LovePlay (14 page)

“That’s not true,” he replied, and his voice was icy cold. “I’d give anything for a child of my own, for a wife and a home.”

“Of course you would,” she agreed, humoring him. She walked to her front door and opened it. This, she thought, was getting to be a habit. “That’s why you have an unending supply of groupies in your life, and hot and cold running women in your apartment.”

He was glaring at her, his cigarette firing up curls of smoke, his eyes frankly unpleasant.

“Think what you like,” he told her.

“Thanks for your permission. Good night, Cul.”

“It isn’t night.”

“Don’t clutter up my life with a lot of irrelevant facts. Please leave, I’m having an orgy this afternoon, and I have to peel two pounds of grapes.”

Once he would have laughed at that, but his face was rigid and cold. The real man, under the veneer that he’d worn for so long. He stared at her and for a instant he did hate her, because she’d shown him a side of his own personality that he didn’t want to see. There was some truth in her accusation, but he wasn’t ready for it.

“If I walk out that door, I won’t come back,” he warned quietly. “I’ll ask you once more to marry me. Only once.”

“I don’t want to marry you,” she said. “You may see yourself as the perfect mate. You’re rich and sexy and great in bed and you have an impeccable family tree. But I wouldn’t fit in that august company, you see. I want a down-to-earth man who loves me. As husband material, honey, Mr. Bartholomew has aces up on you. He has a heart as big as all outdoors, even if his singing voice does sound like a dull saw on tin.”

“Then marry the sweet old gentleman,” Cul told her as he walked through the open door, “and to hell with him, for all I care!”

“Don’t trip on your ego, big man!” she threw after his retreating figure, and slammed the door so hard that a picture fell off the wall.

After the temper, of course, came tears. She sat down and did what she’d done most in past days. She bawled. Damn men everywhere, and Edward McCullough most of all! She hoped she never saw him again in her whole life!

Nine

B
ett worried about what she’d said to Cul, despite her anger toward him. Like her, he used cynicism for a shield to keep people from hurting him. But she’d hit home. He was afraid of the responsibility of loving, and that was why he ran from commitment. Perhaps he’d never known much love in his early life. She knew very little about that part of him; it was something he’d never liked to discuss.

Although her heart was breaking, pride kept her going on stage. She couldn’t let the production company down. She put every spare shred of emotion into her characterization, and she was proud of the reviews that raved about the revival of Cul’s excellent play.

Cul might have vanished into thin air after that night he came to her apartment. No one saw him or heard from him. Bett was almost certain he was back out in California, working on the screenplay that he hadn’t quite finished, but she’d stopped listening to conversations that included him. He was no longer a part of her life. Now there was only the baby to think about. Only her child.

Thanks to the increased medical care she was getting because of the company’s generosity, she was feeling better by the day. She had more energy. The anemia was under control. She was enjoying the role she played more and more. The only thing missing from her life was the man she loved. Cul would probably never forgive her for what she’d said to him. On the other hand, it would take her a long time to forgive the things he’d accused her of. And, especially, for denying the child that could only be his.

Three long, lonely weeks passed before Bett found out that Cul was still in town.

“Dick went to see Cul last night,” Janet remarked one evening after the performance, while Bett removed her heavy stage makeup in her dressing room.

Bett’s heart leaped, but she didn’t let her excitement show. “Did he?”

“Apparently he’s decided to work himself to death,” Janet said on a cold laugh. Cul wasn’t one of her favorite people, not after the way he’d treated Bett. “He’s locked up tight in his apartment, and not even eating some nights. Dick told David that Cul threw out everything he’d been working on and has started the new screenplay from scratch. He had a set deadline, so that meant he had to double up on time to make it.”

Bett couldn’t help but wonder if Cul’s feverish schedule had anything to do with what she’d said to him. Her conscience twinged a little. She knew from past experience that he was capable of pushing himself all too hard on deadlines. He’d go for days without eating or sleeping, he’d literally work himself into exhaustion.

“Surely you aren’t feeling sorry for him?” Janet demanded. “Not after what he’s done to you?”

“Of course I’m not feeling sorry for him,” Bett said defensively. She brushed her hair briskly but her troubled eyes met Janet’s in the mirror.

“You and your conscience,” Janet chided softly, smiling. “It’s going to be your undoing someday. Cul isn’t your responsibility.”

“I suppose not.”

“Anyway, it’s just work,” Janet persisted stubbornly. “Just work, not anything to do with you, and you know it.”

But Janet didn’t know about that last, bitter argument. She didn’t know that Bett had hurt him.

It was too late to do anything that night, but the next day she cornered Dick long enough to ask him what was going on with Cul.

“Honest to God, I don’t know,” he admitted, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I’ve seen him overwork himself before, but nothing like this. The last time I saw him, he was as pasty as cornmeal, and about as coherent. If he’s writing in that condition, it must be pure gibberish. He won’t eat. He’s drinking.”

“Cul?” She was shocked. She’d never seen him take more than a social drink, and he was reluctant to do that. He’d mentioned once that watching his father toss it back at cocktail parties had cured him.

“It doesn’t sound like him, does it?” he mused. “Well, there’s nothing I can do. I mentioned that it might be an idea if he got out of his apartment for a while, and he told me…well, the gist of it was to get out and leave him alone. I have excellent survival instincts. I won’t go back unless I’m asked.”

“Was he sick?” Bett asked gently, her eyes wide and soft with helpless concern.

“Yes, I think he was, Bett,” Dick told her reluctantly. “How sick, I don’t know. Perhaps that was the reason for the booze. It’s supposed to kill germs, isn’t it?”

Despite Janet’s assertion that Cul’s health was none of Bett’s business, and over all her own genuine misgivings, she still felt guilty about what Dick had told her. Cul was the father of her child. Could she, in all good conscience, allow him to work himself to death?

No, she thought. There had been some good times. For the sake of those, and the baby, she had to do something for him.

She swallowed her pride and went to his apartment the next evening she had off, trying not to remember better days and happier visits here. Well, apparently he was willing to see her, at least, because when she buzzed his apartment, he let her into the building. But it took five minutes to get him to the door after she got upstairs.

The man who faced her across the threshold looked as if he’d been raised from the dead. He was thinner. His unshaven face had a whitish tint, and his green eyes were bloodshot. His hair looked more brown than blond and had lost its bright gleam. He was half in, half out of an expensive Cardin bathrobe and he looked terrible.

“Bett?” he asked, dazed.

“The very same,” she agreed. “Oh, Mr. McCullough, how you have changed.”

His chin lifted pugnaciously and he glared at her, swaying a little on his bare feet. “What do you want? Have you come to give me another character reading? Well, no thanks, lady, one was enough!”

“Don’t growl, you’ll upset the baby,” she said calmly, easing past him into the apartment. It would have given a veteran cleaning woman heart failure. Bett had never seen such a mess. Full ashtrays, dirty plates and glasses everywhere, clothes strewn from one visible corner to another, wads of paper here and there, even a couple of typewriter ribbons unwound on the carpet.

“Go away,” Cul said shortly, glaring at her from the door, which he was holding open.

She stripped off the long beige sweater coat she’d found at a close-out sale, disclosing her pretty yellow maternity dress with its short puffy sleeves. It felt like spring, even though it would be a few more weeks until warm weather actually came. “Shut up, darling,” she said carelessly, shaking her head as she stared around at the disarray. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make you something to eat.”

“There’s no food,” he muttered.

“Then I’ll go and get some. Go on.” She went past him to close the door and started to push him toward the bedroom.

“Now, look here, Bett,” he began, stopping in his tracks.

“You look here, or you’ll fall over your big feet. Shower first, then food.”

He started to speak, threw up his hands, and wobbled into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Bett went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She quickly closed it again. The shopping could wait until she made something to eat and washed some dishes to serve it in. The freezer boasted a steak, a big juicy one, so she cooked that and opened a can of English peas and creamed them. There was a packet of creamed corn in the freezer, so she boiled that and added it to the sparse menu. She cleaned all the dishes lining the sink and filled a plate.

By the time she knocked on Cul’s bedroom door, she’d even made a dent in the cluttered living room.

“Well?” he demanded as she opened the door.

“Much better.” she said approvingly. He’d changed into blue silk pajamas. His hair was clean and blond again, although he still had a sickly look. “I’ll bring your supper.”

“There’s nothing in there that’s fit to eat,” he protested.

She ignored him, returning to the kitchen to put his plate and a cup of black coffee on a tray. She tucked it over his lap on his king-sized bed, and sat down in a chair with her own black coffee to watch him eat.

He picked at his food for several seconds before he finally began to eat with gusto.

“Aren’t you eating?” he asked, noticing that all she had was coffee. “Junior needs his strength, too.”

“Junior has prenatal vitamins,” she said nonchalantly, tucking a strand of hair back into the French twist over her nape. “One of those, and I could lift the front end of a Mack truck.”

He laughed faintly. His quiet eyes studied her as he finished off the steak and washed it down with black coffee.

“Did Dick send you over here?” he asked with a cynical smile.

“I came on my own,” she replied.

“To save me from myself?” His voice was a little weak, but full of authority. He handed her the tray. “Thanks, but I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can, dear man,” she agreed wholeheartedly, putting the tray on a side table. “Just look how well you were managing. How long had it been since you’d eaten?”

“I had a box of cheese crackers just yesterday,” he assured her.

“Have you seen a doctor?” she persisted.

“What in God’s name for?” he burst out. “I’m just tired!”

“You look feverish to me,” she muttered. “And white as death.”

“I had to finish the screenplay,” he said wearily. His eyes held hers. “You should read it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“I’ll wait for the screen version, thanks,” she said. “Can I get you anything else before I finish tidying up the living room?”

“You leave the living room alone,” he said tersely. “I have a cleaning woman.”

“If you did, she’s dead of heart failure by now,” she told him, rising. “It looks as if you’ve entertained a battalion of commandos in there.”

“I was working!”

“No wonder you’ve never married,” she muttered, lifting the tray from the table. “There isn’t a woman anywhere brave enough to cope with this kind of mess.”

“No? Then why are you here?” he asked gently.

She glanced at him with a calm expression. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know. Just one thing, Cul. I’m not dying of unrequited love anymore. You were right the whole time. We had a good physical relationship, but that’s all it was. I realize that now.”

He sat up straighter. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” she said. “And I thought you’d like to know that I’m through mooning over you and accusing you of being my child’s father.” She even smiled at him. “Aren’t you relieved?”

“I’ve done some thinking of my own,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “Bett, about the baby…”

“All water under the bridge, darling,” she broke in gaily. “Subject closed. Permanently.” She started out the door with the tray.

“But, Bett…!”

“No,” she returned, her voice firm. “Try to get some sleep, Cul. I’ll finish up the dishes, and let myself out. All you needed was a decent meal and a little light housekeeping. You’ll be fine now, I think.”

“Why did you come?” he persisted, his green eyes quiet and intent.

She shrugged. “It’s a great play. I’m working myself out of debt and having a blast in the process. I figured I owed you one. So now we’re even. Ciao.”

She closed the door on his puzzled, exasperated expression. She’d surprised herself with her new air of maturity, her ability to cope without falling apart. Amazing, that it had taken a broken heart and pregnancy to turn her life around. Now all she had to do was pull herself together enough to go on without Cul.

How surprising that he’d been there all alone. He had enough women that surely one or two of them must have been willing to come and take care of him while he was in seclusion. Maybe they only liked him when he was a healthy man about town.

Cul was at the theater the next night, and he came backstage after the performance to take her home.

“I usually do that,” Janet said haughtily, glaring at him as she waited for Bett to remove her makeup.

“From now on, I’ll do it.” He returned her look steadily. “Any argument?”

“Now, see here, Cul…” Bett began hotly.