Pregnant Pauline

I was feeling a little miffed at the unusual event my husband and I were attending one Friday night. It was ostensibly a retirement party for one of his co-workers but we had been there a while and although I did recognize some of his co-workers there was no talk of a guest of honor.

One of the reasons that I was miffed was because my husband didn't seem to be paying much attention to me and I don't have the highest opinion of my looks so that left me a little insecure. What surprised me, however, was that many men in the establishment seemed to be glancing my way and the looks on their faces were not of disgust.

The main reason I was miffed, however, was the attitude that my husband Jerry had adopted since "we" confirmed that I was pregnant about three weeks ago. I was now probably in my eleventh week. Because I normally have a completely flat stomach and I had a slinky dress on one could already see the start of my baby bump.

When Jerry and I discussed children before we got married he was completely on board. While this pregnancy was not exactly planned -- there was some problem with my birth control pills being rendered ineffective because of a medication I took for an illness that the doctor didn't explain to me had the potential to screw with my particular pills -- we had been married for more than three years so it wasn't anything close to a disaster. However from the time that he found out that I was pregnant he has been cold and distant and never expressed any joy at all for my situation.

On the other hand despite Jerry's wet blanket demeanor I was thrilled to be pregnant and felt great.

Since Jerry was sitting at our table with two of his buddies, and talking only with them while ignoring me, I left my 3/4 full glass of club soda with lime and went to the bathroom. When I got back my husband and his buddies were gone. I sighed, then picked up my glass but before I put it to my lips a stranger -- although I had a vague recollection that I had seen him before -- approached me and said "I'm not sure that you should drink that until I tell you what I saw."

The pseudo-stranger was a really good looking guy about six inches taller than I am with blond hair and blue eyes and an adorable chin dimple; he was one of the guys at a nearby table that seemed to be checking me out during the evening. Still holding my glass of club soda in my hand I asked "What did you see?"

"After you left the table two of the guys did too and then the third one looked sneaky, came over to your side of the table, and although I'm not 100% sure it definitely looked like he put something in your drink," Mr. Dimple said with a look of real concern on his face.

"Who was the guy?" I asked.

Mr. Dimple looked around, and then surreptitiously pointed about twenty feet to my right where three guys and a gal were in conversation. "The tall guy in that group near the drink table with the blue shirt."

"The blue shirt and black pants, and with longish brown hair and a mustache?" I inquired with my stomach in my throat.

"Yeah, that's him," he replied.

FUCK -- it was my husband Jerry.

When Mr. Dimple saw the look of horror on my face he said "I don't want to freak you out, but no matter who he is there is no reason for him to put something in your drink. If I were you I'd put your drink in a take-away container and get it tested, and get another drink." Apparently seeing an even more horrified look on my face he asked "Who is that guy?"

"He's my husband," I somehow choked out although I could feel tears starting to form in my eyes. There was absolutely no reason for Jerry to put something in my drink -- then a truly horrible thought hit me.

I must have looked like I was about to faint because Mr. Dimple said "Can I help you with something -- all of the color has gone out of your face."

I got my act together the best that I could then held out my hand and said "I'm Pauline Bradley; what's your name?" (I didn't want to continue to call him "Mr. Dimple" even if it was just in my mind).

"Carson Van Vleet," he replied taking my hand in his with a firm grip.

"I really appreciate you telling me that Carson; do you think that I could get a to-go container from the bartender and then with your help get the hell out of here?"

"I'd be happy to help out a hot preggo like yourself," he grinned still holding onto my hand. "To set your mind at ease since I'm a stranger here's my driver's license," he continued while pulling out his wallet and removing his license after finally letting go of my hand. "Take a photo of my license and text it to a friend then I'll give you a ride."

I smiled at that then did as he asked sending the text to both my sister, and my bff Angela, with a note that said "This guy is giving me a ride home." Then I smiled at him and said "Let's go!"

I went to the bar, got a to-go cup with a cover, and reached into my purse to get a couple of bucks to tip the barkeep. Carson beat me to it, handing him a five and getting a sincere "Thanks" in return.

Carson waived to the other people he had been sitting with. I let Carson go ahead of me whispering "I'll see you outside." I stopped when I came across one of Jerry's co-workers and told him "I couldn't find Jerry, and I'm sick; please tell him that I had to go and I'll see him at home."

Carson was waiting for me outside. I walked with him about half a block to a black Corvette with chrome wheels parked on the street which lit up when Carson pushed his key fob, and I got in the passenger's seat. "Nice wheels," I smiled when he got in as I fastened my seat belt.

We had a nice casual conversation as he drove me the roughly six miles to my house. I found out that he was a pharmaceutical sales rep -- not surprising since he was good looking and had a chemistry degree from Amherst, one of the most prestigious colleges in the US. I told him that I was an electrical engineer at IBM which raised his eyebrows and caused him to chuckle "I've never seen an engineer that looked like you before."

"You mean pregnant?" I smiled.

"Yeah," he laughed since we both knew that wasn't what he meant, but it sure helped my ego.

I had no apprehension whatsoever in directing him to my house -- since I had texted his driver's license -- with what was definitely his photo on it -- to two other people. When he pulled into my driveway I thanked him for the ride, and he mentioned that he was going back to his friends at the bar/restaurant. Before he peeled out, however, while my door was still open he said "The lab to test your drink that will give you the best service for the lowest price is Labcorp on the corner of 7th and Wilson downtown; my company uses them for all of their lab needs."

"Thank you again, Carson Van Vleet," I smiled; "I'll definitely give them a try." Then I closed the door and watched him as he took off, going much faster than when he chauffeured me. As I walked up the stairs to my front door I wondered why my panties were moist -- "Must be a preggo thing," I mumbled to myself.

When I got home I removed the remaining half-melted ice cubes and lime wedge from my drink, then put the liquid in a more permanent container, and then put the container at the back of the refrigerator in case any substance that Jerry added -- Carson had no reason to lie about it -- needed refrigeration to remain viable.

I was asleep when Jerry got home and cautiously interacted with him during the weekend being especially careful not to eat or drink anything that he suggested or gave me. Surprisingly he didn't quiz me much about leaving the party early, apparently accepting my "ill" excuse; maybe he expected what he put into my drink would have that effect.

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Monday I took a few extra minutes at lunch and drove my container to Labcorp. The intake technician wanted to know what I wanted it tested for. "Anything that could do harm to a person; I suspect that someone introduced something into my drink at a bar," was my response.

"A test that broad could be expensive -- maybe $500 and we'd need $200 in advance," she said.

"Do what you have to," I responded, giving her my credit card to charge the $200 advance to.

After processing she told me that it would take about a week and I gave her my business email address to send the results to.

I spent a very uncomfortable week with Jerry although I think that I was a good enough actor that he didn't catch on about how much emotional discomfort I was experiencing. He did seem to glare at me with a strange expectant look on occasion.

At work on Friday on my work line I got a call from a cellphone with caller ID indicating "Carson Van Vleet." Although I had told Carson exactly where my office was his call raised my eyebrows as I answered "Pauline Bradley."

"Hi Pauline," came the voice I heard for twenty minutes or so a week ago. "This is Carson Van Vleet; I was just checking with you to see if you got the results of the test yet; if it's none of my business just tell me, but curiosity has gotten the better of me."

I chuckled "I'd have the same curiosity if I was in your position, and since you were the one that put me onto it I am expecting to tell you what it was. I don't have the results yet; I'm supposed to get them today or tomorrow. If you give me an email address I might send them to you."

We chatted amicably for another ten minutes or so. After I hung up I felt my face flush. Jean, one of the secretaries at work and a good friend of mine, came by shortly after I hung up. "You look totally spaced out with a glow on your face," she laughed when I apparently didn't notice her at my desk for a few seconds.

"Oh, sorry; I was just thinking about a problem," was my lame reply.

"Looks more like you were daydreaming after a nooner," she laughed, and then started talking with me about a memo that she was transcribing for me.

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The Labcorp report was emailed to me Tuesday morning after I gave them my credit card information over the phone for the $300 additional that I owed. The report also included an analysis. Quoting part of the analysis: "There were two foreign components found in the club soda sample we analyzed. They were mifepristone and misoprostol but in more concentrated form than they normally are sold. That combination of drugs is typically used to perform a chemical abortion although they are not safe after ten weeks of pregnancy..."

I turned clammy and almost fainted. I had to read the written analysis three times before it completely sunk in. Not only had Jerry attempted to abort our child, but since I was more than ten weeks pregnant it was dangerous to me too.

For some reason the first person I contacted was Carson. I sent him a text that read "Foreign substances were mifepristone and misoprostol; I'm more than 10 weeks pregnant. Please call my cell phone." Since it was a text he had my cell phone number from it.

I went and sat in our lounge area for fifteen minutes collecting myself. As I was about to leave to go home -- I had texted my supervisor that I was ill (mentally and emotionally) -- my cellphone buzzed; it was Carson.

Without even a "Hi" he said "I'm so sorry Pauline. You need to search your house to see if there's any more, and then get out of there."

In my angst I hadn't thought of that. "You're right, Carson, I'm going home now."

"Good luck Pauline and call me if you need anything else."

I thanked him and then made a bee-line for my vehicle. The fifteen minutes of contemplation had allowed me to return to my normal definitive self, and I was on a mission.

After an hour of searching in the most logical places I started looking in places that Jerry would never expect me to look in. I finally found more materials that I was sure were mifepristone and misoprostol. I was sure since they were in a tackle box in the garage probably the place where Jerry was sure that I would never look, and a place where there was no reason for drugs to be. I took photos of the drugs in the tackle box and with a rubber glove on placed them in a plastic bag, sealed the bag, took a photo of the bag, then put the bag in my purse. I was about to close up the tackle box when the garage door started to open.

"Shit -- Jerry is home early for some reason," I mumbled to myself and then took off into the house. I got in before the garage door opened enough for him to see me but I realized that I had moved the tackle box from its original location and not closed it so that when Jerry came into the garage he couldn't help but see it. For the first time in our relationship I was afraid of Jerry.

Instinctively I went into our guest room and hid in the closet underneath a couple of spare comforters. I made a call to Carson; he answered on the first ring. I told him my situation then asked "Did you really mean it when you said you'd help? I'm reluctant to dial 911 at this point but for the first time in my life I'm afraid of Jerry; can you help?"

I couldn't believe that I was asking a guy who I'd known less than two weeks to help in this situation -- but I was impressed by his empathy and -- well I didn't want to admit anything more to myself.

Without equivocation he said "I can be there in fifteen minutes -- stay hidden," and then he terminated the call.

I could hear Jerry moving around in the house and heard him calling my name; I was sure that he stuck his head in the guest room but he didn't look in the closet. It was the longest fifteen minutes of my life -- if that's how long it was -- before I heard the doorbell ring and Jerry go down the stairs obviously to answer it. As soon as I heard Carson's voice I got out of the closet and ran down the stairs.

Jerry was in the process of asking who Carson was and telling him that I wasn't there even though my car was when I rushed to the door and started to move past a startled Jerry. He reached out and grabbed my arm. "Where are you going?" he asked, "and why is my tackle box open? and who is this guy?" were his three rapid fire questions.

"I have a doctor's appointment so let me go," I replied trying to pull my arm away but he held it tightly.

"Answer my fucking questions," he angrily barked.

Carson barked back "Let her go; you're obviously hurting her and she just as obviously wants to leave."

"Fuck you," Jerry said and then pushed Carson with his free hand.

I'm not sure exactly what happened next; by the time that I was trying to carefully observe things Jerry was laying on the ground moaning and Carson had fire in his eye and blood on his right hand. This was despite the fact that Carson is about six feet tall, maybe 180 pounds, and Jerry is six feet five, probably 230 pounds. Obviously Jerry had released his grip on my arm.

Carson took my right hand -- which was shaking -- and asked "Do you have someplace to go?"

"I'm sure that I can stay with my friend Angela, but she's out of town today."

"Then come to my house -- no shenanigans from me," he chuckled "until she gets back.

At a total loss and confused I nodded my head "Yes," and he said "Follow me." I got in my car and followed his Corvette as it slowly moved out of our neighborhood. As we were driving my phone rang and I answered by Bluetooth. "Hi again, Pauline; you should probably call a neighbor to check on Jerry; he wasn't unconscious but he may need medical treatment."

"Who is this guy -- a concerned SuperHero?" I asked myself. I responded "Good idea," and did just that. Our next door neighbors to our West, the Hutchins, are retired and always home and they promised to check on Jerry and report back to me.

After getting my neighbors to check on Jerry and stopping in front of Carson's small house I used my phone to make sure that the video from my Ring doorbell had been uploaded to the cloud, and copied the confrontation on the front porch to my phone. I was surprisingly calm by the time that I exited my vehicle and walked up to Carson's front porch where he was waiting for me.

"You OK?" he asked with a concerned look.

"I think so -- but I wouldn't be without your help; however, I'm not sure of the optics if I stay here."

"You can get a hotel if you want -- but Jerry could use your credit card information to track you. Does he have an app to track your phone?"

"No, I'm sure that he doesn't have a phone-tracking app -- but you're right about the credit card trace," I replied.

"Let's do the same thing before I drove you home the night we first met. Take a photo of me holding my license in front of my house and text it to Angela and whomever else. At the same time you can ask Angela if you can stay with her when she returns."

"You're full of good ideas," I chuckled, and then did so.

After Carson let me into his house he said "Here's my guest bedroom. The TV in my small living room has got a self-explanatory remote. You can eat whatever food you scrounge up. I need to make two more presentations to doctors today that I can't get out of but I'll be back by 5:45. I have several take out menus in my kitchen if you want to call for dinner -- your choice."

"Thank you so much," I said, somehow now on the verge of tears. "You have no idea how much you've helped me."

When Carson saw my waterworks about to start he said "No thanks necessary," gave me a hug, and then said "See you before six p. m." as he turned to leave.

After he left I realized that my panties were wet.

I did make myself at home, watching daytime TV for the first time that I could remember. I had been watching some mindless soap opera, trying not to think of Jerry or Carson for two different reasons, about a half hour when Angela called me. With great difficulty I explained the entire situation to her. She was appalled and in no uncertain terms told me to divorce the bastard and call the cops. She even gave me the phone number of an Orca divorce attorney that she knew.

I was emotionally drained after my talk with her, but no more than ten minutes later my sister called and I had to rehash everything with her. By the time that call ended I had nothing left in my tank and passed out more than fell asleep in a living room chair with the TV still on.

The next thing that I remember is Carson gently shaking me awake as he simultaneously hit the remote to turn off the TV. "You OK?" he asked.

I smiled up at him. "Yeah, I just got drained because I told both Angela and my sister my horror story," I responded, unsuccessfully trying to smile.

"Let's get some dinner; Italian, Greek and Chinese are the three best options at local restaurants that deliver," he continued.

"Chinese is good," I replied as I stood up and walked with him to the kitchen to look at the delivery menu.

We talked about anything except Jerry before and during the meal. After we had eaten and he had taken the garbage out and I had loaded the dishwasher I told him of the voice message I received from my neighbors the Hutchins who I had contacted saying that except for his pride and a bloody nose Jerry was OK. Then I told Carson what both my sister and Angela had told me.

"They both said that I should immediately file for divorce and call the cops. What do you think Carson?"

He raised his eyebrows and then slowly -- without eye contact -- responded "I'm not an unbiased party; I don't think that I should answer."

"Why are you biased?" I asked with surprise.

He sighed deeply then finally did make eye contact. "Because I have a thing for you and if you divorced him I'd diligently pursue you," he deadpanned, and then broke eye contact again.

My fucking panties had dried out but now got wet again. After a long pause I said "But I'm pregnant with another man's baby, will be getting fat soon, and you're a very desirable guy who could have almost any woman that you wanted."

"I've seen you around town a couple of other times and at a charity fundraiser once and as awesome as you looked then you look even better now; if you divorce Jerry I might just turn into your stalker."