What We Leave Behind by Weinstein Rochelle B

Author:Weinstein, Rochelle B. [Weinstein, Rochelle B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

We were celebrating our two-year anniversary and were at the top of our game, having racked up award after award for our work on several major motion pictures and their soundtracks. SixthSense was plastered across most every entertainment trade magazine; if I wanted to learn something new about the company or our current status, all I had to do was open a magazine and there would be the information I was searching for. It was surreal to be so sought after, eerie to be so closely watched. Marty and Jeff were the high-powered household names, but I’d found a niche for myself that was spreading across the industry. I was told I was an expert in the field of music, that I was the authority for hit songs, and with that, doors opened. Radio stations loved me, film studios courted me, record labels wanted me on staff, and songwriters pursued me at every turn.

And then the subject of kids.

I was twenty-four years old, almost twenty-five as I liked to say, and the question of children had come up on numerous occasions. Actually, every time Beth or my mother returned my phone calls, it was with the assumption that we were announcing our impending pregnancy. “Marty looks amazing for his age,” they’d tell me, “but he’s not getting any younger.”

We had decided to forego protection and have fun. If it happened, it happened.

Therefore, it was no surprise when a doctor’s appointment confirmed what my usually punctual and now excessively tardy period had already conveyed to me—I was pregnant. Marty was working late, again, negotiating yet another deal, this time for the rights to the remake of Hair. Swarms of attorneys from the label side and the production side were in the office that afternoon, and I’d snuck out early, feeling tired and weepy. The label wanted close to a million dollars for some of the songs. Nowadays, that wasn’t entirely unheard of, but led to continuous debates over commercialization versus art. Marty could spend hours on that topic and apparently had been for the last few nights, picking up where my queasy stomach had left off.

“I wish you’d come home,” I bellowed into the telephone, fretting at the thought that I had become one of them, one of those wives that complained for her man to come home early.

“I’ll be home soon, babe. We’re almost finished here. No more than an hour.”

“Okay,” I found myself relenting.

When he walked in the door, I noticed that the man I loved was no longer just my husband. By day’s end, my secret had changed him. He was as handsome as ever with his grayish hair still thick and full, his eyes as warm as the first day we met in his office. Even when he was exhausted after a long day, he always had a smile for me, ready to talk and share his day.

I wanted to make love to him right then and there. I wanted to undress him at the door

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