Pregnant Without a Cause

Chapter Eleven, Episode 35

[1000 words]

"How's it going?"

The simple question unexpectedly overwhelmed Michelle. Her past was blackness, her present a lie. "Do the math. A one night stand, a fatherless child, whoring myself to reality fucking television."

She didn't bother looking at the people sitting next to them. They'd heard it all. The question was, why had she said it? Michelle grabbed Boomer's hand. "I have to go, you know..." She just wanted to be somewhere where she could stop embarrassing herself for a few minutes.

She stood and squeezed into an aisle, and walked off the patio and out through the restaurant, feeling every yuppie eye on her, and every busboy eye. Passing through the quiet hotel lobby, she emerged onto the cool granite veranda on the north side of the building, which looked out on another immaculate lawn and the first courtyard of hotel rooms.

Michelle trembled with fear, rage, and regret. What a house of straw she'd built! Boomer emerged from the lobby, a serious look on his face. "So it's not going well." He seemed to have a bottomless well of that dry, gentle humor.

"I'm sorry about that scene. My daughter says I have postpartum depression. And maybe she's right." Michelle raised her chin, and kept her voice low and calm. "In case you were wondering, and everyone is, Edouard is not the baby's father. One night. Last winter. Someone else. Lonely and desperate, I gave in to temptation. Even though I could see the lie in the man's face. And it's just been one lie after another since then."

She sat on the arm of a big wooden patio chair. In front of them, a caramel-colored toddler rolled a pink inflated ball on the grass toward his smiling father. The simplicity of the scene twisted something deep in her chest. "Sometimes I  feel like I'm at the bottom of the ocean. In a very cold, dark place."

Boomer placed a hand on her shoulder, light as a scarf. "We all do things—"

"—no, this is different!" Now Michelle could let go of her emotions, but in a decorous way, because this was still the Biltmore. She arose and walked out into the sun, down the sidewalk, out across the lawn, past the child and father. Boomer strolled easily beside her. She spoke straight ahead because she did not want to see his reaction. His disgust with her. "I told myself it was Edouard's baby. But I hid the pregnancy from everybody, even Edouard. I don't know why I did that, but it was easy because of my weight. And because I didn't trust Edouard to be my husband or the father of my child."

They passed under a stand of eucalyptus trees, as tall as canyon walls. "I got on the show under false pretenses to please Edouard. Then when the baby was born, I passed it off as my daughter's, which we are still doing. Even this brunch was a lie. I came here to convince you, or silence you, or charm you into silence. Because you and your crew are the only ones who know the truth besides my daughter, my mom, Edouard, and Callie's friend."

"You were going to charm me, eh?"

"Yeah, who wouldn't be charmed by this?" Michelle swept her hand down the length of her body, as if showing off a refrigerator on a TV game show.

The walkway took them past the granite buildings of the hotel, and they entered into a deserted pool area, where rows of deck lounges stood lined up precisely in the noontime sun.

Michelle turned toward him, shading her eyes with her hand. "So that's my story. Pretty pathetic."

Boomer stepped close, embracing her gently, his square shoulders shading her from the sun. She sagged against him, grateful for the unexpected comfort.

"I don't think it's pathetic," he murmured, "highly creative, maybe. I'd point out that a lot of women would have just said to Edouard, hell with it, it's your baby. Let's get married."

Michelle shrugged.

"Maybe you don't get to watch enough daytime TV, like I do." His hand rested on her upper back. "That's a whole genre there. Who da daddy. And the people treat it like a game. Does Edouard have a job?"

"Yeah."

"Do you?"

"No. Except the show, and that's highly temporary." Why did he care?

"So by marrying him, I'm guessing, if nothing else, you would have had a health plan to get you through thepregnancy and birth."

A quick breeze rippled the sparkling pool.

"But I was willing to do that. I almost did it. I was this close."

 "But you didn't, did you?"

She sighed. "No. But the lies I told. I'm ashamed. I'm very ashamed. But now it's over. Something happened yesterday that convinced me that I have to stop all of it. And my meltdown just now. That cinches it. I thought I could compartmentalize, I could keep the TV show out of my private life, but it's impossible. And I can't live a lie. So, I guess this could be my last brunch. So to speak."

"What's going to happen?"

"I'll be off the show in the sense that I can't win anything. But they have all this tape of me that they will probably use. It'll make me look like a selfish, lying, scheming, fame-hungry bitch. Which I guess is all true except the fame hunger. I don't care. It'll be hard on my daughter."

"That's some tough choice."

Michelle braced against him, standing straight. "Yes, but it's the bed I made. Maybe it'll be like that movie."

His lips curved into a smile. "What movie?"

"The one where the woman decides to do the right thing for the baby's sake, but you don't know if they will end up happy, but it looks like they might."

"Yeah, I think I saw that." He laughed. His deep brown eyes took it all in, all of her, bad and good, and did not stir or waver. "What's his name, anyway?"

Panic seized Michelle. "Gerald. His name is Gerald." She took a calming breath. No more lies, no matter how convenient. "But you'll never guess his nickname."