Free Babylon Confidential: A Memoir of Love, Sex, and Addiction by Claudia Christian, Morgan Grant Buchanan Page B

way back to L.A. we carried on pretending nothing had happened, but you can’t fool Mother Nature. She keeps the wheels of biology turning, and eventually things have to come to a head.

    The morning I had to go for an audition for the sci-fi film Arena , Justine decided to throw the greatest tantrum spectacular of all time. Justine’s nanny was off that day, and Patrick went to work as usual, so I had to take her along with me. She refused to sit in the waiting room, so I went into the audition with her clinging to my leg like a monkey. During the reading I had to get angry and cry and Justine turned her face up to me and said, “Don’t cry Mommy, don’t be sad.” It was adorable but there was no chance I was going to get the part. I bought some pregnancy books on the way home and started taking prenatal vitamins. Then my agent called. The producers thought the scene with Justine was touching and had offered me the part. It meant spending the next two months in Italy.
    I went home and sat down with Patrick. It was time to get serious about the pregnancy. I told him about Italy, told him that I wasn’t going to leave America until we worked this out. My doctors were here, and I didn’t want to fly with a baby on the way. He was very nonchalant about the whole thing.
    “Don’t worry about it. I have to go to Europe for a film festival anyway, so we’ll both go to Rome. I know a guy there. We’ll find you a doctor and get an abortion.”
    So there it was. With one careless comment, he had shattered my illusions about our happy family life. He expected me to fly to Rome and squeeze in an abortion before the film shoot just as if you might say, “Oh, you’re going to the store? Can you take the trash out on your way?” I’d already endured one abortion with Tre’s baby, and I wasn’t interested in repeating the experience, but here I was with a man who clearly did not want a baby or the responsibility that went with one. Given the difference in our ages, I thought that I had to be tough, to put on a brave face, to show Patrick that he couldn’t hurt me, but inside I was cut deeply. We were living together, and I’d proven I was a wonderful mother. He never considered my feelings. There was no discussion about it, no holding me when I was crying. It was a massive rejection.
    Before heading to Rome we met up with some of Patrick’s friends in France. Megève is one of the most beautiful ski resorts in the world, the place where Audrey Hepburn meets Cary Grant in Charade . I hated being there. I felt totally alienated. All of Patrick’s friends knew his ex-wife Beatrice, and they didn’t take to me at all. They spoke French too fast for me to keep up, and the ones who spoke English didn’t bother to make the effort. I left the dinner party and walked out into the winter night. The air was crisp. A full moon overhead made the surrounding mountains stand out against the sky. The atmosphere was mystical. I was wearing a long fur coat, and I found a private place, out of sight of the house, and lay down in the snow. I looked up at the moon and asked it if I should have the baby. Since I was pumped up on pregnancy hormones and walking alone in the French Alps, it seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do. I’m sure that Patrick was inside wondering why I was taking so long in the bathroom. I didn’t care; I’d gone outside with another Patrick on my mind—my brother. I still felt his presence, I thought of him all the time, and I knew with absolute certainty that the baby I was carrying was a boy. Not long after I became pregnant it occurred to me that this baby should be called Patrick, after my brother, and that this might help change the other Patrick’s mind. He was an egotist, so a son named after him might stir his interest, but it hadn’t. Another thought had arisen, one that I hadn’t been able to get out of my mind, that the child I was carrying had my brother’s soul. Pat was trying to come