William Kienzle - Man Who Loved God

Barbara was almost rapturous. At last something that made sense-a credible explanation of how she had become pregnant!

“I debated at the time whether to tell you. It seemed to make little difference. The harm was done; you very probably were carrying my sperm in your vagina. If you were going to get pregnant, you were going to get pregnant.

“Later, I thought that was a stupid decision. You could’ve douched. Not a lot of chance that would’ve made any difference-but it represented the only remaining protection you might have.

“Still, in light of all the protection we always took-the spermicide, the diaphragm … the condom, for that matter … and this was such an infinitesimal perforation … plus it could easily have been a safe time in your cycle.

“With all those considerations I couldn’t think of anything better than to let fate take its course. And” — he turned and gestured in the general direction of her abdomen-“it has.”

Barbara couldn’t get over it. After all this maneuvering with the other three, the execs! The last person she’d expected to readily accept responsibility, the last person on her chronological list of candidates, Tom Adams, admitted to being the father of her child. Who’d a thunk it!

Her initial reaction was relief. And immediately she felt power returning to her grasp.

The failures on Monday with Marty and Jack had taken a lot of wind from her sails. At that point, to relieve her angst, she’d begun to entertain the concept of a virgin birth. Returning to reality, she realized that one of the two on Tuesday’s list had to be the one. Still, she had been shaken.

She hadn’t felt all that ecstatic after this morning’s session with Lou Durocher. And the nightmare concerning marriage to him hadn’t helped. But now that she considered the matter in light of what Tom Adams had just told her, Lou would’ve had to have had an experience similar to Tom’s in order to be in this paternity sweepstakes.

No doubt about it, something, or some things , had to have gone very, very wrong for her to conceive. There simply were too many precautions taken for this to happen.

Tom Adams had just confessed that his condom had failed. Not much of a failure but, theoretically, enough. Even so, his sperm had to negotiate a diaphragm that was supposed to block them and a spermicide that was supposed to kill them.

On the face of it, Tom Adams, while not a leadpipe cinch, was a most likely candidate. At this point, only a DNA test would confirm paternity. But not now. Maybe never.

She rubbed her abdomen absentmindedly.

Adams chuckled. “Yes, there’s a new life in you. We want to protect it. I do. And I know you do too.”

“It’s getting clearer and clearer: you really are the father of this baby.”

He half turned in the chair to face her. “I’m the father? How could it be otherwise?”

Suddenly she felt weak and abruptly sat down. She had forgotten for a moment: Tom Adams didn’t know about the other three, his executive vice presidents. “I meant Al, of course. Everyone will think it’s Al’s baby. But we know it’s not.”

Adams smiled. “I’d be a great character witness for that argument, my dear. If anybody would believe that you and Al broke off intimate relations long ago, I’m the one. I saw his dedication to work. It went beyond dedication: it was a total immersion in the business. And I could sense his estrangement from you. You told me about it. But I would have sensed it anyway.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“And,” he continued, “we can use that when the baby is born.”

She was confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Why, when you have the child-after its birth. The gestation process will obviously be less than the nine months from our wedding-considerably less depending on when we marry.

“But we don’t have to worry about any scandal. Everyone will assume you’re having Al’s baby. All we have to do is let that assumption stand. Let them think it’s Al’s baby; that will assure us ample time without our hurrying anything. It’s made to order.”

He seemed so complacent. As if their marriage had been made to order. Strength returning, she stood. “Wait a minute: who said anything about marriage?”

“Marriage! You and I! It goes without saying.”

“That’s a quantum leap from where I am now. I didn’t know how you would react to my pregnancy. I was reasonably sure you wouldn’t want an abortion. And you know my feelings on the subject. But, other than that, I had to wait until this minute to know if you would accept the child.”

He stood and faced her, challengingly. “But of course I would-and do. What kind of man do you think I am? The child is my responsibility, and I intend to see this through.”

She began to pace, not going far in either direction. She seemed unable to stand still. “Tom, if all this hadn’t happened … if we hadn’t had an affair … if I hadn’t gotten pregnant … if Al hadn’t been killed: would you have given a single thought to marrying me?”

He turned and walked to the window. “That’s a lot of ‘ifs,’ Babs. But if ever there was a time when we ought to be honest, open, and frank with each other, now is that time. To be extremely candid, I’m not proud of our love affair.”

She started to remonstrate, but he silenced her with a gesture. “I can make excuses for what I did. No, make that, I have made excuses for our affair. I was alone and lonely. You are just about the most desirable woman I’ve ever met. Gradually it became clear that you were in an extremely unhappy marriage.

“So much for excuses.”

“Not so much excuses,” she managed to break in, “but reasons. You were divorced. So it wasn’t as if you’d chosen a celibate life like some priest. You didn’t get married to be alone. But you were alone and lonely.

“I was married. But the marriage was a virtual prison. I was alone and lonely in the special sense of living with someone without love. There isn’t any loneliness more oppressive than living with the wrong person.”

He shook his head impatiently. “Call it excuses, call it reasons; it doesn’t alter the fact that it was adulterous.”

“According to the rigid laws of your church!”

“According to the law of God.”

“According to how you define marriage!”

He jammed his hands deeply in his pockets as if to restrain himself from an angry gesture. “What do you mean by that!”

“I mean the rules and regulations of society and your church define what marriage is. And then they come along and tell you that the marriage is over-or that it never existed. Because now you have ‘irreconcilable differences.’ Or because you didn’t have a priest around. No one can tell me I was living a ‘married life’ with Al. And your church told you you were never actually married to Mickey-that what existed between you and Mickey was never a marriage.

“It all depends on who’s defining marriage-just like it all depends on whose ox is being gored.”

“All right! All right!” Adams threw up his arms in a gesture of vexation. “Let’s get to your other ‘ifs.’ Would I be talking marriage to you if you weren’t pregnant. Or if Al were still alive.

“That supposes a return to how things were before you discovered you were pregnant. And the answer is … probably not. We’re being candid. And, being candid, I had a good thing going. I wouldn’t want to lose that.”

“A good thing ?” Barbara’s lip curled. “Was using a condom a ‘good thing’? Your church doesn’t even let gays use condoms to protect against AIDS. You used them all the time with me. That was a ‘good thing’?” In her fury, she overlooked the fact that it had been she who had insisted on his using the condoms.