The Pitch: City Love 2 (16 page)

My mother immediately appeared in the doorway, a concerned look on her face.

I scowled in pain and frustration. “I forgot to take my bloody pill the last couple of days.”

“Oh.” She paused, observing me to see what stage I was at. “You need drugs. Have you eaten anything?”

To say my periods were bad was an understatement. I’d accepted the pain associated with the endometriosis long ago, but living through the pain didn’t always make me very gracious. “No. I haven’t had lunch yet.”

“Do you have drugs here?”

I always kept a supply of extra strong anti-inflammatories to help with the pain, but had forgotten to stock up at the office since last time. “Only at home.”

“Alright. Here’s what we’ll do. You can’t take the drugs on an empty stomach so I’ll get the café downstairs to make you a quick sandwich. By the time that’s ready, I’ll have a cab waiting outside to take you home.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, as a wave of nausea and a cramp hit with equal force.

I was so annoyed with myself. Usually the periods were bearable if I managed them correctly. That meant making sure I timed the worst days for when I could be at home and I started the drugs early.

My mother’s expression was still concerned, but her voice business-like. “I’ll cancel all your meetings for the rest of the day. Thank goodness tomorrow’s Saturday.”

I nodded, now unable to speak. God, I hated my body sometimes. What was normal for the majority of women was a torturous marathon of pain for me. My mother had disappeared to order my lunch so I shut down my laptop and then searched around for the files I needed to work from home over the weekend.

“I’m really sorry, Paul,” I heard my mother say, “now isn’t a very good time.”

I paused in the doorway when I realized my mother wasn’t talking on the phone but actually addressing him directly. Shit. What was he doing here? We were supposed to be catching up after work, but it was only lunchtime. I didn’t want him seeing me in this state. I also wanted to tell him about my endometriosis, but not like this. If I had the capacity to move quickly – which I currently didn’t – I’d have locked the door to my office and pleaded with my mother to send him away.

Paul registered me standing in the doorway, or more accurately, leaning on it because it was the only thing holding me up.

“My God, Madeleine, are you alright?”

It made no sense that his concern annoyed me. “I’ll be fine. I just need to go home and rest,” I snapped. Goddamn cramps.

“I’ll drive you.”

“That won’t be necessary. Mum’s already called for a taxi.”

“Actually I was just about to do it, so it’s up to you,” my mother said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Madeleine,” Paul said, and started walking toward me.

I was about to protest – I was not a fragile female in need of rescue. Except my cramps upgraded themselves to knife-like stabbing sensations in the pit of my stomach and I doubled over.

Paul took a few long strides and gently encircled me with a firm arm. “Jesus, Madeleine. What on earth did you eat?”

I resisted shoving his arm away because I realized he was propping me up. I didn’t answer him, nor did I correct him, I simply allowed myself to be led to the elevators. Christa was walking back from the bathrooms when she saw me. Her eyes rounded. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the state I was in or because Paul was physically escorting me from the office.

She rushed to my side. “Maddy, what’s wrong?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Talking was an effort. “Forgot to take my bloody pills, didn’t I?”

“Oh shit. Will you be alright?”

“Paul’s just taking me home. Should be okay if I can go and rest – get some pills into my system.”

“Okay.” She gave me a quick hug. “I’ll call you later tonight, alright?”

I nodded, and allowed Paul to guide me toward the elevator. Fortunately it didn’t take long for it to arrive and I leaned gratefully against the mirrored walls once we were inside.

I dared a look at Paul.

“I think I should take you to the doctor,” he said softly.

“Forget it. There’s nothing they can do.”

“Surely you need to be looked at,” he started.

“Forget it,” I repeated through gritted teeth. “This is normal.”

“I don’t see how this is normal, Madeleine, this could be far more serious than you realize.”

I managed to roll my eyes because that didn’t hurt. “I wish.”

“Stop being so stubborn!”

I stared at him. It was the first time I’d heard him raise his voice. “Paul,” I said, with a sigh, deciding to be honest. “I’ve got my period, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry?” he said, obviously not understanding.

“I get bad periods,” I clarified.

He went silent as the elevator doors opened and kept an arm around my waist as we made our way out into the bright afternoon sunshine.

I nodded my head toward the café just near the entrance to the building. “Mum’s ordered me a sandwich to pick up.”

“You sit in the car. I’ll go and get it.”

The perverse part of me wanted to protest. I was perfectly capable of picking up my own lunch – except no, right now I actually wasn’t. I sighed and let him walk me to his car.

“Thanks,” I breathed when he opened the door and I was able to collapse inside. Sitting was definitely preferable to standing.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” He gave me a long look as if making sure I wasn’t going to go anywhere and I almost laughed.

“I’ll wait right here,” I told him.

He closed the door and I sank into the leather seats. I spent the next couple of minutes riding the waves of pain emanating from my stomach, doing my best to distract myself by watching the city street outside the window.

The driver’s side door opened. “Here you go.” Paul placed a paper bag with my sandwich inside on my lap.

“Thanks.”

He started the car and looked over at me again before pulling out into the traffic. “Are you going to eat it?”

“Yes,” I replied, but didn’t bother to move.

“Eat the goddamn sandwich, Madeleine.”

I let out a short laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, gruffly.

“You. I like it when you boss me around,” I admitted. I pulled out the sandwich and started eating. Despite my nausea, the feeling of the food sinking into my stomach was actually pretty good.

Paul drove calmly, but quickly, to my apartment. He parked on the street when we arrived and I reached down to pick up my laptop bag. His hand gently pulled my arm back.

“I’ll come around and get that.”

“It’s alright, Paul. I’ll be fine. I’m right to get upstairs – ”

“I’m taking you upstairs.”

I didn’t have energy to argue, so I waited while he came around and opened the passenger door. We navigated the pathway to my apartment together and I was grateful when I was standing at my front door. I reached into my handbag and found my keys, then dropped them with a sharp clatter on the floor as another cramp tightened its grip on me. “Shit,” I hissed, and used my hand to steady myself on the door frame.

Paul picked up the keys silently.

“The long one with the white mark on it,” I managed.

He opened the door for us and gently steered me down the hallway to my bedroom. I dropped onto the bed and assumed the classic fetal position, not caring that I was in his presence. Pain could do that to you.

“Where are the drugs?” he asked.

Good thinking, I thought. I was glad one of us was clear headed. “Bathroom cabinet. Bright blue packet.”

He left the bedroom and I kicked off my heels. God, it was good to be home. The sun was filtering in through the white venetian blinds near the bed. A row of tall trees provided me with privacy from the outside world and I watched the sunlight flickering over the leaves.

“This one?” Paul stood beside my bed with a glass of water and my drugs.

“My savior.” I sat up and quickly opened the pack, popping out four of the elongated blue tablets.

“Four?”

“Desperate times. Don’t worry, it’s just the first dose. In eight hours, it will be down to two.”

He watched as I swallowed each of the pills. “This will knock me out in about twenty minutes, so you might as well go. Thanks for the ride.”

He remained standing by my bed, not making any move to go. “Explain to me how this is normal, Madeleine.”

I rolled onto my back and pressed myself into the blissful softness of my pillows, staring up the ceiling. “Endometriosis.”

“You’ll need to explain that to me.”

I let out a long exhalation. “Girl stuff.”

“Don’t insult me.”

I glanced over at him and despite the fact my body felt overwrought with pain, I jolted at his expression. His face was mixed with frustration and fear for me. I resisted the tears forming in my eyes. I was just feeling emotional from the pain – that was all, I told myself.

“I’ve had endometriosis for almost ten years. Basically it’s where the cells that usually line your uterus travel and implant themselves elsewhere in your body.” I paused and looked at him, glad to see his face looked calmer now that I’d started talking. “Are you sure you want all the gory details?”

“I’ve watched my ex-wife give birth to two sons. I can handle it.”

Touché. I hadn’t considered that. “Alright. So each month when you get your period, you shed those cells when you bleed. Except when you’ve got endometriosis, you’re bleeding in other places too, which is why it hurts so much. It damages wherever it implants itself. In my case it was my bowel.”

“Fuck. How do you stop it?”

I shrugged into the pillows. “That’s the thing, you don’t really. I’ve had surgery to help control it but they just come back elsewhere. It’s persistent.”

“Surely they must be able to do something to help? I’m assuming this happens to other women as well?”

“Hormonal therapy, in some cases. I’m better when I’m on the pill, which is why I stay on it continuously and only give myself a few breaks a year.” I grimaced. “Except I was so distracted this week I forgot to take it.”

“Does the pill make it better?”

“Not entirely, but it helps to minimize it. The fact that the pain is so bad while I’m on the pill probably means I need to go and have another surgery.”

“Another surgery? How many have you had?”

“Four.”

“Shit.” Paul sank down beside me on the bed and it felt both strange and comforting to have him here in my personal space.

I studied his profile while he stared at the floor, absorbing my explanation. I realized I was glad he was here with me.

He turned to me after a while, his expression soft. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? I can’t change it. There’s times when I rant and rave about the unfairness of it all, particularly when it comes to having children, but I’ve learned to accept it.”

“What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath, then pushed myself into a sitting position and looked into his eyes. “It’s highly unlikely I’ll ever be able to have children.”

Paul broke my gaze and looked down at the floor again, not saying anything.

I could feel myself starting to become groggy, which was a good thing because it was numbing the pain. “Pills are working,” I told him. “I’m going to pass out in a minute.”

He nodded. For a moment he looked like he was going to reach over and hold me, but I must have appeared pretty bad because he stood instead.

“Can you let yourself out?” I asked.

“I’ll wait until you’re asleep. I’ve got a few phone calls to make so I’ll go and do that in the other room.”

“It’s not necessary,” I insisted.

“I’ll wait until you’re asleep.”

And I thought
I
was stubborn. “Okay.”

I watched as he walked from the room, his leather shoes clicking quietly along the polished wooden floorboards. I heard his voice from the lounge room as he began making his phone calls, and found it comforting. I closed my eyes and let myself drift, the death grip on my stomach starting to loosen.

*

When I awoke later, the soft light of dusk welcomed me.

I was relieved to discover the pain had downgraded to a dull ache, and it was hunger that stirred my belly rather than cramps. I realized after a moment why I was so hungry. What was that
smell?

I pushed myself off the bed and stumbled into the hallway, still groggy. I squinted at the bright light coming from my lounge room and was momentarily blinded when I stepped into the living space. The smell was too good for words, an enticing blend of fragrant spices and sweet fruity tones.

“Paul?” I blinked, my eyes still adjusting to the light.

Gradually I made out Paul’s tall frame standing over the stove. He didn’t turn, but kept stirring the source of the exotic smell, coming from one of the saucepans.

I stared at his back, suddenly unsure of my next move. His suit jacket was resting on the end of my sofa. He wore fitted black business pants and a white shirt rolled up to the elbows. My pulse quickened at the sight of his strong forearms and his unusually disheveled hair.

To have him in my kitchen, cooking me dinner, felt surprisingly natural.

“Were you aware you had no decent food in the house?” he asked.

“I – ” I blinked again and shook my head. “What are you doing?”

His lips curled into a small smile. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“What are you still doing here?”

“Making sure you eat something.”

“You went to the shops?”

“Yes, you might want to try it sometime.” He turned back to the pot simmering on the stove and gave it another stir.

“You might want to go and have a shower,” he suggested. “This won’t be ready for another twenty minutes.”

I ran a hand through my long hair, realizing that I must look like a mess. I was still in my business skirt and shirt, which was crushed after passing out on the bed.

“Alright,” I replied, disorientated. I shuffled back to my bedroom and pulled out a comfortable T-shirt and a pair of fitted shorts, because it felt hot in the apartment – or maybe it was just me.

I spent the next ten minutes enjoying the sensation of the water on my aching body. Paul’s presence outside the door was distracting and I didn’t let myself linger too long.

“Hey.” When I arrived back in the lounge room, Paul stood surveying the lights of the city with a beer in his hand.

He turned and his eyes took in my long legs. I belatedly wondered if my shorts were too short. I flushed when I realized he’d already seen everything. He walked over and engulfed me in an embrace. I sighed and let myself relax into the security of his arms.

“You look a lot better,” he whispered into my hair.

“I feel better.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I stiffened. “Why didn’t I tell you what?”

“Don’t be perverse.” He pulled back not letting go of my waist, and gave me a stern look. “About not being able to have children.”

I looked past him to the view of the city. “It’s not something I generally bring up in day-to-day conversation.”

“We weren’t having a day-to-day conversation when I was telling you I didn’t want any more children. Why didn’t you tell me?”

I flinched and met his eyes again. “I told you I didn’t want them.”

“Not being able to have children and not wanting children are two very different things,” he said.

I suddenly found it very hard to breathe. I pulled away from him and strode to the windows overlooking the dining table. I needed air. I pushed them open and inhaled a deep breath, my heart pounding.
Tell him, Maddy.
I took another gulp of air, as if fortifying myself. “My ex-boyfriend left me because of it.”

My statement echoed in the silence of the room, the only sounds the distant traffic noise and the bubbling of dinner on the stove.

Eventually, Paul cleared his throat. “Because you couldn’t have children?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, Madeleine.”

The gentleness in his voice made me turn around to face him. I ignored the sympathy in his eyes and shrugged, as if I was trying to shrug away the hurt of the memory. “Chris suggested we try to see if anything happened, but I resisted.” I looked down at my bare feet because it was easier than looking at Paul. “My specialists advised that the best chance of me falling pregnant is IVF. Even if I managed to fall pregnant, there’s more risks for someone like me.” I raised my head again and looked him squarely in the eye. “I just couldn’t face it, Paul. Chris kept telling me I was being selfish.”