ruefully-“if we wait too long they might never get to know at all.”
“Tell them,” she said, loving him.
He kissed her nose. “Back in two minutes,” he said, and turned and hurried to the door. Watching him go, she saw that Minnie and Roman had become deeply important to him. It wasn’t surprising; his mother was a busy selfinvolved chatterer and none of his fathers had been truly fatherly. The Castevets were filling a need in him, a need of which he himself was probably unaware. She was grateful to them and would think more kindly of them in the future.
She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her eyes and fixed her hair and lips. “You’re pregnant,” she told herself in the mirror. (But the lab wants another blood sample. What for?)
As she came back out they came in at the front door: Minnie in a housedress, Roman holding in both hands a bottle of wine, and Guy behind them flushed and smiling. “Now that’s what I call good news!” Minnie said. “Congrat-u-lations!” She bore down on Rosemary, took her by the shoulders, and kissed her cheek hard and loud.
“Our best wishes to you, Rosemary,” Roman said, putting his lips to her other cheek. “We’re more pleased than we can say. We have no champagne on hand, but this I96I Saint Julien, I think, will do just as nicely for a toast.”
Rosemary thanked them.
“When are you due, dear?” Minnie asked.
“June twenty-eighth.”
“It’s going to be so exciting,” Minnie said, “between now and then.”
“We’ll do all your shopping for you,” Roman said.
“Oh, no,” Rosemary said. “Really.”
Guy brought glasses and a corkscrew, and Roman turned with him to the opening of the wine. Minnie took Rosemary’s elbow and they walked together into the living room. “Listen, dear,” Minnie said, “do you have a good doctor?”
“Yes, a very good one,” Rosemary said.
“One of the top obstetricians in New York,” Minnie said, “is a dear friend of ours. Abe Sapirstein. A Jewish man. He delivers all the Society babies and he would deliver yours too if we asked him. And he’d do it cheap, so you’d be saving Guy some of his hard-earned money.”
“Abe Sapirstein?” Roman asked from across the room. “He’s one of the finest obstetricians in the country, Rosemary. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
“I think so,” Rosemary said, recalling the name from an article in a newspaper or magazine.
“I have,” Guy said. “Wasn’t he on Open End a couple of years ago?”
“That’s right,” Roman said. “He’s one of the finest obstetricians in the country.”
“Ro?” Guy said.
“But what about Dr. Hill?” she asked.
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him something,” Guy said. “You know me.”
Rosemary thought about Dr. Hill, so young, so Kildare, with his lab that wanted more blood because the nurse had goofed or the technician had goofed or someone had goofed, causing her needless bother and concern.
Minnie said, “I’m not going to let you go to no Dr. Hill that nobody heard of! The best is what you’re going to have, young lady, and the best is Abe Sapirstein!”
Gratefully Rosemary smiled her decision at them. “If you’re sure he can take me,” she said. “He might be too busy.”
“He’ll take you,” Minnie said. “I’m going to call him right now. Where’s the phone?”
“In the bedroom,” Guy said.
Minnie went into the bedroom. Roman poured glasses of wine. “He’s a brilliant man,” he said, “with all the sensitivity of his much-tormented race.” He gave glasses to Rosemary and Guy. “Let’s wait for Minnie,” he said.
They stood motionless, each holding a full wineglass, Roman holding two. Guy said, “Sit down, honey,” but Rosemary shook her head and stayed standing.
Minnie in the bedroom said, “Abe? Minnie. Fine. Listen, a dear friend of ours just found out today that she’s pregnant. Yes, isn’t it? I’m in her apartment now. We told her you’d be glad to take care of her and that you wouldn’t charge none of your fancy Society prices neither.” She was silent, then said, “Wait a minute,” and raised her voice. “Rosemary? Can you go see him tomorrow morning at eleven?”
“Yes, that would be fine,” Rosemary called back.
Roman said, “You see?”
“Eleven’s fine, Abe,” Minnie said. “Yes. You too. No, not at all. Let’s hope so. Good-by.”
She came back. “There you are,” she said. “I’ll write down his address for you before we go. He’s on Seventy-ninth Street and Park Avenue.”
“Thanks a million, Minnie,” Guy said, and Rosemary said, “I don’t know how to thank you. Both of you.”
Minnie took the glass of wine Roman held out to her. “It’s easy,” she said. “Just do everything Abe tells you and have a fine healthy baby; that’s all the thanks we’ll ever ask for.”
Roman raised his glass. “To a fine healthy baby,” he said.
“Hear, hear,” Guy said, and they all drank; Guy, Minnie, Rosemary, Roman.
“Mmm,” Guy said. “Delicious.”
“Isn’t it?” Roman said. “And not at all expensive.”
“Oh my,” Minnie said, “I can’t wait to tell the news to Laura-Louise.”
Rosemary said, “Oh, please. Don’t tell anyone else. Not yet. It’s so early.”
“She’s right,” Roman said. “There’ll be plenty of time later on for spreading the good tidings.”
“Would anyone like some cheese and crackers?” Rosemary asked.
“Sit down, honey,” Guy said. “I’ll get it.”
That night Rosemary was too fired with joy and wonder to fall asleep quickly. Within her, under the hands that lay alertly on her stomach, a tiny egg had been fertilized by a tiny seed. Oh miracle, it would grow to be Andrew or Susan! (“Andrew” she was definite about; “Susan” was open to discussion with Guy.) What was Andrew-or-Susan now, a pinpoint speck? No, surely it was more than that; after all, wasn’t she in her second month already? Indeed she was. It had-probably reached the early tadpole stage. She would have to find a chart or book that told month by month exactly what was happening. Dr. Sapirstein would know of one.
A fire engine screamed by. Guy shifted and mumbled, and behind the wall Minnie and Roman’s bed creaked.
There were so many dangers to worry about in the months ahead; fires, falling objects, cars out of control; dangers that had never been dangers before but were dangers now, now that Andrew-or-Susan was begun and living. (Yes, living!) She would give up her occasional cigarette, of course. And check with Dr. Sapirstein about cocktails.
If only prayer were still possible! How nice it would be to hold a crucifix again and have God’s ear: ask Him for safe passage through the eight more months ahead; no German measles, please, no great new drugs with Thalidomide side effects. Eight good months, please, free of accident and illness, full of iron and milk and sunshine.
Suddenly she remembered the good luck charm, the ball of tannis root; and foolish or not, wanted it-no, needed it-around her neck. She slipped out of bed, tiptoed to the vanity, and got it from the Louis Sherry box, freed it from its aluminum-foil wrapping. The smell of the tannis root had changed; it was still strong but no longer repellent. She put the chain over her head.
With the ball tickling between her breasts, she tiptoed back to bed and climbed in. She drew up the blanket and, closing her eyes, settled her head down into the pillow. She lay breathing deeply and was soon asleep, her hands on her stomach shielding the embryo inside her.
One
