Part 36
"So how about lunch, Mrs Bass?" came her husband's voice through her cell.
"Mr Bass," she answered lightly. "I have to decline. I'm out with a friend."
Dorota raised an eyebrow at her, then shook out the folded blanket that she had brought with her. The maid pulled away the plain white blanket covering her legs and spread the expensive sheet over her limbs. Blair gave Dorota a grateful smile, then turned her attention to the image on the screen. It was kind of like getting an ultrasound for the babies, only this time it was not as fun or breathtaking.
"What are you doing?" Chuck asked.
The door opened and Blair looked up to see her mother peeking inside. She waved her in. "Shopping," she answered easily. "Ouch!" she cried when the technician pressed firmly against her ribcage. The metal was cold and very hard, and it was almost like the technician was pressing it into her skin and past muscle. Blair held her hand over the mic. "That hurt."
The technician muttered an apology. "I'm trying to get a clear picture, Mrs Bass."
"What is that?" she heard him say over the phone.
Blair settled down on the bed, then told him, "Tight, uncomfortable shoes. Looks like I won't be getting the new Prada pumps."
"Don't worry, Blair. When you have the babies, your feet will go back to their normal size. I'll buy you all the latest."
Blair grinned. She felt her mother's hand cover hers. She tightened her fingers around Eleanor's. "I'd love that." Because that should make her happy. Any young woman would love to get presents from her husband. And if she could not be happy about it, then he would suspect. "I'm going to hit a couple of boutiques. I want to get the babies a couple of onesies."
"We agreed to shop for baby stuff together," he reminded her.
"I know. But you're in the office and I was bored."
"Fine," he grumbled. "Just one each. I want to buy the rest with you. Or else you'd have them in identical outfits."
"That would be cute!" she protested.
"Bass men don't roll like that, Mrs Bass. We have a definite fashion sense."
She chuckled, imagining her little girl in a teeny Eleanor Original and her little boy in sparkly old man attire because that would definitely be Chuck's choice. She would have a toddler wearing dress pants and a shirt and tie in no time. Knowing Chuck, he would probably have leather shoes custom-made for her son by the time he was—well… toddling.
"I'll make it up to you," she promised. "Come home early tonight. I'll have a nice meal waiting for you. Candelit," she added.
"Takeout?" he asked.
She huffed. "Dorota," she answered.
"I love Dorota's pork chop au pouvre."
"I'll help her with the sauce. I'm under kitchen training with Dorota."
"Sounds delicious. Gifts?"
"Optional," she told him, "but would be appreciated."
"Gifts then," Chuck decided. "I love you."
"I love you more," she answered.
"You can't prove that," he said lightly. "One of these days I'll find a computer app that can calculate that so we can settle this once and for all."
She hung up with a silly smile on her face, and was met with Dorota's disapproving stare.
"I no like this, Miss Blair. Poor Mr Chuck. You didn't tell him anything," Dorota said in clear disapproval.
"Dorota, it's not like it would help him if I get him worried," Blair explained softly. "I'll tell him when there's something to tell."
And then Eleanor brought out the littlest eyelet dress she had ever seen. Blair reached out to touch a garterized white lace headband that matched.
"Anything for the boy?" Blair prompted.
Eleanor waved the question away. "I only recently expanded to men's wear," Eleanor reminded her daughter. "I can't do baby boy clothes yet."
"Having favorites so early," Blair commented. "That is just fantastic."
Eleanor waited until the technician set aside her equipment and stepped out of the room. Her mother shook her head. "Believe me, you're going to need me to shower your daughter with attention. That boy is the first one from your father's side of the family. You're Harold's only child, and from the looks of it, that's going to stand. And that boy is Bart Bass' grandson."
"It's not the eighteenth century, mom. My girl might be more of a celebrity."
"Like Serena? Please!" Eleanor patted her legs through the blanket that Dorota brought. "Waldorf women are not celebrities or socialites."
"We're businesswomen," Blair added laughingly.
Dorota folded her arms across her chest, then turned to Eleanor. "You no talk to Miss Blair?"
"Of course I will," Eleanor answered. She gestured for patience. "It's a matter of timing, Dorota." Blair felt her body grow warm. "I sketched the perfect new form for you after you have the baby. It will flatter the curves that you'll still have and hide all the weight you've gained while you're working it off."
"Mom, I hope you're not thinking of pastels," Blair warned.
"Miss Blair not like pastels," Dorota shared, shuddering at perhaps the memory of that one time Blair had screeched at the sight of a new dress that Eleanor had sent to her—it had been a plain pastel blue dress.
The horror.
And then Blair considered, "But I don't want the same old black dresses. I'll have babies in tow. Babies and black don't mix."
"Jewel tones, Blair," Eleanor told her. "We'll go for rich hues—rubies and emeralds and sapphires. You'll see. You're gorgeous. You're too young to let yourself go and be an ugly mom who doesn't make an effort."
They looked up when the cardiologist arrived with her OB. Eleanor patted Blair's hand. The doctor held the sheet result in his hands. He walked over to Blair and extended his hand, "I'm Ron Fagel. I want you to know that you are in very good hands, Blair."
Blair's lips curved, her eyes slanted uncertainly. "Do I need to be in the good hands of a cardiologist?" she asked, easing into the results.
But Eleanor was more direct to the point. "Did she develop any complications?"
"Mom—" Blair protested.
"Shhhhh."
It was the first time that Blair noticed the tension in the way that her mother sat.
The doctor lowered his chart, then informed Blair, in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice, "Mrs Bass, I will be talking you, along with your OB, about the result of your test." He nodded at Eleanor and Dorota. "Would you like to do this alone?"
She did not. She wanted to do it with Chuck.
But she was not going to call him until she needed to.
"Go ahead," she whispered.
"Blair, we found something," he began. "And I want to talk you through how we're going too—"
"No!" she exclaimed, interrupting the doctor.
Dorota wringed her hands, then looked at her in shocked disappointment. "Miss Blair, let the doctor talk."
"This isn't right," she decided. "You found something."
"Yes."
Blair closed her eyes, then rubbed her temples. She took deep, calming breaths. Blair looked up at her mother, then opened her mouth.
Eleanor sighed, read her daughter because Blair could even speak. "Do you want me to call him?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry, mom."
Eleanor shook her head, then smiled. "That's what happens when children grow up." To the doctor, she said, "Would you mind coming back with the results when Mr Bass has arrived? We're going to call him now."
Dr Fagel nodded his head. "I understand what you mean. When they were younger they'd come to you when they get the smallest cut. Now there's someone else out there."
Blair lay down on the bed, lightheaded and queasy. She closed her eyes. Her OB went up to her and said, "Blair, lie on your left side. It should make it easier." So she did and felt the world spin slower than it had been spinning.
Blair opened her eyes and saw Dorota frowning as she pulled a folder from her bag. Dorota handed it to the doctor and said, "Miss Blair can't be sick. You look. Her heart was all fine."
Eleanor's lips parted. "Dorota, those are Blair's birth records. From my office."
No discussion, she decided. She was not going to listen to anything until he was there. She closed her eyes and drowned out the voices.
"Mrs Bass," she heard calling her up from her sleep.
Her eyes fluttered open and the face swam over her. Blair focused on the person hovering over her. She broke into a smile when she recognized Chuck.
"So is this your surprise for dinner tonight?" he asked. He lowered his lips onto hers. "I've got to say, Mrs Bass. It leaves much to be desired."
He teased; his voice was light. But she could see the fear in his eyes.
"You're here," she greeted.
"Of course. The moment they told me you were here—" he trailed off. He then cleared his throat. "Blair, did you pass out while you were shopping?"
She blinked tearfully, then admitted, "I wasn't shopping."
"You said—"
"I lied. I'm sorry," she said. He cocked his head, then looked disappointed, but held her hand. "I came here for an echo. I hadn't been feeling well, but I didn't want you to worry unless there's something wrong."
"So," he began uncertainly, "there's something wrong?"
"I think so," she whispered.
Chuck straightened, then released a deep breath. "The doctor's on his way. Your mother's waiting outside." She nodded, then clutched his hand when Dr Fagel walked inside.
The cardiologist extended his hand to Chuck, then noticed how Chuck's left hand was inside Blair's and his right covered hers. "Mrs Bass," he said, picking up where he left off, "I understand that you're thirty weeks along." She nodded. "Based on what I've found, I would strongly suggest that you opt for a c-section as soon as possible."
Blair's hand tightened on his. "It's too early. No."
"What did you find?" Chuck asked.
"First of all, dizziness is normal at this stage of your pregnancy. But your vision blacking out, throwing up violently on your last trimester—those aren't."
"Blair," Chuck said softly. She met his eyes, and found the surprise registered there. And when he said, "I didn't know," she could read his gaze as, 'You didn't tell me.'
And somehow that was more frightening that the doctor's words. "We found a slight swelling in your heart, Mrs Bass." The cardiologist spoke to her slowly, setting a diagram in front of her and pointing with the tip of his pen. "When this ventricle is enlarged, it causes your heart to have to work harder in order to pump blood. The heavier it works to meet your blood's oxygen requirement, the most exhausted you are. With the added weight of the children, your heart has been working nonstop at this rate. But even then, sometimes, you are still going to be breathless and fatigued."
"So you want to take them out now?"
"We will tap the best in the country. But we need to lose the pressure on your heart."
"They still need six weeks," Blair reminded his cardiologist.
"A lot of children survive being born this early, Mrs Bass. At this moment, my concern is about you. I'm avoiding any chance of a heart failure."
"And if we don't take them out?" she asked.
"We'll take them out," Chuck decided.
"Chuck, did you hear what he said? A lot of children survive. He didn't say all. Why are you willing to take that chance?"
Chuck returned with, "Did you heart what he said? About you."
"They need time to fully develop."
Dr Fagel assured her, "I've consulted your OB, and she assures me that your twins look like they have a great chance at this. Your children look strong."
"So she's going to perform the operation?"
"She will be there. I will be in the room to monitor you. And we're asking a specialist to come in during the delivery to oversee the procedure. Her reputation is solid, and I trust her to manage the delivery of premature twins and still observe your state. Mr and Mrs Bass, this is the best option that we know. This will work."
Blair breathed deeply, then said, "I want to think about it."
"As soon as you've decided, let us know so we can book an operating room."
"That soon?" Chuck slid in.
"Sooner if possible." To Blair, he said, "You'll be fine. The twins will be alright. At least we caught it early."
Blair laid down on her back, then remembered her OB telling her to lie on her side. She did, and Dr Fagel nodded. She met the doctor's eyes, then asked quietly, "Is it because of the bulimia?"
Before Dr Fagel could confirm or deny her suspicion, Chuck interrupted, "It doesn't matter. Whatever caused it, Blair, we don't need to know now." He asked the doctor, "And afterwards, what do we do?"
"Then you take home the babies and you start your family. Mrs Bass, sometimes pregnant women have these symptoms and eventually after they're given birth their hearts recover and return to normal. That's what we're hoping for. If it doesn't, there are maintenance pills that you can take. I would start you on them, but given your condition, we are opting not to expose your babies to the chemicals. And you need to avoid strenuous activities that will tire you."
When the doctor closed the door, Blair heard the thud of Chuck's shoe hitting the floor. And then another thud for the next one.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she said softly.
She noticed him walking down to the small closet in her hospital suite, then hanging his jacket and his tie. Chuck removed his belt and hung it in there as well, then made his way back to her while undoing the top buttons of his shirt. "I know," he answered. He climbed into the bed behind her then pressed his body against her back, placing an arm across her swollen abdomen and hugging his entire family close. "So the dinner surprise didn't turn as we planned."
That brought tears to her eyes. "Chuck, I don't want any of this."
"I know," he said again.
"Make it all stop," she requested. She turned on her back, then laid on her right side, facing him. "Please, Chuck."
"I can't," he admitted.
"Why not?" she whispered. "You can do anything, Chuck. You got me to marry you right when I was so angry. You saved Bass Industries from the crapper. You challenged genetics and got me pregnant with twins when there have never been twins in my family or yours," she enumerated. "You made my mom love you," she continued laughingly.
"That was a feat," he returned.
"I wish when I wake up this was all a dream."
And all he could say was, "Me too." He kissed the nape of her neck, relished the movement of the children under his hands. "They're really strong, Blair," he observed. "I can feel them, and they're moving like crazy in there. They'll survive an early c-section. I want you to have it," he stated.
So it was there on the table. He had picked his side. And now it was up to her.
"Premature babies are more prone to complications," she said.
"One step at a time." He buried his nose in her shoulder. "That's what we did in Bass. Study the financials; draft the proposal; pitch it to investors; lock the money in and show the board. We'll do it the same way. Right now, what I want is to release the pressure on your heart."
Maybe it was the stress, maybe the exhaustion. She laughed. "You want to fix my broken heart."
Maybe it was the stress, maybe the exhaustion. He could not bring himself around to laugh. He brought his hand up to press his palm over her left breast, covering her heart.
"Please," he said somberly. "Let's have the c-section tomorrow."
She closed her eyes. She could feel his tension in his fingers, so she covered the hand that he held over her heart. "I love you, Chuck." He held his breath, did not respond. "You need to remind me about the pills. I'm never going to remember to take medication every day."
"I'll keep a bottle of them in my pocket from the day Fagel prescribes them to you. You'll never miss a day."
"They're going to be a handful. Your son is bound to be uncontrollable. He'll run around and make us chase after him to keep him from hurting himself."
"I'll run after the kid," he volunteered.
"So while you're running after him, someone needs to take the girl. She might be moody, and someone has to draw her out so she doesn't keep it all in."
"And she would need you for that. I wouldn't know how to talk to her, Blair."
"You knew how to talk to me," she offered.
"Help me out. Stay with us."
Eleanor and Dorota returned to the room. Blair turned to them, and said, "Call dad. Tomorrow, we're going to have two new babies."
"Thank you," he said into her ear. "I love you too."
tbc