“We don’t have to meet Fedderman at the bench this morning,” Pearl reminded him.
“True. Let’s go out and get some breakfast, read the paper.”
“I’m not hungry. And we pretty much know what’s in the paper.”
“Pearl-”
“There’s no reason we can’t go back to bed for a while. We’re undressed for it.”
She had him there.
Claire woke up craving chocolate.
Her unreasonable and overwhelming physical cravings during pregnancy made her uneasy. They were so unnatural, so unlike her, that they reminded her of the profundity of what must be happening inside her body and mind. To be so at the mercy of one’s nature, one’s hormones, was unnerving. If she had to, no matter what, have chocolate on waking in the morning, what other irresistible urges might compel her?
She climbed out of bed, pulled her nightgown off over her head, and examined her nude body in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. She was still able to disguise her pregnancy with the right clothes, the right costuming in Hail to the Chef, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before she’d have to remove herself from the cast. She wanted to do it herself, and not force Fred Perry, the director, or Chris Jackson, the playwright, to inform her when it was time.
She decided again that she enjoyed being pregnant, despite the many complications. Stretch marks-who cares? Morning sickness-so what? She smiled in the mirror and patted herself on the belly before padding barefoot into the bathroom to shower.
Claire was careful climbing into the high-sided porcelain tub. Lifting one leg high and balancing on the other was becoming noticeably more difficult every day, and a fall could be disastrous for the baby.
She pulled the plastic curtain closed, adjusted the water to warm, and luxuriated in the shower. All her senses seemed more alive these days.
Back in the bedroom, after drying off with a fresh towel, then combing her wet hair, Claire opened the third dresser drawer to find a pair of panties, and her eye fell on a glint of silver.
She pulled the drawer open farther, nudged lingerie aside, and saw what looked like a silver clasp for a chain, maybe to a necklace or bracelet. When she moved a bra at the back of the drawer, there behind it was a beautiful ruby necklace.
Claire was astounded, and after her initial surprise, pleased.
The necklace had to be a gift from Jubal, one he hadn’t had time to present to her properly, so he’d hidden it in the drawer for later. Odd, though, that he’d chosen her lingerie drawer. But he knew she was dressing casually these days and seldom wearing a bra, and the necklace had been in the very back of the drawer.
Or maybe he’d intended for her to find it. A surprise. Like some of the other surprise gifts he’d engineered lately.
She glanced at the bedside clock radio. It was almost nine-thirty, eight-thirty in Chicago. Jubal would be awake, not yet at the theater but possibly at breakfast.
Claire was chilly after her shower, so after holding up the necklace to admire it, she slipped on a pair of panties, then her robe and slippers, and went into the kitchen to put on some decaffeinated, doctor-approved coffee. She realized she was still holding the necklace. Her craving for chocolate had suddenly abated. She smiled. Jewelry could have that effect on a woman, even pregnant.
She got the coffee brewing, then put on the necklace and fastened its clasp behind her neck. It felt cool against her flesh. She checked her reflection in the dark, mirrored door of the microwave oven and approved.
When there was about an inch of coffee in the glass pot, she interrupted its flow from the brewer to pour a warm but too-strong quarter of a cup. Then she sat at the table with what she thought of as an espresso and used her cell phone to call Jubal’s.
Jubal was kissing Dalia’s left nipple when he heard the opening notes of the William Tell Overture.
“What the hell was that?” Dalia asked, pushing his head away.
It took Jubal a few seconds to refocus his mind and give her an answer. “Cell phone.”
“I thought it was the fucking Lone Ranger.”
Jubal scooted away from her on the mattress, rolled heavily onto his side, and reached for his sport jacket draped over a nearby chair. Locating the phone and digging it out of an inside pocket took more time than he wanted, more overture.
“Yeah?” he said into the phone. Too early for manners, and his sleepy mind couldn’t quite shake thoughts of Dalia. Thoughts and possibilities.
“Jubal?”
Jesus! Claire!
“Hi, Claire.” Sideways glance at Dalia. “I was just thinking about you while I was getting dressed to go out for breakfast.”
“I called about the necklace.”
Necklace? No, no! He couldn’t think clearly. Had to answer her. And without a meaningful pause. “Necklace?”
She laughed. “Don’t sound so guilty. I think you know the one I mean. It’s a ruby on a silver chain. Elegant. Perfect.”
“You, uh, found a necklace?”
“In my dresser drawer, hidden among my lingerie.”
“Hidden?”
“Well, it was way in the back of the drawer.”
“I don’t know anything about-”
Jubal understood then what must have happened. The necklace had come loose from where he’d taped it to the outside back of the drawer above her lingerie drawer. Dalia’s necklace. And as luck would have it, it hadn’t dropped to the floor or bottom of the dresser but had snagged on something and fallen into the drawer below. Or maybe she hadn’t pushed the drawer the necklace was taped to all the way closed.
Either way, she had the necklace.
He thought about lying, but he was committed now to an earlier lie.
Jubal knew when not to push. If he reversed his field here and took credit for the necklace as a gift to Claire, she might sense something was wrong. He decided his best course was to continue playing dumb.
“I’m tempted to pretend I meant this necklace as a gift,” he said, “but I have to be honest with you. The sad truth is I know nothing about it.”
Dalia knew he was talking to Claire and was staring at him from her side of the bed. She puckered her lips and sent an air kiss his way.
Damm it, Dalia!
“Jubal?”
“Honestly, Claire. We bought the dresser secondhand. The necklace must have belonged to a previous owner. Or still belongs. It’s probably just paste, maybe a kid’s necklace, or it wouldn’t have been left there.”
“I don’t think it’s paste. It looks pretty good. And I think there’s a tiny silver stamp on the clasp.”
“Real or not, Claire, it isn’t from me. I wish it were.”
She was silent.
“You do believe me, Claire?”
“Of course I do.”
“Show it to me when I get back. If it’s high quality, we’ll see if we can find out who it belongs to. And if we can’t…finders keepers.”
“Okay, Jubal.” A beat. “Any problems with the play?”
“No, I slipped right back into it. Born for the part. Any part.”
“No news yet on the sitcom?”
“Nothing yet. I told you, they had two more auditions to consider.”
“That’s right, you did. Love me?”
“Love you.”
“I’ll let you get to breakfast.”
“What? Oh, yeah. How are you? How’s the baby?”
