I'm Your Man (18 page)

“I do have my ovarian tracking device in; let me look for them,” Sheila said.

After she stomped out of the room, Josh hissed at me, “Did you just tell her?”

“Tell her what?” I whispered back.

“The pregnancy thing. Gretchen.”

“Oh. No,” I said. “She's in a mood because we were talking about Daniel.”

“Okay. Please warn me before you drop the baby bomb on her, okay?”

I couldn't ask him why he sounded so ominous, because Sheila returned with the wrist weights. Josh and I embarked on a completely inane discussion of their merits, while Sheila stared at us with obvious suspicion until she'd had enough.

“What's going on here?”

“She caught us,” I said, giving Josh a guilty look. “I swear, Sheila, there won't be any strippers or women jumping out of cakes.”

“You're planning a bachelor party? Considering our guest list, it might be more exciting to have a man jump out of the cake.”

“I told you she'd try to organize that, too,” I said, sacrificing myself on the altar of Sheila's nuptial madness. “The bachelor party is for Josh. Not all your gay friends.”

“We'll see,” Sheila said. She followed me to the door. “Can we finish our conversation later?” she asked, fidgeting with my collar as an excuse to give me a piercing look.

“Let's not talk about Daniel anymore,” I implored. “I feel like we cleared the air between us. That was more important to me.”

“You!' she said. “I was beginning to fear for my life.”

“I'll admit I've been annoyed about you and Daniel, but I've never threatened your life,” I protested.

“The danger of a Zodiac shoot is directly proportional to your dissatisfaction with your personal life,” Sheila insisted. “Remember last year, when you had me stringing a garland of flowers around that bull's neck for Taurus? I think you and Daniel were arguing about vacation plans.”

“Not true,” I disagreed. “And this year's Taurus ad required nothing more than boxing gloves.”

“Excuse me. Pisces? In a tank with a shark?”

“Six inches of Plexiglas between you,” I reminded her.

“Aries. Head to head with that goat.”

“It was a ram,” I said, laughing.

“It smelled like a goat. Now you're talking about barrels and Niagara Falls—”

“Your safety always comes first,” I insisted with finality. “Our insurance company demands it.”

She smiled and said, “Blaine? I need for things to be okay between us. I've loved you all my life. Maybe I don't always handle things the best way with you and Daniel. But I never meant to hurt you, and I'm sorry.”

I hugged her and said, “It's okay. I love you, too. That won't ever change.”

After she shut the door, I paused on the stoop for a moment, thinking about the question she'd asked earlier that I hadn't answered.

“Beautiful,” I whispered to myself.

That night, though I fell asleep quickly, my Daniel voice-over evidently silenced by my reconciliation with Sheila, I had a dream that left me puzzled when I woke up. I stepped into the bathroom to shave and shower. Afterward, I donned a charcoal gray Hugo Boss suit and combed my hair, all the while trying to remember the details of my dream. Martin had been telling Daniel how boring I was, Sheila had been miffed that I'd given my sperm to Gretchen, and Daniel had watched me with sad eyes.

While I ate my breakfast, I couldn't get Daniel's expression out of my mind. Maybe we hadn't really tried to resolve things. Maybe we'd taken the easy way out and let it all crumble to nothing. Or maybe I was just nervous about how Daniel would react if Gretchen and I had a child.

I considered the range of possibilities. He might feel like I'd preempted his relationship with Gretchen, somewhat the way I felt like he'd taken Sheila from me. Or maybe he would wonder why Gretchen had chosen me instead of him to be her child's father. Or he could simply resent being out of the loop, especially if anyone else found out before he did. Even worse, what if he thought I'd be a lousy father?

I looked at Gavin and said, “If I don't leave soon, I'll be late for a meeting downtown. I have no idea what time I'll get home tonight, so just do something like a chicken Caesar salad that I can eat cold. Could you call Violet for me? I want to put apartment hunting on hold for a while. I have too much going on at work to worry about that right now.”

“No problem,” Gavin said. “Anything else?”

“Do something fun tonight. Reconnect with old friends. I've been monopolizing your time.”

“I've only been here a few days.”

“And I've barely let you catch your breath.” When I tried to take my dishes to the sink, he took them from my hands. I grabbed my keys, then dropped them and picked up the phone, walking to the window to glance down at Daniel's patio garden. I dialed his number without letting myself think about what I was going to say.

“Hi, this is Daniel. If you're a friend, I'm on location. If you're planning to break into my apartment, bring a couple of raw T-bones. The rottweilers are hungry.”

I smiled, realizing he'd forgotten to change his greeting, which was unlike him. I hung up without leaving a message, since I wasn't sure what I wanted to say.

Over the next few days, I had to work twelve- and fourteen-hour stretches, arranging to shoot Sheila's three ad layouts back to back. I relocated the Cancer shoot from L.A. to Colorado, timing things so I could make a quick stop in Wisconsin to check on my mother. I scheduled both the Leo and Virgo shoots for Miami, saving time by hiring one crew to do both.

Over the weekend, I participated in a seemingly endless round of conference calls with Lillith, Frank, and Adam, who'd agreed to fly in the following week to go over our networking needs in the new office space. I didn't mind working over the weekend, however, since it made the time go by quickly. Monday was the big day when Gretchen and I would find out the results of the insemination.

While clasping her hand in the waiting room, I stared at a gold-framed illustration of a long, pink flower. I shuddered, thinking of those Georgia O'Keeffe paintings that resembled vaginas. I wondered if the flower was meant to bring luck to the women who came to the fertility clinic.

Gretchen and I could have passed for any of the married couples who also waited in tense silence for their names to be called by the nurse. The door from the doctors' offices opened as a young couple came through the waiting room, their faces depicting the news they'd received. The woman had tears forming in her eyes, while the man gently held her arm with one hand and caressed her hair with the other. Seeing the disappointment on their faces made me feel sympathetic. It also filled me with anxiety that our own results would be negative.

I must have begun to squeeze Gretchen's hand tighter, because she emitted a quiet yelp. “Watch it, Hercules. I may be a tough cookie, but I'm not made of steel,” she whispered.

“Sorry. I'm more nervous than I thought I'd be.”

“That makes two of us,” she admitted. “I'm optimistic, though. Aunt Rose hasn't been to visit me yet.” It took me a second to remember what Aunt Rose was a euphemism for. I felt only slightly more at ease, though.

The nurse behind the desk let her thick, black glasses slide down her nose as she stood up and leaned over the counter to call out the next name on her list.

“Schmidt? You're next.”

Gretchen and I looked at each other as we stood up. We both took a deep breath and proceeded to the door. A buzzer sounded as my hand reached out to take the knob. I opened the door and looked down the hall toward the doctor's office, desperately searching my memory banks for her real name. Just as I'd predicted, the only name that came to mind was “Dr. Gibb.”

The walk to her office seemed longer than I remembered. “Come in!” called the familiar voice when Gretchen knocked.

We stepped into her small office, sitting across from her while she pushed away folders and opened the one I presumed was ours.

“It's so good to see you two again,” she said. Just then, the red light on her telephone began to pulse urgently. “I'm sorry. Excuse me for one second.”

She picked up the phone and greeted the person on the other end. She riffled through the stack of folders she'd pushed aside, found the one she wanted, and opened it. She made a few notes, periodically glancing at Gretchen and me with an apologetic smile. I wanted to jump up and grab the phone out of her hand. I felt even tenser than when I'd waited for the results of my HIV tests.

“Now then,” the doctor said, placing the telephone back in the cradle, “where were we? Oh, yes, the results.” She opened our folder again and skimmed through a few pages. “It looks like you two are going to be parents.”

Neither Gretchen nor I spoke immediately. We turned to each other and stared for a second before Gretchen's face was split by the brightest smile I'd ever seen. We fell into each other's arms and hugged. When we separated and faced the doctor again, she, too, was smiling. She obviously enjoyed doling out good news.

“This is incredible! I can't believe I'm pregnant. I spent the last couple of weeks preparing myself for the worst. I was willing to keep trying, if we had to, but I didn't really want to go through this again. I mean, it's an election year, so now isn't the time for frivolous spending. Not that this is frivolous, but you know what I mean,” Gretchen gushed.

“I think what she's trying to say is thank you,” I said.

“Yes!” Gretchen exclaimed. “Thank you so much!”

“Don't thank me,” the doctor said. “Thank Blaine's tough little sperm and your egg for being willing. All I did was introduce them. There are a few things I need to tell you.” She gave Gretchen advice about prenatal care, then said, “Your OB/GYN may give you a different date, but I've calculated your due date as December fourteenth. It's not an exact science though, and can be affected by several variables.”

“Thank God neither of us works in retail,” Gretchen commented.

“You can basically live life as normal,” the doctor went on. “On your way out, the nurse will give you the book that we give to all of our successful candidates. It'll walk you through what to expect throughout your pregnancy. Congratulations to both of you!”

When we stepped out of the clinic into the cool, early spring air, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of Gretchen's Tribeca loft. I wished I could spend the next few days with her, as I had done after the insemination procedure, but the sadistic timetable for the upcoming Zodiac ads wouldn't allow me that luxury. But I could see her home and spend an hour with her to rejoice in our good fortune.

I wanted to share the good news with everyone we knew, but most of the books we'd been reading advised waiting until after the first trimester to tell people, especially in high-risk pregnancies. Gretchen was considered high risk because she was experiencing her first pregnancy at age thirty-eight.

When I turned to look at her, she was absolutely aglow. She grinned at me and said, “I know you didn't know him very well, but I wish Ken was here. I could tell him, and the news would go no further. I wish there was someone else we could tell.”

“There is,” I said excitedly. Gretchen looked at me with a quizzical expression, and I said, “Ethan.”

After the cab let us off on Greenwich Street, Gretchen and I bolted past the ancient doorman of her building and took the freight elevator, both of us silent as it creaked upward. When she unlocked her door, I followed her down the four steps into her living room. I stood on the rectangular white carpet that lay over a deeply stained hardwood floor, and looked around with new eyes. This was where my child would live.

The sofa and chair were soft leather contemporary pieces with chrome legs. A flat-screen television faced the sofa, chair, and marble-topped coffee table. Gretchen's taste in decorating was simple, yet elegant, and bent toward trendy. There was no room for clutter, and everything was efficiently designed. Beyond the living room lay a den which she used as her office, two bedrooms, and two bathrooms. She also had the luxury of a tiny laundry room off the kitchen. I wasn't sure whether or not she sent her laundry out, but I knew that her washer and dryer would be convenient once the baby came.

Her windows were northern, and the late afternoon light made the loft look warm and comfortable, especially the hardwood floors. I glanced down at my feet.

“I'm thinking this white carpet—”

“I know,” she said, looking around with a smile. “A lot of things are going to change here over the next nine months.”

I walked to the telephone and brought out my PalmPilot, looking up Ethan's phone number. Gretchen stood beside me, pushing her head close to mine. I was disappointed when Ethan's machine picked up. I didn't want to leave our news on a machine, so I asked him to call us. Just as I was about to hang up, Ethan answered, sounding out of breath when he said, “Wait; I'm here.”

“Hi, Ethan, it's Blaine and Gretchen.”

“I heard. How are you? I just got home from a lecture.”

“We have some exciting news,” Gretchen said, butting in.

“Guess what?” I asked.

“We're going to be parents!” Gretchen exclaimed.

“That's great! I'm so happy for you both.”

We talked for a few minutes before hanging up, then Gretchen and I looked though the maternity handbook the clinic had given us. As the initial excitement faded slightly, Gretchen said, “If we wait twelve weeks to tell our other friends, that will be mid-June.”