LA does not deter my writing--enjoy: AS TIME GOES

Had I carried thru, I would have been a Mother Hubbard with too
many children. Michael, husband #1, supplied my body with nine growing embryos during five years of closeness. Only a daughter and a son were born, healthy, strong, beautiful and totally adored. Michael’s virility and the real possibility of being pregnant too many times, destroyed our marriage. I had enough, more than enough.
     
Joseph Langbaum, Attorney at Law, was recommended to me as being
THE best divorce lawyer in Pasadena. Joe was good, thorough and worked out an excellent deal for me to be independent for a long time, without destroying Michael. He also worked his wiles on me. We had a small, private wedding five months after I received my first alimony check and news that I was pregnant. Life was going smoothly. Our twin daughters were beautiful. We named them Stacey and Lacey. They cooed, spit up on me more often than they did on Joe.  I didn’t care. Marie, their Nanny, washed my blouses by hand and took bad stains to the cleaner.  Summer came and went and Joe went with it. He claimed he still loved me but needed a new bed partner. That was okay with me as long as I had custody of Stacey and  Lacey, and our son, still waiting, still needing time in me before he would be ready to come out to breathe on his own.  I demanded, and got, ample child support up to age twenty-one.

 

Any trick that might be played on me should be handled by THE best divorce attorney in Pasadena, my teen sweetheart. I liked him and signed on with Darin, still a bachelor, hopefully an honest one. He made it clear he was sterile and would give me a break on his fee if I moved in with him and was his mistress for a while. Actually, my young flame was being re-kindled, growing faster, hotter than my childish memory.

He had a large, handsome bachelor pad with rooms for my children. We moved in, for, as Darin had said, ‘a while’. My faith, my belief in  him, was working out perfectly, until the inevitable happened. Had Darin lied to me? Had his doctor made a mistake? I was pregnant again. He and I argued and argued. Our heat cooled.  This time the father was merely a passing fancy. Neither of us had wanted marriage and still didn’t. Darin carried a lot of our load. He bought everything for our son, a crib, carriage, clothes, Pampers, a toidy seat, infant clothes piled high in the corner of our child’s room. A brainstorm hit him. He had the baby’s room re-painted a soft blue and located a muralist, looked over books of his work and hired him to paint a circus scene around the room. ‘Put elephants, tigers, horses, clowns, lots of bright colors.’ His enthusiasm was contagious. I loved watching the circus come to life. Chuck’s hands were long, slender and seemed to glow with talent. He let me try to paint the elephant and told me not to make it gray which I would have done had he not told me it would be dull. I chose a bright pinky orange that pleased Chuck, me and Darin.

 

Birthing time was near. The smell of paint was into my skin, my nostrils. I couldn’t go in the room any more without coughing, serious coughing, making me gag, throw up. My distress weakened my insides so  our son was born a month pre-mature and only lived an hour. Darin and I were devastated. He wanted to sue the muralist but I wouldn’t let him. If anybody was to be sued, it would be Darin’s doctor who told Darin he couldn’t produce the right sperm to father a child.

 

Our baby was laid on a silk cloth that had embroidered circus animals. The lid of the tiny white coffin was sealed. Darin, I, Stacey, Lacey and the muralist got into the provided limo and went back to Darin’s apartment, where the circus scene had been painted over and

 

I decided to stay as long as Daril wanted me.