Baby proof

'Finish your call. I'll wait here.' He shakes his head, says good-bye quickly, and snaps his phone shut, sliding it into his jacket pocket along with the pad. As I approach him, he gives me the half-stand and says, 'Hello, Claudia.'

'Hi, Richard,' I say as I inhale his aftershave, something I first noticed on him during a shared elevator ride years ago. I love aftershave or cologne on a man. Ben never wore it. Even his deodorant was scent-free. It feels good when I stumble upon something not to miss about Ben. Unfortunately, I haven't racked up many of those so far. 'Any cavities?'

'Not a one,' he says.

'You're a flosser?' I say.

'Nope,' he says, looking sheepish. 'Just good genes, I guess.'

Our waiter, a young, blond kid with so much exuberance that I peg him as a Broadway performer, stops by, introduces himself as Tad, and asks what I'd like to drink. I don't usually have wine at lunch during the week, but because Richard is drinking, I order a glass of chardonnay.

'Good. I don't like to drink alone,' Richard says after Tad departs. 'Unless I'm alone, that is.'

I laugh.

He laughs.

Then, as if to offset our beverage selection, Richard skips further small talk and immediately launches into business. Our summer list generally. A new author I just signed on board. A recent, mixed review of the Skvarla memoir in the Times. (Not that publicity ever cares too much about the content. Even bad publicity is good publicity.)

'And the big news is,' Richard says, as if signaling the reason for our lunch, 'I'm this close to getting Amy Dickerson on The Today Show.' His index finger and thumb are a millimeter apart.

'You're kidding me?' I say, even though I had already heard this news from Michael. It is huge deal for any book, but particularly a novel. Still, it's usually not the sort of thing that necessitates a one-on-one lunch with the head of publicity.

Richard nods. 'Apparently Katie really digs the book,' he says.

I smile at his use of the word digs. Richard frequently uses jargon from the seventies. Most people sound washed-up or silly when they drop slang from a prior generation, but with Richard, it's endearing. I guess if you're handsome and successful enough, you can pull off just about anything.

I resist the urge to say, 'Groovy,' and instead cross my fingers in the air.

Tad returns with my glass of chardonnay and two menus. He asks if we'd like to hear the specials.

'Sure,' we say in unison, and then listen as Tad rattles off the longest and most detailed shrimp bisque description in the history of the world. Ben always hated food adjectives-particularly the words moist and chewy. Cookie commercials presented a problem for him. I tell myself, No more thinking about Ben! I peruse the menu, trying to find something that's not too messy to eat. I decide on the seared-tuna salad. Richard goes with the pressed burger. I like the burger-wine combo.

'So read anything good lately?' Richard asks.

'You mean generally-or are you talking manuscripts?' I ask.

'Either,' he says.

I reel off a few titles in the first category-and a couple of projects in the second.

'What else can you tell me?' Richard says after Tad takes our order and trots off. He looks at me expectantly, as if I'm the one who scheduled our little 'business' lunch.

I take a sip of wine and say, 'As far as work goes?' My mind races to various bits of gossip in the business generally. Just as I'm about to ask him if he's heard the rumors that the mystery writer Jennifer Coats is unhappy with her editor at Putnam, and is shopping her new manuscript around, Richard shrugs and leans back in his chair. 'Or whatever.' His whatever signals that this is most definitely not a business lunch.

I consider my response carefully, feeling as if I have just arrived at a fork in the road. Like the kind in one of those choose-your-own-adventure books I loved so much in elementary school. I could easily discuss the Jennifer Coats rumor or turn the conversation back to Amy Dickerson's Today Show booking.

Instead, I hold up my left hand, wiggle my ring finger, and blurt out, 'I got a divorce.'

Richard looks surprised, and I hope that he's not going to play dumb and pretend that he knew nothing of my recent news. Then again, maybe he's just surprised that I'm sharing it with him so readily. I'm a little surprised myself.

Richard tugs on his earlobe and says, 'I heard. I'm sorry.'

I consider saying, 'That's okay,' but I've always hated when people respond that way after a death or any sad event in life. After all, it's not really okay. So I say, 'Thanks. It happens.'

Richard nods as he swirls the wine in his glass. He takes a long swallow, then says, 'Half the time from what I hear.'

'Yup,' I say. 'Odds you've never played, right?'

The first personal-question card has officially been played.

Richard laughs. 'You got that right.'

'Ever come close?' I ask.

Second. 'Sure.'

'How close?'

Third.

'Not that close, actually.'

Richard gives someone across the room a quick salute. I consider turning around to see who it is, but don't want to appear as caught red-handed as I feel.

As if Richard knows what I'm thinking, he says, 'Jason Saul.'

I give him a puzzled look and he says, 'Little fellow in marketing? With the soul patch?'

'Oh, yeah,' I say. 'It's actually a goatee. Not a soul patch.'

'What's the difference?'

I describe the difference, pointing to my chin. Richard nods, looking enlightened. I am reminded of my favorite facial hair story. Years ago, Michael was in a moustache-growing contest with another guy at work. Michael was badly losing, and to demonstrate his point over lunch, he nodded toward a girl named Sally whom he actually had a minor crush on and said, 'Even Sally would kick my ass.' He was trying to be funny, but unfortunately, Sally was a dark-haired Italian and one of those girls who waxes her upper lip. Sally was horrified and humiliated, as was Michael when he realized his slip. I tell Richard the story now, and he laughs.

'Is Sally still around?' Richard asks.

'No. She left a short time later. Guess she was traumatized.'

Richard nods, and then says, 'So where were we?'

'Why you never married?' I say.

Fourth.

'When I meet someone I like being with more than I like being alone,' he says, 'I'll marry her.'

I laugh and tell him that had been, more or less, my philosophy when I met Ben.

'So, what? You figured out late in the game that you still preferred your own company to his?'

Fifth.

'Not exactly… Just… irreconcilable differences.'

Richard pauses, as if considering a follow-up. Then he stops himself and gives Tad a signal that he'd like another glass of wine.

I decide to just tell him. 'I didn't want kids. He did.'

Maybe I should get a T-shirt made. Most divorces aren't so neatly summarized.

'Shouldn't you have covered that one while you were in the courting stage?' Richard asks gently.

'We did. He reneged on our deal. Now he wants them. Or at least one. One more than I want.'

'Bastard.'