wait for Minnie,” he said.

They stood motionless, each holding a full wineglass, Roman holding two. Guy said, “Sit down, honey,” but Rosemary shook her head and stayed standing.

Minnie in the bedroom said, “Abe? Minnie. Fine. Listen, a dear friend of ours just found out today that she’s pregnant. Yes, isn’t it? I’m in her apartment now. We told her you’d be glad to take care of her and that you wouldn’t charge none of your fancy Society prices neither.” She was silent, then said “Wait a minute,” and raised her voice. “Rosemary? Can you go see him tomorrow morning at eleven?”

“Yes, that would be fine,” Rosemary called back.

Roman said, “You see?”

“Eleven’s fine, Abe,” Minnie said. “Yes. You too. No, not at all. Let’s hope so. Good-by.”

She came back. “There you are,” she said. “I’ll write down his address for you before we go. He’s on Seventy-ninth Street and Park Avenue.”

“Thanks a million, Minnie,” Guy said, and Rosemary said, “I don’t know how to thank you. Both of you.”

Minnie took the glass of wine Roman held out to her. “It’s easy,” she said. “Just do everything Abe tells you and have a fine healthy baby; that’s all the thanks we’ll ever ask for.”

Roman raised his glass. “To a fine healthy baby,” he said.

“Hear, hear,” Guy said, and they all drank; Guy, Minnie, Rosemary, Roman.

“Mmm,” Guy said. “Delicious.”

“Isn’t it?” Roman said. “And not at all expensive.”

“Oh my,” Minnie said, “I can’t wait to tell the news to Laura-Louise.”

Rosemary said, “Oh, please. Don’t tell anyone else. Not yet. It’s so early.”

“She’s right,” Roman said. “There’ll be plenty of time later on for spreading the good tidings.”

“Would anyone like some cheese and crackers?” Rosemary asked.

“Sit down, honey,” Guy said. “I’ll get it.”

That night Rosemary was too fired with joy and wonder to fall asleep quickly. Within her, under the hands that lay alertly on her stomach, a tiny egg had been fertilized by a tiny seed. Oh miracle, it would grow to be Andrew or Susan! (“Andrew” she was definite about; “Susan” was open to discussion with Guy.) What was Andrew-or-Susan now, a pinpoint speck? No, surely it was more than that; after all, wasn’t she in her second month already? Indeed she was. It had probably reached the early tadpole stage. She would have to find a chart or book that told month by month exactly what was happening. Dr. Sapirstein would know of one.

A fire engine screamed by. Guy shifted and mumbled, and behind the wall Minnie and Roman’s bed creaked.

There were so many dangers to worry about in the months ahead; fires, falling objects, cars out of control; dangers that had never been dangers before but were dangers now, now that Andrew-or-Susan was begun and living. (Yes, living!) She would give up her occasional cigarette, of course. And check with Dr. Sapirstein about cocktails.

If only prayer were still possible! How nice it would be to hold a crucifix again and have God’s ear: ask Him for safe passage through the eight more months ahead; no German measles, please, no great new drugs with Thalidomide side effects. Eight good months, please, free of accident and illness, full of iron and milk and sunshine.

Suddenly she remembered the good luck charm, the ball of tannis root; and foolish or not, wanted it—no, needed it—around her neck. She slipped out of bed, tiptoed to the vanity, and got it from the Louis Sherry box, freed it from its aluminum-foil wrapping. The smell of the tannis root had changed; it was still strong but no longer repellent. She put the chain over her head.

With the ball tickling between her breasts, she tiptoed back to bed and climbed in. She drew up the blanket and, closing her eyes, settled her head down into the pillow. She lay breathing deeply and was soon asleep, her hands on her stomach shielding the embryo inside her.