The Making of a Gigolo (14) - Erica Bradford

by Lubrican

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Chapter Twenty-five

On the other side of town, the man Agatha was thinking about walked up the ramp to Erica's house. He knocked. Something in her voice had told him to knock.

When she answered the door she looked pale, but otherwise normal. She stood back and he walked in. By the time he turned to look at her again, tense had been added to pale.

"I'm pregnant," she said simply.

Erica had thought long and hard about whether she should face the man she'd made a baby with or not. She didn't have to, as far as she was concerned. She could go on with her life and just leave him out of it. There had been no agreements and she hardly expected him - any man, really - to take any responsibility for his half of the problem. She was going to offer the baby up for adoption anyway. She hadn't told Will about that yet. She couldn't. He'd been so happy about having a nephew that she couldn't crush him until it was absolutely necessary. He'd understand. She was a teacher, not a mother. The baby would have a much better life with two parents who wanted him ... her ... it. But something had told her she had to face the father. He'd warned her, after all. He hadn't done this willy nilly. She was as much at fault as he was. She only hoped Bobby wouldn't gloat.

"Let's sit down," he said.

She was taken by surprise. She'd expected, "Too bad," or, "I warned you!" She'd even thought it was possible he'd just turn around and walk out. She followed him to the kitchen, wondering why he went there to sit instead of the living room, which was much closer.

She stood, while he went to the cupboard and got two glasses. Then he opened the fridge and poured milk. It wasn't odd that he did those things. He'd been at her house enough times, and in such casual and intimate circumstances, that he was familiar with everything. What seemed odd was that he didn't look nervous. He looked completely comfortable. She wondered if he was stalling, trying to think of something to say.

"Sit down," he said, putting a glass of milk in front of the chair she was standing nearest. He didn't take the chair across the table, like she'd thought he would. He took one ninety degrees from hers.

"How do you feel about this?" he asked, when she just stood there.

She certainly hadn't been prepared for that. She sat ... somewhat heavily. She didn't know what to say. A thousand things were running through her mind. It seemed like everything she had thought about since the doctor uttered those fateful words ... was going through her mind.

"Will is happy," she said. She blinked. Where had that come from?

"But are you happy?" he asked.

She shot him a dark look.

"Of course I'm not happy!" she snapped.

"Oh." She was amazed that he could put so much disappointment into a single word. She felt heat in her chest and couldn't figure out if it was anger or something else. She opted for anger. Who was he to be disappointed that she didn't want to be pregnant?

"Why in the world would you think I'd be happy?" she asked, again surprised that she said that instead of cursing at him.

"Some women want to have children," he said.

Erica stared. He must be insane! She'd been impregnated by a man who belonged in an institution!

"Women who are married!" she barked. "Women who are in love ... whatever that means!" She took a breath. "Women who aren't going to be ruined by being the laughing stock of the whole town ... who won't lose their jobs!"

"Do you want me to marry you?" His head tilted, like he was interested in her answer. It stunned her.

"No, i do not want you to marry me!" she yelled.

"Drink your milk," he said calmly, his head straightening up.

"What?" She looked for some meaning in his comment, but couldn't think of any.

"Drink your milk," he repeated. "Since you're not going to have an abortion, then you need the vitamins and calcium and all that stuff."

Erica thought she might scream ... took in a deep breath to do just that, in fact ... and then held it, counting to ten in her mind. Something about his responses was completely wrong. She didn't know what that was, but it was wrong and she felt the need to understand why. She let the breath out slowly.

"How do you know I'm not going to have an abortion?" she asked.

"Because if you were, you would have said 'I'm going to have an abortion,' instead of 'I'm pregnant.'"

She was speechless again.

"Maybe I'm wrong," he said, looking like he was interested in the possibility. "But I'm sure you would have at least told me by now, if that was what you're planning. You're too independent to keep something like that to yourself."

Her mind twisted. His reasoning was sound, but it went against her own assessment of what independence meant. She would have felt more independent if she'd kept the fact that she was pregnant a secret from him.

"No abortion," she said tightly.

"Good," he said. "You never told me how you feel," he reminded her. "I know you don't want to be pregnant, but you are, so how do you feel about that?"

"I don't understand you," she said. It was something between a whine and a moan.

"Don't feel bad. A lot of women don't understand me. I'm not sure I understand myself."

"How do you feel about it?" asked Erica. She was just vying for time. She needed time to think. This wasn't going at all like she might have expected.

"That's complicated," he said immediately. "You have to understand that I would never make love to any woman if I didn't want her to have my child."

Her brain skewed sideways again.

"Did you just say you wanted to get me pregnant?" she croaked.

"No," he said, a pained look on his face. "That's not what I said, or at least I didn't mean to say that. I can't just ... have sex ... with a woman. I have to feel something for her. I have to like her. Sometimes I even think I love her. Like you said ... whatever that means. I guess I feel like sex is for making babies. It's fun too, but it's mostly for making babies. So I wouldn't do that with any woman unless ... I don't know ... unless I thought she'd make a good mother or something ... a mother I could love."

That was a lot to chew on and Erica chewed for a while. Bobby sat there and sipped his milk. Seeing him do that made her take a sip of hers too.

"Are you saying that you love me?" she asked, her voice full of disbelief.

"I must love you," he said. "At least on some level. I wouldn't have gone to bed with you if I didn't." He frowned. "Like I said, sometimes I don't understand myself very well."

"No, no, no," she disagreed. "You didn't love me. Not that first night, when you took my virginity. We were fighting."

"All I know is that you needed to be loved ... needed something I could give you. I wasn't sure I could give you that, because I wasn't sure you knew what you needed. But, when I thought I could, I wanted to help you."

"You call taking my virginity and knocking me up helping?" she squealed.

"Were you happy when we were making love?" he asked. He sounded quite serious.

She thought about that. She took in another deep breath and counted to ten again as she realized she'd have to admit she was happy when he was making love to her. Actually, deliriously happy was closer to the truth. She didn't want to admit that.

"I did need that," she said, her voice low and soft. It was the most she could admit.

"And because you needed it, I needed to give it to you," he said, an earnest look on his face. "Does that make sense to you?"

Erica thought of Will. She understood exactly what Bobby was talking about. She'd done that with Will. She blinked. She actually understood him! She nodded, still thinking about that, but was distracted when he went on.

"Okay, so I didn't want to get you pregnant ... and I didn't try to get you pregnant ... but the fact that we made something precious together ... it means a lot to me. I know having a baby changes things. It changes a lot of things. But I already love our baby, even if you don't want to have anything to do with me any more ... even if you never let me see her ... I'll still love her, because she was created while we were doing something we both loved and needed."

He leaned back. "Does that make sense too?"

Erica's mind only twisted a little bit this time. What popped to the surface, of all he had said, was that he already loved ... her. He had given a gender to the thing in her womb.

"You called the baby 'her.' Why did you say that?" she asked.

He blinked. "I don't know." He seemed to think. "I guess I couldn't imagine you having anything but a girl."

Erica's mind shifted just enough that she felt like she was falling over inside. She landed with a thud, as if she'd mentally fallen out of her chair. Sometimes, in a situation like that, it seems funny. And sometimes laughter is an agent of catharsis.

Erica started by giggling as, in her mind, she imagined a group of women ... feminists ... carrying signs that said, "We will only have female children!" Then, suddenly, Bobby was in her mental image, also carrying a sign. It said, "I will only father girls!"

She laughed then, and her eyes teared up. What she had done with Will had somehow saved her sanity. Will had pulled her up out of the depths where it was dark, and into the light and air where she could breathe. Somehow Bobby - and she couldn't figure out how - had pulled her into the sunshine, where the warm breeze made her feel fully alive.

She laughed until she felt herself actually falling off her chair ... and Bobby's hands keeping her from doing so.

Erica Bradford was confused again. Bobby had just offered to adopt their daughter.

After her catharsis, she had felt much better and more calm. She'd been able to think a little better too, and had arrived at the conclusion that, once again, she'd misread Bobby Dalton. She thought wryly about how that seemed to be a habit of hers.

But the fact was that she was beginning to think about her situation as an unfortunate accident, which neither of them had really wanted. The only difference between them was that, while she dreaded the pregnancy, he looked forward to it. It wasn't that he wouldn't have to go through the physical part. He just loved the baby. She tried to wrap her mind around that, but there seemed to be some kind of wall that she couldn't get past.

Another reason she felt better was that he had offered to help her get through it. It had come in a backhanded kind of way.

"I know you probably don't want to see me this summer," he'd said. "But I also know how hard it is to be pregnant and not have any help. I'd be happy to come over and do laundry or whatever you need."

She assumed he was talking about having experience seeing his mother be pregnant, or some other woman he knew. If she'd have actually known about the more than a dozen babies he'd fathered before he got her pregnant, it would have gone in a completely different direction.

But she didn't know.

As a result, Bobby's charm worked its magic on her, which she also wasn't aware of.

"I'll let you know if I need something," she'd said.

Then, when everything that needed saying seemed to have been said, he threw her another curve.

"I'm going to miss you," he said, standing up.

It wasn't her mind that twisted then. It was something deeper in her body, something she wasn't aware was there, until she thought of him never coming back. She was first surprised, and then amazed, to feel a cold knot in her gut. She didn't like it there. It was too close to the baby.

"I didn't say you couldn't come back," she blurted.

He sat back down.

"Tell me more," he said.

"What more?" she asked, not sure what he was asking.

"Tell me how I have to behave when I come back," he said.

"What?" Now she was even more confused.

"I like you," he said. "I can't forget what we've shared. I have to be honest. I'll think about it every time I see you. I'll want to touch you and I need to know how you want me to behave."

That cold knot undid itself. In fact, it got distinctly warm.

"I don't know about that," she said, a little breathlessly.

"And," he said, delivering the knockout blow, "I sort of have a thing for pregnant women. They drive me wild."

"You still want to touch me?" she asked, her voice high. She had thought of herself as slightly soiled ... maybe majorly soiled ... ever since she'd left the doctor's office. It was one reason her passions had overflowed with Will.

"Of course," he said. "Do you think you got pregnant by accident?"

He blinked as her eyes widened.

"No ... wait ... that's not what I meant," he said agitatedly. "I mean... it came out wrong. What I meant was I really liked making you pregnant."

His face went into a terrible grimace.

"Shit!" He slumped. "That's not it either. Now I'm all flustered."

That warm knot expanded even more as her mind recognized a helpless man ... a sweet man ... a man she had misunderstood since she'd met him, trying to say something to put her at ease and give her control over him. Erica felt very dangerous emotions begin to waft through her body and held up a hand.

"I'll let you know if you get out of line."

He sat there for a few seconds.

"That's not really very helpful," he said.

She giggled again, but kept in the urge to laugh out loud. He was so cute when he was helpless like this.

"I have to think about it," she said. "I'm still confused. I don't know what I want and don't want."

He stood up. "Well, at least you know that now."

He left her sitting there and walked to the kitchen door. Just before he went out of view, he turned.

"That's progress," he said.

Erica lay in bed. Will was at Christy's tonight. He hadn't said anything, but she knew things were getting very serious there. He talked about the job more than Christy, but the tone of his voice said volumes when she was the subject.

Erica was naked. Ever since she and Will had made love ... real love, as she now thought of it ... her habit of being naked in bed had returned. It was more comfortable.

She thought about all the things Bobby had said earlier in the evening. He loved the baby ... her baby ... their baby. He loved her too in some mystical way that she was sure she'd never understand. She knew she didn't love him. Not like her mother had loved her father. When she thought about Bobby she got hot inside, but it was sexual hot ... not love hot.

He was willing to take her daughter. She wasn't aware of the subtle shift in her thinking about what was in her womb. Since Bobby had said he loved the baby, and named her female, Erica no longer thought of the baby as "it."

The personification of a fetus is one of the major steps in bonding with a child before it is born. There are all kinds of names for the stages of development, from zygote, to blastula, to embryo and then, eventually fetus. But those names don't conjure up the same thing that is meant by "she," "her," or "daughter." Many women intend, initially, to be rid of what may be perceived of as a problem. That can happen through abortion or adoption. But with many women, neither of those options stays viable for long, once the woman involved begins to think of herself as a mother, and the baby inside her as a daughter or son.

As Erica Bradford lay there, thinking about her ... their ... daughter, she had an epiphany of sorts.

"I'm going to be a mommy," she sighed. Her hand went to rest on her belly, which was still flat, but which, she knew, contained a tiny little person who would call her, "Mommy."

It was the first time since leaving the doctor's office that she had characterized herself that way.

Then Erica cried again. But this time it was a completely different kind of tears.

Agatha Roberts was obsessed with her burgeoning plan. She didn't tell Ethyl or Gladys about it. She didn't tell anyone about it. She would unmask the pervert in their midst and people would praise her. She would stand up for truth, justice, and the American way.

She reminded herself to be careful. She characterized herself as a careful woman. Living with Harry had required she think things through. Harry had a temper. He had never struck her. She would have left him if he did that, as disgusting as divorce was. But his tongue could slash like a knife when she did something he thought was stupid.

She didn't like thinking about Harry that way. He'd been a good provider. His insurance policy was proof of that. She had enough money and it would last at least until Social Security kicked in. That was years and years away. Besides, it was rude to think ill of the dead.

She jerked her mind back to the task at hand. She was a widow...an unmarried woman. She still had her figure. The Dalton boy was a handyman and there were plenty of things around that needed repair, now that Harry was gone. Some of the things Harry had fixed needed repair too, for that matter. She'd call him and have him do an estimate or something. She'd be coy. She'd wear her most daring dress ... the one that came to just below her knees, with pockets on the breast that she was sure drew men's attention to her bosom.

She imagined how it would go. He would come into the house. She'd show him something that was broken. He'd make advances. She'd demur, but not too much. He'd flirt with her and then suggest that, for a price, he could make her happy. She'd fan her face and look faint ... but interested. She'd make the date and then, before he came, she'd tell Ethyl and Gladys what was going to happen. They would be in hiding as he asked for money. Maybe Ethyl could take a picture of her handing him the money. Ethyl had a camera. Then they'd call the police and have him arrested.

All the decent people would be thrilled, she thought. Maybe they'd even put up a statue of her.

Then her mother would have to be proud of her!

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