Fortune's Daughter (26 page)

Rae's weight made her walk off-balance, and when she came up the porch steps she held on to the banister. Lately, she had developed a fear of falling, and she took each step gingerly, her left arm circling her belly protectively. Lila could almost see inside Rae to the baby she was carrying. Its eyes were closed, but it was moving its fingers, making a fist, then letting go. Already it had eyelashes, fingernails, a cap of soft down on its head. Beside this baby Lila's own child grew more ghostly, and Lila could tell, just thinking about Rae's baby sapped her child's strength: in the dresser drawer her daughter was right now struggling for breath.

When Rae rang the bell, Lila stood behind the drapes and hid. Rae waited on the porch for longer than Lila had expected—nearly fifteen minutes. When she'd been there long enough to feel foolish, Rae turned and walked back to her parked car. Lila stood with her back against the wall; she wiped her eyes with the hem of the drapes. And later, when Lila summoned up the courage to pull back the drapes and look outside, there wasn't one single sign that anyone had come to see her, and no one who wasn't looking carefully would have noticed that there were at least a dozen new buds on the rosebushes at the front door, and that each and every one of them was blood red.

Hal and Rae had spent an entire morning shopping for a crib, going from one baby store to another. As the morning wore on, Rae began to feel more and more defeated. Everything was so expensive, so foreign. There were things she had never seen before—crib bumpers, walkers, infant seats with buckles and bells. All morning the baby had been pushing against her ribs, and when Hal asked her if she liked a particular crib, Rae turned on him.

“Why can't you just leave me alone?” she said before she stomped away. The pressure inside her grew worse then, and she wound up sitting on the floor, knees pulled up, hands shaking. She didn't know if she liked the crib or not because she didn't know what there was to like about it. In the end, she just pointed a finger at a wooden crib that didn't look any different from the rest and said she would take it.

As Hal loaded the crib into the rear of the pickup, Rae practiced her deep breathing in the parking lot. On the way home she was certain that if Hal said one word to her she would jump out of the moving truck. He wouldn't let her help him carry the crib across the courtyard, and once he had managed to get it inside they were both amazed by how much room it took up. They stood there watching it, hypnotized. Finally, Hal cleared his throat.

“That's some crib,” he said appraisingly.

“I guess so,” Rae said.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and ran one hand through her hair.

“I must be crazy,” she said.

“I'll tell you what's crazy,” Hal said. “We're making money. It's especially hard to believe because it was all Jessup's idea—we started advertising in
Variety
and in the
Times
. Go on and guess what
the
birthday present for kids in Beverly Hills is these days.”

Rae looked up at him.

“Our horses,” Hal said. “We deliver them wearing birthday hats.”

Hal reached for his wallet and carefully peeled off ten hundred-dollar bills. He placed them at the foot of the bed.

“Don't do this,” Rae warned him. “Don't you feel sorry for me.”

“I'm not,” Hal swore. “Listen, this is Jessup's money—only he doesn't know it.”

“Really?” Rae said, interested.

“I'm in charge of the finances,” Hal told her.

They smiled at each other then.

“I guess he owes me something,” Rae agreed.

“I told you to get those bumpers for the crib,” Hal said. “I told you they weren't too expensive.”

“You know, you shouldn't be here,” Rae said. “You should be out finding somebody of your own.”

“That's okay,” Hal said.

“I really mean it, Hal,” Rae told him.

“I know you do,” he nodded. “And I'm not expecting anything.”

So Rae picked up the money he had given her, and she counted it twice. But she knew that you could easily say you weren't expecting anything, and still not quite believe you weren't really going to get it if you waited long enough.

That night they went out for an early dinner to celebrate the crib. The restaurant had once been a guest house on the edge of the Sisters' estate; they sat in the garden at a white wrought-iron table, and Rae insisted they order the most expensive items on the menu, since it was Jessup who was really paying. At first it was a joke, but by the time they had ordered dessert, Rae couldn't get Jessup off her mind. She actually ordered apple pie, which she hated, just because it was Jessup's favorite.

“Not that I'd take him back,” she told Hal. “Imagine me having a baby with Jessup in the room watching. I'd have to worry about how awful I looked, and he'd be so horrible he'd probably ask me to jump off the bed and run out to get him a glass of ice water.”

“You won't look awful,” Hal said innocently. “You'll be beautiful.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rae said coldly. “You're just the type of man who thinks a woman could be beautiful while she was up there on some hospital bed being tortured. I'll bet you want the woman you're with to be beautiful all the time—I'll bet that's why that girlfriend of yours left you.”

Hal put down his fork. “Who said she left me?”

Hal wasn't the one she wanted to hurt, so there really was no point in this. “You know what?” Rae said tiredly. “I think I want to go home.”

Hal looked so distraught as they walked through the parking lot, that Rae took his arm.

“I'll tell you how I knew,” she said. “I was left, too, and it takes one to know one.”

“I thought I was giving you a compliment,” Hal said.

“I know you did,” Rae said. “Don't pay any attention to me. It's living with Jessup for so long—it's made me mean.”

As they drove back on Sunset, Rae felt nervous. Everything was reminding her of Jessup—the sand on the floor of the truck, the shadows on the street. After a while she noticed that Hal was studying something in the rearview mirror. She leaned over and looked.

“Oh, shit,” Rae said. “Is it him?”

Hal nodded and kept on driving. “I can't believe this fucking guy—he's got my car,” he said.

For some reason, they both had the feeling they had done something wrong, and they spoke to each other in whispers.

“What are we going to do?” Rae said.

“What can we do?” Hal said, because by then they were stopped at a red light.

Jessup got out of Hal's Ford and slammed the door behind him. He left the Ford idling hard and came up and knocked on Rae's window. Rae looked at Hal and he leaned over and rolled her window down.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” Jessup said.

“We went out to dinner,” Hal said.

“Oh, really?” Jessup said. “How long has this been going on?”

“There's nothing going on,” Hal said. He looked at Rae for a second, measuring what he was about to say. “But you know, while we're at it,” he said to Jessup. “How about Paulette?”

“Paulette!” Jessup said. “Paulette is nothing.”

“Come on, Jessup,” Hal said. “Who do you think you're talking to—idiots?”

“I'll tell you what I'd really like to know,” Jessup said. Rae wasn't looking at him, but she could tell by his tone that he was talking to her. “I'd like to know why you're too afraid to look at me.”

Rae turned to him then, and as coolly as she could she said, “I'm looking at you now.”

“Yeah?” Jessup said. “Well, take a good look.”

As they stared at each other the light turned green; behind them someone sounded a horn. Without turning, Jessup raised his arm and signaled for the driver to go around them.

“Do you know what today is?” Jessup said to Rae.

The driver behind them leaned on his horn. Jessup jumped away from the pickup.

“Drive around us, you asshole,” he called.

Hal leaned over toward Rae. “We don't have to sit here and take this from him,” he said.

Jessup stuck his head in Rae's window again. The muscles in his jaw were tightening, the way they always did when he was upset.

“Today's my birthday, Rae,” he said.

“Do you believe this?” Hal said. “Who does this guy think he is?”

“Do you really want me to spend my birthday alone?” Jessup asked Rae.

“What about Paulette?” Rae said before she could stop herself, and anyone could tell how interested she was no matter how cool she sounded. Next to her she could feel Hal sink down a little behind the steering wheel.

Jessup knew he had just had a small victory, and he grinned. “Come on,” he said. “Let's go celebrate.”

Rae swallowed hard, then turned to Hal. “I'm sorry,” she said. “It's his birthday.”

Jessup was walking around to the driver's door. He opened it and waited for Hal to get out.

“I appreciate everything you've done for me,” Rae said to Hal.

“I don't need your appreciation,” Hal said.

He got out, and Jessup stood aside so that Hal could walk back to the Ford. Then Jessup got into the truck. He pulled the door closed and took off. Rae leaned over to look in the rearview mirror and she could see Hal getting into his Ford, waving his hands at the line of cars waiting behind him.

“Well, I did it,” Jessup said. He lit a cigarette and rolled down his window. “Just under the wire, before I turned thirty. I made it.” He reached into his pocket, and for a moment the truck veered into the oncoming lane. “Take a look,” Jessup said. He held up a billfold and smiled. “Thirty years old and I'm a success.”

“Congratulations,” Rae said.

“I told you I would be,” Jessup said.

“I don't know,” Rae said. “I just feel terrible about Hal.”

“Let me tell you something about Hal,” Jessup said. “He wants what anybody else has.”

Rae gave Jessup a look.

“Or used to have,” Jessup amended. “You know what I mean—whatever happens, we'll always be involved. It is my baby you're having, if I'm not mistaken.”

“You're not mistaken,” Rae said.

“There you go,” Jessup nodded.

He pulled the car over when they passed a liquor store.

“Wait right here,” he said, and he was gone before she could tell him not to.

Waiting there for him felt wrong. She had the feeling that this had all happened a hundred times before, only she'd been a different person.

Jessup jumped back into the pickup and put two bottles of Spanish champagne under his seat.

“What is that?” Rae said.

“That is champagne,” Jessup said. “We're going back to the apartment to get drunk.”

“I can't drink,” Rae said. “I'm pregnant.”

Jessup turned to her, annoyed. “It's my birthday,” he said.

“I know,” Rae said. “You keep reminding me.”

“Yeah, well you sure didn't remember on your own.”

Then Rae felt contrite—she had never forgotten his birthday before, but lately the only date she could remember was her baby's due date.

“All right,” Rae said finally. “Let's go home.”

They didn't talk for the rest of the ride. Once, Jessup caught Rae staring at him, and they both laughed, and it almost seemed like it was going to be all right. But as soon as Jessup had parked the car, Rae could tell it just wasn't the same as it used to be. She simply didn't trust him.

Jessup followed her across the courtyard, a champagne bottle in each hand. He was studying her as she unlocked the door and finally he said, “You sure do look pregnant.”

Rae looked at him briefly, then pushed open the door.

When Jessup saw the crib, he put the champagne bottles down on the bureau, then walked over and ran his hand over the wooden bars. Rae had the strongest sense that he was about to say something important. But when he spoke it was only to tell her he was dying of thirst.

She went into the kitchen for glasses. Later she managed to act as if she was drinking by occasionally raising her glass to her lips. She was right to assume that Jessup wouldn't even notice that the only glass he kept refilling was his own.

“Why are you staying so far away from me?” Jessup asked her.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed. Rae was in the easy chair, watching him drink.

“I'm comfortable here,” Rae shrugged.

“Like hell,” Jessup said. “You're afraid of what might happen if you come a little closer.”

Rae got up and went to sit next to him; balancing on the edge of the bed with nothing to support her strained her back. As he leaned toward her Rae thought about the first time he had ever kissed her. It was so cold that icicles had formed on all the streetlights. She really hadn't expected it; Jessup had been waiting for her outside the high school, and Rae left the girls she usually walked home with on the steps and ran to meet him. They walked along in silence, Jessup didn't even look at her, and Rae had to struggle to keep up with him on the slippery sidewalk. Then he'd turned on her, for no reason at all.

“Did you see the way they looked at me?” he said.

“Who?” Rae asked. They hadn't passed anyone on the street.

“Your friends,” Jessup said. “That's who. You'd have to be blind not to notice.”

“They didn't look at you,” Rae said, although she expected they had, and that, by now, they had already dissected him right there on the steps of the school.

“Don't give me that crap,” Jessup said.

“All right,” Rae said. “They looked because they're jealous.”

Jessup looked over at her.

“They are,” Rae insisted.

“Bullshit,” Jessup said, but she could tell he was buying it.