“They do follow it,” he said, “but they’re just trying to kiss ass to get an exclusive.”
I noticed that Max was keenly aware of this, and once, when a few true fans of one of his early actions movies spotted him and asked for autographs, Max signed them and spoke to the fans, completely ignoring the questions from the reporter. Who, by the way, was talking over the fans’ questions, and Max got him to quiet down and back off. He knew who to give his attention to.
At Dan Tana’s that night, Max let it slip that I was pregnant.
I got looks of shock all around the table.
“Nice going.” I rolled my eyes.
We were several weeks in at that point, and everything was looking good so far from a medical perspective. So we were getting close to the point where we would start telling people anyway. I just hadn’t planned on it at that time.
Our table got a little loud for a few minutes after Max’s premature revelation — the guys congratulating Max, the girls smiling and tearing up along with me, glasses were raised, hugs and handshakes all around.
“I wondered why you were drinking sparkling water,” Loralei said to me.
“Yeah, I kind of thought that would give it away.”
Monica said, “Okay, so we need to start planning the first shower, like now. Oh, I can’t wait. You and Max are going to have the most beautiful baby.”
“Don’t let our kids hear that,” Anthony said. “They’d be crushed.”
“If they took out their earbuds long enough to hear us,” Monica said.
“It’s not that bad, is it?” Carl asked.
Monica rolled her eyes. “Not quite, but almost.”
“There’s an idea for a reality TV show,” Anthony said. “Put a bunch of kids in a house — sort of like Big Brother — and the one who can hold out the longest without using their phone or tablet gets a million bucks.” His mind was always working, like Max’s, looking for new ideas, so while we all laughed we also all knew he was only half-joking.
“Why kids?” Max said. “We’re all addicted to those things.”
“Not me,” Loralei said.
Carl huffed. “Right. Your hands are on your iPhone more than they’re on me.” He looked around at all of us. “Why do you think we don’t have kids?”
We all laughed.
Loralei was smiling, but she said, “Don’t expect any action tonight.”
Max and Anthony both groaned.
Max ordered everyone another round of drinks, and a soda for me. Not diet, either. I wasn’t denying myself those simple pleasures. In fact, as the night progressed, my focus gradually shifted from the company of friends to the enticing dessert menu, and when the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, I ordered a chocolate and vanilla parfait topped off with strawberries. For two. And I ate the whole thing. Screw it.
Later, just before we left, Steven Spielberg and his wife approached our table to say hello to Max. Minutes after that, Max introduced me to Russell Crowe, who said he and Max needed to get together and talk about a project.
I’d long since ceased becoming star-struck. Not that it wasn’t a thrill to mix and mingle with the biggest names in Hollywood. But rather I was starting to feel like I really belonged.
FIFTEEN
About halfway through my second trimester, I was really starting to show and was becoming a little obsessed with it.
I was spending almost as much time buying new clothes as I was doing my job on the film. Max had no problem with me doing whatever I wanted, and since a lot of my work could be handled over the phone — problem solving and such — it didn’t matter if I was on the set or browsing in a store somewhere trying to find the perfect shirt that would hide my growing baby-bump.
More troubling, though, was the sex between Max and I. There was something decidedly different about it. For one thing it had decreased in frequency. But when we did have sex, he didn’t seem as into it as much as he always was — especially when compared with how he had been in the months before we found out I was pregnant.
I had noticed it with increasing clarity over the last couple of weeks, and it coincided with the time my body was noticeably changing.
At first, I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. But then that resolve to just deal with it turned to a little bit of anger. Frustration, at least.
And that’s how I was feeling one day when I was trying on some new clothes in front of the tri-fold mirror in my large walk-in closet. I had gone through a few skirts and pairs of slacks, along with a few shirts, and I didn’t like any of them.
I was between outfits, trying to decide which to try next, standing there in my bra and panties, when I started to cry. Not sobbing, but just feeling a little overwhelmed by all of this. And I’m sure the hormonal changes had something to do with it, as well.
“What’s wrong?”
I was startled by Max’s voice and as I turned toward the door to see him, I reflexively threw one arm up across my bra and dropped my other hand down in front of my panties.
Max looked simultaneously worried and amused by my reaction.
“Olivia,” he said, moving toward me. “What’s the matter?”
He wrapped his arms around me and drew me in close to him.
My forehead fell to his chest and I continued to sob lightly.
“Talk to me,” he said.
He put a finger under my chin and lifted my face, looking into my eyes.
“Are you not attracted to me?” I asked.
His brow furrowed and his head tilted to the side. “What? Why would you think that?”
“You’re not…it’s not the same.”
Max put his hand on the side of my face and with his thumb he wiped away a tear rolling down my cheek. “What’s not?”
I exhaled heavily. “When we make love.”
He slowly shook his head. “No, no. That’s not it at all. I just want to be gentle with you.” He smiled. His hand drifted down the front of my body, finally coming to a stop as his palm rested on my belly. “You’re as gorgeous as always.”
I raised up on my tiptoes for a kiss.
Max wrapped his arms around me again and held me close, not letting our lips separate. Then he lifted me off the ground, and a few steps later, out in the bedroom, he was laying me on my back.
“I don’t want you to be different with this,” I said, looking up at the ceiling.
Max was kissing my neck, then the upper part of my chest. I looked down and watched as his tongue traced the edge of my bra over my plump breast.