Perfect Harmony (13 page)

This is unthinkable.  I’ve never felt so alone and
unwanted.  I just want this aching feeling of darkness to be over.  To forget
about Chase.

I just want it all to be over.

So I sign the document.

He closes the file and the other five legal executives do
the same.  “Thank you for your understanding, Miss Watts.”  He waves to the
security guard on the other side of the glass.  The guard enters.

“Now, Barry here will escort you to your desk and then to
the exit-“

“This is insane!  What are you afraid of?  That’ll I’ll
steal a bunch of pens?!”

“This building is only meant for employees.  I’m sorry, but
you know how it is.”

I nod, tears threatening to burst from my eyes.

The next hour is a blur.  I remember taking pictures from my
desk, a silly key ring my brother won at the carnival when I was six and gave
to me, and deep in the back - a photograph cut from the New York Times five
weeks ago: Chase and myself stepping down the red carpet to the Wiltshire
ballroom.  I think the security guard helped me onto the bus, where I clutched
my belongings like they were the only things I had left in the world.

Maybe they were.

And I remember walking through my front door and into my
apartment and being so very grateful that Richard and Liz were not there.

I just wanted to be alone.

I wake up on the couch sometime in the afternoon, struck by
the uncontrollable urge to vomit.  I rise up and sit on the couch, rocking back
and forth to try and quash the feeling.  It dulls a little.

I make my way to the kitchen counter and sip a glass of warm
water from the kettle, sweat dripping from my brow.

Am I sick?  Maybe I have food poisoning.  Or maybe my body
is finally rejecting the world like it’s always rejected me.

I bite into some dry crackers and sip more of the water.

My phone vibrates on the table.  It’s Chase - it has to be. 
He wants to apologise, maybe tell me he was wrong.  But that’s ludicrous.  I
can’t even let myself think such thoughts for a second or I won’t be rid of
this feeling.  If Chase is ringing, it’s because I did something else wrong. 
Or it’s the legal team again, wanting more from me.  Or my father ready to chastise
me like a little schoolgirl.  Or my brother with his voice full of pity.

I peek over at the caller display, afraid of what it’ll
reveal.

It’s Liz.

I let it ring out and see five missed calls from her.

She must have heard about my situation from the office
rumour mill: “
Did you hear about that silly mousey admin girl?  The one that
tried to fuck her way to the top but got fired instead?  Maybe if she’d looked
in the mirror once in a while it wouldn’t have been such a mystery.
”

Elements of my dream come back to me in a blur.  I was with
Chase, making love in a beach house.  I’m not sure where, or who’s it was, but
we were alone and happy.  I can still taste the salt of his skin on my lips and
smell the thick musk of his body.  And the feel of his dense stubble bristling
against my neck with every kiss...

And then I close my eyes as he reaches climax, only to open
them to an empty room, devoid of everything except me.  I search room to room,
desperate to find Chase, but the walls drift away further and further and the
light dims until I’m lost inside the eternal darkness.  I know if I can find my
way out, everything will be alright - Chase will be there, and my family and my
friends, all with smiles and open arms.  But that part never comes.

It’s the same dream I’ve had for weeks.

I open the drawer by the window and take out a copy of Celeb
magazine I have filed away.  It’s five weeks old.

Instinctively, my fingers flip through to page 35, for the
photo of Chase and myself at that ball, but it doesn’t provide me the solace it
usually does.  I kept the magazine as a gentle reminder, but it soon became a
way to ease my heart whenever a day went past that I didn’t see Chase at work. 
Soon enough, I found myself looking at it every day, and that ease it gave me
turned into a deep pit of sorrow.

My eyes glance to the picture above of Chase and Mercedes
taken months before.  The beautiful blonde specimen hangs off Chase’s arms with
a smug grin plastered across her perfect face.  Whereas in our picture, I look
uncomfortable and scared, like a deer in the headlights ready to fall over and
break its legs.  I wasn’t right for him.  I never was.

At least now Chase can go back to the woman he was meant to
be with.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea grips me, far worse than before. 
I slap my hand to my mouth and rush into the bathroom, barely making it in time
to be violently sick in the toilet bowl.

When I finally stop vomiting, I collapse on the floor in a
sweaty heap, gasping for breath.

What the hell is wrong with me?  I must have food poisoning
- there’s no other reason.  But I’ve been like this for weeks.  Maybe it’s
stress, or the moon or...

My breath holds still in my chest as a sudden thought
flashes in my mind.

What if I’m pregnant?

Shit.  Shit shit shit.

I can’t be pregnant - it’s impossible.  We used condoms
every time we made love - the bedroom, the study, the kitchen, the dining ro...

Oh god.  We never used protection when we had sex in the
dining room.

Oh god oh god oh god..

I can’t be pregnant.  Not now, not from my first time with a
guy.  Not with a man who wants nothing to do with me.  Jobless.  Alone.

I wipe the thought from my head.  There’s no use thinking
like this - there’s no proof.  This is all just pie in the sky wondering.  I’ll
get a pregnancy test, then I’ll know more.  I don’t have to deal with this yet,
not until I know for sure.

Numbly, I meander into my bedroom and change my clothes,
then I set off for the pharmacy.

When I return an hour later, I plop the brown paper bag down
on the kitchen counter, willing myself to drink glass of water after glass of
water.

I have to know for sure.  One can be inaccurate.  Two can,
sometimes.  Three... three positives would mean...

I’ll deal with that when it happens.

But, oh god, what if it does?

How the hell could this be the end of our affair?  That
weekend was the happiest of my life, and even though it ended, at least it
ended with me in Chase’s arms.  For the faintest moment, I’d hoped... no, I
believed
we might actually have a future together.  But when I woke up to that empty
bed, my heart sank.  I wrapped myself in his silk dressing gown and made my way
downstairs, only to catch a glimpse of a man in the kitchen.  My heart leapt as
I called out Chase’s name, only to find his butler Richmond frying eggs.

“Sorry, madam.  I’m afraid Master Strong had to leave early
for the office.  He asked that I drive you home when you’re good and ready. 
Here, eat up, need to be ready to face the new day.”  He scooped some egg onto
a plate and slid it across to me over the counter.  I smiled wanly, and drunk
the bitter coffee.  Another hour and I was home, the whole sensual experience
gone, like a distant memory belonging to somebody else.  All I wanted was
another moment with Chase, any moment just as long as we were together, him
holding me in his arms, and kissing me and touching me and whispering to me as
we made love.  But it would never happen, and I knew that.

However, despite that, I still cherished the time we did
spend together.  If was the first time I’d ever felt truly alive, like a real
person rather than a casual observer.  I’d discovered a passion and hunger for
life I’d never known I had; an all-consuming fire in my soul that demanded to
be felt or it would burn me alive.  And it was all locked in a box deep deep
down that I never knew existed, for which only Chase had the key.

The fact that I’ve experienced such an epiphany is enough -
even if I never saw Chase again.  I was happy with that.  I could live with it.

But if I’m pregnant...

I can’t do this to myself; beating myself up over what ifs. 
If I am, then I am.  If I’m not, then I’m not.  There’s only one way to find
out.

The brown paper bag stands ominously on the counter like an
unwelcome stranger bringing bad news.

I steel myself for a moment.  And then I go into the
bathroom and take the test.

When I come out, I lay the three tests down on the table and
sit anxiously, shaking and rubbing my hands.

I’m not worried.  There’s no point being worried - I’m definitely
not pregnant.  I can’t be.  Well, I
can
be, but the chances are minute. 
But still...

I ring my hands and stare at the clock on the wall.  It’s
been thirty seconds.  Or has it?  Maybe it’s been a minute.  I’m meant to wait
for two, otherwise it would be inaccurate.  But does inaccurate mean it would
be a false positive or that it wouldn’t say anything?

I look back to the clock.  It’s been nearly two minutes.

I peek down at the three tests.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

Oh god.  Oh god oh god oh god.

My legs feel numb, like an abyss has opened up underneath my
feet and I can’t fight falling in.

I grip the sofa cushions, unable to think any rational
thought.  My mind is completely blank.  All I can focus on is the soft leather
of the upholstery, fine against my fingertips.

And then I remember again: I’m pregnant.

The nausea returns and my heart thunders against my chest,
threatening to break through my ribcage.

It has to be wrong. 
It has to be
.

But it’s three tests. 
Three!

I curl up and hug the sofa cushion.  I just wish my mom was
here.  It seems so ironic - me, so scared of becoming a mother, that I want my
own to allay my fears, to tell me everything is going to be alright.  To give
me a hug and a kiss and sing a sweet song to send me off to sleep.

Hush little baby, don’t say a word.

Momma’s gonna buy you a mocking bird.

And if that mocking bird don’t sing.

Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring...

It worked when I was three and I grazed my knee in the
garden - she picked me up and held me in her warm embrace and then everything
was fine.  Better than fine - because I had her.

It even worked when my father ran off with his secretary
half his own age.  My mom wasn’t shocked at all; he’d already noticed his hair
going grey and bought himself a Porsche Carrara GT for his fiftieth.  My
father... he’s always been one for living the cliché.

He was never one with the kind words like my mom.  Even on
the day she died.

My phone blares and breaks me from my thoughts.

It’s a text message from Liz.  She wants to know if I’m
okay.

Okay.  She wants to know if I’m okay?

No, I’m pretty fucking far from
okay
.  I’m
pregnant
. 
With Chase’s baby!

This couldn’t get any worse.

Of course, there are always options for young stupid girls
like myself...

It would be like it never happened - an accident that was
wiped clean and never spoken of again.

No.  I could never do that.  This is a life growing inside
of me, as much a part of me as it is Chase.  I could never snuff that out.

But there’s always adoption...

Yet, I can’t bring myself to consider that option either. 
This
is
my child.  My own flesh and blood.  I can’t give it away to a
stranger.  It’s something Chase and I have created, through our own
recklessness, but damn it, I refuse to let that be the legacy of our night
together.  I have so much love to give, and even if Chase doesn’t want me, this
child needs me.

It’ll always be a reminder of the time Chase and I shared. 
And as much as I expect that thought to bore into my gut, it actually gives me
a sense of relief.

I wonder if it’ll have his deep dark eyes.

My fingers find the magazine and trace Chase’s face in the
photograph.

I have to tell him.

But how will he react?  Will he be happy, or cautious, or
angry?  Maybe he’ll try and buy me off again, or pretend that he doesn’t even remember.

Maybe he actually doesn’t remember.  Maybe every one of the
women he beds feels this same sense of longing and misery for the man they
cannot have.

No.  I have to tell him.

For a second, I imagine the possibility that when I tell
him, he wants to be with me.  That this is the catalyst to us being together.

But then I remember how adamantly he told me we would never
be together.  That it was for one night, and that was it.

I’ve always known that Chase considered me nothing more than
a fling - hell, how could I not?  He was always so god damn honest about it. 
I’m the reason I’m unhappy - I let myself fall for a man I could never dream of
having, even when every single thing said it could never be.

Not only that, but there are rumours in the newspapers and
gossip mags abound for weeks of his plan to marry Mercedes Bell and solidify
his power in the international music industry.

And I can’t take that.  To see their pictures in every
magazine, happy and laughing and together.  To hear their names and stories on
the words of every passerby and on TV and the radio...

I should leave this city.  Maybe go back to my father in
Iowa and fall on to my knees and beg forgiveness.

But I can’t do that - I’m not the same woman I was six
months ago.

There was always California.  My brother Duncan always said
I was welcome anytime to come stay.  Maybe I could pursue my singing career
there - maybe look for an agent, audition for some acting roles.  In fact,
Duncan might know someone who could give me a head start with a place to rent
and someone to look after the baby when I’m not around.  He’d always said I was
talented, and that he’d do anything to make me happy.  But I was always so
scared of what would happen if I tried and failed.