Punchline (9 page)

Belle didn’t answer. From her beatific expression, she might have been lost in thoughts about the child, too, or maybe she was simply absorbed in the music. He supposed the baby, now that it was big enough to interact with its parents, might be able to hear Mozart, too. Darryl made a mental note to play lots of classical composers, and then remembered that he would have a devil of a time finding the right CDs.

Alone in his room, he picked up his notebook and began to write. This time, though, he wasn’t recounting
someone else’s bittersweet parenting experiences. He was describing how a father feels in the presence of a miracle.

B
Y THE MIDDLE
of December, Belle had to admit that Darryl was earning his keep. On weekends, he brought her breakfast in bed, and once he indulged her craving for salty foods by going out to buy pretzels and pickles at 10:00 p.m.

And he obviously loved the baby. That aspect of him surprised her. He insisted that she let him know whenever the baby was moving, and would even abandon a televised football game to rush over and place his hand on her abdomen.

The problem was that she liked the stroking and fondling intended for the baby. She didn’t want to relish the feel of Darryl’s strong hands on her skin. She wished her imagination would quit tormenting her with fantasies about what might have happened that night they spent together.

But she didn’t really have to worry, because every time she thought about responding, a wave of indigestion or a kick in the ribs came along to distract her. Amazingly, Darryl seemed to accept the fact that mood swings went with hormonal changes, and hadn’t sought a replay of their close encounter in the kitchen.

At the
Just Us
offices, the staff was gearing up for the March issue. It had always struck Belle as ironic, the way they had to think in terms of spring vacation in mid-December.

And this year they also had to plan for the June opening of the mall. Sandra had promised to drop by sometime during the day to show the staff what she’d been working on.

“Have you considered what you’re going to do when the baby’s born?” Anita asked that afternoon as she offered Belle a plate of Easter cookies. “By the way, these
have peanut butter in them. You aren’t allergic to it, are you?”

“No. And I guess I’ll go for natural childbirth.” She picked a pink cookie shaped like a bunny, then took an egg-shaped one for her baby.

Anita tossed back her dark hair, revealing a pair of snowflake earrings. “I meant the magazine. You’ll have to take some time off in May, won’t you?”

“A few days, maybe.” Belle had called a referral service and had obtained the names of licensed day-care providers, but she wasn’t crazy about any of the ones she’d met so far. “If necessary, Sandra can put in a bit more time. She
IS
the publisher.”

“Did someone mention my name?” The hat appeared in the doorway first, a vast undertaking topped with a tiny Christmas village and miniature teddy bears. It was so darling that Belle found it impossible to care whether it might be tacky.

Into the room strolled Sandra, a portfolio under her arm and a grin on her face. The teddy bears bowed and danced as she removed three poster-size sheets and laid them on the desk. “Here it is, ladies! When Mira sees these, she’ll
beg
us to cosponsor the opening!”

Belle, Anita and Janie, who had followed in Sandra’s wake, gathered around. It was immediately obvious from the professionalism of the drawing and lettering that their boss had hired a graphic artist to create the renderings.

At the top of the first poster was the slogan Just Us: Together Into The Future. Below, a drawing of the planned megamall’s vast interior featured manikin families pushing baby carriages and escorting toddlers. Each wore a T-shirt bearing the slogan.

The second poster depicted the mall’s future Cathedral Court. In the center stood a manikin wedding couple surrounded by their attendants. Above them on the second
floor, “Just Us” was spelled out in red blossoms against white.

The third picture showed a ski scene set up in front of a sporting-goods store, with manikins dressed for the slopes. They were skiing toward a banner that repeated the slogan Just Us: Together Into The Future.

“For the opening, we would place dummies in these tableaux around the mall.” Sandra beamed at their impressed reactions. “You know, couples with children, brides and grooms, people enjoying recreational activities. It would make the whole place feel more cozy.”

“That’s a good motto,” Anita said. “It’s got this nice chewy texture when I say it, kind of like peanut-butter cookies in my mouth.”

Janie nodded. “It’s an ongoing fashion show. The merchants can display their wares on the manikins right in the mall. If I were a store owner I’d like that.”

They regarded Sandra with new respect. The woman had a real flair for promotion, Belle realized.

“Let’s line up a presentation as soon as possible,” the publisher said.
“Just Us
is going to cosponsor this mall opening. Right?”

“Right!” they all cheered.

‘I’ll call now,” Belle said, and got on the phone. To her delight, the marketing director promptly gave her a date to make the presentation: January eighth at 1:00 p.m., at the mall’s on-site offices.

Hanging up, she relayed the news. The others whooped with excitement.

“Let’s celebrate!” Sandra twirled around the room, humming softly. In the teddy bear hat, she resembled a music box come to life. “We need to feel like a team, and what better time for a fresh start than New Year’s? I want to invite you—”

She stopped, hands fluttering in midair. “Oh, dear, there’s just one thing missing.”

“What?” asked Belle.

“We need to know what the other side is planning.” Sandra chewed on her lip. “We need a spy at
About Town.
Who could we recruit?”

“Is that ethical?” asked Janie. “I mean, I know you wouldn’t do anything unethical, Sandra. I just meant, well, how would it look if anyone found out?”

“Not a spy, exactly,”the publisher said. “Just someone who might let a little information slip.”

Everyone stared at Belle.

“What?” she said.

“Well, you
are
living with him,” said Sandra.

Belle couldn’t believe they would ask her to spy on Darryl. She wouldn’t and, besides, she couldn’t. “He never brings his work home. But…”

Indecisively, she pulled a model’s composite photograph from a stack on her desk. It showed Mindy in a variety of poses, wearing different outfits.

“She’s done some work fo
r About Town
and she’s very ambitious,” Belle said. “She probably drops by their offices fairly often. She came by here yesterday with this.”

Sandra took the composite. “I’m inviting you all to my New Year’s Eve party.” The celebrity-laden event was one of the best-known annual parties in the city. “Maybe this model would like to come, too.”

“You think she’d sell out Darryl Horak for an invitation to your party?” Belle asked, feeling both dismay and admiration at such a brash move.

Sandra’s party
was
an exciting event. Each time she attended, Belle found herself nearly overwhelmed by the extravagance and the sight of so many famous faces.

“It’s worth a try. I’ll have some top agents and directors there, you know,” said the publisher. “It’s a rare opportunity for her.”

“In her place, I’d probably go along with it,” said Anita. “I mean, she could get rich and famous real quick.”

“If she knows anything,’ cautioned Janie.

Remembering the skittish woman who’d fled on Thanksgiving, Belle actually felt sorry for her. But they weren’t asking her to do anything awful, just to describe something she might have seen. It wasn’t as if she owed Darryl any loyalty.

I wouldn’t tell, if it were me,
she thought. But then, Darryl had given her a particularly long back rub the previous night. That called for at least a smidgen of loyalty.

Sandra dialed the phone number on the composite and got an answering service that put her through to Mindy’s home. From what Belle could hear of the conversation, it didn’t take much tempting. A few minutes later, the publisher hung up, elated.

“She’s seen their posters, all right,” she announced. “All she would reveal is the theme, but that’s helpful.”

“Well?” demanded Belle. “What is it?”

“About Town: Adam Brings Eve Back to Paradise,” said Sandra.

A chorus of catcalls filled the room.

“Adam
brings
Eve?” demanded Anita. “I wonder if I could throw the rest of my cookies far enough to hit those chauvinists in the head.”

“It sounds like something Greg would come up with!” hooted Janie. “Can you believe it? I honestly can’t believe they would go that far overboard.”

“I can see it now.” Sandra, as usual, managed to dominate the room with a mere tilt of her head. “A paradise theme. Women in sarongs and bikinis. Perhaps a man in a tuxedo, James Bond-style. We’ll pull the rug right out from under their feet. We’ll incorporate a scene just like that.”

‘‘Did she by any chance say when they’re making their presentation?” Janie asked.

“January eighth,” said Sandra. “That isn’t—Was that—When did you say we were scheduled, Belle?”

“The same day.”

“Probably the same time, too,” Sandra said grimly. “Didn’t Mira say she likes to get people together to compare ideas?”

“She thinks it generates creativity,” Belle recalled.

“It might generate mass murder,” grumbled Janie.

“Don’t worry, ladies,” said Sandra. “I’ll take care of this situation. I’m
glad
we’ll be seeing Mira at the same time—we can use it to our advantage. And let’s all be extra friendly to Mindy at the party. We owe her a great deal.”

As the others chorused their agreement, Belle realized what this meant. Mindy would be at the party, with her luscious mane of dark hair and her incredibly willowy body.

Even though Belle’s rational mind reminded her that she was carrying a new life, she couldn’t help feeling awkward about her lumpish figure. Fancy clothes would only emphasize her rotundness and everyone else’s sleekness.

As her houseguest, Darryl would naturally accompany her to Sandra’s. The prospect of being contrasted with all those glamorous people was daunting.

Really, she decided, she would rather stay home and be comfortable. There were more enjoyable things to do on New Year’s Eve than mingle with famous people and eat fabulous food.

She just wished she could think of what those things were.

T
HE BEACH LAY
peaceful in the haze of a December morning. Only a few seals played among the waves. Dar-ryl inhaled the briny air and picked up his pace, the slap of his jogging shoes on the walkway forming a counterpoint to his troubled thoughts.

Belle had slept late, this being Saturday morning. Despite his resolve to wait on her, he hadn’t been able to resist sneaking out. He’d needed to pick up mail, and he missed his usual jogging route.

Besides, he was having trouble facing her since turning in his article yesterday. Even though he owed the truth to those unhappy fathers, he couldn’t help feeling as if he’d betrayed her trust.

It didn’t help that Belle had come home last night looking depressed. It never ceased to surprise Darryl how clearly the woman showed her emotions.

When she was happy, her face glowed. When she was sad, she wilted like a flower.

She’d muttered something about Sandra Duval’s New Year’s Eve party and how she didn’t want to go. Darryl couldn’t figure out why not. He would love to attend.

He’d been almost certain the cause of her unhappiness was that he would be going to visit his aunt and uncle in Santa Barbara for Christmas next week, but Belle had declined his invitation to join them. She was looking forward to spending the day with Janie’s family in nearby Inglewood, she said.

If the problem wasn’t Christmas, what was it? Darryl waved absentmindedly to one of his volleyball buddies as they passed each other, jogging in opposite directions. How was a guy supposed to figure out what went through a woman’s mind when she refused to tell him? He wished Belle would spill out her thoughts as clearly as she revealed her emotions.

He was nearing the coffee shop that marked the turning point of his jog when he spotted Jim Rickard. Jim, who earned money between assignments by peddling human-interest pictures to news syndicates, was photographing a toddler feeding a sea gull.

The boy looked a lot like Nick at that age. Tori had recently canceled plans to bring the boy west to visit his father this Christmas, announcing that they would be going to Florida with her new boyfriend instead. Darryl wondered if Jim had been drawn to the toddler because he missed his own son.

Halting beside some parked cars, Darryl jogged in place until his friend finished shooting. Then, by unspoken mutual agreement, they moved along the outer lines of a triangle until they intersected in front of the coffee shop.

“Inside or out?” Jim brushed sand from his jeans.

“Out.” Darryl chose a table near the railing that gave them an unobstructed view of the beach. “I’ve been indoors too much these days.”

“How’s it going?” asked his friend, straddling a chair across from him.

Darryl explained about completing the article and feeling guilty. “After all, she is having my kid,” he said.

Jim, Greg and Elva had all figured out by now that the child was his, and he didn’t bother to pretend otherwise. As long as the press didn’t find out, Darryl saw no point in keeping his paternity a secret.

“And now she’s down in the dumps and I’m not sure why,” he concluded as the waitress delivered their cups of
cappuccino. “She says she doesn’t even want to go to Sandra Duval’s New Year’s Eve party.”

“I don’t pretend to be an expert on women,’ Jim said. “If I were, I’d have been more careful who I married.”

“Sandra’s famous for laying on a great spread,” Darryl continued. “And Belle loves parties.”

“Maybe she’s avoiding it because pregnant women aren’t supposed to drink,” Jim suggested.

“So what?” Darryl wasn’t much of a drinker himself. He had developed a particular aversion to spiked punch. “I’m sure they’ll have soft drinks.”

Jim drummed his fingers on the table. “Could there be somebody she wants to avoid?”

“Me,” Darryl said. “But she won’t know it until the article comes out.”

“Then it must be her weight,” he said. “Tori refused to go anywhere when she was pregnant. She thought she looked like a cow.”

“You mean Belle is pouting because she can’t fit into a size seven?” Darryl demanded. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Well, perhaps there’s something deeper affecting her moods.” Jim gazed at the ocean as it swelled with one of its periodic high waves. “Having a baby means her life is changing forever.”

“So is mine.” Darryl couldn’t believe his friend was overlooking the obvious. “As you know, my whole article is about the fact that parenthood means as much to men as to women.”

The photographer turned toward him, his gaze locking with Darryl’s. “But you’re not married to her, my friend. So your life is only changing as much as you want it to.”

The comment seemed so blatantly unfair that Darryl couldn’t even figure out where to start protesting. In any case, he didn’t get a chance, because the wave was subsiding, leaving a dazed-looking seal floundering on the sand.

“I’ve got to get a shot of that,’ Jim said as a couple of children approached the seal cautiously. “And make sure the critter gets away safely, of course.” He tossed some money on the table. “Happy New Year, my friend.”

“Same to you,” Darryl said, and meant it.

Jim had been way off base, but he’d only been trying to help.

G
IRL, YOU HAVE
to get it together. So it’s New Year’s Eve. So everybody else is going to be eating shrimp and Brie and you’ll be chomping chips and watching TV. Who cares?

Belle regarded herself grimly in the bathroom mirror. A red blotch on the side of her nose bore a suspicious resemblance to a zit. She suspected Mindy’s skin had been airbrushed at birth. So had everyone else’s among the beautiful people of Los Angeles.

Wallowing in self-pity was not productive but it felt good. She was glad that Darryl had gone out earlier so she could indulge herself. She wondered if
An Affair to Remember
would be on cable tonight to give her an excuse for a good cry.

Slouching into the kitchen, she sat at the table and began writing her New Year’s resolutions:

No. 1. Throw Darryl out and turn spare bedroom into nursery.

No. 2. Keep Darryl and make him redecorate nursery.

No. 3. Replace Darryl with Brad Pitt.

Hearing a key turn in the outer door, Belle crumpled the list and tossed it in the trash. On a second sheet of paper, she wrote:

No. 1. Reread
War and Peace.

No. 2. Learn Japanese.

No. 3. Make exercise video.

Darryl came in carrying a large plastic bag. “What are you doing?”

“Making my New Year’s resolutions,” she said.

To her disappointment, he didn’t read over her shoulder. Instead, he handed her the bag, which was draped on a hanger.

“For you,’ he said.

Belle regarded the gift suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Go put it on.” There was a determination in Darryl’s tone that made her stand and head for the bedroom. She might as well see what he’d brought, she told herself.

Closing the door behind her, Belle reached inside the plastic covering. Her hand touched something that felt crunchy, the way evening dresses did when they were shot through with glittery threads. Puzzled, she removed the bag and examined the garment.

It was a black dress woven with metallic threads that shifted colors in the lamplight. The tag read One Size Fits All.

Belle couldn’t resist. Peeling off her oversize T-shirt and stretch-paneled jeans, she wiggled into it.

The mirror on the back of the door showed a low-cut yoke revealing ample cleavage. Billowing sleeves gathered at the wrist while, below the bust, the dress cascaded to a scarf hemline that teased her calves.

The dark color set off the brilliant red of her hair, which Belle had touched up the previous day in a fit of restlessness. She hated to admit it, but Darryl had found the one dress capable of luring her out of her nest.

From the closet, she retrieved a pair of low-heeled black boots studded with tiny rhinestones. They gave the outfit a distinctive look-at-me note.

As she applied makeup, she refused to ascribe any noble motives to her housemate. Everyone she knew ached to attend Sandra Duval’s party. Obviously, it had been worth this investment to Darryl. Still, she was glad he’d made the effort.

She emerged from the bedroom in a burst of goodwill at the same time that Darryl stepped from the spare room. He wore a tuxedo, shiny black with a pleated white shirt. Its tailored lines emphasized his height and masculine build.

In the rough-and-tumble of everyday life, Belle had forgotten how handsome Darryl could be. From his high cheekbones to his confident stance, he radiated sophistication.

He hadn’t merely created the
About Town
male for his readers to emulate. He really was that man, and, tonight, he belonged to Belle.

She took his arm and let him lead her out of the condo. For this one occasion, she would indeed let Adam bring Eve to Paradise.

S
ANDRA’S MANSION LAY
in the exclusive community of Bel-Air Estates, just west of Beverly Hills. lucked among trees and curving roads lay some of the region’s most expensive real estate.

Thousands of lights sparkled along the driveway, where uniformed valets were assisting the guests. White bulbs winked from treetops and hedges, turning the scene into a fairyland.

A cluster of paparazzi waited near the street, dodging cars as they snapped the new arrivals. Channel 17 was there too, its minicam sweeping the driveway. Belle gave
a little wave and hoped the black gown would disguise the fullness of her waistline.

There was no dragon master with a guest list, but a pleasant-faced attendant who apparently recognized the invitees on sight. He greeted Belle and Darryl warmly, by name.

The grand entryway opened into a living room large enough to serve as a hotel lobby. Beneath an enormous Christmas tree, a tuxedoed musician at a grand piano played something lyrical.

As they made their way between jewel-encrusted guests in designer gowns, Belle noted that the ceiling had been turned into a planetarium of celestial vistas. The party’s theme must be outer space.

Everywhere she glanced, she saw some creative touch: a spray of white flowers interspersed with silver planets, a three-tiered tray filled with green cheese, even a life-size tableau of manikin astronauts planting the flag on the moon.

As they reached the French doors leading outside, the piano music was superseded by the infectious Latin rhythms of a dance band. When they stepped over the threshold, the balmy night twinkled with real stars.

In the center of the swimming pool loomed an ice sculpture of the planet Saturn, complete with rings. Sandra had outdone herself.

Belle thought about the megamall presentation scheduled next week and wondered how Darryl imagined he could upstage Sandra Duval. But judging from his admiring smile, that problem hadn’t crossed his mind.

Across the water, a pool house with its doors thrown open displayed a series of cloth-covered tables. They held more food than Belle had ever seen outside a supermarket, tiers of canapés and seafood and desserts.

But neither the decor nor the catering could overshadow the guests. She recognized many of her favorite
movie and television stars, rock singers and even a few politicians.

It had been foolish to worry about the contrast between her figure and Mindy’s. When they spotted the model, she simply blended into the general feminine swirl of aerobicized and liposuctioned perfection.

At the pool house, Sandra waved cheerily from where she stood in a knot of male admirers. Or gold diggers. Sandra had confessed once that she never expected to marry again, because there was no one she could trust to love her for herself.

Belle decided that inheriting fifty million dollars would make it worth having that kind of problem.

She picked among the shrimp and crab but didn’t have much appetite. Mostly, she kept noticing Darryl.

Everything about him bristled with aristocratic self-possession, even the way he scooped up caviar on a cracker. He moved along the main buffet table as if it, and the rest of the world, belonged to him.

Yet tonight she couldn’t resent him. He was too essential, too primitive. At this party, the man was in his element, and Belle was glad she’d agreed to come.

Their gazes met over a stuffed mushroom. One eyebrow quirked, and Darryl tossed down the canapé and left his plate on the table.

Moving to Belle’s side, he murmured, “Would you care to dance?”

The music had changed to a vibrant rock tune. “Sure,” she said.

Globes of light, like those that had swept ballrooms of the Big Band era, dappled the dance floor set up on a stretch of lawn beyond the swimming pool. Only a handful of couples were gyrating on the smooth wooden planking.

Belle’s shoulders and hips began to quiver in time to the music. Before she knew it, the rhythm had propelled her into the middle of the dance floor.

Darryl was right there beside her, in front of her, behind her. Laughing. Spinning her around. Raking her with appreciative glances.

There was nothing intimate about their contact, yet she felt aware of him in a new way. She always sensed where he was, and he possessed an almost magical ability to support her without missing a step.

On its platform, the band segued into a cha-cha. Darryl caught Belle and they executed the steps together, so caught up in their enjoyment that they were scarcely aware of the admiration of the onlookers.

She had never felt so comfortable in anyone’s arms. They were completely in sync. This was something that only happened between a couple who knew each other intimately. Her body, it seemed, remembered things her brain could not.

The tempo slowed. A female singer with a low, smoky voice began to croon of hopeless love and endless desire.

Darryl’s grasp shifted until he cradled Belle against him. Her cheek pressing into his shoulder, she inhaled the deep male essence of him.

From an unseen garden drifted the fragrance of exotic flowers, enveloping them in a sensuous cocoon. She lost all consciousness of the other guests. The two of them might as well have been dancing alone in the Garden of Eden.