Mixed Blessings (24 page)

And Charlie kept telling himself that if they had a child, everything would change. She'd be different, she'd settle down. She wouldn't want the glamour or the Bash, or maybe even to be an actress. He hadn't brought up the subject of a family again since June, but he had continued to be cagey about following her cycles, and nothing had happened. He still came home with champagne a couple of times a month, and he always made sure that he made love to her on one of those times, at just the right time. And if she was drunk enough, she never reminded him about precautions. But despite his best efforts, sometimes as often as twice in a night, just to be sure, she still hadn't gotten pregnant. He had even asked her once if she was on the pill, since Mark had made him think of that, and she was surprised and asked him if he wanted her to take it. But he just told her that he'd read an article about how dangerous it was for women who smoked, and since she did, he was concerned. But she assured him she wasn't on it.

And still, she hadn't gotten pregnant.

Mark had given him the name of his brother-in-law's specialist by then, and Charlie had an appointment to see him the Monday after Thanksgiving. He was seriously worried. The comment she'd made about never getting pregnant by him, no matter how careless she was, had weighed heavily on him, and he wanted to check it out now.

"The turkey's great," she said, and he was pleased. He had made stuffing, and cranberry sauce, and sweet peas with pearl onions, and sweet potatoes with marshmallows on them. And he had bought mince and apple pie for dessert. And he served it warm with vanilla ice cream.

"You should run a restaurant," she complimented him, and she looked as though her mind were a thousand miles away as she smoked it.

"What were you thinking about just then?" he asked sadly.

She looked so beautiful at times, but lately she seemed so distant and so distracted. It was as though she were drifting away from him and he could feel it, and didn't know how to stop it.

"Nothing much . . . what a good dinner it was She smiled at him through a haze of smoke. "You're always so good to me, Charlie." But that didn't seem to be enough, he could sense it.

"I try to be. You mean everything to me, Barb." But she hated it when he said things like that. It put such a burden on her. She didn't want to be everything to him, or to anyone else.

It was too much weight to put on anyone, and she wasn't up to it, and more than ever now she knew it. "I just want you to be happy." But she wondered if she would ever live up to his expectations.

"I am happy," she said quietly.

"Are you? Sometimes I'm not sure. I'm a pretty dull guy."

"No, you're not." She blushed. "Sometimes I want too much"e smiled wistfully Lortd I even drive myself crazy. Don't pay any attention to me."

"What do you want, Barb?" He knew how badly she wanted to be a success as an actress, and she didn't want kids. But other than that, she never talked about her dreams, or what she wanted for them. She just seemed content drifting along from day to day, and satisfying her immediate needs. She never seemed to give much thought to the future.

"I'm not sure what I want sometimes. Maybe that's the trouble," she admitted. "I want my acting career. . . . I want friends. . . . I want freedom. . . . I want excitement......" he beamed as he poured their coffee and she lit a cigarette, but "What about me?" he asked sadly. She hadn't mentioned that, and she blushed when he said it.

"Of course I want you. We're married, aren't we?"

"Are we?" he asked pointedly, and she didn't say anything, but she nodded.

"Of course we are. Don't be silly."

"What does marriage mean to you, Barb? It doesn't really fit with any of the things you just mentioned."

"Why not?" But she knew it too. She just wasn't ready to confront it yet, and she didn't really think he was either.

"I don't know, I just don't think of freedom and excitement as synonymous with marriage, although I guess they could be, if you worked at it. I guess you can do anything you want to, as long as you're willing to make it work." He watched her as she put her cigarette out and lit another, and he wanted to ask her if she was happy with him, but he didn't dare to. He was afraid of her answer. And as he looked at her, he kept g that if they had a child, everything might be different.

A baby would be just the cement they needed to keep them together forever.

Mark gave Charlie the day off, and he drove to L.A. the Monday after Thanksgiving. He didn't say anything to Barb, and she had an audition for a bathing suit ad that day, so she didn't even notice when he left, or the fact that he was wearing his best suit, and looked extremely nervous. She was doing her hair and her nails, and she had the radio on full blast in the bathroom. He called out to her when he left, but she didn't answer.

And as he drove to L.A he thought about how worried he was that he was losing her. She hadn't said anything, but her mind just seemed to be in a different place now. She was even more seli-involved than usual.

It wasn't done with malice, he knew, but it also wasn't easy to live with. She forgot the dates they made, left her makeup everywhere, and their bedroom looked like a battleground of brassieres and pantyhose, and she let crumpled clothes fall wherever and whenever it suited. She was a great girl, and he was crazy about her, but as Mark said, he also knew he had spoiled her. He didn't expect her to do anything for him, he never asked her for the money she made for the modelling work she did, and she usually spent it on clothes when she went out with Judi.

And the one thing he really wanted from her, he knew she was reluctant to give him.

And his plan to trick her hadn't worked so far. Now he had to find out why, and fix whatever might be broken. And once it was, he grinned to himself as he parked on Wilshire Boulevard, watch out, Barbie! Dr. Peter Pattengill's office surprised him by how cheerful it was. It was filled with bright prints, and flowering plants, and bright colors. It looked like a happy place, and not the kind of office where you had to whisper. Charlie was relieved as he gave the nurse his name. They hadn't told him anything before he came in, and he had no idea what they were going to do to him, or if they were going to give him the famous ice shorts. He smiled as he thought of it, and pretended to flip through magazines, but he couldn't concentrate on anything, and then finally they called his name, and he was ushered into Dr. Pattengill's office.

He was sitting at his desk, and he stood up with a broad smile as Charlie walked in. He was of fair height, with broad shoulders and dark hair, and dark brown eyes that looked both kind and wise for a man his age. He looked to be in his early forties.

He was wearing a bright tie and a tweed jacket, and before the doctor said a word, Charlie knew he liked him.

"I'm Peter Pattengill, Mr. Winwood." Alter he introduced himself, Charlie asked him to call him by his first name, and Pattengill suggested he sit down, and asked him if he'd like a cup of coffee. But Charlie was much too nervous to drink anything, and he declined it. He looked terrified and young, almost too young to be one of Pattengill's patients. He was a urologist, with a specialization in reproductive disorders.

"What can I do for you today?"

"I'm not sure." Charlie smiled hesitantly, and the doctor looked at him warmly. "I'm not exactly sure what you do except that I've heard about the Jockey shorts with ice."

He blushed furiously as Peter Pattengill smiled at him.

"They serve a useful purpose. But I must admit, at first they sound a little silly to our patients. They bring the testicular temperature down, which enhances fertility." He opened a chart on his desk as he said it, and picked up a pen as he looked at Charlie. "Why don't we start your history, Mr. Winwood? ... Charlie."

He asked him about any severe or chronic illnesses he might have had, VD, mumps as a child, and Charlie shook his head negatively to all his questions.

"Are you and your wife currently trying to get pregnant?" he asked, to clarity why Charlie had come to see him. The young man was so shy, he hadn't even explained that much to the doctor.

"Yes... well, I am."

Peter smiled broadly as he sat back in his chair and looked at Charlie.

"Maybe we need some serious talking here," he teased him gently.

"This is an activity that has to be engaged in by two people. We are not talking about a solo sport here."

Charlie laughed and went on to explain the situation.

"She doesn't really want to get pregnant. I do."

"I see. And has she been using birth control?" By then, momentarily, Peter Pattengill had stopped writing.

"Not if I get her drunk enough." Charlie realized it was a terrible confession. But he could be honest here. He knew he had to be with the doctor.

"That's quite a project."

"Yes, it is. And I know it sounds pretty bad, but . . . I know she'd really love a baby if we had one."

"Maybe you should talk to her. Maybe if she cooperated, things might go a little more smoothly."

"Well, they've gone smoothly enough . . . except that, so far, nothing's happened."

"Do you get drunk too?" The doctor eyed him suspiciously, there was always the possibility that the boy was a little crazy, but Charlie shook his head solemnly, and looked like an errant schoolboy.

"No, I don't. And I know it's a rotten thing to do to her. But I really think she'll be glad one day, if she gets pregnant. But right now, nothing's happening, and I just wanted to be sure I was okay . . . you know . . . like maybe just check my sporm count." Charlie wasn't even entirely sure how they did that.

The doctor smiled at his naivete. There were a few more steps than that, but he was beginning to get the picture. "How long have you been married?"

"Seventeen months. But I haven't been really paying attention to things, I mean her cycle . . until about five months ago, but even that hasn't made a difference."

"I see." The doctor made a note on the chart, and then looked up at Charlie again, to reassure him. "That's not a very long time. It frequently takes a year, or even two, to achieve pregnancy. You may be worrying unnecessarily. And also, pregnancy isn't always easy with an unwilling partner. In fact, it's unusual for me to see only one half of the couple. It only gives me half the information I need. The problem may well rest with your wife, if there is one."

"I thought that maybe if you checked me out and everything was okay, maybe in a few months, I could talk to her, and she might come in to see you." He still had no idea how he would get her to come in, but this was a first step, and he thought it might base his worries. "She thought it was kind of unusual that even when we're careless about birth control, she never gets pregnant. She said that one day, and it's kind of worried me ever since."

"Has your wife ever been pregnant before, Mr. Winwood?"

"No, I don't think so," he said with certainty.

"Well, let's get things started." The doctor stood up and Charlie followed suit, not knowing what to expect, and a nurse appeared and led him to an examining room with bright abstract prints on the wall, and a skylight. She handed him a small vial, and pointed to a stack of magazines, among them Hustler and Playboy, and several others Charlie had never ever heard of.

"We'll need some semen from you, Mr. Winwood," she said gently. "Just take your time, and press the buzzer when you're ready for us to collect it." Charlie stared at her in amazement as the door closed, not sure what to do next. He knew, but couldn't quite believe it. They were so matter-of-fact about everything. Here's the bottle, now go to it. But on the other hand, he had come here for the answers to his questions.

He sat down with a sigh, undid his pants, and reached for one of the magazines, feeling more than a little foolish. And it was a while before he rang the bell for the nurse to return. He waited a lot longer than he had to. But he wanted time to cool down, and by the time she returned, he tried to look nonchalant, and she removed the vial discreetly without comment.

Dr. Pattengill came in shortly after that to check him for varicocelevaricose veins in the testiclewhich frequently caused sterility. And then a technician came in to do some blood work. They were going to check his hormone levels with the blood, and do an analysis and culture with the semen, and in a few days they'd have some information for him. But in the meantime, the doctor was very reassuring. He assured him that he saw nothing of concern and he was hoping that Charlie was worried over nothing. He suspected that he was just anxious and impatient.

To Pattengill, Charlie seemed healthy enough, and he hoped for his sake that there would be no problems. He asked Charlie to make another appointment for the following week, asked him to bring a vial of fresh semen with him this time, and then left him.

And as Charlie got to the fresh air outside, he found he was immensely relieved to be there. He had liked Pattengill, but just talking to him, and worrying about it all, had made him very nervous. He hadn't enjoyed producing the sample for him, and was relieved that he could take care of it at home next time. They had given him a small vial to take home for collection. But just the implications of being there, and the prospect of what they might do to him, was very unpleasant.

He called Mark afterward, when he got home, and thanked him again for the referral.

"How was it? Are you okay?"

"So far so good, and he's really a nice guy."

"Did he give you a clean bill of health?" Mark asked worriedly.

Charlie looked fine to him, but who knew with things like that? His brother-in-law had looked fine too.

"Not yet. I have to wait for my test results next week."

"Did he give you the ice pants yet?" Mark teased, and Charlie laughed good-naturedly as he lay down on the couch and kicked off his shoes.

He was utterly exhausted.

"Maybe he'll give me those next week."

"I hope not. You're gonna be fine, kid. Take it from me. I know.

See you tomorrow," he said cheerfully, hoping he was right.