Billie Girl

Chapter Twenty Nine

Leslie and I became closer over the next few days. Maybe it was because she was considering flying back to LA, since her agent was getting impatient with her and no longer believed she was on sick leave. I had been worrying about my sister, because she had always been quite slim, but lately she had been gaining a bit of weight. But now I noticed that her belly was even more pronounced. We had been sitting at Barnes and Noble having iced coffee drinks and that is when she confessed to me that she was in fact a few months pregnant. My jaw dropped right then and there, mostly out of an overwhelming sense of envy. I had always wanted to be knocked up. Early motherhood really appealed to me. I liked the idea that I would only be seventeen years older than my kid. We could be kids together. But this time, for once, Leslie was beating me to the punch big time. I asked her who the father was.

"I honestly don't know. I have been a bit loose these days. I would not say I have been a floozy, but I have been pretty darn close. There are some great bars on the strip that I have been frequenting with my friend Sabrina. Remember her? We were in that international dance troupe together. Anyhow, she married really well. Her boyfriend is the sound editor on major motion pictures. But she feels sorry for me and her husband is really low-key and mellow and allows her to go out. So we have been bar hopping, you know... just kicking it with a good friend. Naturally when the guys come buzzing around they see her wedding ring, but they don't see a ring on me. And so I had a couple of rolls in the hay, you know. I did it mostly to impress Sabrina with my life of freedom. I was trying to make no-strings sex glamorous instead of lonely and kind of pathetic."

She paused as though images of her one-night stands were flashing in front of her eyes.

I just had to ask, "How many guys have you been with?"

"No more than two....OK maybe three."

"Maybe?"

"Hey, I was under the influence of cocktails. What do you expect of me?"

"Could it have been four or five?" I asked mortified.

"Definitely not that many. Hey, I am not a slut. I am just a single lady, you know, taking advantage of all that life has to offer. Which isn't that much."

"So I guess I have to ask you again. Who is the father?"

"And I will have to tell you again. I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No, not really."

I was silent. Not that I was feeling judgmental, but I guess the Detective Stanley in me was coming out. I wanted to fly back to LA with her and conduct an investigation, trace her steps, figure out who the guy was, and get him to make an honest woman out of Leslie by marrying her pronto.

"Do you have the names and the numbers of these guys?"

"One of them. His name is Frank and he is a professional tree planter."

"A tree planter?"

"He is part of non-profit organization that brings trees to urban neighborhoods. He's a very cool, enlightened guy. I have half a mind to tell him that he was the one who planted a seed in me. Wonder how he would react?"

"Well, I guess you have a one in three chance of being correct."

"Sorry, there might have been a fourth....and...God, I hate this....possibly a fifth."

"What has been going on with you, Leslie?"

After that comment my sister got real quiet. She took a deep breath, and then said, "Billie, I have been going through a lot too...since..."

Her voice was breaking, and her nose was getting all stuffy. I gave her a napkin.

"Since Daddy...died." She finally said.

Suddenly it felt like all her pain came into me. I was absorbing her anguish. Maybe we had never been that close before, but things change, and they were changing right before our eyes. Over the sound system I heard a song, "Send in the Clowns," that always broke my heart. My dad had taught me all about the song, and this was a version he had once played for me. It was a recording of Sarah Vaughn and Count Basie...my memory has always been so keen when it came to the moments when my dad shared with me his eclectic musical taste.

"Remember how much Dad liked this song?" I asked, as if I were trying to make her cry even more. Which really wasn't true. I guess my emotions were just getting the best of me. Sometimes it is best not to fight the tears, and so I let them flood my eyes and clog my nose until the inner storm passed.

The two of us just totally embraced each other at the book store and wept. A barista girl whom I had seen there plenty of times came over to us with a sample of some newfangled coffee drink she said was called "Coca nut blend" and offered it to us.

Leslie and I each took one cup. I saw a Leslie's smile, and I knew that we just had to make it through another hour and another day, and another night. That was all that was really required of us.

Then the barista came back and said something which really brought us back to the present when she she said, "Did you lose someone dear?"

"Yes, we did," Leslie said for the two of us.

It seemed as though the barista was also in mourning for our dad, that is until she added, "I don't know why they can't catch that son of a bitch. The Grand Rapids Police Department is supposed to be a very capable bunch. I don't what is wrong with them."

We had to pause for a moment and realize what she was alluding to. But then I switched into my powerful and strong girl mode and said, "We will get him!"

She didn't know how right I was by using the word "We" because I felt assured that I was going to be an irreplaceable part of his capture.

The barista looked at me funny after I said that. "Sorry, but does your dad work for the police department?"

"Excuse me, but our father is dead," Leslie said, handing the girl her empty sample cup. "And if you don't mind, my sister and I are having a personal moment here."

"So sorry. I thought that maybe you had a family member who might have been, well, affected by this tragedy."

"Knock on wood, we are all ok." I said, giving the barista an assuring smile. But I could not stop thinking about the fact that she clearly looked to be in the killer's target age group.