And that was it, as far as she was concerned.
Except it wasn’t.
Her next period was late, then it didn’t show up at all.
A doctor confirmed she was pregnant.
“Get rid of it,” Manny said. “I know a doctor. He’s discreet.”
“I’m not going to do that,” she said.
“Don’t expect me to raise someone else’s bastard,” Manny said. “Everyone will know it’s not mine. Get the abortion or . . .”
“Or what?”
“We had an agreement,” Manny said. “You weren’t going to be careless, you weren’t going to embarrass me. You’ve done both, so the agreement is void.”
“So I’m just a bad business deal?”
“That was your choice, Madeleine, not mine.”
The man is absolutely right, she thought. I made this business, so why shouldn’t he? “I’ll go away and have the baby. No one will know. I won’t contest the divorce, and I don’t want anything beyond what you’ve already given me.”
She left in the morning and flew to New York. Had the baby at St. Elizabeth’s and listed Martin Ryan as the father.
Madeleine tried to be a mother, she really did.
She did the diapers, the feedings, the sleepless nights. It was hard being a single mother in those days, it was a scandal even in the bohemian Village, and the neighbors in her building on Seventh Avenue pretended to believe her story about her husband being a longshoreman who was out at sea. Madeleine had cared for children before, when she was herself a child—it wasn’t that, it wasn’t the difficult present that caused her to abandon her son, Danny.
It was the future.
Madeleine couldn’t picture it.
What was she supposed to do, saddled with an infant, then a toddler, then a little boy? She had some of her money from Manny, had invested it wisely, but it wouldn’t last—she would have to go to work.
Doing what, though?
And who would look after Danny?
She knew one thing: She wasn’t going back to Barstow. To throw herself on the mercy of her parents, to face the humiliation of being a single mother, to see the sneers of the men she had rejected and hear the snickers of jealous girls.
Madeleine took stock of her assets, decided that she had two—beauty and brains. But she couldn’t use either with a kid in tow.
So one day she got up, wrapped Danny in a blanket and caught the train for Providence. It wasn’t hard to find Martin Ryan, everyone knew him. She walked into some dingy Irish bar, handed him the bundle and said, “Here, here’s your son. I’m not cut out to be a mother.”
Then she walked out.
Went to Los Angeles.
Madeleine knew her assets and used them to her best advantage. Men loved to look at her, loved to be seen with her on their arms, loved to fuck her. It’s not that she was a hooker, it wasn’t a cash-on-the-barrelhead proposition, but she let it be known that she was a girl who required gifts. And not flowers and candy, either. Clothes, furs, jewelry, vacations, cars, apartments, houses. Stock tips, stock options, inclusion in real estate development deals.
Her looks wouldn’t last forever.
She started going to parties with headline comedians, singers, and then movie stars. Through the movie stars she met politicians, through the pols she met the Wall Street types.
Madeleine never fucked down. When she went with studio heads, she quit the actors. When she started banging billionaires, she left the studio heads. It was her simple rule. All the men understood, they didn’t resent her for it. Men like that know the pecking order.
The only guy she ever felt bad about was the son she left behind. But she couldn’t have done it, couldn’t have lived in Dogtown as the wife of an Irish dock boss, even if he was connected. Didn’t see herself doing laundry, cranking out kids, going to confession on Saturday afternoon, the dreary pub Saturday night, mass on Sunday morning.
It was death.
But her only regret was her baby, her boy.
Left behind with an angry drunk while she fucked her way from Hollywood to Washington to New York. Now she was back in Vegas again, with a real estate and stock portfolio, no need to worry about being in her fifties and losing her looks. Even if she was still stunning, still good in bed, still a charming companion, she knew that her sell-by date was fast approaching and it didn’t worry her.
She had money.
In this world, money keeps a woman safe.
Money and influence.
She used it when she heard about Danny. An old friend in the Justice Department made the connection and called her. Your son is hurt and in trouble. Another friend provided a private jet and she was in Providence the next day. She made calls on the flight—got the story and pulled on some cords of memory.