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I
Kathy had been smart enough to dodge the studio doctors when she needed a pregnancy test, so at least she could open this letter without knowing half the publicity department had read it first. But all that stealing time alone to sort out her feelings gained for her was no audience when the onionskin of lab results slipped from her unnerved fingers to land on the carpet of her boudoir. Unthinking, she turned toward her full length mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, complexion pale, eyes rounded, all too obviously shaken. The reflected figure even had one hand stretched along the waistline of its Adrian-inspired dress to rest above a still-flat stomach.
What a cliché. This pose with a mirror was straight out of Small Warning from the Stork, part of her brain just had to observe. Or it could've been from Her Joyous Surprise.
No, bad comparisons. Those had been the sort of silents she'd watched back in El Paso, not the kinds of talkies specifically scripted for Kathy in Hollywood. This was 1930, not 1916. This was her real life. And her surprise sure wasn't joyous.
Maybe nobody would be nasty to her face -- Kathy, a baby? How wonderful, darling! -- but motion picture studios were a lot like the town where she'd grown up. They had these murky, mass personalities, complete with lots of opinions that nobody owned but everyone shared. And one of Monumental's widespread opinions was that, since female leads got maybe five years of showing up on Photoplay lists of the most popular stars, Kathy shouldn't waste any of that too short, money-printing time on producing an infant. Her seeming scheme to sneak a pregnancy into her shooting schedule would not be well received.
Still, she wasn't going to admit to being careless although that was what she'd been. After all, their slightly shady and studio-supplied rubbers and diaphragms only worked when used. She and Don hadn't thought they'd need prophylaxis on a certain, sultry evening back in August, but one thing had led to another, as it so often did these days. And now, after three missed visits by Aunt Flo, here stood Kathy staring at a mirror in her boudoir, consoled only by a spicy excuse for her misdeed that she had no intention of using.
Although Hollywood stars with studio recommended doctors had all sorts of options most folks didn't, especially when they'd made a mistake.
Her reflection bit its lip. This time, it was copying her gravest expression of deliberation, the one Don had insisted on dubbing 'Kathy's Portia look' after she'd dragged him to that production of The Merchant of Venice at the Pasadena Playhouse.
And, come to think of him, what about Don? He'd never mentioned babies. Honestly, going only by what he said, he didn't seem to recall the chance existed even after nearly two years of marriage. Maybe that was because infants weren't known for their abilities to constantly, suddenly sing and dance in the way Don loved so dearly. Unlike Kathy. Or Cosmo.
"Hey, Kathy!"
As if prompted by her thoughts, here was Don, hollering his greeting from the living room of their huge pile of a California Moorish house before he started upstairs. He always gave her some sort of cue when he arrived home, which she'd gradually realized was his way of respecting her privacy.
Just like that, Kathy knew she'd made at least one decision. She would sacrifice enough of the privacy he appreciated to let Don have a say in her choice.
She had to clear her throat before she could call back to him, "Up here!"
Don came trotting into the art deco surroundings of her bedroom suite, moving with his usual graceful eagerness. He paused to sweep her into a kiss, followed it up with something a bit less theatrical and a little more serious, and then let her go to look her over. "How was your afternoon off?"
"Unexpected. And not merely because free time is so rare in this town." Stooping, she scooped up the lab report from the Ruhlmann carpet and handed it to him.
He glanced down at the page, but he looked up to ask, before reading any details, "What's this?"
"The report letting me know a rabbit has died." She waited for his reaction.
Camera one, track in on Don Lockwood. And, roll it. After a pause, his eyes widened. "What?" Another beat. "You're pregnant?"
His tone was not happy or horrified, only startled. She confined herself to a nod and an, "Uh-huh" in response.
"Oh." His brows knit as he thought it over, still a compelling sight after all these months of marriage. Then he looked at her and away, not in the swift survey of him starting a snow job, just to check for some cue. "Was it the night a while back when we were doing the thing and that stuff before we decided to do the other thing, too?"
"Uh-huh. Pretty sure."
"Okay." More thinking. Slowly this time, he said, "If we're going to be parents, we'll need help with the kid. After all, Monumental will want you back on a sound stage fast, so, if we don't get there first, they'll hire somebody for us. Maybe we can coax one of your relatives out here." He scowled and then brightened. "You'll have to take a breather from the acrobatics training you've been doing. But this would be a great time to polish up your soft-shoe and work on balance."
Obviously, Don hadn't deliberately timed that scowl. It seemed he was mostly worried by the thought of a studio spy in their household; for some reason, he'd always been more wary than most contract players. He also wasn't hesitating over revising his never-ending dance coaching schedule.
Perhaps she should have expected his reactions. He had come of age in vaudeville, where mothers gave birth quickly enough to work their first show the next day, and the resulting infants slept in steamer trunks, only one more complication of earning a living on the circuits. Kathy's own mother would be horrified by that attitude, never mind how she'd insisted on reviewing all the books for their music store two weeks after Baby Bert was born.
Kathy wasn't horrified. "What if I can't find anyone to help for as long as we'll need?"
"I'll find someone. And even if I couldn't, which I can, Cosmo would… Hey, Cosmo! What about Cosmo?"
Now he'd lit up. Of course he had, once his best friend's name entered their conversation. But Kathy also wasn't horrified by this other attitude of Don's, she realized, not given the way she was smiling right back at him. Even though she was pretty sure she'd finally figured out over the past few months what his attitude might imply. "No, I haven't told Cosmo yet."
Don kissed her once again, obviously unsurprised by any suggestion that Kathy might let Cosmo know about Don's baby before she actually told Don. He ended their clinch to ask, "Can I telephone?"
"Gosh, can you? Or did you break an index finger at your photo shoot today, Mr. Movie Star?"
"Not for lack of Publicity trying, Mrs. Schoolmarn. You know, you'd look great in glasses." He was across the room to her bedside table and lifting the receiver on her telephone almost before the words were out of his mouth. As he coaxed the secretary of the music department into interrupting Cosmo, his pitch was smooth with much-practiced charm.
When Kathy turned away to look at the mirror, her reflection was still smiling. But she couldn't decided if its smile was now resigned or smug. Upon further consideration, maybe the smile was both.
"Cosmo, guess what? No, Lockwood and Selden aren't going to film a horse opera, smart-aleck. This news is even better. Yeah, even better than Kathy singing 'Makin' Whoopie' while wearing chaps and a ten-gallon hat. We're having a baby."
II
Cosmo had been smart enough to keep renting his rapidly changing sequence of rat trap apartments even though Don was always nagging him to find a nicer place. Or to move into Don's La Casa Ridicula like a best friend should. Umm, no: Cosmo spent too much time with the big galoot as it was, given the temptations involved. And wasn’t Don having gotten hitched supposed to have fixed all that instead of making matters worse?
In any case, now that Cosmo was head of the music department at Monumental -- at least until his hand-picked stooge, um, successor, was ready to take over the boring bits -- he was about to get a better place. Why, you would be able to fit two rat traps into it or maybe three if the rats were close and suicidal friends. Cosmo would even have enough space to dress up the joint with fancy, department store furnishings, or at least he would have once he found some time to spend there not already scheduled for sleeping, showering, shaving, or wrestling around with the occasional, willing chorus boy.
Any such free time sure wasn’t going to show up during the next few months. While Don and Kathy were trying to be troopers about this entire pregnancy-among-the-Hollywood-elite-as-scripted-by-Monumental-Studios routine of theirs, they were still getting frazzled. Their upcoming roles as parents had already triggered lots of situations that demanded troops of cavalrymen ride over a ridgeline to rescue them. Or, to be honest, a cavalryman. Okay, to be honester, Cosmo.
Right now was one of those occasions. Kathy was staring at him with the look of someone who’d just learned she was scheduled to shoot a scene with a chimp. Someone who'd just swallowed a cannon ball before having to shoot a scene with a chimp, even though no one could carry off carrying around this cannon ball quite like Kathy did. He'd tell her she was practically glowing except that would likely end with her socking him, which would either make her ankles hurt or send her off to the powder room again.
"…and then, can you believe it?" she asked wrathfully. "Do you know what those idiotic studio doctors said to me? Finally? After taking all these months to figure it out?"
Sure, Cosmo knew. In fact, this time around, he could say it with her. "Twins," they chorused, both wearing the exact same expressions of disgust.
Caught by surprise, she turned her glower onto him, somehow also still glowing, for crying out loud. Then her lips twitched. Finally she gave up and laughed at them both, and Cosmo grinned back.
"Horrible man," she told him, still smiling but with an annoyed nose wrinkle added for emphasis. Her expression reminded him of a certain deliciously fresh-faced, featherweight male cheerleader for the Occidental Tigers, not a helpful comparison at all, not to mention Kathy was still talking. "So, anyhow, that's why Don is prostrate on the couch downstairs, and we're raiding the icebox for dinner tonight even though we promised you the Pig ‘n Whistle."
"Better a dinner of corned beef sandwiches with you two than a porterhouse steak and producers with it. So sayeth the wise man."
"Which wise man?"
"I'm not sure, but he's been leaving me anonymous mash notes in my fortune cookies lately."
"Then could you take some of your new wisdom downstairs, and share it with Don?" Kathy gave Cosmo a Significant Stare. "He's prostrate, Cosmo. On the couch." A good, long pause to let that sink in, and she finished up with, "Not dancing. Or singing. Or talking."
Okay, he'd missed her point the first time around, maybe because he hadn't wanted to consider his own memories of Don prostrate on a couch while Cosmo... Never mind.
Not that Cosmo had seen Don on a couch, etcetera, etcetera, for years, not since Don had started rattling on about Hollywood leading men all having to marry. At least Don hadn't proposed marrying Lena Lamont, or Cosmo might've picked a solo act in small time vaudeville as the proper response rather than just nixing their occasional wrestling matches, etcetera, etcetera, to see if Don would then calm down.
Well. That nixing had happened long before Kathy, so this particular prostration was probably intended to signal thespian moodiness and not a tempting patch of quicksand. So today's situation was safe enough for him to ask Kathy, "You do know there are plenty of fellows with German accents and little notebooks in this berg who specialize in dealing with other fellows who want to lie around prostrate on couches?"
"But will they work for corned beef sandwiches?"
In the end, how could Cosmo resist a girl who knew a straight line when she heard it? Or even resist Don Lockwood prostrate on a couch, damn it? "Fine. I'll crack open a few fortune cookies and get to work."
He took his time wandering downstairs to the leather monster that they'd danced around so many times together and used his slow cross from the stairs to the furniture for a minute to inspect the brooding actor. Don had one arm flung across his face although Cosmo didn't kid himself into thinking this meant his entrance went all unseen.
Instead he sat on the arm of the couch closer to Don's head and said, "Zo. Zpeak to me of ze first thought that come into your mind."
"Twins," Don announced hollowly.
Cosmo nodded and dropped the cornball German accent. "Okay, you're getting a matched set at a discount rate. Two for the price of one single break between projects. Monumental is thrilled, I'm sure. Your other problem is?"
"Kathy will be outnumbered by babies, two to one."
Cosmo did not point out that, as even those who'd been tutored in arithmetic on trains between theaters in Topeka and Wichita should know, Don plus Kathy equaled Baby Gallagher plus Infant Shean. The numbers were clear enough. No, this was Don at last realizing he was actually headlining the parental act rather than only killing time before his own routine by standing around in the background with a prop mandolin and a silly grin while Kathy crooned the lullabies. The man had stage nerves.
Standing, Cosmo asked, "How can I help? Do you want me to say, 'buck up, dear chum of mine'? Sing a little song for you, dance a tiny dance?" He quickly two-stepped a circle in front of the couch while humming a few bars of "My Blue Heaven." Then he continued, "Or I could settle for pointing out you're not your Old Man. You've skipped all his less charming habits thus far." Imitating Don's reaction upon being handed one congratulatory shot glass too many in some cheap gin mill, Cosmo scowled irritation and mimed dumping rotgut into an invisible spittoon. "So you're already winning this fatherhood hand even before the bidding is opened. Full house, no discard needed."
At least Don had lowered his forearm and was sitting up, watching Cosmo in a way that meant he was considering rather than going to act on instinct. Cosmo raised his eyebrows in inquiry.
He should have known better. A scheming Don was a dangerous Don. "Cos."
"That's me," Cosmo said after a quick look around to double-check for possible imitators.
"Move in. Into the gatehouse, I mean. Just for a while, until things calm down."
That wasn't where this conversation was supposed to have gone.
Now Don was leaning forward while wearing that troubled, earnest expression. "Don't think I haven't noticed the hours you've used up keeping us going without even counting all your driving back and forth. So that's what I need if you really want to help. Take a break between bungalow courts and spend a few months parked here, instead." His voice turned coaxing. "It'll give you a chance to find a better place next time. Maybe to buy a couch and see how it looks in a genuine living room."
"No couch," Cosmo said, resisting Don's seductive tones automatically and too late, like usual. "I hate hiring movers."
Don's face blazed with sudden, unfeigned joy, and he was off the couch and onto his feet. "Great! I'll tell Kathy!" And with those words he was bounding up the sweeping staircase and gone.
Left behind, Cosmo said quietly, "Crap." Then he went into the kitchen to make himself that corned beef sandwich. An old trooper's instincts; when prospects are suddenly shaky, be sure you eat.
He was about to plop on the top slice of bread when Don called from the living room, "Eureka! We've been idiots! Cosmo, what about your Aunt Pearl for a nurse?"
Cosmo just shook his head, put the top slice back down to one side, and reached for the jar of mustard instead.
III
Don had been smart enough to angle for plenty of time to practice being a father in private. A lifetime of dancing was enough to teach him that you already wanted to be smooth before all the folks who would judge you saw your routine. He'd realized he'd need lots of preparation before any more photographers from the movie magazines showed up.
Babies turned out to be loud and often smelly, which Don had previously known from many a small-time circuit tour. He was quickly learning that they were also unpredictable and changed their appearance faster than a female impersonator working a good spot at the Palace. He hadn't realized there would be something weirdly fascinating about them, almost as if they were a pair of tiny Olga Maras wearing drool instead of lots and lots of black eye shadow and jet beads.
Lockwood and Selden had a night shoot scheduled this evening, and Kathy had been called in to Costuming, so Don had spare time during the morning to investigate his offspring some more. He'd bribed Pearl with a promise that she'd be introduced to Zelda Zanders the next time she brought the twins onto Monumental's lot before shooing her into the kitchen to drink coffee and gossip with her crony, Mrs. Burke. After all, everyone understood Don knew how to holler if something went wrong, he'd told her.
He had to remember not to waste his accompanying, charming smile next time. Pearl was like Cosmo that way, unimpressed even when she was firmly in Don's corner. The resemblance was part of what had made him want Pearl around his future kids. This town was crawling with seducers.
"Good thing your mother likes your Aunt Pearl, too," he told Ellen, who was giving him a blank stare from where she was sprawled out across his lap. She blinked and frowned, and then burped. A nice little flourish with a rag, of the sort that could even deal with greasepaint, took care of that problem. Over in the bassinette, Henry made the grizzling noise that meant he was storing up sleep so he could stay up late again. An actor born. At least Pearl didn't mind the hours. Much.
Don and Cosmo had taken turns selling Kathy on Pearl.
"She was the best chaperon we ever had as kids, back when we toured with The Four Robins," Don said. "We listened to her even after she took away our cigarettes. Bad for a hoofer's lungs, she said."
"Pearl's been running a theatrical boardinghouse on Forty-Eighth, so she knows how to lend a hand with housekeeping," Cosmo told her, picking up his cue. "And it turns out that, now times are tough, she could use a change of scenery."
"But she hated E. F. Albee, the fella who was in charge of the theater chains in Manhattan. Said he asked too much of the chorus girls."
"Which is one reason why you don't think R. F. or the gang in Publicity will be able to buy her loyalty out from under us," Kathy noted, smart as ever. "Okay, I understand the reasons why Aunt Pearl is a paragon without price. Besides her being your aunt, that is," she added with a smile and a hand laid on Cosmo's upper arm. He almost wriggled with pleasure while beaming right back, which was hilarious.
Don didn't have long to enjoy this sight, though, because Kathy continued, "So why are you both trying this hard to sell me? Where's the hook?"
"Weelll--" Don was beginning when Cosmo rushed in with, "Pearl comes with a cook."
"That's a drawback?" Kathy asked Cosmo. She and Don had mysterious difficulties keeping cooks at La Casa Ridal. For some reason, several of them hadn't responded well to tap-dancing or clogging in the kitchen, never mind the use of cooking implements for props.
"They're awfully indivisible. They ran the boardinghouse together. Also, Pearl looks like she comes with a cook attached. Or maybe a supporting company of tanks for widening the breech after she single-handedly overruns the enemy's front line of trenches."
Cosmo was being kind of obvious about Pearl, enough so that even a music store owner's daughter might figure out exactly what he was talking about. Squashing an urge to gesture ix-nay on the apphism-say, Don pivoted instead to check Kathy's reaction, only to find her eying him with quizzical amusement.
"Do you like her?" she asked Don, her voice really gentle for some reason.
What could he say? He shrugged and nodded, which, puzzlingly, brought out the dimples in response.
For his part, Cosmo only said, "She's my favorite aunt."
"At least she's already used to you two," Kathy said. "And maybe tough would help with Hollywood."
Tough had helped. Now Don could tell Ellen, "Your mother was really impressed when Pearl hacked that ba…d boy photographer from the Examiner in the shins after he crowded you and your brother on the way out of the hospital." Ellen was gazing at him in utter fascination. Encouraged, Don continued, "Should have figured out sooner that Kath could handle stuff. Theater stuff."
The noise Ellen made was what everyone insisted on calling a coo even though it didn't really sound like anything coming from a pigeon. But Don was riveted, suddenly sure he'd solved one of the mysteries of babies. "You," he told her. "You two are the best audience ever." He leaned in close, and she hit him in the nose. Yeah, audience member, all right.
The very next evening, while they were sitting around on the couch after a mandatory nightclub visit to dance with a few other members of Monumental's stable of stars at a party, and Cosmo was rubbing Kathy's feet, Don thought he'd try out his new theory on them.
"Babies are hard to figure, just like an audience is. And they change their minds a lot. But they also know what they want during any particular routine and make it clear. They throw stuff like an audience does, too."
"Not a bad comparison," Cosmo noted. He and Kathy had just switched places, and now she was working on his shoulders. "In fact, wait until Henry tries to feed you his stuffed clown. He'll remind you of that character who attended every single one of our shows back in Albuquerque, the one who was always trying to drag us out for dinner. Wouldn't take no for an answer," he explained to Kathy. "Handsy like Henry, too."
"Henry does grab," she agreed, nodding sagely. "Exactly like the manager of the first club where I worked, and for the same things, if not with the same goals in mind."
"Out of the mouths of babes," Cosmo said dreamily, and Don cocked an eyebrow at him, caught by surprise for a couple of reasons. Kathy just giggled.
While Kathy was upstairs inspecting the infantry, Don said, "You two are getting awfully cozy if you're telling her about that wolf in Albuquerque."
Cosmo's expression was cryptic. "You mind?"
"Hell, no," Don said, astonished enough not to bother making it pretty. "Only, I remember your always saying how careful we had to be about anything strange or artistic. Saying it a lot. Although maybe that doesn't apply so much around Kath. No, based on past performances, not around Kath."
"Twice in one evening. Could this be the start of a trend?" Cosmo was still being cryptic, but now he was being pleased and cryptic, so that was okay.
His Harry Blackstone attitude did make Don want to grab him a little, but the urge was like an old scar that only ached when he was tired or Cosmo was doing one of those things he did. Not an all-the-time ache. Just frequent enough to get annoying after a while.
Anyhow, Cosmo was saying, "Before I head for the gatehouse, I'm going to make sure the twins haven't decided to hold a sit-up strike with Kathy pressed into negotiations. You coming?"
"Yeah, in a second, after I leave a note for Mrs. Burke." Don waved Cosmo off and went into the kitchen to warn their cook they'd eaten enough at that nightclub not to be allowed one of her full-scale breakfasts tomorrow. Today. Too bad.
And too bad they'd all been so busy, between the kids and Monumental, that Don hadn't been paying proper attention to Cosmo. He was beginning to believe he'd missed some things, been wrong about a couple of matters. Maybe if he could mull some stuff over, do a little nudging here and there, and find the right moments… After all, Cosmo. But would grabbing at an opportunity be fair to Kathy? He had to think.
Seemed as if this was another way babies were like audiences. They might keep you busy, but being busy was what kept your weight forward on your toes.
IV
None of them were smart enough to predict exactly what all the consequences of the twins’ arrival would be. Did they know they’d be more busy than usual in a town where a star or a studio bigwig would frequently work fourteen hour days while a film was in production? Sure. Had they figured they could fend off some of the normal parental difficulties with that most yearned after and handy of tools, cash on the barrelhead? You bet. Were they not quite taken by surprise to learn how fond you could grow of a pair of vocally undisciplined blobs of flesh with the ability to crawl faster than you’d ever have believed possible? Absolutely.
Did they anticipate the big finale of the dance they were doing together, the three of them?
Well, Kathy could gauge the proper dose of arrowroot biscuits during teething, and Cosmo knew when to use a funny face in the midst of tantrums, and Don had the ability to stroll around in exactly the way that would woo a cranky armful to sleep. But those sorts of predictions were all about the kids. On their own behalves, they were mostly caught by surprise. In the midst of domestic chaos, who had time to predict a fairly natural shift in key? However, even if they hadn’t known how to do anything else, and they sure did, Don, Cosmo, and Kathy knew how to improvise once the music actually changed.
The first notes in the new key were sounded by a confession from Kathy one sultry summer evening.
“But Cosmo doesn’t fool around with women,” Don said blankly. “I mean, much. He doesn’t fool around with women much.” Hastily he added, “Although if he was going to suddenly fool around with a particular woman, you’d sure be number one on his list.”
At some point during his little speech, Kathy’s smile had slid from guilty to soft, and had warmed up while it did so. “Oh, Don. You are wonderfully charming when you’re not being the least bit charming.”
“Thanks?” Okay, fine, his mind had been drifting as he pictured possible choreographies for Kathy and Cosmo together that way. He pulled it back to the conversation, took a deep breath, and firmed his jaw. The flaring nostrils were instinctive once he had the proper attitude for this scene. “You better have been careful.”
“We really were, considering the circumstances,” she assured him earnestly. “No more unforeseen consequences.”
“Good.” He folded his arms across his chest, sternly.
“Nothing serious enough happened anyway. Not,” hand wiggle, “you know, but the other thing. With some of the stuff.”
He narrowed his eyes. Menacingly. Not in piqued interest, menacingly.
“And he would have ‘fessed up right away, but I won the coin toss, and then I had a ten minute call to set, and that was that until this evening.”
“Yeah, Roscoe’s not real flexible that way.”
“He truly isn’t,” Kathy agreed. A brief pause while they both glumly contemplated their frequent director’s lack of understanding, and Kathy continued, “Anyhow, I’m sorry. We’re sorry.”
Apology or not, Don felt she’d earned the irritated tone when he said, “It’s good to ask a fellow first.”
“I know. Three weeks of diaper duty on Pearls’ day off?”
“A month.”
“Right.”
“And someone else, somebody who’s not me but has a name beginning with ‘C’, is the one who’s going to talk around R.F. and his yes-men about that weak number in Fools for Love.”
“Sounds fair,” she said, a little meekly. After a moment of wary study, she added, “You’re being awfully nice about this.”
Don felt his jaw relax although he was still irritated. He couldn’t help informing her, “I would have asked first.” After all, he was justified.
“I know.” Now she was being soothing. “I was just taken by surprise, is all. By the turn of events.”
“You were surprised.” Don shook his head. “I should have seen this coming. Why didn’t I see this coming?”
“Too busy thinking about something else that might happen?”
Ouch.
Letting his eyes shift sideways, Don finally managed to say, “Maybe?” The one word admission was like being punched in the gut, except in reverse.
“And who could blame you?” Kathy nodded firmly at him with the wise air of One Who Now Knows.
He took in a deep breath and let it out, kind of surprised he was able to. “Yeah. Who could.”
Since this was a reversed gut punch, Don was feeling less and less like throwing up as the seconds were ticking by. He tried looking at Kathy. She looked back at him. Tentatively, he attempted a smile, and hesitatingly, she returned it. Okay.
Kathy cleared her throat. Almost delicately, she said, “If it’s any consolation, I think Cosmo’s surprised, too.”
Don rolled his eyes. “What a surprise. That he’s surprised.” Or maybe not, if he let himself stand back and consider Kathy carefully with certain, unusual standards for trying a different routine than usual in mind… Nope, enough. “Let’s go disentangle him from babysitting duty, so I can see how long it will take him to bounce back from guilty to smart-aleck. Seventeen minutes is his record to date.”
“Pearl and Mrs. Burke should be back from the pictures soon.”
“Hey, I wonder what’s showing?” That was one reflex Don didn’t need a little rubber hammer to have checked.
Up in the nursery, Henry had finished his final show of goo-gah-ba-boo for the evening and was sleeping in that odd posture where his face was mashed into his mattress and his posterior stuck up into the air. For her part, Ellen was attempting to occupy the whole of her crib at once, if not entirely succeeding due to sleep compaction, so all was well.
Cosmo mimed silence, and they moved out of the nursery noiselessly, not too hard for anyone up to dancing in this household. But it hadn’t escaped Don’s attention that Cosmo wasn’t really meeting his eyes.
Instead, Cosmo said, voice low, “I heard their Model A out by the garage, so Pearl will be around in a couple of minutes.” Then, without another word, he led the way across the landing to the study next door to the main bedrooms, a room that had a lot more books in it now that both Kathy and Cosmo were around all the time. More important, that room contained the other big couch in the house. For a man who refused to buy one, Cosmo did love his couches.
Kathy promptly sat, but Cosmo stayed up on his feet. Chin held high, his look was challenging when he asked Don, “Well?”
“I thought I was the one who was supposed to be asking that question.”
“You’ve already heard Kathy’s apology. For my part, I was out of line.”
“Yeah, you were.”
“But if you weren’t going to forgive me, we’d be outside right now while you cleaned my clock. Or I’d be outside by myself, heading through those overdone wrought-iron gates.”
Don felt his own chin rise. “You’re not moving. Not after all the work it took to get you in here. And, anyhow, maybe I was wrong about a choice I made a while back. So you had a little credit built up. Had. A little.”
The shrug was elaborate. “I was sick of moving anyhow.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
A pause, and Don narrowed his eyes. “Good.”
Cosmo slowly narrowed his eyes right back. “Sure. Good. You bet.”
There was a choking noise. When Don looked over toward the couch, Kathy had her hand over her mouth, half-hiding an expression that mixed appalled with amused. Catching both Don and Cosmo’s stares, Kathy managed to move the hand away from her mouth, wave it around weakly, and say, “I can leave. I mean, if you need me to exit this scene so you can start punching each other rather than having to skip ahead to the shaking hands part, I can leave.”
“No.” All of a sudden, Cosmo heaved a genuine sigh. He seemed to shrink in on himself. “No, not necessary.” He turned to Don. “Okay, what’ll it be? That schmaltzy song she wants for a solo piece, to calm down Zelda? Persuading R.F. to drop the dead-dog fake tango? Me continuing to run Music to your tastes instead of writing that symphony?”
“Uh-uh.” Don folded his arms across his chest again, a nice bit of business. “I have a better idea. No schmaltz, and no fast-talk, either. And nothing’s going to keep you from writing that symphony one of these days.” If he looked noble and put-upon enough, maybe his nerves wouldn’t show. “Kathy can skip diaper duty, too.” He took a deep breath. Here went nothing. Or everything. “Instead, I think you should explain to me, in a way I can understand, exactly what happened to take both of you by surprise.”
This time, the two of them stared at him.
At last Cosmo said, “Exactly what happened. In a way you can understand.”
“Yes. That.”
Cosmo turned to Kathy. “You do know what this galoot means by a way he can understand?”
She nodded, eyes wide, and held up the hand with her wedding ring to demonstrate the relevant experience.
“And?”
“I guess I should be horrified.”
“But you’re not.” Cosmo turned back to Don and considered him. This time, his sigh was obvious stagecraft since his shoulders had risen a little instead of slumping again. “Well. I suppose your latest suggestion would be better than the alternatives.”
Moving toward the couch, Cosmo held out his hand, and Kathy stood to take it. Looking at Don, enunciating clearly even with that familiar, wicked grin slowly spreading across his face, Cosmo then said, “You see, it started like this…”
Maybe someone else might have chosen the scowls, and the jaw, and the crossed arms again, but Don could find no better response to their explanation than to put everything he was feeling into his smiles while they explained. No better response right then, that is. A bit later, of course, they all moved down the corridor to the master bedroom.
Full or not, there was always room enough in their house to try out the steps of a new dance this intriguing.