It Lives Again (2 page)

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Lydia. “Now that I have a few drinks in me, I thought I’d try that new singles joint in the shopping mall everyone’s talking about.”

“Good idea,” said Eugene. “I’ll get my coat.”

“Funny,” said Jody scornfully, giving him a friendly whack.

“I thought I’d latch on to that friend of yours over there,” said Lydia. She gestured toward that same man, who now stood silently by the front window. “But he avoided me like the plague.”

Eugene looked over at the man, noticing him really for the first time.

“Who is he, anyway?” Lydia continued.

Jody and Eugene exchanged questioning glances.

“Well, anyway, find out if he’s queer. I’d just like to know.” Lydia smiled.

“Can’t stand rejection, huh?” Jody laughed.

“That’s just about it,” Lydia answered with a fake pout as she started off with a flounce, down the front walk.

Lydia gone, Jody and Eugene turned to face the man, standing in the corner of their living room. He was now nervously smoking a cigarette.

“Who is that guy?” Eugene asked, thinking out loud, as if he should know him from court; from somewhere.

“Damned if I know,” said Jody. She turned from closing the door and squinted through the semidarkness of the late-afternoon light at the man.

“Well, there’s only one thing to do, go and ask him,” said Eugene, turning to Jody with a tight smile. “After all, this is our house, right?”

Jody smiled back. “You’re absolutely right. Besides, I never heard of a party crasher at a baby shower, anyway.”

Just as they started to cross the living room to the stranger, who really seemed to be waiting for them, another woman, who had been, undoubtedly, in the bathroom, struggled toward them, dragging her six-year-old child behind her. The child, on the verge of tears, was whining at his mother.

“Leggo!”

“When I get in the car, I’ll let go, and put that down,” his mother screamed back. In his hand the child held a smeary fistful of chocolate mints.

Jody tried to intercede. “It’s all right, he can have them,” she said, trying to be helpful.

“Oh, sure,” snapped the woman. “And let him be sick all over the car? Boy, are you lucky,” she added as she dragged the child closer to the front door. “You don’t have to worry for another five years. When they go to school, that’s when they turn rotten. Dirty mouths and drugs. You’ll see!”

While Jody was leading the distraught woman and the child to the front door, agreeing with her all the way, Eugene approached the uninvited guest who seemed to have crashed, of all things, their baby shower.

Closer, Eugene peered at the man in the fading light, asking himself whether he just didn’t recognize him.

“Hi!” Eugene smiled, hoping that might trigger something from the man.

“Hello,” said the man, not giving Eugene much help.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk,” Eugene continued, feeling him out.

“I didn’t want to interfere. You have so many good friends.” The man smiled. The smile was an effort on the severe, gaunt face.

“Yes, we do. This is kind of embarrassing,” answered Eugene, sure now that he didn’t know this man, “but could I ask what you’re doing here?”

By way of an explanation, the man looked at Eugene with sad dark eyes and said, “I flew down from Los Angeles.”

Eugene nodded, not sure what that had to do with anything.

“I’m sorry,” the man continued, “my name is Frank Davis.”

Eugene nodded again, still lost as to who this man might be.

The man looked at Eugene, unbelieving. “You mean you’ve never heard of me?” he asked.

“Should I have?” Eugene shrugged, suddenly weary of this game.

Mr. Davis looked over Eugene’s shoulder. Eugene followed his gaze. Jody had entered the living room, and under the guise of picking up a few dishes and stacking them, was trying to listen to the conversation.

Eugene, a bit annoyed at his wife’s obvious deception, called over to her, “Honey, this is Mr. Davis from Los Angeles.”

Jody, only too willingly, came over to join the conversation as Eugene asked, almost irritably, “I hope, after all this, you’re not selling insurance or encyclopedias, Mr. Davis, or anything like that.”

“No, Mr. Scott,” said Davis evenly. “I’m not trying to sell you anything, believe me.”

Eugene turned to his wife, who stood there still holding two soiled dishes in her hand. “Look, honey,” he said, “why don’t you take care of what you have to in the kitchen? We’ll work this out.”

Jody gave him a look, telling him what she thought of that suggestion, and stated simply, “The kitchen can wait. I’d like to hear what the gentleman has to say.”

“It’s about your baby,” said Davis, jumping in before Eugene could respond, addressing the remark to Jody, as if trying to convince her she must stay.

When he said, “It’s about your baby,” a sudden chill passed right through Jody’s body. The way he said it. The way he’d been looking at her. She had seen him looking at her during the baby shower. But with all the confusion, all the activity going on, she had just let it pass, forgotten about it. Now she must face it and she couldn’t; she wanted to change the subject. “Would you like coffee or something?” she asked, in a tone her mother would have been proud of.

“Come on,” said Eugene, annoyed at this sudden civility toward this man, “let’s stop this playing-hostess nonsense. This man barges in here and waits around all afternoon, and now he won’t tell us what he wants.”

Frank stood his ground, as if he’d been through this before. “I have told you,” he insisted.

“Will you let him speak?” cried Jody, for some inexplicable reason suddenly on this stranger’s side.

Eugene, not quite understanding what had come over his wife, reacted sharply. “Who’s stopping him?” he almost shouted. “And what’s got into you?” he asked his wife.

“Look,” said Jody, ignoring her husband. She looked squarely at Frank Davis, as if convinced now that she must face it, whatever it was. “If there’s something about my baby, then go ahead and tell me. You’re making me very nervous, Mr. Davis.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Scott,” said Frank. “Really, I am.”

“Just tell me what it is,” said Jody, close to tears for some reason, “just tell me what it is.”

Frank steadied himself. All business, he looked straight at Jody Scott. “Your obstetrician is Dr. Fairchild—Edward Fairchild of this city?”

“Yes,” said Jody.

“Oh, come on,” interrupted Eugene. “We know her doctor is Dr. Fairchild.”

“Please, Gene,” his wife pleaded, not taking her eyes off Frank Davis. “Go ahead, Mr. Davis.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, Mrs. Scott,” said Frank, “that doctors all over the country have been alerted by the federal government and asked to report what they consider to be any abnormal pregnancies.” Turning to Eugene, Davis asked, “Were you aware of that, Mr. Scott?”

“No, I wasn’t,” answered Eugene coldly. “Besides, that hasn’t anything to do with us. Jody has had a very uneventful pregnancy. Everything’s perfectly normal.”

Frank looked again at Jody. “Didn’t your doctor, Dr. Fairchild, put you through an extensive series of tests just last week?” he asked.

Jody nodded. “Yes, yes, he did.”

Eugene looked at her questioningly. “You didn’t tell me anything about any new tests.”

Jody, as if she hadn’t heard her husband, looked at Frank Davis, puzzled by something he’d said earlier. “You said abnormal pregnancies?”

Frank nodded. Then, compassionately, “The baby’s very large, isn’t it?”

“Oh, my God,” Jody moaned. She knew now! “Wait a minute,” she gasped. She turned to her husband. “I know who he is!” she cried. “You remember? We read about it, last year in some magazine! Time, I think, and even the newspapers—the newspapers had pictures of him and his wife! Frank Davis!”

Eugene stared at her, still not connecting the name.

“Frank Davis,” Jody repeated. “The Davis baby? They even had that thing on CBS, that special news program!” She turned to Davis. “You wouldn’t let yourself be interviewed, isn’t that right?”

“That’s right,” said Frank.

“Yes,” said Eugene, remembering the whole tragedy now. He remembered having sat around discussing it with other lawyers. “I saw it. I was very sorry for you, Mr. Davis.”

“Thank you,” said Frank, looking at Jody again.

Jody saw his look; searching for something to say, anything to delay what this strange man was going to tell her. “Is your—wife all right now?” she tried.

“Yes, she’s recovered,” said Frank, keeping his eyes, those dark, piercing eyes, riveted on this lovely young woman.

Eugene was watching that look, too. He knew what it must be doing to his wife. He had to say it. He had to put this bizarre meeting and discussion in its right perspective.

“I have to say this,” Eugene began, looking pointedly at Frank, “for my wife’s sake.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Scott,” said Frank, taking Eugene’s look straight on.

Eugene began again. “Have you recovered, Mr. Davis? Or do you just go around to people’s houses and break in on their parties and try to frighten them?”

Frank, not missing a beat, returned Eugene’s lawyer’s gaze. “If you read about me, Mr. Scott, then you no doubt have heard about the other one, the one born in Seattle,” he said.

“I remember,” Jody interjected. “It was killed, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Frank answered, “they killed it at birth.”

“Who’s they?” Eugene asked, less than kind.

“You really want to know?” said Davis evenly.

“Listen, mister,” said Eugene, “you’ve gone this far for whatever the hell reason. So you might as well tell us the whole story.”

A pause—and then Frank Davis answered, “The father did it. The father killed it.”

A crash! Jody had dropped the dishes she had been holding since the beginning of this incredible discussion. She sank down onto a small couch right behind her, moaning softly. “Oh, Gene,” she said.

Eugene moved over to her. He held her, trying to comfort her, talking to her softly. “It’s all right, honey. It’s all right. Take it easy.” And then, still on one knee, his arms around his wife, he yelled up at Davis, “You son of a bitch, can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re frightening her! There’s no call for this. This has nothing to do with us!”

Frank took a step toward Eugene, beseechingly. “Mr. Scott—”

Eugene got up quickly. “Get out,” he said. “Get out or I’ll call the police.”

Frank did not budge. Calmly, in control of the situation, he began again. “Mr. Scott, that’s just what you don’t want to do. The police aren’t going to be of any help to you or your baby. Believe me, the only one interested in saving your baby is me, and a few good friends,” he added.

“Listen, you bastard,” said Eugene, taking a step toward Frank as if he were about to hit him.

Jody stopped him. “Honey, please.”

“Mr. Scott,” said Davis, “five minutes, give me five minutes. Surely you can give me that if there’s even the slightest chance that what I say determines whether your baby lives or dies.”

Jody clutched her husband’s hand, pulling him down next to her on the couch. “Please, honey,” she said.

Reluctantly Eugene sat next to his wife. “All right,” he said, “five minutes.”

Frank took out a cigarette, lighted it, and sat down on an end table placed conveniently just to his left. Inhaling deeply, he started his story again, looking mostly at Jody.

“There were blood specimens taken by Dr. Fairchild, isn’t that right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jody replied.

“They matched up with other samples . . .” Then Davis stopped. He looked at them as if he were afraid to tell them more, as if he would have preferred that they realized what he was trying to tell them without his actually saying it.

“What other samples?” asked Eugene warily.

Taking another deep drag, Davis knew then that he must, however painfully, tell the whole story. “The government,” he said, “has been alerting doctors all over the country to be on the lookout for pregnancies that bear certain symptoms, symptoms traceable from the mother’s bloodstream. They’re trying to locate these infants before they are born . . .”

Davis paused. Eugene picked it up. “For what reason?” he asked.

“So they can be terminated,” answered Frank Davis.

“Oh, my God,” moaned Jody.

“This is all nonsense,” said Eugene, about to get to his feet again.

“Wait,” said Jody. She suddenly realized something. Something that had bothered her the last couple of days. “At Dr. Fairchild’s office the other day, they were very strange to me. Remember, Gene? I told you that, didn’t I? They were very strange . . . quiet. And usually the waiting room is very busy, full of women. I tried to make some kind of dumb joke to the nurses, such as how come the doctor lost all his patients, was he charging too much, or something. And all they said was that all the appointments were canceled that afternoon. ‘Oh,’ I said. I was all set to leave. But there he was, Dr. Fairchild, waiting for me. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you didn’t mention it,” said Eugene.

Jody got up. Full of her story, she paced back and forth across the room, letting it all out.

“Well, maybe I didn’t mention it then. It wasn’t important then. It just made me feel kind of funny. There he was, Dr. Fairchild, all alone in his office, behind the desk. He never even got up to greet me. Nothing, no examination, nothing. And then, when it was time to leave, he just sat there, as if he didn’t have a friend in the world. I figured something happened to him, that he was having a bad day. But then when I got back out in the waiting room, it was the same thing. Then I figured, either something was drastically wrong, or I was imagining things.”

“What kind of things?” Eugene asked, still not believing a word of this.

“Like the way the nurses talked to me, as I said, uptight, and you know they usually go out of their way to be friendly.”

Now Eugene got up and went to his wife. “Honey, come on now, this is all nonsense and you know it.”

“Now wait a second, Mr. Scott,” said Frank. “Please listen.”

“No, you wait a second, Mr. Davis,” Eugene interrupted. “You come in here with this cock-and-bull story about blood samples, then my wife says she went to the doctor’s and nobody talked to her. So from that I’m supposed to believe—what?” Eugene stopped. He looked at Frank Davis, who had now moved to the window, peering out as if he were looking for something. “What do you want me to believe, Mr. Davis?”