Read Nothing But Trouble Online

Authors: Bettye Griffin

Nothing But Trouble (9 page)

“But it's a school night.”
“It's seven o'clock, Dana. Nobody's talking about staying out all night.”
Micheline looked on with amusement. “So what's it going to be?”
“Oh, all right,” Dana said. “I'll stay an hour.” Anything to get that smirk off Micheline's face. She'd had little contact with her tenant, but she'd just seen a side of her she didn't particularly care for.
 
 
Dana quickly caught on to the idea of Wild Wednesday. Its name suggested a rowdy crowd in loose-fitting jeans and gym shoes, but these were mature folks, well dressed. Everywhere she looked there were men wearing silk ties, crisply starched shirts, gold tie clips, and glossy wing tips, even occasional cuff links; and for women, traditional suits, smart separates, tasteful jewelry, and pumps. Slacks on females were nonexistent. Dana suspected that patrons dressed this way even if they had professions requiring uniforms, like police officers or nurses. It might have been years since she'd been single, but some things never changed. She imagined that among the first words of conversation between new acquaintances were, “What do you do?”
The music played at a comfortably loud volume. Slowly the dance floor filled. Much of the crowd gathered around the rectangular bar or in the booths lining the wall behind it. The waitress removed their dinner plates and glasses and took their drink orders: wine for Dana and Cécile, a sea breeze for Norell. Micheline ordered something Dana had never heard of, a green-apple martini.
Eventually all the women were asked to dance, but Cécile declined. “I'll watch your purses if you want to leave them,” she offered.
“Are you all right?” Dana asked.
“Yes, I just don't feel like dancing.” Cécile added a smile for reassurance, but a terrible suspicion had just occurred to her. She'd just eaten a typically oversized restaurant salad, but she was still hungry. She always seemed to be hungry lately, and if she wasn't hungry she was sleepy. If that wasn't enough, Micheline had leaned over and quietly asked if she'd been gaining weight, giving her thigh a pat.
Cécile knew by the snug fit of her clothes that she'd picked up the pounds she'd struggled so hard to lose over the last year. She'd had a hard time finding something to wear tonight that wasn't too tight. She settled on a dress she'd made herself a few years back, a butterscotch-and-black-striped coatdress with a white collar. It was roomy enough to not squeeze her, and its vertical stripes made her look both thinner and taller.
Cécile had dismissed her weight gain as a temporary phase that would pass, but when Michie slapped her heavy thigh and made that comment, somehow it all came together. Never feeling full, no matter how much she ate, the weight gain, the fatigue.
She was pregnant. There could be no other explanation. Just her luck to be the one in two hundred and fifty women for whom tubal ligations ultimately failed. Periods had never been a gauge for her; she'd continued them throughout her pregnancies with Josie, Gaby, and Eleith. When she discussed it with her mother, Catherine said the same had been true for her.
Just thinking about it made Cécile feel ill. Her house was already so overcrowded. Where would they put another baby?
 
 
Dana left the ladies' room feeling refreshed and confident, courtesy of a paper towel to wipe the perspiration from her face, a fresh coat of lipstick, and a quick comb-through of her hair. Now she was very glad she'd stayed. She hadn't had this much fun in years.
She'd gotten midway past the bar on her way back to the table when a hand suddenly clamped her midarm. She froze in her tracks at the unexpected action, then sought out the face that went with the arm. She could tell from the large size of the hand as well as the firm grip that it belonged to a male.
“I startled you; I'm sorry.”
Something struck her as familiar about the dark-skinned man speaking, but Dana couldn't remember where they had met.
“You're Mrs. Covington, aren't you?” he asked.
His reference to her as Mrs. Covington set off immediate recognition in Dana's mind, probably because there were so few people who called her that. Some type of professional association. Then it came to her. “You're ...” she bit her lower lip when she realized she couldn't remember his name, finally settling for, “You're the one who bought my husband's car.”
He laughed at her attempt to conceal her lapse in memory. “Sean Sizemore.”
“Of course, now I remember. How are you? And how's the car?” Remembering the rather forceful way he had grabbed her arm, she hoped he wasn't going to tell her it didn't run right. Damn it, she probably shouldn't have asked.
But Sean merely grinned and said, “It's running great. It's nice to see you. I don't think I've ever seen you here before.”
“Spoken like a true regular.”
“Well, it's not like I've got a bar stool named after me or anything.” They laughed. “Actually, I've been in pretty regularly since my wife and I separated two months ago,” he added.
“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.” Dana was no marriage counselor, but if anyone were to ask her for advice, she would recommend imagining that their partner had died, rather than still around and just getting on their reserve nerves. If any love remained, that should help both parties recover it in a hurry. But she could hardly say that to Sean. He was merely making a statement, and she had no call to make like Dr. Phil.
“Thanks, but actually it'd been coming for a long time. By the time I bought your car I knew it was just a matter of time.”
She nodded. No doubt he'd bought the two-seater Eclipse in anticipation of the single life. “I guess that's just how it goes sometimes.”
“Can I get you a drink, Dana?”
She was caught off guard, both by his offer and by his sudden use of her first name, although there really was no need for him to continue to address her formally. “Oh ... no, thanks. I have one at the table.”
“You're not leaving anytime soon, are you?”
“Probably within an hour. I'm enjoying myself, but I don't want my daughter up past her bedtime.” She laughed. “It was good to see you again, Sean.”
“You'll see me again before you leave.” He reached out and gave her hand a squeeze, just for a second. Dana smiled a farewell and moved on.
She couldn't remember the last time she felt so free and unencumbered. The music was wonderful—classics from the late seventies and early eighties intermixed with recent cuts. Norell and Cécile hadn't had such a bad idea after all. Hell, she might just come back next week and do it again.
 
 
Norell gasped as the music blended into a new song. She gestured to her partner. “I'm worn out,” she said, although she felt certain he couldn't hear her words over the music.
He took her elbow and guided her off of the dance floor. “How about you and me talking over a drink?” he asked.
She held up her left hand and pointed to her prominent engagement and wedding rings. “Sorry. I'm just doing a little dancing, that's all.” Norell enjoyed the disappointment on her partner's face. It did her ego good to know she could still turn heads. This man was tall, good looking, and young, probably a good six or seven years her junior.
Heaven knew she deserved some comfort after receiving the bad news that her dream of being a mother probably would not come true. She and Vic had met with Dr. Patel, and she didn't like the low odds he gave them of successfully conceiving a baby, especially when paired with the high cost. She'd heard horror stories of people who began expensive fertility treatments which weren't covered by health insurance, confident that they would be successful on the first try, only to find themselves facing financial ruin after going through attempt after attempt. She likened it to a gambler at a slot machine, thinking the next pull of the lever would be the big payoff. Vic made good money, but his income fluctuated. An entire week could go by with him posting only a thousand-dollar bond. Other weeks he could earn twenty thousand or more. He'd already done so much for her; she simply couldn't ask for more. Norell knew enough about life to know that everyone didn't get a happy ending. And aside from not having a baby, her life wasn't bad at all.
She'd met Vic after the worst time of her life, shortly after her mother died from an inoperable brain tumor. Watching her mother's deterioration was like déjà vu for Norell. Just nine years before, her father had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Like her mother years later, he waited until his discomfort became unbearable before consulting a physician, but by then the disease was advanced. Diagnosed just before the Fourth of July, he died the day after Labor Day. His grieving family found a small amount of solace in the relative brevity of his discomfort.
Unfortunately, her mother was not as lucky. The disease ravaged her for nearly a year, spreading through her body. It was a cruel and lingering death, with Gloria Jamison unable to swallow food in her last days. Norell took comfort from her mother's meeting death at home in her own bed, tended to by home-hospice personnel, rather than at a hospital. By this time her brother Eric had joined the service and was on a ship somewhere in the Mediterranean. He flew in for the funeral, but soon she was on her own once more.
Norell had begun working from home when her mother was diagnosed so she could care for her, and she returned to work in the office after her mother's death. Months of being confined to home had left her hungry for the rapport of colleagues. This time around, however, her coworkers did not include her two closest allies, for Dana had left Precise to launch her own transcription service and Cécile had joined the work-at-home program because she'd left her cheating husband and couldn't afford day care for her three daughters.
Norell also needed to have her medical insurance reinstated, which would occur after sixty days. Later, she would joke that her appendix apparently didn't know she still had four weeks to go. The bill was delivered within five days of her arrival home. The cost of a forty-eight-hour hospital stay came to seventy-three hundred dollars, a large chunk of which was the surgeon's fee. That wasn't bad pay, considering it took maybe twenty minutes to remove an appendix.
Norell managed to keep her hospital account out of collections, but times were tough. She'd foolishly gone on a spending spree when the reality of being alone in the world set in, and in the process had spent nearly all of her share of her mother's meager estate, money that could have otherwise gone toward her hospital bill.
That was her station in life when she met and fell in love with Vic. He paid the balance of her hospital bill right after they were married. Suddenly she had no worries, and everything to look forward to. Or so she thought.
Norell's shoulders stiffened. Dealing with her huge disappointment always made her tense. But she knew how to relax.
She gestured for the waitress and ordered another sea breeze.
Dana danced with Sean twice over the next forty-five minutes, and when she and her friends prepared to leave he offered to see them to their cars, starting with Norell, who walked rather slowly.
“Do you think she'll be all right?” he asked as Norell plopped into the driver's seat.
“Oh, sure. She's just walking slow because of her high heels,” Dana said. “Her feet must be killing her after all that dancing.”
When they reached her Camry she got behind the wheel and rolled down the window to say good-bye when Sean suddenly leaned over and said, “Let's have dinner Saturday.”
Chapter 9
D
ana undressed and slipped into a V-neck nylon-and-lace nightgown, then lay across her bed, deep in thought.
Kenny had been dead, and she alone, for nearly a year. She was a healthy woman in the earliest years of middle age. Surely it was natural for her to start thinking about men. Everything reminded her of sex. Even one of her clients, a man notorious for getting on the phone with no idea of what he would say, sounded like he was in the throes of something quite exciting with all those “Uh ... uh ... uh” grunting noises he made while groping for his next words. And just last week she'd made a telling error, typing “orgasm” in a patient's lab results when the doctor actually said “organism.” A Freudian slip if she'd ever heard one.
She felt comfortable with her wish to have a man in her life, but she worried about everyone else's reaction. How Brittany would feel, what her neighbors would say if they saw a strange man coming to her house, and even—and this was
really
dumb—how Kenny would react if he were alive, like she'd really be considering dating some man if her husband was with her. But he wasn't, of course, and she'd spent nearly a year trying to support Brittany alone and felt she deserved a little attention. It wasn't like she was looking for some man to worship her, but a little appreciation of her attributes would be nice.
She decided she needed to talk it out with someone. Cécile was home, of course—Dana had dropped her off when she picked up Brittany—but she was probably busy making sure her brood was prepared for the next day and that they got to bed. Besides, from the way Cécile had yawned all the way home, she would probably make a beeline for her own bed after taking care of her family. Better to confide in Norell.
Dana glanced at her watch. She should probably wait a few more minutes to give Norell time to get home.
From the way Norell answered the phone, stretching a simple “Hello” into three syllables, Dana could tell she had a buzz.
“Someone's feeling no pain,” she said knowingly.
“I just got in,” Norell said. “It took longer than usual because I stayed at thirty miles an hour all the way. Just trying to be cautious. It would have been terribly ironic if Vic had to bail his own wife out of jail.”
Dana suddenly felt ashamed for not paying closer attention to her friend's condition. Sean had implied Norell might be impaired when they left the restaurant, but she'd honestly thought Norell's halting, uneven steps were nothing more than a case of three-inch heels on tired feet. Her friend didn't drink excessively any more, not since she'd married Vic. “Norell, how many sea breezes did you have?”
“Just three. Technically, four. The last one was a double.”
“Well, the next time we go out to celebrate I'm driving you home. I had no idea you'd had that much.”
“Oh, I'm all right. I won't even have a headache tomorrow. I'm about to go in and jump Vic's bones.”
A twinge of envy immediately snaked its way through Dana's gut. “Thanks for sharing,” she said in a droll tone. “But do you have just a few minutes to give me some advice?”
“Sure. What's up?”
Dana told Norell about Sean and his invitation. She needed the encouragement she knew Norell would give her.
“Wait a minute. This guy bought Kenny's car?”
“Yes. That's how I met him.”
“And he's still driving it, I presume.”
Dana shrugged. “I guess.”
“Doesn't that make you uncomfortable, the thought of riding alongside a strange man in the same car that you rode in alongside your husband?”
“Oh. I hadn't thought of that. It'll be a little weird, I guess, but that's no reason not to go out with him. A lot of people drive white Eclipses.”
“It's not just
a
white Eclipse, Dana, it's
the
white Eclipse. The one that used to be parked in your driveway. The one Kenny drove.”
Dana found herself regretting having made this call. “I don't think it's that big a deal, Norell.”
“If that's what you think. But you have to consider Brittany's feelings.”
“She won't see it,” Dana said quickly.
“She'll stay at her friend's house?”
“No, I think this is the weekend Vanessa spends with her father. I'll have to get my neighbor's daughter to babysit. I'll send them to a show or something.”
“How will they get there?” Norell asked. “That girl isn't old enough to drive, is she?”
Dana's shoulders slumped. Norell was firing off questions like the police grilling a murder suspect, and even though it was getting on her nerves, she knew Norell had her best interests at heart. And wasn't that why she'd called in the first place, to get Norell's take on the situation? She forced herself to listen, but she couldn't help recalling the good old days when Norell or Cécile would be the ones listening to the advice
she
gave.
“Even if the babysitter is old enough to drive,” Norell continued, “her parents probably won't allow her to drive Brittany anywhere. It's too big a responsibility for a kid her age. If anything should happen while she has Brittany in the car it'll set the stage for suits and countersuits.”
“Tina is sixteen, but I suppose you're right. Her duties as babysitter shouldn't involve anything else but staying with Brittany here in the house.” She sighed. “And since I can't arrange for an off-premises babysitter, I'll have to call Sean and cancel.”
“Wait a minute. Don't be so damn drastic. Brittany can spend the night here with us. Vic's daughters are coming this weekend. They're a little older than Brittany, but they'll get along fine. It's not like they've never met.”
“Are you sure, Norell?”
“What's one more kid around to do my bidding, peel me a grape, and paint my toenails?” She giggled. “Seriously, though, I think going out with this guy will be good for you, Dana. Although I certainly wish he drove a different vehicle—”
“So you said,” Dana interrupted. She had to admit she didn't like thinking about Sean driving Kenny's old car.
“And I'm certainly surprised by this development, Miss I'm-Not-Ready-to-Date-Right-Now,” Norell concluded. “What did Cécile say?”
“I didn't mention it to her. I don't think Cécile is feeling well these days. She must have yawned five times in the ten minutes it took to get to her house.”
“She's been doing a lot of extra work for CDN, just like you and me. But she's got more to do at home than we do, like cooking for eight people every night. She's probably just tired. Now that the preliminary work is done and we're rolling, she'll be fine.”
“I hope so.” Dana didn't believe Norell's attempt at reassurance. Norell had never shown much respect for Cécile's culinary efforts, saying that all she did was throw a double portion of meat or poultry into two casserole dishes, add some vegetables and some liquid, stick it in the oven for an hour and call it dinner. Norell, who ate a diet heavy with beef and rich sauces, sardonically likened Cécile's well-balanced, low-fat meals to eating in a household where someone had recently suffered a stroke. When Dana praised the paella Cécile served last year when she and Michael hosted dinner for them and their spouses, Norell remained unimpressed, pointing out that this, too, was essentially a one-dish meal.
Norell simply didn't share her worry about Cécile.
The moment Dana's car was out of sight of her home, Cécile got behind the wheel of her Windstar and drove to Kmart, the nearest store still open where she could purchase a pregnancy test kit. In her heart she already knew what the result would be, but having proof would make it real.
She returned to a quiet house. The girls were all in bed. The boys, whose middle-school classes didn't begin until after nine, quietly watched television in their room, and Michael was engrossed in an episode of
CSI,
so she had plenty of time to think in the privacy of the master bathroom.
It occurred to her that something good might come out of all of this. Michael had resisted getting a larger house for so long, but once he learned about the new baby, he'd be forced to take action. Even he would have to concede that a family of nine could not continue living like this. Not only would she get to have a baby with the man she loved, but she'd get a new house out of it as well.
After she got out of the shower and dried herself off, she retrieved the test kit from the vanity cabinet beneath the sink. As she expected, the window of the stick had turned pink.
She emerged from the bathroom just as Michael was pulling off his clothes. At thirty-nine, he hardly had a movie-star body—Cécile could definitely pinch more than an inch from his middle—but he looked good to her nonetheless. Knowing that he'd gotten a little flabby made her feel more comfortable about her own weight gain.
“You ready to turn in?” he asked.
“I have to tell you something first.”
His eyes widened curiously. “True-confession time, huh?”
Cécile sat cross legged on the bed, her satiny nightgown covering her legs. “I'm sure you've noticed I've put on some weight lately.”
“That's no big deal. You don't hear me complaining, do you? You look good to me, Cécile.”
“Thanks. I'm glad you feel that way, because if anything I'll be gaining more weight before I lose any.”
Michael frowned. “I don't get it. You planning an eating binge or something?”
“No. I'm pregnant.”
“You
can't
be pregnant, not after getting your tubes tied.”
“They don't always take, at least not permanently. I'm afraid mine didn't.”
His eyes narrowed. “So you're serious. We're going to have another baby.”
“Yes, Michael, it's true. I know seven kids is a lot ...”
“People are going to think we're trying to populate the world.”
Cécile tensed at the sarcasm in his voice. He seemed annoyed at the prospect of another child. She hadn't counted on that reaction. She'd thought he'd be as happy as she was.
Maybe he needed some time to realize what a blessing a new baby was. After all, her own first reaction just a few hours ago had been dread and worry.
“Michael,” she began, “I know it won't be easy, raising so many children, but we do live pretty comfortably. And if it's a girl, she can wear all of Eleith's clothes. We should be able to manage just fine. Of course, we'll have to get a larger house.”
“I was waiting for that,” he said coldly. “What'd you do, Cécile, jiggle your tubes loose to force my hand?”
Shocked, she drew in her breath. “What a terrible thing to say! Of course I didn't get pregnant deliberately. This was purely an accident of nature. And I don't understand why you're so dead set against getting a bigger house. The girls are cramped something terrible. If we had four bedrooms, Josie and Monet could share one, and Gaby and Eleith could share the other. The baby can stay with Gaby and Eleith.”
“Why not just get a house with five bedrooms? That way the baby can have its own damn room. Just tell me this, Cécile. Where's all this money coming from? Have you seen the prices of homes lately? Are you forgetting that we just spent eight grand so you could go into business? Who knows how long it'll be until you see any returns?”
She jerked, startled by his about-face regarding CDN. How convenient for him to suddenly forget how sure he'd been that they would recoup their investment within a year. “Come on, Michael. We should be able to get a good price for this place. It's appreciated well beyond what you paid for it. There should be enough equity in it to make a tidy profit.”
“Sure, there'll be a profit. But not enough to make up the difference in the mortgage payment over thirty years.”

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