Читать книгу Playing by the Baby Rules - Michelle Celmer - Страница 11

“Risa, Jake’s here,” Lucy called from the front of the store. “Are you ready to go?”

Wincing as pain clutched low in her belly, Marisa shelved the day’s receipts and stored the cash in the safe. “Go ahead and lock up. I’ll be right out.”

Jake poked his head around the corner. “Anything I can do?”

She wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow. “Nope, I’ll be ready in just a second.”

“Hey, you okay? You look a little pale.”

She forced a smile. “Feminine stuff. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, no more explanation necessary. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen her in pain, and probably wouldn’t be the last either. “If you’re not feeling good, you don’t have to come to the bar tonight.”

“I’ll be okay in a few minutes. Tell Lucy I’ll be right out.”

She grabbed a bottle of aspirin from the cabinet above the sink in the bathroom and chased three down with water. Clutching the edge of the sink, she sucked in several deep breaths while she waited for the spasms to cease. Every bout of pain lately was a grim reminder she was running out of time. She would only be able to take so much more before she had to give in and have the surgery.

“Risa,” Lucy popped her head in. “Someone here to see you.”

“Did you tell them we’re closed?”

“I tried, but he said it’s personal. Some guy and his daughter.”

Some guy and his…oh no, it couldn’t be. She closed her eyes, shaking her head. Please, not tonight, she prayed silently.

She followed Lucy to the front, and of course, it was him. He always managed to show up when she didn’t want to see him. Which, come to think of it, was most of the time. How long had it been anyway? A year? Maybe longer?

Still tall and handsome, he looked a decade younger than his fifty-two years. The only hint of his true age was the distinguished trace of gray peppering his temples. The woman next to him was poured into a black-and-gold dress and clung to his arm. Maybe she was afraid of busting an ankle on her four-inch spiked heels.

“Marisa,” he said stiffly, gazing with barely masked distaste around the store.

She told herself not to let the rejection bother her, but deep down it stung. There was still a remnant of the little girl in her that used to try so hard to please him.

“Hello, Joseph. Long time no see.”

“I’d like to introduce you to Julia.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Marisa. I’ve heard so much about you.”

I’ll bet you have, Marisa thought, accepting her petite hand. She knew Joseph had always preferred younger women, but this was obscene. She couldn’t have been more than twenty.

Lucy stood next to her and appeared perplexed. Jake hovered near the counter looking as if he wanted to disappear.

“Where are my manners,” she said. “Joseph, you remember my friend Jake, and this is Lucy Lopez. We work together. Lucy, this is Joseph Donato, my father.”

Joseph gave them both a slight nod.

“So, when’s the big day?” Marisa asked.

Julia looked up at him, confused. “You told her already?”

Marisa gestured to Julia’s right hand. “The rock you’re wearing tipped me off. How many does this make, Joseph? Five or six?”

A nerve twitched in his jaw, and he eyed her sternly. “You know very well that Melinda was my fourth wife, which will make Julia my fifth.”

She challenged his piercing gaze. “You never know. I thought maybe you slipped one in somewhere without telling me.”

“Marisa,” Julia said, stepping forward. “Joey and I wanted to invite you to join us for dinner, to celebrate our engagement.”

“Really?” She could barely hide her surprise. “Whose idea was that?”

Julia glanced nervously at Joseph. “Um, both of ours.”

Boy, was she a lousy liar. Marisa knew Joseph wouldn’t have voluntarily asked her to join him for a meal. Still, she had no reason to be rude to Julia. “I’m sorry, I have plans tonight. But thank you for the invitation.”

“You will come to the wedding, won’t you?”

She’d never attended one of her father’s weddings. Well, not since his second marriage when her mother had sent her to the formal reception decked out in a ratty old dress and scuffed shoes. She had wanted all of his guests to see how poorly he cared for his daughter. She’d given no thought to how mortified Marisa would feel.

“Your father doesn’t love you,” her mother had said. “He only cares about himself, and now everyone will know it.”

It never escaped Marisa’s attention that her mother had a closet full of designer clothes and shoes. But when Marisa needed money for school clothes, or the rent was due, the well was always dry.

“It’s August eighteenth,” Julia was saying. “Can you make it?”

Marisa scrambled for an excuse to decline.

“It would mean so much to us,” Julia pressed. The look she gave Marisa was nearly pleading. “Please come.”

Pity for the girl overshadowed reason. Julia seemed nice enough. Clueless—but nice. “Sure, I’ll come.”

“Oh good!” she said excitedly. Joseph stood next to her, his face solemn. “I’ll send you an invitation.”

“We should go,” Joseph said, taking her arm. “We’ll miss our reservations.”

“It was so nice meeting you.” Julia took Marisa’s hand again, this time squeezing it firmly. “I hope we see each other again soon.”

Joseph nodded in her direction. “Take care of yourself, Marisa,” he said, guiding Julia to the door.

“It was nice meeting you, too, Lucy and Jake!” Julia waved as the door jangled shut.

“Whoa.” Lucy leaned against the counter next to Jake. “That was tense.”

“Very tense,” Jake agreed. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d give it a sphincter level of about ninety-nine point nine.”

“Your father is gorgeous,” Lucy said.

Marisa grabbed her purse from the file-cabinet drawer and pulled out her keys. “Don’t think he doesn’t know it.”

Lucy switched the lights off and they started toward the door. “Are you really going to go to their wedding?”

“I might. I’m a little curious, I guess.” They stepped outside into the stifling heat and Marisa locked up behind them.

“Your family is so scandalous,” Lucy said. “I envy you. I’ve got a family full of practicing Catholics. It’s so dull.”

They wove their way down Main Street toward the bar. As was the case every Friday night, the streets of the trendy town were clogged with people. “Lucy, trust me when I tell you it’s not as exciting as you may think. Especially for the people directly involved.”

Jake only nodded silently. Having grown up in an equally dysfunctional family, no one had to explain the concept to him.

When they reached the bar, they walked past the long line of customers waiting for a table and the bouncer motioned them through the door.

They negotiated through a sea of people to the table marked Reserved just to the left of the dance floor.

“I’ll see you after the set,” Jake said, and headed for the stage, instantly encompassed by the usual preperformance harem.

Having been so distracted by the pain and her father’s unexpected visit, Marisa barely noticed Jake’s appearance. Not that he looked any different than usual. Under the dim, smoky lights he looked unbelievably handsome. Well, actually, he looked unbelievably handsome all the time. And it wasn’t just good looks that made him so attractive. There were endearing little things that added to his appeal. The hair that was always a little messy. The slightly crooked nose—a battle scar from one of his father’s rages—and the way his mouth lifted a fraction higher on the left when he smiled.

He turned and flashed her that crooked grin and a funny little flutter danced through her stomach.

From across the table, Lucy nudged her.

She tore her eyes away from the stage. “Huh?”

“I said, Jake looks good tonight.”

A rush of heat claimed her cheeks when she realized she’d been caught staring. She tried to sound casual. “Oh, yeah, I guess he does.”

“You need a tissue?”

“What for?”

“The drool on your chin.”

Before she could embarrass herself further with a denial Lucy would most surely see right through, a waitress appeared to take their drink orders. A moment later Jake introduced the band and began the set with a rich, lazy rhythm, rendering a hush over the entire bar. Marisa propped her chin on the back of her hands, gazing up at him, lulled by a haunting tune she didn’t recognize. Then he sought her out, his eyes locking on hers, and she had the irrational, almost thrilling sensation that they were the only two people there. That he was playing for her alone. A slow, melodic seduction. She’d never heard him play more soulfully.

It went on that way throughout the forty-minute set and by the end, she felt as if she’d been picked apart, dragged out emotionally and left raw and exposed.

A burst of wild applause snapped her back to reality. His music had touched everyone there, not just her. Although, he had been watching her…

Jake thanked the crowd, passed the entertainment over to the DJ, then eased his way past a throng of eager young women. Between autographs and words of praise, he slowly made his way to Marisa and Lucy’s table. As Marisa rose to greet him, a tall, leggy blonde seated at the table behind them body-slammed her out of the way. Marisa stumbled, catching her balance on the edge of the table.

The blonde attached herself to Jake like a leech, whispering in his ear. He laughed, whispered something in return and when she handed him a business card he tucked it into his shirt pocket. It occurred to Marisa that Jake hadn’t been looking at her.

He’d been fixed on the blonde sitting directly behind her.

Humiliation blistered Marisa’s pride. What had she been thinking? Why would she let herself believe that Jake could look at her as anything but a friend? How could she have ever even considered that he would agree to be her baby’s father? That the thought of making love to her might not be such a bad thing after all. She should have known better.

Though she wanted to deny it, something had happened between them today. Something had changed and she didn’t know how to reverse it. How to fix it.

“Sorry about that.” Jake folded himself into the chair opposite her and signaled the waitress for his usual soda. “The longer I’m in this business, the more aggressive they seem to get.”

“Poor baby,” Lucy teased, and he pinched her playfully, making her squeal.

Holding in the tears of humiliation burning behind her eyes, Marisa grabbed her purse and rose from her chair. “I’m going home.”

“Already?” Disappointment twisted Jake’s gut. He had hoped she would stay for a while, so he could see if the connection he’d experienced, the charge of electricity he’d felt pass between them, was real or a figment of his imagination. “You’re sure you can’t stay a while?”

“I’m beat.”

“Do you mind if I stay?” Lucy asked. “Or do you want company walking home?”

“You should stay,” Marisa told her. “Have a good time.”

Jake got up. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t like you walking home alone at night. See you later, Luce.”

“You two have fun,” Lucy called after them. Her tone suggested she knew exactly what had been on Jake’s mind all night. Hell, all day. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t shake it.

On the way out he saw the producer who’d approached him. She appeared deep in conversation with the owner of the bar, but as he passed, she glanced over and mouthed the words call me.

He’d tried to explain that he was producing his music himself, under an independent label, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was approached regularly by so-called producers. He’d gone that route before. Never again would he sign away his creative rights. This was his music. He would record it the way he saw fit. Though he made a decent living as a studio musician, and he enjoyed the work, writing music was his true passion.

The night air was still heavy with moisture as they stepped out the door, but the temperature had lowered to a semitolerable level. A warm breeze carried the rich scent of coffee from the shop two doors down, and cars, spitting exhaust and overflowing with rowdy teenagers, lined the narrow city streets.

Jake draped one arm loosely across Marisa’s shoulder as they walked down the street together. They’d walked this way countless times before, but tonight was different. Tonight he was hyperaware of her presence beside him. The softness of her hair brushing against his arm, the scent of her perfume tantalizing his nose, the occasional bump of her hip against his thigh as they walked.

Marisa, however didn’t seem to notice a thing. She stared off, oblivious to his presence, her mind a million miles away.

“What did you think of the set?” he asked, curious to know if she’d felt anything special. Anything different.

“It was good,” she said noncommittally. “I like the new material.”

Disappointment took a choke hold on his heart. Okay, so she hadn’t felt it. She probably hadn’t even been looking at him, just staring blindly into space, thinking about the store inventory or shampooing her hair. Why would he let himself think—believe—it could have been anything else?

He’d promised he wouldn’t let what happened this afternoon compromise their friendship, and here he was flaking out. But he couldn’t seem to erase the idea from his mind. He’d run the situation over in his head a thousand times today and still one question nagged him.

Could he bring a child into the world, his own flesh and blood, then give it up?

Then it had dawned on him. He wouldn’t really be giving it up. As Marisa’s friend, he would always be a part of the kid’s life, but distanced enough to keep from doing any irreparable damage. It would be sort of like having a family, without really having one.

He could take the kid to the zoo, or teach him to play baseball. The little guy would never have to know the truth. At least, not until he was older. Even then he would probably be better off not knowing what kind of family he’d come from. What kid would want to learn he’d had an abusive, alcoholic grandfather and an uncle serving a life sentence in prison? It just wouldn’t be fair to burden a kid with that.

Hell, he could even start a college fund and, of course, if Marisa ever needed support financially, or just someone to baby-sit, he would be there for her. He could teach him about music—start him early learning the fundamentals. If someone had bothered to take the time with Jake, had recognized his musical potential, who knows where he would be today. Marisa’s kid would have the best of everything.

The more he’d thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Somehow the concept of her raising his child just felt right.

He’d tried to dismiss it. He’d tried to ignore the voice inside telling him it would be the right thing to do, that he owed it to Marisa for all she’d done for him. For being his best friend. His only family.

But he hadn’t been able to shut the voice out. The big question was, would Marisa go for it? Would she think he was good enough?

“I was wondering,” Marisa said, breaking the silence. “How would you feel about coming to the wedding with me. I could use the moral support.”

He understood completely. “Sure, I’ll go.”

When they reached her building, she stopped and pulled out her keys. “Thanks for walking me home. Do you want to come up for a bit?”

He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, suddenly filled with nervous energy. This was his chance. He forced the words out. “Sure. I kinda wanted to talk to you about something, anyway.”

“Okay.” Marisa started up the stairs to her apartment above the shop. As they stopped in the hall outside her door, the door to the adjacent apartment opened a crack, snapping tightly against half-a-dozen security chains. A single eyeball peered out.

“It’s just us, Mr. Kloppman,” she called. “Marisa and Jake.”

“Hand please,” a muffled voice ordered, and a small metal cheese grater slid through the opening. Obediently Marisa held out her hand and the grater hovered briefly over her palm. “Next.”

Jake did the same. When Mr. Kloppman appeared confident they were who they claimed to be, he slid the chains free and opened the door.

“Can’t be too careful,” he said, his eyes shifting nervously up and down the short hallway. “I saw it on the news. They can change shape, look or sound like anyone.”

Behind her, Jake chuckled and Marisa elbowed him sharply in the gut. “Have you been watching X-Files again, Mr. Kloppman?”

He shook his head. “Heck no. This was on the late news last night. You keep your doors locked. It’s not safe.” He backed into his apartment, again checking the short stretch of the hallway. “Trust no one,” he said as the door snapped shut.

“That guy is certifiable,” Jake said, after they were safely inside her apartment with the door locked. “I’m afraid he’s going to snap one of these days and hurt someone.”

“He’s harmless. Besides, his daughter pays the rent on time every month and as long as he lives next door I never have to worry about an alarm system.” Clearing a week’s worth of newspapers off the couch, Marisa collapsed onto the overstuffed cushions, stretching out her legs. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Jake sat across from her in the leather recliner and leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “It’s about what happened today at lunch.”

Marisa’s heart began to hammer wildly in her chest. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

“It’s pretty much the only thing I’ve been thinking about. How about you?”

“Me, too.”

“Is it just me, or do you get the feeling that somehow the dynamics of our entire relationship have changed?”

She didn’t want things to change, but she couldn’t deny that something was different. Looking down at her hands, she nodded.

“In that case, I think Lucy is right,” he said. “I should be the father of your baby.”