Beaches (25 page)

“I’ll be the kid’s father,” Cee Cee said. “I mean, shit, I’ll be here with you when it comes out, so it’ll think I’m the father.” And when they got back to the house, laughing like loons, Bertie was nearly convinced that having the baby was the thing to do, and she was about to call Arthur Wechsler when the phone rang, and he was calling her.

“How do you feel?” he asked. How about this service? Bertie thought. He’s worried about me. Never knew a doctor to do anything like that until Wechsler said,

“Listen, how long is Cee Cee Bloom staying in town? Because I’d like to take her out,”

Bertie sobered. “I don’t know,” she said, “I’ll put her on. . . . Gee, it’s Arthur Wechsler.”

Cee Cee looked surprised, but only for a second. Once she got the phone in her hand she was the confident Cee Cee, playing one of her roles.

“Hey, Doc, whaddya say?”

Bertie watched Cee Cee. ‘Charming Cee Cee. Maybe Arthur Wechsler would be the naked man. That’s what Cee Cee said: A naked man to place his body on top of her body. Naked bodies. Michael’s baby. Imagine. Maybe she should call Michael tonight. Yes. She’d call him and tell him. Michael, guess what. I’m calling to tell you that the best and strangest and most wonderful thing has happened. I’m pregnant. I’m going to have our baby, darling. After all these years of waiting. And Michael would say, Sweetheart, don’t budge. Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right there. And he would come to Sarasota, and he and Bertie would embrace and kiss and drive Cee Cee to the airport because Michael was moving back in, and he would tell Bertie, in front of Cee Cee at the airport, that he would be a changed man now. Now that he was going to be a father he’d be loving and passionate and adoring to his wife and child, his family-I have a family now, he’d say, and Cee Cee would hug them both, and wave goodbye as she walked up the steps to the plane.

Cee Cee was sitting on the tile floor talking to Arthur Wechsler, giggling like a teenaged girl talking to a boyfriend.

“Seven-thirty,” she said, and looked at her watch. Bertie looked at her own watch. It was six-thirty.

“You got it,” Cee Cee said. “See you then.” She hung up the phone and leapt to her feet.

“Bert, he’s crazy about me. And I’ve never looked worse. This guy has seen every snatch in Sarasota, and he wants me … to take me to dinner. He’s obviously into

great personalities. I’ve gotta look through my clothes. We’re going out in an hour. Jesus.”

Cee Cee ran to her room. Bertie stood alone. She’d be alone for dinner. On the night she found out, after waiting her whole life, that she finally was pregnant, she’d be alone. Never mind-it would be a relief.

At seven-thirty, the neighbor’s German shepherd barked and then the doorbell rang. Cee Cee screamed, “Oh, shit, fuck, shit . . . I’m not ready for this asshole. Who ever comes exactly on time, anyway? He’s already proving to me before we even have dinner that he’s a class-A putz.”

Bertie, who had fallen asleep on the living room couch, could still taste the celery salt from the afternoon’s Bloody Marys in her mouth as she walked to the door and opened it.

Arthur Wechsler looked adorable. In a navy blazer and blue shirt and tie. His face looked scrubbed, the little bald spot on the front of his head was shiny, and he smelled delicious. Wearing some divine cologne. Michael had never worn cologne, and Bertie had always wanted him to. Arthur Wechsler, her gynecologist-Bertie had only seen him in his white coat in the office where he never wore cologne, and now here he was in her doorway, smelling delicious and looking cute, waiting to take out Cee Cee, fat Cee Cee, which Bertie was certain he tcouldn’t want to do if he’d seen her messy room. The clothes all over the-Bertie stopped the thought and chastised herself for being jealous. She loved Cee Cee. She didn’t care about the messy room. She only cared that maybe Arthur Wechsler would be Cee Cee’s naked man, even for a few nights.

“Hiya,” the.doctor said, smiling. He was carrying something in his hand. Bertie squinted to see what it was. She was so surprised when she realized that she said it aloud.

“A corsage?” Bertie said, and then she laughed. But

she felt a pang. A corsage. No one had giveji her a corsage in years. Michael, for some college party, a million years ago.

“Come on in, Arthur,” Bertie said, and for a minute had the strangest feeling that Cee Cee was her teenaged daughter. The feeling nearly made her laugh because she realized that she was afraid Cee Cee would emerge from the bedroom now, wearing something outrageous, and the boy with the corsage wouldn’t like her, and would be ashamed to introduce her to his friends.

Cee Cee didn’t disappoint her.

She wore jeans that she was bursting out of, with red sequins up the side of each leg, red boots, a red sequined long-sleeved low-cut top and long red dangling earrings, all of which not only looked bizarre and ridiculous, but also clashed with her curly orange hair. After Bertie took a glimpse of her, she turned quickly to see Arthur Wechsler’s reaction.

But the doctor’s eyes were wide with admiration. “Gee,” Wechsler said to Cee Cee, “you look great. Didn’t you wear that in The Long Walk?” he asked. “In the bar scene?”

Cee Cee lit up. “Yeah,” she said. “Shit, I didn’t even remember that.” She looked at Bertie. “Go figure, he’d know that. I kept all the clothes from the picture.”

Bertie looked at the two of them. They would make a strange-looking couple tonight in some restaurant. As she watched the gynecologist (was it timidly?) hand the corsage to the movie star, who grabbed it and ripped the lid off the box, Bertie realized that Arthur Wechsler, her gynecologist who had graduated from Harvard, traveled all over the world, and was a sought-after bachelor, didn’t notice that the orange hair clashed with the red sequins, or that the lavender orchid looked absurd on the outfit where it was now being clumsily pinned by Cee Cee. He only saw Sarah Bernhardt and Polly from The Long Walk

and all the other sexy, witty characters Cee Cee had played, and he was smitten.

Cee Cee took Arthur’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “This is a real date, honey,” she said. “Just like high school. Except for one thing. In high school nobody wanted to date me.”

Oh, God, Bertie thought, not those I-was-so-unpopular stories. Arthur Wechsler turned to Cee Cee and said, “Really? Me neither. I was too short, and I started going bald when I was a teenager.”

“Well, I was pudgy and my hair was frizzy, and …”

A match made in heaven, Bertie thought, and the two of them waved a little good-by to her and were out the door. The sound of Arthur Wechsler’s Porsche starting in the driveway made the neighbor’s German shepherd bark. Bertie sat down on the living room sofa.

The house was very quiet. No more quiet than before Cee Cee had appeared, but it seemed quieter because of the racket Cee Cee was usually making about something. And now Cee Cee was on a date. Bertie felt lonelier than ever. She looked at her watch. It was seven forty-five. Michael probably had plans. A date? No. He wouldn’t. She should call him. She really owed it to him, after all, to tell him about the baby, especially since she was planning to-probably would-no, not probably, damn it. She was going to have this baby, and maybe he’d say . . . she was dialing, maybe he’d say, baby, I’ll be there. One ring. Two. Three. Her heart was pounding.

“Hello.”

“Michael,” Bertie said, and burst into tears. N “Hello?” Michael said on the other end.

“It’s me,” Bertie managed to get out.

“Bert?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, hi.”

Oh, hi. Maybe that was a good sign. He wasn’t hanging up on her. Or saying, “What do you want?” Oh, hi,

was pretty good. She sniffled. She couldn’t ask him to hold on while she looked for a Kleenex. “Listen, Michael,” she said, “I went to see Arthur Wechsler today with-” No, she’d better not tell him Cee Cee was there. “I went to see Arthur Wechsler,” she said again. Her voice sounded tiny and thin, and she wished that it didn’t. “And he-”

“Who?” Michael said gruffly.

“Arthur Wechsler, remember? The gynecologist in Sarasota who-”

“Yeah, what about him, Bert? You sick or something?”

“No.” She laughed a funny little forced laugh. “Not sick, Michael. Pregnant. I’m pregnant.”

There was a long silence. Then, finally, Michael spoke. “So, what do you want, Bert? Money? I told you when I left you’ll get all the money you’ll ever need.”

Money. How could he think it was money she was calling for? The lump in her throat was so thick she couldn’t talk. She had to talk, to say to him, Michael, maybe we can work this out. Maybe a baby would help us. They’d always thought children would bring them-what? Closer. They hadn’t ever been close. This was a cold man on the other end of this call. Why had she imagined he’d say anything to make her feel better?

“You’re not thinking about having it?” Michael said. “Please don’t tell me that.”

“I_”

“Bert, you’re a crackpot. A lunatic. I don’t want a goddamned baby. Not with you. We’re finished, and if you really are pregnant, you’d better dispose of it, pronto. I’m not going to support some accidental child for the rest of my life.”

“Michael,” Bertie said. But Michael had hung up.

Bertie put the phone down and walked into the kitchen. Through the window she could see a moonlight cruise boat going slowly by, and just make out strains of the music the band was playing-“I Could Have Danced All Night.” She opened the refrigerator and looked at the

contents. It hadn’t ever been this full when she lived with Michael. Michael. Cold. An accidental baby. He was right about that.

One night in six months. After ten years of trying. Bertie closed the refrigerator. Maybe she’d just-oh, God, she was hungry and tired and pregnant and queasy and deserted by Michael and even Cee Cee was off somewhere and she . . . Bertie sat down in a heap on her kitchen floor. She was glad to be alone so she could just sit for a while and sob.

It was morning and some part of Bertie knew it, but she couldn’t seem to awaken from a dream about two tiny babies, twins. They were her babies, and one looked exactly like Cee Cee and one looked exactly like Michael and, even though they were infant-sized babies, they were talking to one another in the crib they shared while Bertie stood near enough to hear, but not for them to see her. They were arguing.

“She should dispose of it, pronto,” said the Michael baby, “because I don’t want it.”

“Go shit in your hat, you putz,” said the Cee Cee baby. “We’re havin’ the fuckin’ baby ‘cause I do want it.”

“No money.”

“Aunt Cee Cee.”

“No father.”

“You asshole.”

Bertie opened her eyes when she heard a key in the front door. Who had a key? Michael. Maybe he’d . . .

A moment later, Bertie’s bedroom door opened, and Cee Cee stood smiling, still in her red sequins, her makeup askew. The orchid was gone from where it had been pinned to her chest, but the pin was still there.

“Did I make curfew?” she asked, grinning.

“Did you just come in?” Bertie asked.

“This is a man,” Cee Cee said, the grin never leaving her face, “who knows his way around a pussy.” And then

she laughed, stopped in the middle of the laugh to cough a cigarette cough, and then laughed some more.

“I’m kidding,” she said, “I mean I’m sure he does, ‘cause that’s all he sees all day, but I wouldn’t let him lay a glove on me. Bert, this guy is normal, straight, smart. He went to Harvard, Bert, graduated from Harvard, and he’s Jewish . . . and . . . cute. I mean, he ain’t Gary Grant, but cute. Don’t you think so? I mean, I like the fact that he’s balding. I think it’s . . . sexy. I really like him, a lot. I mean, go figure. A doctor in Sarasota, Florida. It seems crazy, but we laughed a lot and he, well, he said he hopes I stay around for a while. And I could, Bert, I mean you notice the phone hasn’t been ringing for me? That’s ‘cause I told everyone in L.A. that I was serious about getting away from it all. So, ya see, I could help you with the pregnancy and stuff at least for a few weeks, and then keep goin’ out with Arthur. So, can I for a while, Bert?”

Bertie was quiet. Cee Cee in the house every day. For how long? Weeks? Months? But maybe it would be a blessing. It took so much energy to be with her, but worth it. She was cheerful. Up. Made Bertie laugh.

“Look, I’m going to sleep for a while,” Cee Cee said. “We stayed up talking all night, anyway. . . . Think about me staying for a while, will ya?”

Bertie nodded.

It took Arthur Wechsler three days after his first date with Cee Cee to call her again. Cee Cee, who decided after the first day passed without a word not to call him no matter what, decided on the second day that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she called him. But Bertie said no, it was wrong, and managed to keep her away from the phone. On the third day, Cee Cee decided the guy was a putz, a low-life, and a no-good dog like all men, but when the phone rang while both of them were sitting outside on the deck, Cee Cee ran inside to get it so fast she twisted her ankle.

He said he’d been busy with his parents, and deliveries of babies, and had wanted to call sooner.

Gee Cee had barely eaten for the entire three days. Not because she wasn’t hungry, but because she had vowed that the next time she went out with him she would look perfect. Yet, she’d been preparing food for Bertie, keeping up her end of the deal, making Bertie eat as she had promised. Making appetizing healthy sandwiches for her and then sitting across the table sipping an iced tea and yakking while Bertie, who was beginning to feel better, devoured them. Bertie didn’t ask her if she was still using cocaine to curb her appetite, but there was something about the way Cee Cee was behaving that made her think not. Now and then Cee Cee would telephone some agent or producer in Los Angeles, but she didn’t scream and yell and carry on at them the way she usually did. She seemed calm, calmer than Bertie had ever seen her.

And when Arthur Wechsler not only asked her out for dinner that night, but lined up a few other dates with her-one of which was to meet his mother-she was filled with some strange new hope. The hope was unverbalized for a while, but finally, after she’d gone on three or four more dates with him, she asked Bertie to take her shopping and “dress me like a real person.”