And now, on Madison Avenue, she looked sadly at Bill. “Do you think it'll ever happen?” She had asked him that a million times since January, and it had only been four months since their wedding day. They had used precautions until then, no thanks to her, he reminded her several times. But he knew why she wanted to be careless. It was the same thing again. That desperation to have a child, to fill the void, to relive the past differently this time. She had never forgiven herself for giving that child up, or Faye for making her….

“Yes, I think it will happen, little love. Six months from now you'll be wallowing around like a whale, telling me how miserable and uncomfortable you are, and hating me for it.” They both laughed and he kissed her again and left for his meeting, as she headed for Bloomingdale's, and it tore at her heart when she passed the racks of baby clothes. She stopped for just a moment and fingered them wistfully, wanting to buy something just for good luck, and then afraid it would jinx her instead. She remembered when she had bought little tiny pink shoes when she'd been pregnant before. She had been so convinced it would be a girl, Lionel and John had teased her about it.

The memory was still painful now, as she walked away, and it hurt to think of John. She wondered how Lionel was. They seldom spoke anymore. Things had never been the same since he had told her parents about Bill, and she seemed to have nothing to say to him now. The last she'd heard, he was still looking for a job at one of the studios, anxious to get back into film. She sighed, and took the escalator downstairs, there was a riot of color everywhere, silk flowers, patent-leather bags, bright suede belts in rainbow hues. She couldn't resist, and came home with bags of it, most of which she knew she'd never wear, unlike the diamond bracelet Bill gave her that night to ease the pain. He knew how unhappy she was about not getting pregnant yet. But he was sure she would. She was healthy and young and just trying too hard, and the doctor had told her as much. He told her so again the week before they went to St. Tropez. “Just relax and don't think of it,” he said, which was easy for him to say. He was fifty-one years old, and had learned to be more philosophical about life.

Deep down she was still upset but for the three weeks that they played on the beach at St. Tropez, Anne had never looked happier in her life. She wore blue jeans and espadrilles, bikinis and bright cotton shirts, and she let her hair go wild, in a haze of blond bleached even paler by the sun. She was a beautiful girl, and growing prettier by the day. And he was pleased to see she had even gained a little weight, and when they went to Cannes to shop, she didn't fit into her usual size, she had to move up one. And he teased her when she had trouble zipping up her jeans again. He told her she was getting fat, but a question dawned which he didn't even dare voice to her. And in Paris he was sure of it when she was too tired to walk along the Seine, fell asleep on the way to Coq Hardi for lunch, and turned green when he suggested a Dubonnet. He didn't say a word to her, but protected her like a mother hen with a chick, and when they got back to L.A., he reminded her that she hadn't had a period since they left a month before. For the first time in six months, she hadn't even thought of it, and suddenly her jaw dropped as she made rapid calculations in her head, and then grinned nervously at him.

“Do you think … ?” She didn't even dare say the words and he smiled gently at her. It hadn't taken so long after all. Six months wasn't long at all, except it had been to her, so anxious to conceive.

“Yes, I do, little one. I've thought it for the last few weeks but I didn't want to get your hopes up, so I didn't say anything.” She squealed and threw her arms around his neck, and he tried to calm her down. “Let's wait till we're sure, and then well celebrate.”

She went for the test the next day, and when she called them breathlessly that afternoon for the results, they were positive. She was so stunned, she just sat there and stared at the phone, and when Bill came home she still looked dazed, and he whooped with delight. And he noticed, as she wandered around in her bathing suit, that she had already subtly changed shape. She wasn't as angular as usual, everything seemed softer and more round.

“I am … I am … I am …” She was so excited she danced with glee, and he took her out to celebrate at the Beverly Hills Hotel, but she fell instantly to sleep, as he found himself dreaming of the baby they would have. He was caught up in it too, and he was thinking of transforming the guest room into a nursery. They could put another maid's room over the garage, and put one of the maids there … then put the nurse in what was now the maid's room … his mind whirled around all night as she slept, and the next day he came home for lunch to see how she was and celebrate again. It seemed to make no dent at all in their sex life, and she had never looked happier than she did then. And she constantly spoke of their “little boy,” as though it had to be a boy, to replace the one that was gone … he would have been almost four years old by then, Bill knew….

They spent Labor Day weekend quietly with friends. People were getting used to her now, and although they envied Bill, they didn't make as many cracks as they once did. And she looked more grown up than she had nine months before. Especially now, the pregnancy had given her a certain maturity.

They were planning to go to New York in the next few weeks, to see Gail, and the doctor said it was all right for Anne to go, but the day before they left, she began spotting lightly, and he put her to bed to rest. She was terrified of what it meant, but the doctor insisted that it happened all the time. Most women had some spotting in the first few months, it meant nothing at all, he said, except that after three days it hadn't stopped, and Bill was growing anxious now. He called another doctor he knew, who said the same thing. But Anne was strangely pale under her tan, mostly from fright. She barely moved from her bed all day long, except to go to the bathroom, and Bill came home for lunch every day to see how she was, and he left the office earlier than usual. They would just have to wait and see, both doctors said, but neither of them was concerned, until after a week of consistent bleeding, late one night she began to have terrible cramps. She woke up with a start, and grabbed Bill's arm. She was barely able to speak she was in such pain, and she felt as though a hot poker were forcing its way through her, pushing everything down between her legs and on her lower back. Bill called the doctor, frantically wrapped her in a blanket, and took her to the hospital. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she held his hand tight, as she lay in the emergency room. She begged him not to leave her, and the doctor let him stay, but it wasn't a pretty sight. She was in terrible pain and bleeding copiously, and within two hours, she lost the baby she had wanted so desperately, as she sobbed in Bill's arms.

They put her out and wheeled her away to do a quick D and C and when Anne woke up in the recovery room, Bill was there again, with grief-stricken eyes filled with concern as he held her hand. The doctor had said there was no explanation for it, some fetuses were just wrong and the body eliminated them. It was best that way he said. But Anne was inconsolable as she lay in bed at home for weeks. They told her she could get up, but she had no desire to at all. She lost fifteen pounds, looked like hell, and refused to talk to anyone or go anywhere. Eventually, Faye got word of it in a round-about way. Lionel called Anne to say hello, and Bill told him, and he called Faye, who in turn called Anne to see how she was, but she wouldn't speak to anyone, Bill said in despair. And she flatly refused to see Faye. She got hysterical when Bill even mentioned it, screaming again that it was all her fault, that if she hadn't made her give the other baby away, she would have him now. She hated everyone, even Bill at times, and it was November before he could get her to travel with him again, or go anywhere, and Gail was upset at how drawn she looked when she finally came to New York with Bill.

“She looks terrible.”

“I know.” He worried about her all the time, but there was nothing he could do except get her pregnant again, and that could take time. “She took it very hard.” It had already been two months and she never talked about it, but it was easy to see how the miscarriage had ravaged her, and even the jewelry he bought didn't excite her very much. Nothing did. Not even the trip to St. Moritz at Christmastime.

Finally, in January, she began to revive. It had been a terrible time for her, and the six weeks depression the doctor had predicted for her had turned into three months, but at least she was over it now, for the most part. She was back to her old life, of shopping and seeing a few friends. She called Gail in New York more often again now, and she had set up her temperature charts again, and this time it paid off in two short months. She found out she was pregnant on Valentine's Day, but this time the baby only lasted six weeks, and she lost it on the first of March, two weeks after she found out. Bill braced himself for what she would go through again, but she was quieter about it this time. Silent, withdrawn, she rarely mentioned it, even to him, and in some ways that worried him more. He would rather have seen her cry all the time, at least she would have gotten it out. Instead, there was something closed and dead in her eyes. She put the temperature charts away for good, threw the basal thermometer away, and talked about redoing the guest room in green or blue. It tore at his heart even more than the time before, but there was nothing he could do for her. Late one night, she confessed to him in the dark, that she thought it might be because of all the drugs she took several years before. But that was five years before, he reminded her, and he was convinced it had nothing to do with it. But she clung to her guilts and her regrets, and the memory of the relinquished child. It was obvious she believed she would never have one now, and he didn't even dare argue with her. It put a terrible silent pressure on him now whenever they made love, but at least she wasn't taking her temperature now. That was a relief of sorts.