Not That Kind of Girl

  “And now?” Eli asked, shooting her another smile. “How do you feel now? You gonna give this cowboy another chance, Miss Bloom?”

  She sighed, mostly at her own foolishness. “That’s what this is,” she said, surprising herself with the candor of her answer. “When I asked for your help, I told myself it was about Lilith. But it was about you, too. You and me. There were probably a few other people who could have helped with my dog, but there was only one person I couldn’t get out of my head, and that was you.” She looked sideways at Eli, giving him a sheepish smile. “And here we are.”

  Eli nodded gently. “I hope you never regret this decision.”

  Roxanne laughed. “You and me both,” she said.

  They drove for several moments without talking, but Roxanne knew, based on Eli’s story, that they had something in common—absentee fathers—and she wanted to see how forthcoming Eli would be on his end.

  “Are you angry at your real dad, whoever he is?”

  Eli shrugged, keeping his eye on the road. “All the anger was directed toward my mother and father. I couldn’t stop thinking how selfish they’d been, and how careless and stupid my mother had been when she was young. I came down really hard on her—you know, her lack of moral fiber and all that.”

  Roxie laughed. “Oh, yeah. I knew all about moral fiber when I was in college.”

  “Exactly.” Eli turned toward her briefly and shot her one of his dazzling smiles, then moved his attention back to the road ahead. “But I eventually talked it out with my mom, and I made a decision not to be angry at this man who’s my real father, whoever he is, because he doesn’t even know I exist. My mother left Berkeley without a word to anyone about her predicament.”

  Roxie nodded. “But you were lucky to have Bob Gallagher as your dad.”

  “Definitely.” Roxie watched a smile tug at the corner of Eli’s mouth. “He may not have donated any of his genes to me but he gave me everything else of himself. His time, his love, his support.” Eli quickly looked over the rim of his sunglasses to make eye contact with Roxie. “He taught me carpentry and ranching, and a respect for the natural world. But more than that, he taught me what being an honorable man looked like, every day of his life. Yeah, I was lucky.”

  Roxanne was humbled by that answer. She looked down at her hands, thinking she had no idea what it felt like to know, love, and respect your father.

  “My dad left me when I was six,” she said, turning away from Eli to look out the other window.

  Eli nodded silently, waiting for her to go on with her story. But Roxie knew that wouldn’t happen. She didn’t talk about her dad. She never had.

  “But I’m sure he didn’t leave you,” Eli said, his sentence ending with the lilt of uncertainty. “Right? I mean, his relationship with your mother fell apart and he left her. You got caught in the cross fire, the way children too often do.”

  “Sure. I guess you’re right,” she said, letting her head fall back against the seat. There was no point in correcting him. The truth was still too tender and raw to expose, even twenty-two years after the fact.

  With a sigh, Roxie decided to change the direction of her thoughts and the course of the conversation. Something had been nagging at her brain the whole trip. Eli still had no intention of staying in California. One of the reasons he’d turned her down in the first place was still valid. Nothing had changed. So why were they even bothering to do the whole “get to know you” thing?

  “I don’t hate San Francisco, you know,” Eli said, as if he knew where she wanted to take the conversation. “It’s a beautiful city. I’d be happy to spend part of my time there.”

  Roxie swiveled her head to look at him, still leaning against the seat. “How big a part?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, eyes on the road. “My home is in Utah. That’s how I’ll always feel. My home is a big part of who I am.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it tight. “I hope once you see it, you’ll understand.”

  “Is that why you’re taking me there? So I’ll fall in love with Utah?”

  She watched him bite down on the inside of his cheek to subdue his grin. “Something like that,” he said, squeezing her hand even tighter.

  Her face opened in a wide smile. Right there on that seat, smack in the middle of nowhere, between a grinning Eli and a joyously windblown Lilith, Roxanne felt happiness sneak up on her. She laughed out loud at the strange sensation. It was as if a warm wave of relief had just washed over her, leaving a giddy tingle in its wake.

  She was only nine hours and five hundred miles away from her world, and she suddenly felt free. She felt open to whatever might come her way. Her dog had obviously experienced a similar change of perspective. Lilith took playful gulps of wind as her ears flapped around and her tail wagged nonstop. What a remarkable transformation—for both of them. It was the weirdest thing.

  Eli was the reason. The man holding her hand was responsible for bringing them this far. Roxie figured she might as well trust him to lead the rest of the way.

  When she closed her eyes, the image of Mrs. Needleman flashed before Roxanne’s eyes, standing there with her fists on her hips and her feet splayed wide, a white-denture smile on her face.

  She took the opportunity to make a silent plea to God or Mrs. Needleman—whoever was in charge of things these days.

  This time, let it be more than wishful thinking.

  * * *

  “You’ve got to hold on a little longer,” Bea said, rubbing the T-shirt stretched tightly over Josie’s belly. “Squeeze your thighs together or something. Just don’t shoot that puppy out until next week, okay?”

  “For God’s sake, Bea! You can’t control when you go into labor!” Ginger made that observation from her half-reclining position on the bedroom love seat, looking just as round as Josie.

  “You can’t?” Bea asked, baffled.

  “Please! Stop talking about me like I’m not here! I’m pregnant, not deaf!” Josie hoisted herself up on her stack of pillows, then threw one of them at Bea’s head.

  “No need to lash out, my pet.” Bea calmly retrieved the pillow from its landing place on the Oriental rug in Josie’s bedroom. She then dutifully rearranged the pile to Josie’s satisfaction before she returned to her chair.

  “You don’t have any idea what this feels like,” Ginger said, fanning herself dramatically. She flashed a hateful look toward Bea. “I can’t sleep at night. I can’t tie my own shoes. In fact, my feet are so swollen I can’t even wear actual shoes. Look!” She straightened a leg and held it parallel to the floor. “Slippers! Ugly, flat-footed, fat-lady slippers!”

  “You think you’ve got it bad?” Josie pushed herself up on her elbows. “At least you’re allowed to get up and walk around! My biggest thrill of the day is a quick shower. I’m getting so big that I have my own gravitational pull. I wake up sometimes and see my toiletries orbiting around the bed.”

  Bea rolled her eyes. All she’d wanted was to have a friendly visit—and convince both of them to avoid going into labor while Roxie was out of town. Why did they have to go all hormonal on her like this?

  “Here’s my only concern,” Bea said, venturing forward with caution. “We can’t do anything that would cut this trip short for Roxie. This is her shot at happiness, I’m sure of it. Eli is the man she needs. He’s the right guy for her. I’ve got a wonderful feeling about this.”

  Ginger pushed herself to a mostly upright position, her mouth ajar. Josie went perfectly still upon her bed throne.

  “What’s wrong?” Bea asked, surprised by the silence. “Did I say something off the wall?”

  Her friends had no reply.

  “It’s just that I know Roxie will come racing back here if either one of you goes into labor. And that can’t happen.”

  No response. Just wide-eyed stares.

  “Don’t get me wrong—I want these babies to be born! I can’t wait to be a co-godmother! I’m only asking that you wait until Roxie’s home. A few day
s with Eli is going to change everything for her, just you watch.”

  Ginger scooted her robust form to the edge of the love seat and began rocking back and forth to gain momentum, then pushed herself to a stand. She shuffled over to where Bea sat, and stared down at her. “Who are you and what have you done with Beatrice Latimer?” she asked, her eyes wide with mock terror.

  Josie chortled. “No kidding, Bea. What’s up with you? You been watching The Bachelor again?”

  “Funny,” Bea said. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” Ginger said, relocating her roundness to an antique boudoir chair next to Bea. “I’ve never heard you get all gushy about love like this. You are usually the one telling us to maintain our grip on reality. So what’s gotten into you?”

  Bea snorted. “Nothing. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  It went quiet again. Other than the sounds of Genghis snoring in the corner of the room—where he was flopped over a sleeping Martina, who was in turn curled around HeatherLynn—it was uncomfortably silent. Bea did not miss the raised eyebrows on her friends’ faces.

  Josie patted the comforter on her big four-poster bed. “Come up and sit with me a minute, Bea,” she said. When Bea didn’t budge, Josie said, “Please. Just humor the irritable pregnant lady, would you?”

  Bea sighed, making her way to one of the bedside stepstools, then climbing up. She swung her legs off the side of the mattress and kicked off her sneakers, eventually collapsing back against Josie’s decadent collection of bed pillows. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Bea knew what was coming. It was inevitable. For years now, every time a sea change was detected in the emotions of one of them, the woman in question would be expected to spill it to the group. It was therapeutic, they’d always told each other. Sharing the ups and downs of life and love was how they helped each other stay strong and smart. It was how Ginger had made it through her divorce from Larry-the-driveway-fornicator, how Roxie had survived Raymond Scumberg, and how Josie had managed to hold on to her self-respect through the likes of Lloyd, Spike, and the guy who stole her turkey baster when he moved out. It was what they’d always done for each other.

  And now, Bea’s turn had come. She was fifty-four years old, always the one who somehow managed to stay above the muck and mire, but today she was the one with the story to tell. She only hoped that Josie and Ginger could handle the plot line. God, how she wished Roxanne were there with them. She’d be cool with the situation.

  Bea took a deep breath and prepared herself, but nothing came out. This was harder than she ever would have imagined.

  “Here, pull me in. ” Ginger stood on the stool on the opposite side of the bed and Josie grabbed her hand to steady her. It was like watching a couple of life-sized Weebles, Bea decided.

  Once everyone was settled, Bea felt Josie’s soft hand tug at her tightly crossed arm until she loosened it. Then Josie patted Bea’s hand and Ginger put her hand on top of Josie’s. Her friends smiled at her.

  Bea opened her mouth.

  She couldn’t do it.

  “Oh, Lord, Latimer!” Ginger shook her head. “Do you think we’re stupid? Do you think we’re small-minded? Do you think we would ever judge you?”

  Bea was stunned.

  “We love you, you big ninny.” With that, Ginger unleashed a beautiful smile. “We love you like crazy, Bea. We always have and always will.”

  Bea felt tears stinging her eyes.

  “And no one deserves happiness more than you,” Josie said, tilting her head sweetly.

  Bea didn’t know what to say.

  “All right. Fine.” Josie rolled her eyes toward Ginger. The two of them nodded in agreement, then focused on Bea.

  “What’s her name?” they asked in stereo.

  Bea swallowed. She blinked. She felt the inside of her skull heat up so much she worried her hair gel would combust. “Her name is Rachel,” she said.

  Josie and Ginger nodded. They waited for more information.

  “Rachel Needleman,” Bea whispered.

  The explosion of shrieking and laughing was so loud that Bea tried to cover her ears. Ginger and Josie fell on her, nearly suffocating her in their fleshy embraces. Within seconds, three dogs had joined them on the bed, adding their barks, yips, and howls to the celebration.

  “I knew it!” Ginger yelled. “This is fabulous!”

  “How long have you known her?” Josie screamed, shaking Bea by the shoulders. “How long has this been going on? This is Gloria’s daughter, right? Why didn’t you tell us, Bea? How could you have kept something like this from us!”

  She was about to address those questions—and come clean about how Gloria had been hospitalized—when the bedroom door flew open. Three panting and wide-eyed men filled the threshold. Two more dogs ran into the room.

  “I’ll start the car!” Teeny yelled, running in and taking a sharp cut to his left, as if he were about to intercept a mid-field pass.

  “Which one is in the labor?” Lucio called out, hands above his head.

  “Nobody panic!” Rick shouted, sweat beading on his forehead. “Holy shit, where did I put the hospital bag?”

  The women on the bed stared at the men. The men stopped in their tracks to stare at the women on the bed. For a moment, nobody said anything.

  Then Bea, Josie, and Ginger began howling with laughter. All five dogs joined in. The men—who’d entered the room visibly primed for battle—began to deflate. Teeny staggered to a nearby chair and collapsed.

  “No babies?” Lucio asked, waving his arms around. “But we heard the screaming! The birth screaming!”

  “No babies. Sorry,” Josie said, giggling. “Nobody’s in labor. We were just goofing around.”

  “Oh,” Rick said. He wiped his face. “So everybody’s okay, then? Nothing’s going on?”

  “Well, that’s not entirely accurate,” Ginger said, her voice soft.

  Teeny raised his hand as if to stop the proceedings. “Just tell me—whatever this is about, is it going to involve me driving? Because I suddenly don’t feel so good.”

  “No driving,” Josie said.

  “Thank you, sweet baby Jesus,” Teeny said, sighing.

  “Then what is it?” Rick asked. He and Lucio wandered to the edge of the bed and stood guard.

  Lucio cleared his throat. “Before we continue, may I say that before today, I have never had the pleasure of seeing so many women and dogs in the same bed?”

  Soft laughter spread through the room.

  “And here I thought you’d seen it all, pal.” Rick patted his friend’s back.

  “Such a thing is not possible,” Lucio said, grinning at his wife. “Every day, life brings us another surprise, is it not true, guapa?”

  Ginger’s cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. “That’s an understatement,” she said.

  Suddenly, Bea felt the heat of Josie and Ginger’s stare. She sighed.

  Teeny perked up. He sat up straight in the chair. “Bea? Is this about you? Is everything all right?”

  She sighed again.

  “Come on now, girl. Don’t scare us like this.” Teeny leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s going on?”

  Lucio cleared his throat. “You aren’t … you know…?” He gestured to Ginger and Josie.

  “Pregnant?” Bea shouted, nearly jumping off the mattress. “What the fuck?”

  “Yes. Sorry,” Lucio whispered.

  Teeny collapsed again. Rick wiped his mouth in anxiety. Ginger and Josie laughed.

  “Oh, just go ahead,” Josie said, landing a soft punch on Bea’s upper arm. “Nothing you could come up with now would be a shock after that!”

  Bea rose from the bed. She walked to the center of the room, giving herself a moment to pull her thoughts together. Martina scurried over to sit at her left side, tail wagging, eyes filled with devotion. Bea reached down and patted her loyal companion’s head.

  She raised her gaze to her friends, who waited in rapt attention. S
he had to chuckle to herself. Never had she pictured it would be like this, that her moment of truth would take place in a Victorian-era whorehouse in front of a bunch of dogs, a crazy Spaniard, a pet store tycoon, and a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound former Syracuse cornerback.

  But Josie and Ginger? Two of the best friends she’d ever had in her life? Two of the best people she’d ever had the honor to know? Bea had always hoped they’d be here for this. She only wished Roxanne were with them. She was the only missing piece.

  Bea took a deep breath. “I’ve met someone,” she said, keeping her eyes shut for courage. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love.”

  A loud crash made her eyes fly open in alarm.

  “Sorry,” Teeny said, shards of an antique bowl and pitcher at his feet.

  Rick shook his head, not caring in the least. He turned to Bea. His face was frozen in shock. “And?”

  She nodded, steeling herself. “It’s Gloria Needleman’s oldest daughter, Rachel. She’s … she’s incredible. She’s a child advocate lawyer. She was a record holder in women’s giant slalom. She loves dogs. She’s devoted to Gloria. She thinks I’m … you know … pretty special, too.”

  For thirty years, Bea had fantasized about how magical it would have been to stand on that center podium at the 1980 Olympics to receive her gold medal in the five-hundred-meter breaststroke. Of course, because of Jimmy Carter and the boycott, that moment would always remain a fantasy. But she figured this particular real-life situation had to come pretty damn close.

  Teeny jumped from his chair, ran to Bea, and lifted her into his arms. He spun her around as he laughed and hooted. The room filled with cheers. And barking.

  “This calls for a celebration!” Lucio screamed.

  “Champagne for everyone!” Rick said.