Page 100 of Shame the Devil
This tenderness. This pain. All of this scared him to death, but there was no choice. He ran his hand over her hair again and said, “You couldn’t care too much. You care because it’s who you are. Do you know how lucky I felt to have you with me for that? And I know. I was …” He drew in a hard breath. She was so honest, always. She pulled the emotions up from the place where it hurt. How could he look at himself in the mirror if he didn’t even try? “I was scared,” he admitted. “Overwhelmed, I guess. Trying to set stuff up for Annabelle, getting ready to head to L.A. But that’s not the reason. The reason is that I was scared. Too much happening. Too much emotion I couldn’t … couldn’t leave behind. But I should have known that it wasn’t about me anymore. That I couldn’t …” Oh, boy. How did you say this? “That I couldn’t just think about myself, because that wasn’t who I wanted to be. The man my mom …”
His voice was shaking. He couldn’t help it. Jennifer had her hand over his. Just like that, she’d gone back to caring, and that wasn’t right, not unless he was doing it, too. Not unless he was doing itmore.He said, “The man my mom tried to raise.” Getting it out fast.
“The man your mom did raise,” she said. “Harlan. She’d be so proud of you. She’d beproud.”
That was it. He lost it. The sobs ripped right out of him like they hadn’t, all this time. He’d thought he was past it, that the hard emotion was done, that he could move on, but it must have been here all along, because it was bursting out. He kept trying to stop, and he couldn’t. It was horrible. He tried to say, “Sorry. I’m supposed … I’m supposed to …” But she had her arms aroundhimthis time, and she was holding on.
He said, when he was finally done, when he was drained and shaken and empty, “You know they’re all going to …” Now, he was blowinghisnose. “They’re going to be thinking we’re getting busy in here. And instead, I’mcrying.Where did that even come from?”
She laughed, and after a minute, he did, too. “Taking turns weeping,” she said. “You mean I shouldn’t tell the media? This image wouldn’t have worked for your, what was it? Cologne ad?”
“Yeah,” he said, and gave her a sheepish smile. “The surfboard deal. The dirty secret is that I can’t surf.”
“No?”
“Nope. Never even tried. But that wasn’t the worst one.”
“Now youhaveto tell me.”
She was snuggled up now, all wrapped up in him, or as wrapped up as you could get without lying down. He got behind her, so he could hold her against him and kiss the back of her head and look at her. She was wearing a dress tonight, the first time he’d seen her in one. It was pale green and made out of some sort of crinkly fabric, and it had a whole line of tiny buttons fastened with fabric loops all the way from the V neck to the floaty little hem. She looked soft, and pretty, and so feminine.
He said, “I’m only telling you because I don’t have to look you in the eye,” and felt her silent laughter. “So in this one shot—magazine ad—I’m supposed to be lying back in a chaise by a swimming pool. One of those Hollywood types of pools. Very glamorous. Hot as hell, because they’ve got umbrellas and lights out there, not to mention it’s about ninety degrees in LA. Got me oiled down, too, so I’m sticky and sweaty, and all I want to do is dive into that pool. And I come out of the house in this swimsuit no guy in North Dakota would be caught dead in—”
“Oh, that’s not enough,” Jennifer said. “I need more description than that.”
“I guess it’s kind of a Speedo thing. Except not as small. More like boxer briefs.Tightboxer briefs.Shortboxer briefs. Almostnoboxer briefs. Black.”
“Mm,” she said. “Well, I’m sold.” And he laughed.
“I have a feeling women might not be the only market they’re going for,” he said. “And we’re not even at the worst part. So I walk out there, and Annabelle starts laughing. Did I mention that Bug’s there?”
“No. You left that out.”
“Yeah, well. She is, back with the production assistants and things, but I can see her laughing. And I’m thinking, that’s good she’s laughing, with all the death and jail and life upheaval and all. And then the photographer, who I’m sure is some kind of Hollywood legend, about the campiest guy I’ve ever met in my life, with platinum hair in a brush cut and eyeliner and more piercings than Dyma, takes a good long look at me and says, ‘Darling, that’s gorgeous, but I think we’d better tone it down, don’t you? There’s such a thing astooexciting.’ And I think, ‘What the hell?’ and look down. Thinking I’ve got some … slippage happening.”
“Oh, no,” Jennifer said, and she was giggling. Just like the night with the painkiller, but drug-free.
“But Idon’thave a hard-on,” he went on, “and I’mnotslipping out like I’ve got an anaconda in there, so I’m thinking, ‘What?’And the photographer snaps his fingers and says, “Try putting a second pair on him. We need some compression here.” And all the production assistants, who are about Bug’s age, I swear, are smirking, thinking I’m semi-hard or something, and Bug’s back there laughing. And that wasbeforeI was lying on that chaise with my arm behind my head, so I could show off my bicep—which I had to do about fifty pushups on that pool deck in order to get pumped up enough for the photographer, so now I’mreallysweaty—and I’m trying to smolder.”
She said, “Oh, dear. Size matters, I guess. Sothat’swhy they wanted you.”
“Yeah, you go on and laugh. It was embarrassing. He had to put the camera down and give me smoldering lessons. Turns out I don’t have a clue how to smolder. He said I just looked constipated. And Bug’s back there the whole time, laughing like a hyena. I kept thinking, ‘Thank God Owen’s not here,’ except that I’m betting he’ll hear about it. They’re going to be making me smolder in the cow pasture next time I go to the ranch, andeverybody’sgoing to be laughing. Exactly like you. See? That’s what I’m talking about. Totally humiliating. From now on, I’m only endorsing manly things. Power saws. Pickup trucks.”
“Wrenches,” Jennifer suggested. “Cattle feed.” They were both laughing now.
“It’s so much easier to maintain your image,” he said, “if nobody sees that much of you. All Annabelle’s illusions are shattered now.”
Jennifer turned, wound her arms around his neck, kissed his mouth with her own curvy, complicated one, and said, “I think the real man could be even better than that guy, though.”
When he took over the kiss, her mouth was just as delicious as it had been every other time. And he didn’t want to talk. He wanted to do this. To take that pretty dress off her and show her what he felt in the only way he actually knew how. Unfortunately, there were all these other people around, and anyway, there were words that needed to be said. Some kind of words. Words that he hoped would come to him as he blundered along. He said, “The real man’s got some work to do. Some questions to ask, because I’m not the one growing a baby. How are you doing?” He sat back a little and looked her over, put his palm out, then hesitated and asked, “Can I touch?”
He could practically hear Alexis, his lawyer, jumping up and down in her Ferragamo pumps, screaming, “No! No!” Here in his real life, though, Jennifer was sitting back on a not-even-queen-sized bed in the tiniest bedroom known to man, taking his hand, smiling at him with her golden eyes, and putting his hand on her belly.
He said, “It’s bigger. Isn’t it?” He remembered it feeling harder than he’d expected, and faintly rounded. Now, the rounding was more than faint. It was right there. Not down low, where he’d expected it. Curving all the way from above her belly button.
“Fifteen weeks,” she said. “I’m past the first trimester, which means I feel so much better. I had to tell people tonight, though, because nothing fits. You advanced the program, that’s all.”
“How big is the baby?” He knew so little about this.
