she makes a point of giving me extra time in the apartment.
A final voicemail, from Etienne, promising to call this week with his travel plans: “I am on my way to Cologne, cocotte. When I have my schedule for New York, you will hear from me.”
If I’m pregnant, I hope he shows up before I start to show. It’s been almost a year since his last visit!
Tuesday, June 11
Last night, I miscalculated.
Although I timed myself to arrive on the late side—so Matt would be there to protect me from his sister’s questions—I was early. Elspeth’s front door was open, which seems rash, even in Carnegie Hill with a twenty-four-hour doorman. I never leave the door ajar when I can’t actually see who’s coming in. As a hooker, I’m supposed to be paranoid. The minute you’re not, other hookers think you’re losing your marbles. But shouldn’t Elspeth be cautious, too? When she was an assistant DA, she worked on some high-profile murder trials—what if someone with a grudge sneaks into her building? How can she be so confident of her safety?
While I stood in front of the hall mirror, powdering my nose, I could hear her, in the back of the apartment, chattering with the au pair in the twins’ bedroom. One baby was making a happy gurgling sound. For the first time, I felt sure this was Bridget. Usually, my niece and nephew sound alike. The fact that they often gurgle in unison doesn’t help, but this time, when Berrigan joined in, I could pick out two distinct voices. My maternal antennae must be emerging!
As I listened to the boy-girl duet, I stared at myself in the mirror, and looked for some obvious signs of impending motherhood. I suppose it’s too soon, but they say your hair becomes fuller. Will I be able to throw out my Velcro rollers?
“Nancy!” Like a thief caught in the act, I jumped at the sound of Elspeth’s voice. “Sit down, you look GREAT, honey, I didn’t hear you come in, that’s what happens,” she cackled, “when you get lost in the BACK ROOM! Where’s darling hubby? Mine can’t make it.”
“Too bad,” I lied, feeling smug about my ability to avoid Jason.
As I maneuvered past the double stroller—Elspeth’s “baby Hummer”—it occurred to me that strollers are more like handbags than Jasmine realizes. You fall in love with one designer’s perfect model, only to find you don’t really like their colors. And you can’t have exactly the same bag or stroller as everyone else—especially when everyone else is your sister-in-law.
My search for a houndstooth Peg Pérego baby carriage has been fruitless, but I’m not giving up.
I intend to own this pregnancy! Unlike Elspeth, who covers all her baby furniture with gingham, I’m never allowing that stuff to darken our door—and I intend to keep working. Even though, as Jasmine says, I don’t have to hustle like Trish.
I waited quietly for Matt to arrive. Jasmine’s the only person who knows I might actually be pregnant. Should I tell him tonight? Maybe I’m not ready for that. Remember when he tried to throw out an entire case of tinned tuna? To protect the developing fetus? We were still using condoms at that point! I need to keep this pregnancy a secret for at least a month, while I adjust my diet. Perhaps that’ll discourage him from getting so involved in the process.
While Elspeth buzzed around the living room, picking up magazines and cushions, I envisioned the magazines as petty criminals—they were being handled rather casually—and the cushions as felons. She sidled up to me with a small felon in her hand, and nudged my side with the edge of the cushion. I arched my back politely, and the cushion was completely imprisoned under my torso.
“Thanks,” I said, wriggling to adjust the cushion.
“So!” She was in the kitchen now, talking at the top of her voice. “Matt said you guys are thinking about Sacred Heart! If you have a girl, I mean.”
“He did?”
I was pleased to hear him put it in those terms. The other night, when we were alone, he didn’t seem so convinced. Maybe he’s being loyal to us. But, almost as soon as I had opened my mouth, I was wondering if Elspeth might be bending the truth, to hide the fact that she’s campaigning AGAINST Sacred Heart, and recruiting my husband as her ally.
“Have you looked at the SAT scores?” She came out of the kitchen with a large watering can in her hand. “I applaud you both for considering single-sex education, especially if you have a girl, but you have to look at the bigger picture, and if you plan on having one child—” I don’t recall telling her that. Did Matt? “—don’t you think it’ll be nice for all our kids to be at the same school? So yours won’t be all alone?”
“I haven’t decided—”
“We’ll have a buddy system!” she continued, heading toward the window. “It’ll be so much easier for us both. You know? I can pick yours up—or whatever. You’d better hurry up and get pregnant though! We don’t want them too far apart! And we’ll all have a chance to get to know each other better!”
By the time Matt arrived, and Elspeth had finished watering her plants, I was a nervous wreck. Strangely enough, she didn’t say one word about school during our dinner at Island.
Though I tried to muffle my anxiety in crab cakes washed down with mineral water, I was beginning to feel less smug about Jason’s absence. He sometimes puts in a good word for Loyola. Was he excluded from this dinner on purpose? And my husband’s lateness—whose idea was THAT?
In the cab, on the way back to Thirty-fourth Street, Matt squeezed my shoulder gently.
“What took you so long?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Getting to Elspeth’s! I don’t think we should discuss our plans with her when I’m still trying to get pregnant.” As he looked into my eyes, I felt like the object of a scam. “You have no idea how insensitive she can be!”
“Come on, honey.” Matt drew me closer, and I took refuge in my latest secret. “She’s just having a conversation with you.”
Something in his confident manner made me quite sure he was late on purpose. To please his sister, or persuade me to listen to Protestant reason.
But—what if Elspeth decides to go back to her job? Is she setting me up to become the babysitting aunt who ferries her twins home from school? Motherhood—the way I see it—is going to be an airtight cover for my business. The whole idea is to appear not to be working so I can work! But Elspeth may have other plans for me.
Later, I made a point of being the first in bed, so I could be asleep.
I was dozing on my side when Matt pulled back the sheet. Waiting for the cotton to slide back over my torso, I smiled and reached out. Touching him made me forget our conversation in the cab. He placed a tentative hand around my waist and lifted my pajama top. I turned around to lie on my back and pulled him toward me. His hand moved slowly across my stomach. As his fingers went lower, my mood was disrupted by a troubling question. Will the news of my pregnancy give me more leverage? Or—horrible thought, but I have to consider it—less?
Wednesday, June 12, 2002 79th Street
Today, a call from Trish, trying to persuade me to see a new customer. “I know how you feel about new people, but he’s not from New York.”
Last year, when Trish stopped calling, business slowed down, and I became impossible to live with.
“He’s from Philly,” she told me.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Thank God Trish is calling again, because it’s not easy to work at night when you’re married, and most of her business is in the daytime. Her dates are kinky and tiring, but lucrative. Without them, I barely meet my quota.
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