Good In Bed Part 29

"Huh," said Maxi. "Well, I don't think he's dying, but maybe we should bring him inside."

Slowly and carefully, with much grunting and giggling, we maneuvered Adrian out of the car and onto Maxi's living room couch- a gorgeous white leather construction that I very much hoped Adrian would not defile.

"We should turn him on his side, in case he throws up..." I suggested, and stared at Adrian. "Do you really think he's okay?" I asked. "He was taking Ecstasy..."

"He'll probably be fine," she said dismissively. "But maybe we should stay with him." She peered at me. "You must be exhausted."

"You, too," I said. "I'm sorry about this..."

"Cannie, don't worry! You're doing a good deed!"

She looked at Adrian, then at me. "Slumber party?" she asked.

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

While Maxi went off, presumably to gather bedding material, I took off Adrian's shoes, then socks. I slid his belt out of its loops, unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt, pulled off the panty liner and replaced it with a dishtowel I'd found in the kitchen.

Then while Maxi piled blankets and pillows on the floor, I washed the makeup off my face, struggled into a Maxi-provided T-s.h.i.+rt, and thought of what I could do to make myself useful.

There was a fireplace in the center of the living room- a perfect-looking, pristine fireplace with a stack of birch logs in the grate in its center. And I knew how to make fires. This was good.

I couldn't find newspaper, so I tore pages of Variety, twisted them into pretzels, put them underneath the wood, checked to make sure the flue was open, checked to make sure that the wood was actual wood, and not some decorator's ceramic critique of wood, then lit a match from the matchbook I'd grabbed at the Star Bar, in hopes of proving to Samantha and Andy and Lucy that I'd actually been there. The paper flared, then the logs started burning, and I rocked back on my heels, satisfied.

"Wow," said Maxi, snuggling into her pile of blankets, turning her face toward the fire's glow. "How'd you learn to do that?"

"My mother taught me," I said. She looked at me expectantly, so I told the story... to Maxi, and, I thought, to my baby, too, of how we'd all go fis.h.i.+ng on Cape Cod, and how my mother would build a fire to keep us warm... how we'd sit in a circle- my father, my sister, my brother, and me- roasting marshmallows and watching my mother standing in the water, tossing the silvery filament of line out into the gray-black water, with her shorts rolled up and her legs strong and tanned and solid.

"Good times," Maxi repeated, rolling over and falling asleep. I lay there for a while, my eyes wide open in the darkness, listening to her deep, quiet breaths and Adrian's snoring.

Well, here you are, I told myself. The fire was dying down to embers. I could smell the smoke on my hands and in my hair, and I could hear the waves moving on the sh.o.r.e, and see the sky lightening from black to gray. Here you are, I thought. You Are Here. I cupped my hands around my belly. The baby turned, swimming in her sleep, executing what felt like a backflip. Her, I thought. A girl, for sure.

I sent out a good-night prayer to Nifkin, who I figured would be fine for one night on his own in a luxury hotel. Then I closed my eyes and conjured my mother's face over those Cape Cod fires, so happy and at peace. And, feeling happy and at peace myself, I finally fell asleep.

SIXTEEN.

When I woke up it was 10:30 in the morning. The fire was out. So were Adrian and Maxi.

As quietly as I could I made my way to the second floor. Polished hardwood floors, modern maple shelves and dressers, mostly empty. I wondered how Maxi felt, inhabiting and abandoning a series of houses, like a caterpillar casting aside its coc.o.o.n. I wondered if it bothered her at all. I knew it would bother me.

The bathroom brimmed with all manner of plush towels and fancy soaps and shampoos in sample-sized bottles. I took a long, hot shower, brushed my teeth with one of the brand-new, still-wrapped toothbrushes I found in the medicine cabinet, then got dressed in the T-s.h.i.+rt and clean pajama bottoms I'd found in one of the dresser drawers. I was sure I'd need a blow dryer and possibly an a.s.sistant to even attempt to replicate what Garth had done to my hair the night before, but I didn't see either one nearby. So I pulled back sections of my hair, pinning them with the bobby pins, cementing the whole thing with a dime-sized dollop of some rich and delicious-smelling French styling potion. At least that's what I hoped it was. At my father's insistence, I'd taken Latin in high school. Useful for acing the SATs, not any good for those mornings after when you found yourself unexpectedly having to translate the names of movie star's toiletries.

When I came back downstairs Maxi was still asleep, curled like an adorable kitten on top of a pile of blankets. But where Adrian had slumbered, there was only a single sheet of notepaper.

I picked it up. "Dear Ca.s.sie," it began, and I snorted laughter. Well, I thought, at least he was close. And I'd certainly been called worse. "Thank you very much for taking care of me last night. I know that we don't know each other well..."

And here I snorted again. Don't know each other well! We'd barely exchanged five sentences before he'd pa.s.sed out!

"... but I know that you're a kind person. I know you'll be a wonderful mother. I'm sorry I had to leave in such a hurry, and that I won't get to see you again any time soon. I'm off to location, in Toronto, this morning. So I hope you'll enjoy this while you're in California."

This? What was this? I unfolded the note completely, and a silver key fell into what remained of my lap. A car key. "The lease is up next month," Adrian had written on the back of the piece of paper, along with the name and address of a Santa Monica car dealers.h.i.+p. "Drop it off when you're ready to go home. And enjoy!"

I got slowly to my feet, walked to the window, and held my breath as I raised the blinds. Sure enough, there was the little red car. I looked from the key in my hand to the car in the driveway, and pinched myself, waiting to wake up and find that this was all a dream... that I was still asleep in my bed in Philadelphia, with a pile of pregnancy planning books on my beside table and Nifkin curled on the pillow next to my head.

Maxi yawned, rose gracefully off the floor, and came to stand at the window beside me. "What's going on?" she asked.

I showed her the car, and the key, and the note. "I feel like I'm dreaming," I said.

"Least he could do," said Maxi. "He's just lucky you didn't go through his pockets and take pictures of him naked."

I gave her a wide-eyed innocent look. "Was I not supposed to do that?"

Maxi grinned at me. "Sit tight," she said. "I'm going to fetch your dog, and then we'll plan your conquest of Hollywood."

I'd expected Maxi's cupboards to be bare, except maybe for the foods I thought that starlets subsisted on- Altoids, fizzy water, perhaps some spelt or brewer's yeast or whatever the diet gurus had decreed they should be eating.

But Maxi's shelves were stocked with all the basics, from chicken broth to flour and sugar and spices, and the refrigerator had fresh-looking apples and oranges, milk and juice, b.u.t.ter and cream cheese.

Quiche, I decided, and fruit salad. I was slicing kiwis and strawberries when Maxi returned. She'd changed into a pair of black pedal-pushers and a cherry-red cap-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt, with big black sungla.s.ses and what I took to be fake ruby barrettes in her hair, and Nifkin was sporting a patent-leather red collar studded with the same jewels, and a matching red leash. They both looked very grand. I served Maxi and then, in the absence of kibble, gave Nifkin a small portion of quiche.

"This is so beautiful," I said, admiring the sun glinting on the water, the fresh breeze stirring the air.

"You should stay for a while," Maxi suggested.

I shook my head. "I need to wrap things up and head back...," I began, and then stopped. Really, why did I have to hurry back? Work could wait- I still had vacation time stored up. Missing a few prebaby cla.s.ses wouldn't be the end of the world. A room with a view of the ocean was enticing, especially given Philadelphia's fitful, slushy spring. And Maxi was reading my mind.

"It'll be great! You can write, I'll go to work, we can have dinner parties, and fires. Nifkin can hang out... I'll set up a stock portfolio for you..."

I wanted to jump up and down with the joy of it, but I wasn't sure the baby would approve. It would be incredible out here. I could wade in the surf. Nifkin could chase seagulls. Maxi and I could cook. There had to be strings attached. I just couldn't figure out which ones, or where. And on that morning, with the sun s.h.i.+ning and the waves rolling in, it seemed easier to let this wonderful adventure unfold than to spend much more time trying.

Things happened very quickly after that.

Maxi drove me to a skysc.r.a.per with bluish-silver gla.s.s walls and a trendy eatery on the bottom level. "I'm taking you to meet my agent," she explained, punching the b.u.t.ton for the seventh floor.

I racked my brain for appropriate questions. "Is she... does she handle writers?" I asked. "Is she good?"

"Yes, and very," said Maxi, marching me down the hall. She rapped sharply on an open door and stuck her head inside.

"That's bulls.h.i.+t!" said a woman's voice, floating out into the hallway. "Terence, that's absolute c.r.a.p. This is the project you're looking for, and he's absolutely going to have it done by next week..."

I peered over Maxi's shoulder, expecting the voice to belong to a chain-smoking dame with platinum hair and possibly shoulder pads, with an unfiltered cigarette in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other... a female version of the reptilian sungla.s.sed guy who'd told me there were no fat actresses in Hollywood. Instead, perched behind the giant slab of a desk was a strawberry-blond pixie with creamy skin and freckles. She wore a pale-green jumper and a lace-scalloped lilac-colored T-s.h.i.+rt and a pair of Keds on her child-sized feet. Her hair was gathered into a haphazard bun with a pale blue scrunchy. She looked as if she were maybe twelve years old.

"That's Violet," Maxi said proudly.

"Bull-s.h.i.+T!" said Violet again. I fought down the urge to put my hands on my belly where I imagined the baby's ears would be.

"What do you think?" Maxi whispered.

"She's... um," I said. "She looks like Pippi Longstocking! Is she old enough to be using language like that?"

Maxi cracked up. "Don't worry," she said. "She might look like a Girl Scout, but she's plenty tough."

With a valedictory "Bulls.h.i.+t," Violet hung up the phone, got to her feet, and extended her hand. "Cannie. A pleasure," she said, sounding like a regular person, not like a fire-breathing dragon who'd been channeling Andrew Dice Clay just moments before. "I really enjoyed your screenplay. Do you know what I liked best about it?"

"The curse words?" I ventured.

Violet laughed. "No, no," she said. "I loved that your lead character had such faith in herself. So many romantic comedies, it seems, the female lead has to be rescued somehow... by love, or by money, or a fairy G.o.dmother. I loved that Josie just rescued herself, and believed in herself the whole time."

Wow. I'd never thought about it quite that way. To me, Josie's story was wish fulfillment, pure and simple- the story of what could happen if one of the stars I interviewed in New York ever looked at me and saw more than a potential puff piece in plus-size female form.

"Women are going to f.u.c.king love this movie," Violet predicted.

"I'm so glad you think so," I said.

Violet nodded, yanked the scrunchy out of her hair, ran her fingers through it, and gathered her curls into a marginally neater version of the same bun. "We'll talk more later," she said, gathering a legal pad, a fistful of pens, a copy of my screenplay, and what looked like a copy of a contract. "For now, let's make you some money."

In the end it turned out that little Violet was an ace negotiator. Maybe it was just that the sound of that bra.s.sy voice and nonstop stream of obscenities coming out of her adorable little person was so jarring that the trio of young guys in sharp suits wound up staring more than they did contesting her a.s.sertion that my script was worth it. In the end the amount of money they gave me- one chunk to be delivered within five days of signing, the other to be handed over the day filming began, a third chunk for "first look" at whatever I wrote next- was pretty unbelievable. Maxi hugged me, and Violet hugged both of us. "Now go out there and make me proud," she said, before traipsing back to her office, looking for all the world like a fourth-grader coming in from afternoon recess.

By five o'clock that afternoon I was sitting back on Maxi's deck with a bowl of chilled grapes in my lap and a flute of nonalcoholic sparkling grape juice in my hand, feeling the most incredibly sweet relief. Now I could buy whatever house I wanted, or hire a nanny, even take a whole year off of work when the baby came. And whatever rewriting I had to do, it wouldn't be as bad as facing Gabby, and her nonstop stream criticism, both of the to-the-face and behind-the-back variety. It couldn't be as bad as straining over the seventh draft of my letter to Bruce. Those things were work. This would just be play.

I talked for hours that afternoon, screaming out the joyous news to my mother, to Lucy and Josh, to Andy and Samantha, to a.s.sorted relatives and colleagues, to anyone I could think of who'd share in my happiness. Then I called Dr. K. at his office.

"It's Cannie," I said. "I just want you to know that everything's fine."

"Your friend's feeling better?"

"Much better," I said, and explained it- how Adrian had recovered, how I'd decided to stay at Maxi's, how tiny little Violet had gotten me all of this money.

"It's going to be a great movie," Dr. K. said.

"I can't even believe it," I said, for perhaps the thirtieth time that afternoon. "It doesn't even feel real."

"Well, just enjoy it," he said. "It sounds like you're off to a wonderful start."

Maxi watched the whole thing bemusedly, and threw a tennis ball for Nifkin until he collapsed, panting, next to a pile of seaweed.

"Who's that one?" she asked, and I explained.

"He's... well, he was my doctor, when I was trying to lose weight, before I got pregnant. Now he's a friend, I guess. I called him last night to ask him about Adrian."

"It sounds like you like him," she said, waggling her eyebrows, Groucho Marx style. "Does he make house calls?"

I have no idea," I said. "He's very nice. Very tall." "Tall's good," said Maxi. "So what now?" "Dinner?" I suggested.

"Oh, that's right," said Maxi. "I forgot that you're mult.i.talented. You can write, and cook, too!"

"Don't get your hopes up," I said. "Let me see what else is in the fridge."

Maxi smiled. "I've got a better idea of something we should do first," she said.

The guard at the front of the jewelry store nodded at me and Maxi, and swung the heavy gla.s.s door open wide.

"What are we doing here?" I whispered.

"Buying you a treat," said Maxi. "And you don't have to whisper."

"What are you, my sugar daddy?" I scoffed.

"Oh, no," Maxi said very seriously. "You're going to buy something for yourself."

I gaped at her. "What? Why? Shouldn't you be encouraging me to save? I've got a baby on the way"

"Of course you're going to save," said Maxi, sounding eminently sensible. "But my mother always told me that every woman should have one beautiful, perfect thing that she bought for herself... and you, my dear, are now in a position to do just that."

I took a deep breath, like I was about to dive into deep water, rather than just walk through a jewelry store. The room was full of gla.s.s cases, at the level of what used to be my waist, and each case was full of a treasure trove of ornaments, all arranged artfully on pads of black and dove-gray velvet. There were emerald rings, sapphire rings, slender bands of platinum set with diamonds. There were dangling amber earrings and topaz brooches, bracelets of silver mesh so fine I could barely make out the links, and cuffs of hammered gold. There were glittering charm bracelets bearing tiny ballet slippers and miniature car keys... sterling silver earrings in the shape of plump Valentine hearts... interlocked bands of pink and yellow gold... glittering pins shaped like ladybugs and sea horses... diamond tennis bracelets of the kind that Bruce's mother had worn I stopped walking and leaned against a counter, feeling more than a little bit overwhelmed.

A saleswoman in a neat navy suit appeared behind it as quickly as if she'd been teleported over. "What can I show you?" she asked warmly. I pointed tentatively at smallest pair of diamond earrings that I saw. "Those, please," I asked.

Maxi peered over my shoulder. "Not those," she scoffed. "Cannie, they're tiny!"

"Shouldn't something on my body be tiny?" I asked.

Maxi looked at me, puzzled. "Why?"

"Because..." I said. My voice trailed off.

Maxi grabbed my hand. "You know what?" she said. "I think you look fine. I think you look wonderful. You look happy... and healthy... and, and pregnant..."

"Don't forget that," I said, laughing.

The saleswoman, meanwhile, was unfolding a piece of black velvet and laying earrings out on top of the case- the itsy-bitsy pair I'd requested first, then another pair about twice as large. The diamonds were each about the size of a SunMaid raisin, I thought, and cupped them in my hand, watching them sparkle, flas.h.i.+ng blue and violet.

"They're gorgeous," I said softly, and lifted them up to my ears.

"They suit you," said the saleswoman.

"We'll take them," Maxi said, sounding very certain. "And don't bother wrapping them. She'll wear them home."

Later, in the car, with my new earrings sending spangled rainbows against the roof whenever the sunlight flashed through them, I tried to thank her- for taking me in, for buying my screenplay, for making me believe in a future where I deserved such things. But Maxi just brushed it off. "You deserve nice things," she said kindly. "It shouldn't come as a surprise, Cannie."

I took a deep breath. Friend, I whispered to the baby. To Maxi, I said, "I'm going to make you the best dinner you've ever had."