It's Alive! (3 page)

Lenore sat on the floor in the baby’s room. “There, there, now, it’s dark again. Just go to sleep, my baby.” She cupped her hands under her belly and rocked slowly back and forth.

Lenore sat up suddenly in the dark, clutching at her belly, her hair falling over her eyes. “I’m afraid,” she said softly. She brushed her hair back and stared straight ahead into the night. “Frank, I’m afraid. Frank?”

Frank stirred. “Hmm?”

“I don’t know why. I’m just so scared.” Her voice was calm.

Frank sat up and blinked. He put his hand on her arm. “What is it? Is he kicking again?”

“More than that. It’s time. The baby wants to be born.”

He smiled at her, but she stared straight ahead. “D-day, hunh?” He put his hand under her hair and leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Okay. Well, we’d better get dressed.”

They got out of bed. Frank switched on the light.

“Ow.”

“What is it, hon?”

“The baby. The lights, I guess.”

“Hey, smile, sweetheart! This is a great occasion.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

She pulled away. “We should have packed before. We should have been ready.”

“Hey, sweetheart, it’ll only take a minute. We weren’t ready for Chris either. He came two weeks early, remember. This character is right on schedule. That’s a good trait to begin with—punctuality. Hey, what’s the matter, honey?”

She stood facing the wall. “I suppose it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve been through this before. It’s still scary.”

“Come on now. Not scary. Wonderful.” He took a suitcase out of the closet and tossed it on the foot of the bed. “Go ahead now. You call the doctor and I’ll pack.”

She took the phone from the bedstand, drawing the long cord with her into the bathroom.

Frank pulled open her dresser drawers and started pawing through her clothes. “I don’t know what the hell I’m looking for in this mess,” he muttered. He took up armloads of clothes and dumped them into the suitcase.

Lenore came back from the bathroom and replaced the phone. “Darling, let me do that. You go wake up Chris.”

“Okay, but don’t lift the suitcase.”

Their Siamese cat hissed from the corner. Frank reached down and picked it up. It struggled and scratched his arm. “Hey, what’s got into everybody around here? Come on, Biscuit,” he petted the cat to calm it, “we’ll go wake up Chris.” Frank hurried down the hall, his pajamas flapping around his legs.

Chris slept soundly under the model planes that hung from his ceiling. In one corner was a mound of sports equipment: football helmet and tackling dummy, two baseball gloves, roller skates, a down sleeping bag. The wall at the head of his bed was covered with posters proclaiming love and sports. On one that said, “Happiness Is a Warm Puppy,” he had crossed out “Puppy” and above it scrawled in red crayon, “Baby.”

For a moment Frank petted the cat and gazed down at his sleeping son, smiling. Then he lowered the cat so that it licked Chris’s face.

Chris slowly turned and opened his eyes. “Hi, Dad. What time is it? Am I late for school?”

“Nope. But it’s time to get up. We’re going to have to drop you off at Charley’s house. You can go to school from there. He’s expecting you.”

Chris sat up quickly. “Mom is having the baby?”

“Right. A trick she does rather well every eleven years. Now get yourself together, and don’t forget your books.”

Chris sprang out of bed. “Wow! Having the baby!” He sat back down. “Mom’s having our baby!”

Frank tousled his son’s hair and started out of the room. “Hurry up, now.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Can anything happen to her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, remember that movie we saw on TV, where the mother died?”

“That movie was supposed to take place a long time ago. Things like that just don’t happen now. Hospitals are better, doctors are better, everybody’s healthier.”

“But she says the baby is so big . . .”

“Hey, come on,” he laughed, suppressing his annoyance that Lenore had mentioned that to Chris. “She had
you,
didn’t she? And look at the size of you, you big ox. Hurry up now, so we can get you over to Charley’s.”

“I’m glad I can go to Charley’s,” Chris smiled a little. “He’s so nice to me.”

“And so conveniently unattached.”

“Hunh?”

“He’s my best friend. He loves you almost as much as I do. Get dressed. I gotta go help your mom. She’s the main one right now, you know.”

“And the baby.”

“And the baby. Hurry up!”

Frank got dressed, called Charley to advise him of their arrival, and started out. He stopped for a last peek in at the nursery. The white wooden crib stood in the center of the room, the colorful patchwork quilt neatly tucked in at the sides.

He grinned and chuckled. It was beautiful. Cozy. Perfect.

He carried out the two pale blue suitcases and put them in the car trunk. Then he walked back to meet Lenore coming out of the house. She was wearing a two-piece blue maternity outfit, and had a black purse slung over her arm. Chris trotted out behind her.

“You look beautiful, darling,” Frank said, “just like always.” He opened the car door for her, then felt his chin. “Jesus, I forgot to shave. I feel so grubby, next to you. Maybe I should just run in and—”

“No.”

“Okay. Hey, hon, I was just joking. Smile a little.”

“I feel so . . . I feel fine.” She smiled at him.

“Can I sit in the front?” Chris asked. “So the four of us can be together?”

“Maybe on this trip you shouldn’t . . .”

“That would be fine,” Lenore said, standing aside and letting Chris squirm into the middle of the seat.

The streetlights flashed by on the windshield as Frank drove. “Man, you forget how dark it is in the middle of the night.”

Lenore smiled, looking straight ahead.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she answered.

“No kicking?”

“Some.”

“Interesting how you women can tell just when it’s time.”

“The baby knows.” She smiled. “The baby knows it’s time.”

They pulled up in front of Charley’s house. It was on the edge of their middle-class neighborhood, a smaller house than the others, smaller lawn, not recently mowed. Charley stood at the curb, dressed in bathrobe and slippers, the streetlight glow sparkling on his balding head. He waved to them.

“Okay, Chris, get out my side.” Frank slid out and walked over to Charley. They shook hands. “Sure do appreciate this, buddy.”

“Forget it, Frank. Where’s Chris?”

“Right here, he’s . . .”

Chris was still in the car. “Why can’t I go to the hospital with you, Mom?”

“You know I’d love to have you there, but children simply aren’t allowed as visitors.”

“If I had my tonsils out again I could go there.”

“I’ll be home in three days. Or maybe sooner.”

Frank appeared at the car door. “Come on, Chris.”

“Maybe Charley won’t like having me around.”

“Charley only gets to visit his own boys two Sundays a month. And he loves kids. Come on, give your mother a kiss and let’s go.”

Chris leaned over and hugged his mother, holding on tight and burying his face in her neck. “Please have our baby fast.”

She patted him on the head and turned him away toward his father. “We’ll both call you as soon as we know if it’s a brother or a sister.”

He picked up his school books from his lap and slid out the door. “I don’t care what it is, as long as you’re okay.”

“I’ll be fine. Hi, Charley.”

“Hi, Lenore. I’ll be thinking of you. Come on, Chris, we might as well stay up, if you’re game. You can help me whip together some French toast. Oh, by the way, Frank, I’m taking a week off from the store,” Charley called out. “Assistant manager’s going to hold the fort down and let me get in some autumn fishing. So there’s no problem.”

Cheerful goodbyes were waved all around, and Charley disappeared with Chris into the house.

The streetlight beat in on Lenore. She winced. “Let’s get going, Frank.”

The front of the small, single-level Community Hospital was bathed in floodlights. Lenore sat with her eyes closed as Frank pulled up in a no-parking zone directly in front.

He eased her out of her seat and walked with his arm around her into the nurse’s station. Lenore was quickly whisked away in a wheelchair. A nurse presented Frank with a packet of forms to fill out.

“I think I did all this before,” he said, scanning the papers. “When do I get to see my wife?”

“She’ll be brought over to the labor room just before she’s taken in for delivery, Mr. Davis.”

“Is somebody taking care of her? Is everybody ready for her? Has Dr. Francis arrived yet?”

“Do you carry some form of medical insurance, Mr. Davis?”

Frank sighed, nodded, pulled out his insurance cards, and then filled in the forms.

One advantage in working for this public-relations firm was that it left no stone unturned. Everything was covered under company policies. No slipups. The name of the PR game was smoothness. No waves. No arguments. No hitches. The best PR people were invisible. So Frank was quiet, polite, efficient. He filled out the forms and took a seat nearby as directed by the nurse, though he would rather have muttered and paced. He sat placidly, while his stomach churned and he ached to cry out, “Where the hell is everybody and what the hell is everybody doing?”

Quiet. The nurses padded around on their white ripple-soles and shuffled papers. You couldn’t even hear them when they talked on the phone. There was not even any medicine going-on out here. Except for their uniforms, they could have been secretaries at Clayton Associates. They never made a mistake, these nurses, because they never tried to do anything unusual. You came into the hospital, took a seat on a hard plastic chair on the shiny tile floor. And in a little while you walked out with a baby. More “medicine” went on in his own bathroom, when he shaved.

Except that he hadn’t shaved. A mistake. It occurred to him that Buck wouldn’t approve. A minor thing, but people noticed you when you hadn’t shaved. In PR, you shouldn’t be noticed. Just blend in with the background. That’s why your fees were so high. People didn’t know what the hell you did with their accounts, so long as you didn’t screw up. And they didn’t care. Most PR was a matter of keeping things quiet, smooth, unnoticeable. So businesses you represented could go on making quiet, smooth money. No questions, no arguments, no waves. But the really good PR exec, like him or Buck, took chances, caused things to happen. Caused publicity, just at the right time, in just the right way, to just the right degree. You took the chances that no out-of-control publicity would erupt. Smooth and quiet. People didn’t even know why they bought Marcus toys instead of others. They were associated with goodness. Nobody knew how or why. Except Frank and Buck. Business was good, so the fees kept climbing.

Business seemed lousy at the hospital, because nobody was practicing medicine. They were, of course, somewhere in the innards of this sterile building. But Frank was being kept out of it.

And here, he was—the damn client!

In spite of himself he walked over to the nurse’s station. “Look, my wife is having a baby, our baby, and I want to—”