Jackie Collins, page 23
"Ha!" said Dawn. "Trust me. I've heard it all. Nothin' embarrasses
me.
Lauren sighed-a long weary sigh. "It's just that my parents are very
strict, and I haven't been allowed to see Nick in nearly two months
and. . . I don't know what to do."
"What is it?" Dawn asked. "You can tell me.
The words were difficult to say, but Lauren managed to get them out.
"I . . . I think I'm pregnant."
Until she actually said it out loud she hadn't been prepared to believe
it. Now that she'd voiced her suspicions she felt a great wave of
relief.
"Damnit!" Dawn said. "How late are you?"
Lauren studied the grass. "Almost six weeks," she mumbled. "I don't
dare tell my parents. I . I have to see Nick. I have to tell him."
"Sounds like a good idea to me."
"How can I?"
"How can't you is more like it. If I were you I'd head straight over
to the gas station and tell him. You shouldn't have to handle this
alone."
"What if they find out?"
"You can't be any worse off than you are now, can you?"
Dawn had a point. "I'll do it," she decided.
"Maybe the two of you can run off and get married," Dawn said, getting
carried away. "Very romantic."
"That'll really thrill my parents."
"Stop worrying about them. Talk it over with Nick. The way I see it,
you've got two choices-marry him and have the baby, or get an
abortion."
The word "abortion" petrified her. If there was a baby growing inside
her she would never consider doing it any harm.
"Has this ever happened to you?" she asked.
"To tell you the truth, no. But I always take precautions. Didn't
Nick wear a rubber?"
Lauren couldn't believe she was discussing anything as intimate as this
with Dawn. "No. . . he told me he. . . uh. . . pulled out."
"Oh, Jesus!" Dawn looked disgusted. "Never let em tell you that, it's
the oldest line in the world. That and Let me just lay down next to
you, I swear I won't put it in."" She stood up and held out her hand.
"Come on, get up, we gotta make plans. If you skip out of school now
an' make it over to the gas station you can hear what he's got to say
an' decide what you'll do. If you're lucky you'll be back before your
mother gets here."
"You're right," Lauren said, drawing a deep breath. "It's the only
answer, isn't it?"
"Sure-it's just as much his responsibility as yours. He's the asshole
supposed to take precautions. An' don't worry, whatever you decide
-I'm your friend, an' I'll help you if I can."
Lauren nodded gratefully, and felt sorry for all the bitchy things she
and Meg had said about Dawn in the past. "Thanks," she said, squeezing
her hand. "You've been great. I owe you one." arly Monday morning
they made it into Chicago. Dirty, tired and hungry but totally
elated.
"This is my kinda town, Chicago is," Joey sang happily.
"Enough with the singin'. Where we going'?" Nick asked.
"Yeah, where?" Cyndra joined in. "I'm beat."
"Hey," Joey said, "I got it all under control."
"I wish you'd get my stomach under control," Cyndra complained.
"Traveling on that stinkin' freight train all night has made me
starvin.
"Okay, okay, I get the message. Let's go in here."
They entered a dingy-looking cafe'. Cyndra pulled a face while Joey
ordered bacon and eggs, coffee and orange juice.
"Can we afford it?" she whispered. "Maybe we shouldn't be blowing our
money like this."
"It's okay," Nick said. "We deserve a decent breakfast."
"This is the plan," Joey said, taking charge. "After we eat I'll make
a few calls. Don't worry, we'll be sleeping in beds tonight."
"I hope so," Cyndra said wearily." Cause I can't take another night
sleeping rough." She went off to the restroom to wash up.
A rag-clad old tramp approached their table. "Gotta dime?" he "Buzz
off!" Joey said sharply.
Nick reached in his pocket and fumbled for loose change, handing the
old man a quarter.
"What in hell're you doing? We might need that," Joey said
indignantly.
"It's like a superstition," Nick replied. "Never turn a beggar
down."
"Oh. Some superstition. They'll be following you like the freakin'
Pied Piper!"
Cyndra returned from the ladies' room, having brushed her long dark
hair and washed her face. "I feel better now," she said, ravenously
attacking the runny eggs and greasy bacon.
"This'll have to last us until dinner," Joey warned, grabbing a piece
of toast and mopping up his eggs. "Think I'll go make those calls
"Friends," he said sourly. "You now.
Fifteen minutes later he was back.
can shove em.
"What happened?" Nick asked.
"Well, like, y'know, I had this best friend at school. He told me
there's no way we can go to his house on account of he's havin' trouble
with his dad-so strike him off."
Cyndra leaned forward. "Who else did you call?"
"This girl I used to go with. But when I told her there were three of
us she begged off So then I called my cousin."
"I thought we were forgetting about relatives."
"Don't sweat it. He changed his number-and the new one's unlisted."
"Is that it?" Nick asked. "These are the friends and relatives that
were gonna put us up?"
"Hey, things change," Joey said. "We've got enough money for a
hotel."
"Not for long," Nick said. "We've only got enough money for three or
four days, then we're on the street."
"We'll get jobs," Joey said.
"What jobs?" Cyndra asked.
"I'm gonna try out at a few comedy clubs," Joey said cheerfully.
"Face it-I'm young, I'm hot, I'm theirs!"
"I suppose I could do some waitressing," she said thoughtfully.
"And you can get a gig at a gas station, Nick," Joey said.
"If I wanted a job at a gas station I'd have stayed in Bosewell," Nick
retorted sharply.
"Stop bitchin'," Joey said. "We're here. We're outta Bosewell.
Something good'll come along."
After an hour of traipsing the streets they checked into a fleabag
hotel with flashing neon signs, vibrating beds and in-house porno
movies. While Joey and Cyndra were registering as Mr. and Mrs.
Pearson, Nick slipped around to the back alley. As soon as they
reached their room they let him in through the fire escape.
"Some dump!" Cyndra complained, trying out the lumpy bed.
"You were expecting the Plaza?" Joey countered.
"Quit it," Nick said. "I'm not listenin' to you two fight all night
long."
They began studying the newspaper, circling job opportunities.
Joey found what he was looking for and got ready for action. He combed
his hair, slicked it down with oil, put on his best jacket and said,
"I'm visiting the Comedy Club. How old do I look?"
Cyndra leaned back narrowing her eyes. "Bout seventeen."
"You're full of it." He turned to Nick. "Whaddaya think?"
"You could pass for twenty."
"I'm growin' a beard, that'll do it."
Cyndra wrinkled her nose. "Ugh . . . I hate beards."
"You hate everything," Joey said.
"No, I don't," she argued.
Nick was getting edgy. "C'mon, you two," he said.
"Listen to this." Cyndra pounced triumphantly, reading aloud from the
paper. "Beautiful young girls wanted for modeling jobs. Ability to
travel abroad essential." Sounds great." She jumped off the bed and
paraded around the room. "I could be a model, couldn't I?"
"Sounds great," Joey mimicked. "They'll have you on a slow boat to
China with a needle in your arm.
"Huh?"
"That's what they do to girls once they get hold of em. Ship em off to
whorehouses in Bangkok."
"You and your imagination."
"I'm not kiddin'."
"I'm gonna take a walk," Nick said. "See you two later."
"Yeah, yeah," Joey said. "I'm doin' the same. Cyndra, you're on your
own, so don't go signing with no modeling agency unless you check it
with me first."
"Sure, Mr. Bigshot," she said sarcastically.
Joey grinned. He liked her sassiness. "You'd better believe it.
We'll meet back here in a coupla hours."
Trudging around the streets of Chicago, Nick felt his adrenaline begin
to pump. Walking the streets was a kick-people-watching, getting the
feel of the city. He passed a couple of help-wanted signs and went
inside, only to find both positions filled. Who wanted to work in a
hamburger joint or a barbershop anyway?
After a while he passed a restaurant/bar with a sign in the window.
What the hell-he'd make a pretty good bartender. He ventured inside
the dim interior and checked it out. The place was dingy, with low
lights and a tired stripper gyrating to a gloomy-sounding Glen Campbell
on the jukebox. There were few customers.
He headed toward the bar, where a gnarled old man with a crew cut and
bloodshot eyes stood guard. "Yeah?" the man rasped. "What kin I
getcha?"
"I'm interested in the job," he said.
The man snorted and turned away. "Round the back."
"What job is it?"
"Washin' dishes."
"That's not exactly what I had in mind."
"What didja have in mind?" the man said, picking up a glass and giving
it a cursory polish with a grubby cloth.
"Your job."
"Ha-ha, the kid's a comedian. Get your skinny ass around the back."
Nick decided he was better off repairing cars than washing dishes, but
since he was here anyway, he made his way into the alley, coming face
to face with a large rat balanced on top of an overflowing garbage
can.
He dodged past it and entered through the back door into a filthy
kitchen.
A very thin man in what once might have been a white apron sat on a
stool, his legs propped on a countertop. He was smoking a cigarette,
blowing lazy smoke rings toward the ceiling. On the stove a huge pan
of fries sizzled in a sea of greasy black oil.
"Yeah?" the man said, looking down his long thin nose.
"I was wondering bout the job," Nick said.
"You wanna do some washin', jump right in," the man said, gesturing
toward a chipped sink piled high with dirty dishes.
"How much?"
"Two fifty an hour-cash."
"That ain't enough."
"Who d'ya think I am-Rockefeller? You want the job or not?"
"How many hours a day?"
"A coupla hours lunchtime, two or three in the evenings."
Thirteen bucks a day if he was lucky, and he'd still have mornings and
afternoons free to go on auditions. "Make it a straight three bucks an
hour an' I'm yours."
"Don't go bargaining with me, kid. I can get a Meri t'do it for half
the price."
"Why don't you?"
The man blew smoke in his face. "Oh, you got a smart mouth too, huh?
Fuckin' Mexis break everything."
"Two seventy-five," Nick said.
"Jesus!" The man slapped his forehead. "Start now and you got the
job-or shift your ass outta here. Take it or leave it."
He took it. It sure beat walking the streets.
y the time Lauren reached the gas station she was hot and tired.
The front area was deserted, so she made her way to the office and
tapped on the door.
George sat behind his desk, going over some outstanding accounts.
"Yes?" he called out.
"Excuse me," she said, putting her head around the door. "I'm looking
for Nick Angelo."
"Nick don't work here no more," George said gruffly.
"He doesn't?"
"Nah-he quit."
She was stunned. How could he quit his job just like that? She was
about to ask more questions but the phone rang and George settled
himself into a conversation.
She left the gas station, trying to decide what to do.
You've gone this far, Roberts. May as well go all the way. Take a bus
over to the trailer park and find out what's going on.
She was more nervous about telling Nick than facing up to her parents,
but it had to be done. What would he say when she told him she was
pregnant? Oh, God! Would he hate her? She couldn't stand it.
She hurried to the bus stop and waited ten minutes before the bus
arrived. It was stiflingly hot and close, and she was beginning to
feel nauseous.
"Bad weather up ahead," the driver said, taking her fare.
What was he talking about? It was a beautiful day, much too hot, but
it certainly didn't look like rain.
"Thunderstorms," the driver said, nodding his head knowingly. "I can
hear em miles away.
Settling into a window seat she looked outside-there wasn't a cloud in
the sky.
As soon as the bus began to move she started thinking about her
father.
Phil Roberts had always taught her to be honest and true, so why
couldn't she be honest with him? Because that's what she really wanted
to do.
On impulse she jumped off at Main Street, deciding to visit him at work
and make one last attempt to communicate.
By the time she reached the stairs leading to his office she'd made up
her mind exactly what she would say. She'd tell him her life was over
if she wasn't allowed to see Nick Angelo. And then she'd tell him
about the baby.
The shade was down on his office door, and the CLOSED sign displayed.
Disappointed, she went downstairs to the hardware store and spoke to
one of the Blakely brothers.
"When will my father be back?"
"He's upstairs, Lauren."
"He's not, the office is closed."
"I'm almost sure he's up there. Here-take the spare key, you can wait
for" She took the key and went back upstairs. Her father was probably
out having lunch. This break was good, it would give her time to
compose herselœ When he came back she'd be ready with a perfectly
reasonable speech that he couldn't fail to understand and respond to.
She put the key in the lock and let herself into the small reception
area. As soon as she stepped inside she knew she wasn't alone-there
were strange muffled sounds coming from the inner office.
He's being robbed, was her immediate thought. Without thinking she
opened the door and stood on the threshold.
Eloise, her father's secretary, was spread-eagled naked across the
couch. Crouched above her, also naked, was her father.
Lauren's hand flew to her mouth and she gasped. Eloise let out a
little screech of horror, and Phil Roberts turned his head around to
