Friday, March 25, 11:00 AM
Remind me NOT to confide in Agnes next time. I just got this cryptic phone call from David informing me he is heading out here. Now what do I do?
The first, and really the only thing out of his mouth was "How long have you known?" I hope he doesn't think I left L.A. knowing I was pregnant. I have to admit, it seems logical. But he has to know me better than that. I wouldn't do that... would I?
I told him I wasn't ready for the conversation, and I'm still not. His being here won't make it any easier to talk about. I was considering his feelings, too, not wanting to say things I didn't mean in the heat of the moment.
I hate that he heard it from Agnes. Like I was conspiring to hide it from him or something. Does he really think I would keep something like that from him? He must because news like that would never make him angry. If I had told him, he would have been understanding. Shocked, but understanding. More than understanding. He would have been concerned. Interested.
Then why didn't I tell him? Maybe because I don't want him to be interested or concerned. Not yet anyway. I mean, I have to deal with this myself first. I have to tell my parents.
And what about Sam?
I don't want to even think about that. I know there is every possibility that this is Sam's baby. Does David know that? Does he even care? Would he care if he knew? Add another dilemma to the list of things I need to mull over.
Well, I should call Agnes and see when David is getting in. The least I can do is meet him at the airport.
Saturday, March 26
David never showed up, and I have no idea where the man is. Neither does Agnes. Any other person and I would be worried, but this is David Addison. He probably went to Mexico and got lost in a few dozen bottles of Tequila.
I really appreciate that he honored my wishes by not coming here. It has actually been nice keeping this secret to myself for a while. Getting used to it all. I am starting to like the idea of having a baby. Being a mom. It's funny, but yesterday at the airport, I saw this woman with a little boy, maybe a year old. She was reading him a Sesame Street story while he curled up in her lap. I never really noticed things like that before. I just keep thinking how that's going to be me soon.
The idea of having a baby is one thing but being pregnant is quite another. So far, I really don't see the fun in it. I am tired, and I am really sick of throwing up all the time. I feel like Sigourney Weaver in Alien.
Tuesday, March 29
I just had this weird thought. I wonder if David has been with anyone else since I've been here. I mean, like in a date capacity. The reason why I am thinking this all of a sudden is because of a couple of phone messages David left on my machine last week. Funny, I haven't really taken them seriously until now.
The first one was this angry declaration about how he had wasted enough time on me and that he wanted to get back to his life and forget about us. Of course, I was upset, until I heard his next message the next morning. He was babbling about how sorry he was, and he didn't mean "it." That's all he said "it." Now, I just took that to mean he was sorry about the message he had left the day before, but now I am not so sure. I am wondering if he meant something else.
I am probably reading too much into this. I better be. Although now that I think about it, he did sound pretty guilty. Or tired. I don't know. But what if he did do what I wonder if he did? The thought of it makes me sick. How could he do something like that to me?
Disgusting. I should have known he would pull something like this. For him to keep his pants zipped for more than a week would be like cutting it off. And I know the kinds of tramps he brings home. Plaster face Barbie dolls with mattresses strapped to their backs. God, it makes me sick to think where he's been. Many a time I wished he'd boil himself before he sat on our office furniture after a night of David Addison debauchery.
I can't think about this anymore. I am nauseous as it is. And besides if I weren't so angry, I would be hurt. You know, I never ended it with him. And I even told him that night in the laundromat that he better not dance with anyone else. Okay, so I didn't know then that I was leaving for Chicago, but I knew deep down that I wasn't going to see him in the morning.
I may have been gone for longer than I planned, but I still consider David mine. I never let him go, I just sort of put him on hold. If he can't understand that and doesn't respect me enough to keep his eye from wandering, then he can go to hell! And I mean that!
Monday, April 11, 11:30 PM
The strangest thing just happened. I was sleeping when my mother burst into my room. She said something about David calling from jail and needing a judge. I hope he hasn't been arrested. He is looking at jail time since he refuses to stop parking in fire lanes. Do they put warrants out for unpaid parking tickets?
I am worried. Mom said he was calling right back. Well, let’s see. He can't be arrested because he couldn't call me back. He'd only get one call. Although this is Addison we are talking about. He turns on the charm, he's hard to refuse. He could get his own private jailhouse phone line if he wanted it bad enough.
It's been twenty minutes. Maybe I should call him? I don't know why, but I just have this bad feeling. What if he is rotting away with hardened criminals? I remember last year when he was arrested with Richie for disorderly conduct. Something about margaritas out of a fishbowl and lewd comments to a female police officer impersonating a mud wrestler. I don't want to talk about it.
I am sure he is okay. He has to be. But I'm sleeping with the phone by me just in case. If I don't hear from him, I'll call in the morning. He can last twelve hours in the joint.
He just better sleep on his back.
Wednesday, April 13, 1:00 AM
David called, as I figured he would after hearing my messages, and yes, he was safe and sound. I asked him where he had been, and he mumbled something about aliens and vodka. I decided not to probe further.
We actually had a pretty good conversation. It was very light, nothing too deep. I asked about the office, he asked about the weather. He did say one thing, though, that I didn't really think a whole lot about at first, but now is starting to bother me.
He asked me how I had been feeling. I told him how I had never felt sicker or more tired in all my life, and I joked that this child was already making him mom crazy. And he said, "Must have his dad’s personality."
I laughed when he said it, but it wasn't until after we got off the phone that it really struck me. Why did he say that? Does he assume that I am carrying his baby? Does he think or know that there is a chance that Sam is really the father? Was that his way of saying that he didn't care about the possibility of Sam being the father?
I knew there was merit on restricting phone contact. Why don't I take my own advice? Don't call!
Wednesday, April 13, 5:30 PM
My mother thinks I am a tramp.
I have been wondering when my parents were going to break down and start bombarding me with questions. And now they won't have to. I just unloaded everything my mother ever wanted to know and some stuff she probably didn't. I told her point blank that I wasn't sure who the father was. She asked me if it could be David's, and I said yes. Call me crazy, but I think I made her day.
I was surprised she didn't ask who the other possible father was. That's the one thing I have no intention of revealing. I don't know why. It’s not that I hate him, because I really don't. I just hate the situation he put me in, or I put myself in, when he came to Los Angeles.
Sam. It’s funny, but some of my first memories are of Sam. I can still picture him as a little kid, skateboard in one hand, math book in the other. He was kind of clumsy and very shy. He was teased a lot in school, largely because he was so smart, but also because he was kind of nerdy looking. Bowl cut hair, thick glasses. It's almost hard to reconcile what he was then to what he is now. Let’s face it. Sam is one hell of a good-looking man. But before he was anything else to me, he was just the boy next door.
The Crawfords moved here the summer before we started kindergarten. Our parents became really good friends playing bridge on Friday nights, golf on Sunday. Our dads even were partners for tennis. I met Sam the first day of school at the bus stop. We had the same yellow lunchbox, and we thought it was so cool that we started a secret yellow lunch box club. From that day, on we were inseparable.
We were both only children, and we each depended on the other for company. Rainy days were passed in his basement playroom, Saturday afternoons were spent on my jungle gym. Most of my fifth-grade summer I was camping in Sam's backyard. I remember the cannonball contests we would have at the country club swimming pool. I had the best form; he made the biggest splashes. And I still remember the secret handshake we invented on my tenth birthday. He was the only boy allowed at my party.
As we matured, so did our friendship. In middle school his parents divorced, and we would have these marathon phone conversations lasting well into the morning hours. We would talk about everything school, boys, girls, parents, life. There were even a few occasions where he would scale my trellis and spend the night in my bed, just so we could be close to one another. Those were some of the best nights’ sleeps I ever had.
When we got to high school, we drifted. Sam's mom sold the house, and they moved across town. I rarely saw him, except for Christmas parties at the club or the occasional run in at the supermarket, but when our paths did cross, it was as if time hadn't passed. It was as easy and comfortable as it always had been.
It wasn't until years later that Sam and I had any romantic involvement. I was in a Boston restaurant after a photo shoot, and in he walked with a bunch of fraternity brothers. We struck up a conversation, and the next thing I knew I was planning my modeling schedule around his semester breaks.
I guess you could say it was a good relationship, but now that I look back, I think it was good because it was mostly long distance. Because of my work and his school, we only saw each other a few days a month. Sometimes nothing more than a weekend. Months later he went to grad school. He got his own apartment and to me, it made our relationship more "grown up". Sam made me feel like a woman. He showed me what it was like to really have a man love me. He was my first real sexual relationship and with him I learned to express myself as a woman with no fear and no reservation.
I did not love him, but I loved what he did for me.
But gratitude didn't mean I owe him my life, and I knew a long-term commitment was what he was looking for. We broke up after a year or so and I lost track of him for a long time. Until he showed up in Los Angeles.
I don't feel any different now than I did a decade ago. No matter what he meant to me in the past doesn't mean he has a place in my future. He simply doesn't fit. I refuse to even consider him as a potential father to this baby. He's more like an intruder or a virus. I don't know if I can explain it, so I guess I won't try.
Anyway, I truly feel better that some of my secrets are out of the bag. Maybe in time I will tell my mom about Sam, but it's nothing I need to go into now. I'd rather just stick to the crisis at hand and thank God Mom and Dad have been so supportive. I just hope when this is all over, they will understand everything and be proud of me and their grandbaby.
To be continued...