Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you know about it, Gillian, really? There are a hundred guys waiting to knife me in the back.”

“David, the job is yours for as long as you want it. Sam Martin went to bat for you, and the job is yours. You’re not going to lose it. If you didn’t lose it when that shaving cream—”

“All right, maybe I won’t. But maybe I want something better. Did that ever occur to you?”

“Yes, it’s occurred to me. I don’t expect you to keep this job for the rest of your life.”

“Okay, then how can I get married right now?”

“Why can’t you?”

“When I’ll be changing jobs?”

“Changing jobs? What are you talking about, David? What’s one thing got to do with the other?”

“You just said you expected me to change jobs, didn’t you?”

“There are married men who... David, I’m trying not to get angry.”

“There’s nothing to get angry about.”

“Damn it, there’s a lot to get angry about! What do you want from me? What do you want me to be, David? Your mother, your girl, your whore? What?”

“I didn’t know it was so trying for you, Gillian, I thought—”

“It isn’t trying! It’s only exasperating! I want to know what’s ahead for us.”

“Why? Do you think I’m going to lead you into—”

“I’m a good actress, David.”

“I know.”

“I’m a damn good actress.”

“I know. What’s—”

“I almost forgot that, David. I almost forgot how good I was.”

“If you want to act—”

“I want to be your wife!”

“You sound like my wife already,” David answered sharply.

“Is this how it ends?”

“Nothing’s ending.”

“In fire and smoke?”

“Oh, cut it, Gillian. You’re making a big dramatic scene out of—”

“Will you marry me?”

“I thought the man was supposed to ask.”

“Yes, the man is supposed to ask,” Gillian said.

“What does that mean?”

“ Are you asking?”

“You know I’m going to marry you.”

“When?”

“I don’t know when. As soon as—”

“As soon as what?”

“As soon as I know where I’m going.”

“And when will that be?”

“I’m not sure.”

“And what do I do in the meantime?”

“I thought things were going along fine as they—”

“Well, they’re not. Now you know they’re not going along fine. Now you know I’ve had a firm offer to do a television series, which will be filmed in Bimini and which will take me away for at least six months, now you know all that, David. So what are you going to do? I’d like to know exactly what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll be here when you get back,” he said. “You’re acting as if you’re going to become an African missionary. You’ll only be—”

“I won’t come back, David. I’ll go to the Coast. There’s a lot of work there. Now, how about that, David?”

“I’ve never heard you talk like this. You sound like a first-rate bitch.”

“Yes, I’m a first-rate bitch, and I love you so much I’m willing to forget anything that ever had any meaning for me, and all I ask in return is that you love me enough to make me your wife. That’s the kind of nasty rotten bitch I am. I’m going to cry, you louse. ”

“Gillian...”

“Oh, go, oh don’t, just don’t, oh get away, get away.”

“What are you crying about?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I want to go home.”

“I said I’m going to marry you.”

“When?”

“I don’t know when.”

“That’s not good enough, David.”

“It has to be good enough. I love you, Gillian.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I love you.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No. I want to go home. I’m going to take the job, David. I’m going to call Marian and tell her I’ll take it.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Then make me a better offer.”

“I don’t like the whole damn tone of this!” David said.

“Oh, that’s too bad, David. Really, that’s awfully sad, really. You don’t like the tone of it! Do you think I like it? Do you think I like getting on my knees and begging you to—”

“No one asked you to beg or—”

“No one asked me anything! Not a goddamn thing! Get away, you make me cry. Why do you make me cry? Get away, please, it’s over, go, do what you have to do, find yourself, know where you’re going, but without me, David. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. Please, please, I want to go home, people are looking at us, don’t make me cry, I don’t want to hate you.”

“Gillian...”

“It’s over.” She paused and looked up at him. Her mascara had streaked her eyes and was running down her cheeks. “Isn’t it, David? Isn’t it really and truly over?”

“If you want it to be.”

“No, David. Don’t do that, please. It’s dishonest, David, and unworthy of you. You know it’s not what I want. I want to get married. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“We could still—”

“No. We couldn’t. Not any more. Not this way. I want to go to church and be married in a white gown and a veil. That’s what I want. I guess I’m a very old-fashioned girl. That’s what I want. I don’t want it to be ended.”

“I can’t marry you right now,” David said softly. “I can’t, Gillian.”

“Yes. Then it’s over.”

“Then I guess it’s over.”

“Yes, I guess so.”

They stared at each other, stunned.

Amanda felt only foolish.

She had not wanted to come to the hospital so soon because she was sure the pains were only minor, afraid they would send her home and tell her to come back in the morning. Standing at the admissions desk, feeling foolish and embarrassed because everyone in the wide world knew exactly why she was there, wearing her big belly like a billboard, she answered the nurse’s questions in a very quiet voice.

“Name?”

“Amanda Bridges. Mrs. Matthew Bridges.”

Matthew stood beside her. He had knotted his tie so that the bottom end was longer than the top end. One of the buttons on his button-down shirt was unfastened.

“And your address, Mrs. Bridges?”

“1412 Congress. In Talmadge.”

“Can’t you do this later, nurse?” Matthew asked impatiently. “She’s going to have a baby, you know.”

“Yes, sir, I know,” the nurse answered, smiling. “May I have your date of birth, please, Mrs. Bridges?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Matthew muttered.

“May 11, 1923,” Amanda said.

“And your obstetrician’s name?”

“Dr. Kohnblatt.”

“Would you have a seat, please, Mrs. Bridges? I’ll telephone upstairs for a chair.”

“For a what?”

“A wheel chair,” the nurse answered, smiling.

“I don’t need a wheel chair. I can walk.”

“Well, we’ll give you a little ride anyway, okay?”

“I don’t want a little ride,” Amanda said.

“Come on, Amanda, come on,” Matthew said. He took her elbow and led her across the polished lobby to a bench on the wall opposite the admissions desk. “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine. Why do I need a wheel chair?”

“Amanda, I guess they know what they’re doing.”

“You tied your tie all crooked.”

“How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“How are the pains?”

“They’re nothing at all. I told you we shouldn’t have come yet.”

“Dr. Kohnblatt said I should take you directly to the hospital. Those were his exact words, Amanda. Take her directly—”

“Yes, I know. You told me.”