Mixed Blessings (15 page)

And a little while later, they were on the couch making love, her black dress and his blue suit lying in a heap on the floor, and Charlie didn't give a damn about his burned dinner.

"Wow!" he said happily when they finally came up for air.

"Wow . . . wow! Wow!" She laughed at him, and they made love again, and it was three o'clock in the morning when they finally headed for their bedroom. They didn't wake up the next day till noon, and when they did, Barbie had a terrible headache. She could hardly see when he opened the shades, and then he remembered the gift he'd meant to give her the night before, the little box from Zale's. He went to get it and handed it to her as she lay in bed, complaining about her headache.

"I don't know why I like champagne so much. It makes me feel like I have jackhammers in my head the next morning."

"It's the bubbles. Or at least that's what someone told me."

He never really drank enough to bother him, but there were times when she did. She could never resist when she got her hands on a bottle of bubbly.

"What is this?" She was slowly tearing the paper off the little box and squinting at him, as she lay on their bed in all her naked glory.

She was a remarkable-looking girl, and he could never keep his eyes or his hands off her body.

"It's an anniversary gift, but if you take much longer opening it, I may have to interrupt you." It was almost painful looking at her, just seeing her like that always made him want her. In the past year she had become a serious addiction. And then finally, she opened the box and found the ring, squealed with delight, and said she loved it. He did so much for her. No one in her entire life had ever been as kind to her, yet there were still times when, because of her past, it was hard for her to open up and trust him. But when he was this sweet to her, she always felt guilty about it.

"I'm sorry about last night," she said huskily, and then she slowly rolled over toward him, and he forgot everything except her legs and her hips and her thighs, and the incredible breasts that never ceased to amaze him.

They didn't get out of bed again until two in the afternoon, and then they went to take a shower together, and they made love again. Charlie was in great form and much better spirits.

"Actually, in spite of a slow start, I'd say this was a great anniversary." He grinned as they finally dressed for dinner.

They were going out to meet friends, and maybe go to a movie.

"I think so too," she said, smiling at her ring, and then she kissed him. But as she looked at him, she could see that he was hesitating about something. He had the look he got when there was something he wanted to ask her, but was afraid to upset her. "What's up? . . . never mind. . . . I know . . . wrong question."

He laughed, and was surprised at how well she knew him.

"What's bothering you? You look like you want to ask me something."

She slipped into a short, tight black-leather skirt as she spoke, and high heels, and reached into her closet for a sweater. She had her blond hair piled high on her head, and she looked like a rounder, more sensual Olivia Newton-John, as Charlie sat admiring her while she was dressing. He was a nice looking young man, but he looked completely out of his league when he was with Barbie.

"What makes you think I want to ask you something?" he said hesitantly. Sometimes expressing his feelings to her made him feel awkward.

"Well, come on." There was nothing shy about her as she stood in front of him with the black sweater stretched tight across her bosom. He'd been planning to ask her the night before, after the champagne and the ring, and maybe before they made love, or even after. But the events of the evening had gotten slightly out of order. They'd made love all night and never even bothered to have dinner.

"Come on, what is it?" she asked impatiently, and he started looking nervous. He didn't want to ask at the wrong time, or maybe she'd get angry. She knew it was something she didn't like to talk about, but it meant so much to him. He knew he had to.

"I'm not sure this is the right time." He hesitated, afraid to blow it.

"My mother always said, Don't throw one shoe,' so what's on your mind, Charlie?"

He sat down on the bed, trying to find the right words. It was so important to him, he didn't want to get her back up. And he knew she had her own opinions on the subject. But he had strong feelings about it, too, and at least he wanted to try to discuss it with her.

"I'm not sure how to say this . . . or how to tell you how much it means to me, Barb . . . but . . . I really want to have a baby."

"What?" She turned around and looked at him. She looked like an angry cat in her black angora sweater. And she stood looking at him with obvious displeasure. "You know I don't want kids, Charlie. Not now. Jeer, I just almost got a commercial this week. If I get pregnant, my whole career could wind up out the window, and I could wind up selling lipsticks at Neiman-Marcus like Judi."' He didn't remind her that her whole career consisted of a few walks-ons, a lot of auditions for commercials she didn't get, the car show, and the back line of the chorus in Oklahoma!, not to mention a very unpleasant year in Las Vegas. Her only real success had been doing ramp work, in bikinis.

"I know," he said understandingly. "But you could put your career on hold for a while. And I'm not saying we have to do it right away. But I want you to know how important it is to me. I want a family, Barb. I want kids. I want to give someone what I never had, a mother, a father, a home, a life. We could make a real difference in our children's lives. I really want to do that. We've been married a year now and I thought it was time to say it."

"So join the Peace Corps if you want to play with kids. I'm not ready for that. I'm almost thirty-two years old, and if I don't go for the gold now, it'll be gone when I get there."

"I'm thirty, Barbie. Thirty. And I want a family." His eyes pleaded with her, and she looked suddenly very nervous.

"A family?" she asked, raising one eyebrow as she leaned against the wall in her tight black-leather skirt, looking incredibly sexy. "How many kids is that? Ten? I've been in one of those. It stinks.

Believe me, I can tell you." More than he knew, more than he'd ever know, or she would tell him.

"It doesn't have to be that way. Maybe your family was like that. But ours wouldn't be, baby." He had tears in his eyes when he spoke to her. "I need that in my life . . it's not going to be right for me until we have that. Can't we at least try now?" They'd talked about it before, and it was something they had never really come to grips with before they were married. Charlie had always been outspoken about wanting kids, and Barbie had vacillated between being honest with him when she said she didn't want any at all, and trying to keep him happy by saying "maybe later." But later seemed to be coming at them faster than Barbie wanted.

She looked unhappy and stared out the window before looking back at him. There were memories that she didn't want to share with him, but she had no desire to be part of a family again, or fill her life with children. She knew she'd never want that. She'd tried to tell him that when they first met, but Charlie just didn't want to hear her and she knew he still didn't believe her when she said she didn't want children. "Why now? It's only been a year. Everything's fine like this, why screw it up?"

"It won't screw it up, it'll make it better. Please, Barb,  just think it over." He was begging her, and she could hear it in his voice, but all that did was make her hate him. He was pushing her, and it wasn't fair to her. Particularly not on that subject.

"Maybe it wouldn't work anyway," she tried to discourage him any way she could. "Sometimes I wonder if there's something weird about us. Half the time we don't use birth control. I've never been so sloppy in my life, as I am with you, Charlie, and nothing ever happens." She looked at him knowingly, and then she smiled. "Maybe we're not meant to have kids." She kissed him and tried to arouse him, which was never difllcult.

"I'll be your baby, Charlie," she said in a voice that ripped his socks off.

"That's not the same thing." He smiled, successfully distracted.

"Nice though . . . very nice in the meantime." But as far as Barbie was concerned, there was no "meantime." And as he kissed her, he wondered if he could trick her into being even more careless. Maybe even at just the right time of month. Maybe that made more sense than trying to convince her, and he knew that the minute she had a baby, she'd love it. And as he thought that, he decided to pay more attention to her cycle.

Maybe if he knew when just the right time was, he could bring home a bottle of champagne, and bingo  they'd have their baby. The idea cheered him no end, as they finished dressing and went out. And not knowing how intent he was on his plan, Barbie was in excellent spirits, and figured maybe he'd decided to be reasonable and forget his ideas about a family for a while. She had never actually told him she Danielle Steel wouldn't have kids, but she had never told him she would either. And one thing was sure, as far as she was concerned, no matter how badly he wanted a baby, she was not going to have one.

Nancy and Tommy brought the baby to Brad and Pilar's on the Fourth of July, and it was extraordinary to realize how he had changed them all.

Nancy and Tommy seemed suddenly terribly grown-up and responsible, and Brad was cooing over his grandson and holding him every minute.

He couldn't imagine how they had ever lived without him.

Pilar loved holding the baby, too, and it amazed her to think that she might have her own one day. It was an incredible feeling.

Adam was fat and round, and happy to sleep in anyone's arms, his eyes were huge and blue when he was awake, and just holding him felt delicious.

"He looks good on you," Brad said softly when he walked by Pilar late in the afternoon as she held the baby. "Maybe he'll have a new aunt or uncle soon," he teased and she smiled.

They had worked at it the week after their anniversary, and she was waiting to see what would happen that weekend.

But she was startled that night, after the young people went home, when she discovered that she wasn't pregnant. She came out of the bathroom looking surprised and devastated.

She was used to accomplishing what she wanted the first time.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Brad saw her and he thought she was sick.

She looked like a ghost, but she sat down on the bed next to him, and he could see that she'd been crying.

"I'm not pregnant."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." He smiled gently. "I thought some thing terrible had happened."

"Isn't that bad enough?" She seemed so stunned. It was rare for success to elude her. But Brad knew better.

"After fourteen years? Just because you tried once, doesn't mean you're going to get what you want the first time around, you know. You may have to put a little more effort into it than that." He leaned over and kissed her, and she smiled, but she was still looking forlorn.

"Just think of the fun we'll have trying."

"What if it doesn't work?" she asked, frightened now. This wasn't as easy as it seemed. Brad looked at her intently, wondering how she'd take it if it didn't work, ever.

"If it doesn't work, Pilar, then we'll have to live with that.

But we'll give it our best effort. We can't do more than that," he said quietly.

"At my age, I should probably go to a specialist right from the start,"

she said worriedly.

"At your age, women have babies all the time, without specialists, or any heroic efforts. Just relax. You can't control the entire world. Just because you decided you wanted a baby three weeks ago, doesn't mean you can just make it happen overnight. Give it a chance. Relax."  He pulled her next to him on the bed, and he held her, and after a while she relaxed, and they talked quietly for a while about their plans and the baby they hoped to have. If they had one.

Brad thought it was way too soon even to think about a specialist, and he told her so that night, but he also agreed, when she pressed him about it, that if it turned out they needed one, he was willing to go with her.

"But not yet," he reminded her as he turned off the light. "I really think that what we need," he said softly as he moved closer to her beneath the sheets, "is a lot more" For Diana, the Goodes' Fourth of July picnic had been a nightmare. She had just discovered that she wasn't pregnant again two days before, and her sisters hounded her mercilessly about why it wasn't happening, and did she think Andy had a problem.

"Of course not," she defended him, feeling as though she were being run over by steamrollers until she couldn't even breathe as they moved closer. "It just takes time."

"It didn't take us time, and you're our sister," Gayle announced.

"Maybe he has a low sperm count," she said suspiciously, relieved to blame him. She had already said as much to her husband.

"Why don't you ask him?" Diana snapped at her, and Gayle looked hurt by her reaction.

"I was just trying to be helpful. Maybe you should tell him to go see someone." Diana didn't tell her older sister that she had an appointment herself with a specialist the next day. As Andy said, it was none of their business.

But it was her sister Sam who really took the wind out of her, and delivered the ultimate blow with her unexpected announcement. She told them all over lunch, and Diana thought she was going to throw up as soon as she heard it.

"Okay, guys . . ." she started to say, and then she looked sheepishly at her husband, and he grinned. "Should I tell them?"

"Nah." He laughed. "Tell them in six months. Keep them guessing till then." Everyone loved his brogue and his easy style. He had been well liked in the family ever since he'd married Samantha.

"Come on," Gayle complained, "tell us."

"Okay." Sam grinned happily. "I'm pregnant. The baby's due on Valentine's Day."

"How wonderful!" their mother exclaimed, and their father looked pleased too. He'd been chatting with Andy, and looked up to congratulate his daughter and son-in-law. That would make six grandchildren, three each for his oldest and youngest  daughters, and none for Diana.