Round Rock - Michelle Huneven [110]
Back in his bungalow, Lewis called Barbara. “Sorry to wake you,” he said, “but I’m desperate to talk to somebody. I am so far off the social registry up here, I feel like a goddamn leper.”
Barbara yawned. “So what are you going to do about it?”
“Quit?”
“I don’t think so,” she said languidly. “Sounds to me like the perfect place to finish your dissertation.”
LITTLE Bill Fitzgerald took a summer job in his uncle John’s West Hollywood law firm. Billie and Old Bill drove him down, helped him get settled in John’s house in Bel Air, and stayed on for a month themselves. The moment Billie came home, she phoned Libby. “Come over right now,” she said.
When Libby arrived, she encountered what must have been the entire Neiman Marcus baby department. Dresses, jumper suits, T-shirts in deep, beautiful, saturated colors, all so much nicer than the river of cheap pastel-pink polyester items arriving from Libby’s mother and aunts. Even the diaper covers were beautiful—deep purple, teal, royal blue, and, as Libby couldn’t help noticing, twenty-six dollars a pop.
“There’s so much great baby stuff these days,” Billie said. “It’s enough to make me think about having another kid.”
“God, wouldn’t that be something,” said Libby.
“On second thought, you have the baby and I’ll just buy the clothes.”
“This baby’s already better dressed than her mother ever was.”
“So why don’t you let Red finance a new wardrobe?”
“I don’t believe in spending a fortune on maternity clothes,” Libby said. “You only wear them for a few weeks.”
“Good God, girl, live it up for a change! You have a rich husband now.”
“Or had one,” Libby said, “before we started building this house.”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to spend a little on yourself.”
“Words of wisdom from the doyenne of muddy jeans.”
“That may be so,” said Billie, “but I don’t have to keep a man attracted to me.”
“What, you think Red’s that superficial?”
“All men are—especially when it comes to pregnancy. It grosses men out. Women get fat and emotional, and the guys freak.”
“Some men more or less revere it.”
“Did you say ‘revere,’ Libby? That’s good. Revere.”
“You know what I mean,” said Libby. “Red’s pretty cool about the whole thing.”
“Oh, they like to reproduce, all right,” said Billie. “But they’re so squeamish. Ever want to scare a man off, just say ‘vaginal discharge.’ ”
“Not all men,” Libby said. “David Ibañez ate some placenta.”
“Placenta?” Billie looked as if she were about to throw up, or cry. “He is such a liar.”
“I don’t think so,” said Libby. “Why would he lie about something like that?”
“So Red went ahead and hired him?”
“Yeah, and the men are crazy about him. He must’ve worked through whatever problems he had when you knew him. He’s so open and friendly, way more than most straight men are.”
“Maybe he is gay.”
“No, no.” Libby laughed. “I’m just saying I can talk to him really easily. And he’s definitely not gay. He has this brilliant girlfriend. We had the two of them over the other night.”
Billie’s distaste, she saw, had turned into glazed boredom. Billie did that, turning off whenever a subject displeased her. Libby stood and started folding the baby clothes. “Look at this sweatshirt with all the beets,” she said with forced cheer. “Oh, and this skirt has carrots and beets. It’s a total vegetable look.” She waved the miniature articles of clothing like white flags. But Billie was gone. After almost five years in this friendship, Libby recognized it, that instant chemical shift. Billie’s eyes sank into her skull, grew large and dark, her face seeming windblown.
“You okay?” Libby asked. “You’re not getting a migraine, are you?”
“No.”
Stacking the clothes in a neat pile, Libby tried one more change of subject. “So how does Little Bill like working for your brother?”
“I can’t talk about that right now.” Billie hunched up, covering her face with her hair like a furious twelve-year-old girl.
“Oh, Billie,” said Libby. “I miss him too. I miss him hanging around with us, his incredible sweetness.”
Billie pulled her hair back to reveal dull, menacing eyes.