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23: Return

Manhattan, NY, the Four Seasons Restaurant, around lunch time-

The name ‘Tracy’ precluded reservations. All Scott had to do, once Fermat, Alan and Brains had left LaGuardia for Wharton, was to show up at the restaurant’s private, VIP door. Admittance and fawning service were a foregone conclusion.

Cindy Taylor joined him there a little afterward, being in town on the business of chasing scandal. To his eye, she was beautiful; glowing with diffused light, surrounded by soft music, tinkling cutlery and hushed conversations, with a white marble pool and spreading tree just behind her.

Of course, he’d have found his fiancée attractive had she stood knee-deep in rushing mud, toting a heavy rucksack, with twigs and briars in her hair, or fresh-tousled from bed. Having seen her that way, he knew.

She’d taken the trouble to look nice for him, though. Her dark hair was piled up, and she’d put on a silky red cocktail dress. Very pretty.

Scott was conservatively dressed in a tailored grey suit, white shirt and blue tie because… other than his various uniforms… these were pretty much the only clothes he understood how and when to wear. Clothing didn’t matter, though; not today.

He had a pricey ring in his pocket, and he wanted to set a date. He wanted to marry her on the island, just as soon as John was released from quarantine.

“It’s going to be great, Hon,” he told her, all boyish enthusiasm and fighter pilot good-looks. “John and his wife can make things official at the same time, and then we can get started on a family, too. He’s one up on me in the kid department, but…”

“Whoa. Back that train up, fella.”

Cindy, her expression hardening, pulled her hands free of his and leaned back in her chair, charm bracelet jangling discordantly.

“Marriage, okay. You, absolutely. Kids… no way in hell. I’m not ready to sacrifice my career and figure to enter the wonderful world of Tracy brood mares.”

His gut-shot look must have hit home, or something, because she softened a little, reaching across the pale linen tablecloth to pat his clenched hand.

“Look, Scott… I love you, and I want to stay with you (officially, or as a best friend with benefits, whatever works) but… I’m just not mommy material, understand? I have a job and a life. I’d like to keep them.”

Scott cleared his throat, gulping two fingers of scotch from a crystal tumbler to buy himself a little time. He felt all at once as cold and perplexed as an orphaned seal cub.

No kids…?

He wanted to talk to her, to explain how important it was that someday, someone of his should climb onto his lap, bursting with excitement, and proclaim,

‘Daddy, guess what…?’

He could see it; see teaching his child to fish, to fly, to ride a horse. Could feel a little son or daughter sitting upon his shoulders while he made up silly names for the constellations, and (back at their campsite) a laughing mom prepared supper.

No… she had to understand how important that was; how necessary.

“Cindy, I’ve always wanted kids. Lots of them. I come from a big family, and…”

“I don’t,” she cut in, smiling a little.

Giving Scott’s hand another brief tap, she leaned away again. Meanwhile, the head waiter glided up, but Scott sent him off. They weren’t much interested in food, just then.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Cindy continued, draining the last of her Long Island iced tea, “I had a great childhood. Bart and Marcy were wonderful parents. They flew all the way to Eastern Europe to get me, for God’s sake… but I’m not ready for 2 AM feedings, saggy breasts and diaper pails. I’ve seen what’s happened to friends who caved in, Scott, and believe me, the results weren’t pretty.

“I enjoy travel, spontaneous sex, adult conversation and my own identity too much to give them up for a couple of toothless, hair-snatching drool machines. Ever. If this is going to be a major issue, Hollywood, maybe we…”

“Hang on,” Scott interrupted, before she could finish brushing him off. “You’re getting all excited, Hon, and there’s no reason to be. We can work this out, I mean it. People who love each other find a way around obstacles like children, careers and religion. Look…” he dragged forth a sudden example, “John’s wife has a job. She’s a doctor, an astronaut, and she still found time for marriage and a baby.”

Cindy snorted, but smiled again.