Belonging (12 page)

Bob laughed. “I don’t think there’s any rush. The house has been on the market for years. We’ve got an exclusive listing, so no one else can get to the owners. Take your time. Think about it. Be sure.”

“I am sure,” Joanna said.

“Even so, why not sleep on it? Call me in the morning. I’ll be in the office, ready to take down all the details.”

“I assume the house is available immediately.”

“Immediately.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Joanna smiled. “So will I.”

Six

Tuesday morning Joanna called Bob Hoover and, after the customary discussion, made an offer on the house.

By Wednesday morning the owners had accepted.

In three weeks she would own her own house.

That evening she showered and dressed in a loose-fitting Armani pantsuit and T-shirt and loafers, then hurried out to a nearby Mexican restaurant where with gusto she devoured a pile of nachos deluxe. At seven she took a cab down to the CVN building. She was fairly sure most of the
Fabulous Homes
staff would have left for the day. Certainly Gloria would have gone. She always had a date.

The cab pulled to the curb and she stepped out. A snarling, red-faced, fat woman in a purple coat was intently propelling herself toward the cab in a frenzy to get it before a grim-faced man in a trench coat. As she grabbed for the cab’s door, Purple Coat knocked Joanna aside, tripping her in the process.

“God damn!”
Joanna cursed as she fell. She reached out wildly to prevent herself from hitting the pavement. Trench Coat was close enough to catch her, but he was furious at losing the cab, and only swore under his breath and stalked away. Joanna’s elbow hit the curb. Her breath was knocked out of her. The sidewalk flowed with people hurrying in the cold, some of whom cast curious glances her way and rushed on. She pushed herself to her feet and brushed her elbows and stalked toward the network building. It certainly wasn’t the first time some random bit of minor violence had occurred; usually she simply chalked it up to life in the city and forgot about it. This time it frightened her and made her resolve even more complete.

After the commotion of traffic and voices, the hush of the empty lobby of the CVN building fell over her like a glass bell. Joanna said hello to the security guard at the front desk and signed in, strode across the glossy marble floor to the bank of elevators, and went to the thirty-seventh floor.

Here the dove-gray walls and charcoal-gray carpet along the narrow hallways
combined with overhead track lighting to provide all the warmth and charm of a nuclear submarine at abysmal depth. Gloria had left for the day, thank heavens; Joanna was in no mood for her shiny pertness. Now as she entered the reception area to her office, she noticed—really saw for the first time—the many various touches Gloria had added to brighten what was really a cold and impersonal area. Framed posters of Monet’s water lilies hung on the walls; when she first saw them, Joanna had privately been critical of Gloria for having such pedestrian taste. But even though everyone in the world loved water lilies, they were still beautiful, Joanna realized. They added a depth to the room. As did the photographs of Gloria’s nieces, nephews, parents, and her cute little dog, Peppy, a white toy poodle. Gloria
would
have a white toy poodle.

A vase of pansies sat on Gloria’s desk next to her neat piles of folders. Even her computer was tied up like a present in a green-and-white-plaid ribbon with yellow silk daisies tucked into the bow on top. Gloria decorated her computer to match the season or the holiday. Joanna had thought this a rather dim-witted and even silly thing to do, but now in her nesting mood she saw it differently. It might be cute, but it was also personal; it made this room Gloria’s.

In contrast, Joanna saw as she unlocked her office door and entered, flicking on the lights, that her room, this room where she’d worked for five years, had no personality, no sign of what individual worked here. Instead of pictures or posters, charts and graphs and a blackboard and a corkboard and an enormous calendar hung on the walls. Every flat surface was covered not with framed photographs, but with file folders, videocassettes, and working paraphernalia. The most homey area was the space formed by a long leather sofa and two chairs all turned to face a wall of large remote-control television sets with VCRs. The low table in front of them actually did hold coffee from time to time, but more often it held file folders and pads of papers for the notes Joanna made for her shows.

Well, her office might not be charming, but it was organized. Joanna went out into the storage closet off Gloria’s reception area, returning with two cardboard file boxes. Pulling her office chair around to face a bank of file cabinets, she sat down and began to transfer from the file cabinets to the boxes all the files about the two books she wanted to do. It didn’t take long. On weekends, while Carter was with his family, Joanna had prevented herself from dwelling gloomily on his absence by carefully, even meticulously, organizing the material and writing the outline of the books. Everything
was in order. Closing the boxes, she taped them shut and labeled them in large black print. She’d have them mailed to her agent; Sheila could keep them and forward them when Joanna had a new address.

That done, she looked around. What else did she need to take from this room? What else did she want? Rising, she went to her desk and studied it. Odd, but she loved what she saw there; it was all as beautiful to her as a vase of roses. Her in and out boxes, crammed to overflowing with correspondence, memos, materials to be copied. Folders color-coded for different shows. Vouchers to be signed. Letters. Pens, tape, paper clips, a high-tech speakerphone. A computer unadorned by ribbons. Dictionaries, great heavy illustrated books on architecture, furniture, home decoration. Surveying these things filled her with a rich contentment. She ran her hands over the objects and was satisfied. Well, she would be able to replace them all in her study in her house. New pens, dictionaries, folders, equipment. Yum.

She looked at her watch. It was almost eight-thirty, time for her appointment with Jake. She stood a moment in the doorway of her office, memorizing the room as it was now, although she was certain its every molecule was engraved into the plates of her memory.

She would miss her office a million times more than her apartment.

Flicking off the light, she pulled the door shut and locked it. Standing next to Gloria’s desk, she studied it a moment, as if memorizing it, then put a hand-addressed sealed envelope in the middle of Gloria’s blotter, where she wouldn’t fail to see it. Then she turned her back on it and went out to the wall of elevators and up to the forty-fifth floor.

Jake’s secretary was gone, but he was there, talking on the telephone; she could hear him shouting. Smiling, she let herself into his office and sat down in a chair facing his desk. He rolled his eyes at her about his conversation, then scribbled on a notepad and punched keys on his computer. She could tell he’d been running his hands through his curly salt-and-pepper hair; it stood out in all directions, making him look like a sixties revolutionary. But he wore a three-piece gray suit hand-tailored just for his stocky, muscular body. Now the jacket was thrown over a chair, his vest unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up, and his red silk tie yanked down. The top two buttons of his white shirt were undone. He was working hard, he was always working, full speed ahead, top volume.

Finally he slammed down the phone and collapsed into his chair. “You’re a sight
for sore eyes,” he announced. “When I heard about Carter’s accident, then heard you were sick, I was afraid you’d gotten injured, too.”

“I’m fine, Jake. But I’ve got some heavy news.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Joanna rose from her chair and walked across the room to lock the door. When she returned to her seat, she said, “This is all just between you and me. Okay? No one else should know. No one.”

“All right, whatever you say.”

“I want your word, Jake. Promise me. You won’t tell anyone.”

“Hey, Joanna. Have I ever
not
kept one of your secrets?”

Joanna just stared at Jake, and soon his expression changed from indignation to puzzlement.

“Okay, I promise. Tell me. What’s up? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Jake. I’m better than okay.” This was the first time she’d shared her news with anyone, and she felt an uncontrollable smile break out across her face. How should she phrase this? She wanted the announcement to be joyous, and elegant, and—

“Good God. You’re pregnant!”

Joanna was shocked. “How can you tell?”

Jake shook his head. “That look. Emily used to look that way when she was pregnant. You’ve never smiled like that before. You are, aren’t you? You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant.” She’d said it aloud to her reflection in the mirror a hundred times by now, but this was the first time she’d said it aloud to another person.

Jake was studying her, his dark eyes reading hers. “And you’re happy about this.”

“Jake, I’m so happy I could burst.” To her chagrin, tears welled up in her eyes and overflowed. She clenched her teeth, but her chin quivered like a child’s.

“Well, then, good for you. My God, Joanna. Congratulations.”

Jake pushed back his chair and came around his desk and as he approached Joanna he said, “Come on. Let me give you a hug.”

Overwhelmed and relieved and surprised by this simple, purely positive reaction, Joanna rose to meet Jake, and he enfolded her in his bulky, powerful arms and pressed her against him. She was just his height, so she leaned her head down to rest it on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him, and they stood like that for a while. Joanna could feel affection, goodwill, and genuine sympathy in Jake’s embrace.

“Jake,” she whispered, “I’m scared.”

“I’m sure you are, honey. That’s only natural.”

“I’m getting your vest all wet with tears.”

“Joanna, you can blow your nose on my shirt collar if it makes you feel better,” Jake said gruffly, and that made her break into a laugh, and she pushed herself away from him and wiped her face and smiled while she was still crying.

“Oh, Jake, I’m so happy.”

“Come over here and tell me about it.” He led her toward his leather sofa. “Want something to drink? A little Evian?”

“Great.”

Crossing the room, he opened the cupboard which held a small bar. While he poured their drinks, she blew her nose and composed herself. Then he sat down next to her and said, “Okay. Start at the beginning. I suppose it’s Carter’s child.”

Joanna nodded. “I don’t know how it happened. I always use a diaphragm”—here she felt herself blush as if she were a teenager; this was so very private—“but you know I turned forty last month, of course you know, you were at the party. Anyway, I guess I thought I was just so old, or rather I didn’t think at all, really. Getting pregnant as a concept had just disappeared out of my mind. But I did feel more and more tired. Really fatigued. I thought it was turning forty. They say it can be a psychologically stressful time. So I didn’t worry about it, but then, when I continued to feel so
damned exhausted
—I’ve been just dragging myself around for the past two months. Did you notice?”

“No. But Gloria mentioned it to me.”

“She did?”

“Yeah.” Jake’s grin was conspiratorial. “ ‘Joanna’s been so preoccupied lately,’ ” he mimicked in a saccharine falsetto, “ ‘so sort of
weary
about it all. Do you suppose she’s burned-out? I mean, FH is such a great show, I’d hate to see her jeopardize it because she’s bored with it.’ ”

“What a weasel she is!” Joanna exclaimed. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘Gloria, honey, Joanna
is
FH. If she goes down, the show goes down.’ ”

“Oh, Jake, I love you!”

“As well you should. Now go on.”

“Well, after about a month of feeling progressively wretched, I decided that I’d
better get checked out. I thought I must have cancer, or chronic fatigue syndrome. Or even that I’d hit menopause a bit early. So I went to a doctor, and he sent me to a radiologist, and then gave me the news. I’m pregnant. With twins.”

“Twins!”

“Twins.”

“Blow me down.”

“The doctor also told me that since I’m so old for a first-time mother, and since these are twins, I need peace and quiet if I’m going to carry them to term. Actually, Jake, he rather lectured me about this. I mean, he thinks there’s real risk here.”

“So you need some time off from the show.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence a moment, thinking their own thoughts about the ramifications of what she’d just said.

“We’ve got enough shows in the can for next season,” Joanna reminded Jake. “Especially if you reuse some of the specials. Thanksgiving, Christmas, the wedding. We’ve got lots of calls for repeats for those shows.”

“I’m not worried about next season.”

“You’re worried about the season after that?”

“Right. This is such a good, steady show for us. Doesn’t go too high in the ratings, but doesn’t ever sink, either. I’d hate to lose it.”

“But you won’t have to!” Alarmed, Joanna leaned forward. “Jake. I just want a year off. Time to be pregnant, have the babies, establish a home base, get my life in order. Then I’ll be back.”

“When are they due?”

“The end of October.”

Jake looked at her stomach. “Tell me about your plans until then. What does Carter think?”

“Carter doesn’t know. And I don’t want him to.”

“Joanna—”

She held up her hand like a traffic cop. “Stop. Listen to me. I’ve given a lot of thought about this. You know Carter. You probably know him better than I do, in some ways. He has always told me that he won’t leave Blair. Well, he’s said Chip, he won’t leave Chip, he won’t force his son to suffer from a broken home, and I suppose I had
hopes that I could change his mind, but after the accident—” Emotion overwhelmed her. Tears choked her throat so she could not speak.