Baby proof

annual fuss is about, at least once you pass your twenty-first birthday.

'How did you know about my birthday?' I ask. 'Did Michael tell you?'

'No. Michael has yet to acknowledge to me that he even knows about us.'

'How'd you know, then?'

'I might have sneaked a peek at your driver's license,' Richard says.

'You're very resourceful,' I say.

Richard rolls toward me. 'I can be resourceful… when I want something,' he says. I can feel him looking into my eyes, in the dark.

'And what exactly do you want?' I ask, my heart racing, although I'm not sure why.

Richard doesn't answer my question, but he finds my lips and kisses me. I kiss him back, considering in what way Richard wants me. In the same lustful way I want him? Is that all I really want? Or are we more about companionship-about filling a void and passing time? Could we be falling in love? Would I ever want to be with Richard in the way I was with Ben? Would I ever want to try marriage again with anyone?

As if he is reading my mind, Richard stops kissing me abruptly and says, 'Can I take you away for your birthday?'

'Yeah,' I say. 'I would like that very much.'

'Anywhere particular you'd like to go?'

'Anywhere with you would be just fine,' I say in such a firm tone that I'm almost convinced that it is true.

In the morning, I return to Jess's apartment to get ready for work. Jess is sitting in the family room, wearing silky black underwear (Jess owns no cotton pairs) and applying lotion to her legs. The room smells of vanilla. Her hair is still wet, and spiky with gel. She looks happy and is singing Liz Phair's 'Perfect World': 'I wanna be cool, tall, vulnerable, and luscious.'

I think-Well, you are all of those things. Then I say, 'Did the jackass call you back?'

I am, of course, referring to Trey. He is officially known as 'the jackass' now. First he was 'Jackass,' a proper noun, but we decided he wasn't even worthy of that much and demoted him to a generic, random jackass. According to his assistant Daria, he is in Tokyo. We can tell she's lying for him. We already know that lying for her boss is part of her job description. 'Tell him phones work in Asia,' Jess said the last time she spoke to Daria. Apparently Daria had snorted and said, 'Will do,' before hanging up abruptly. Jess said it wasn't altogether clear who Daria was disdainful of-her or her boss. I said maybe Daria was sleeping with him, too. Jess didn't think it was all that funny. I made note of this: hold the jokes for a bit longer.

'Nope. No word,' Jess says with a shrug. 'Fuck him.'

I study her face, for a sign of false bravado. There is nothing. I can tell she is starting to mean it. In fact, she is so strong that I begin to think that there is only one explanation: Jess wants the baby more than she wants Trey. Sort of the opposite of Ben and me. Could my best friend and I be more different?

'Fuck him,' she says again.

I laugh and say, 'That's how you got in this mess.'

'Yeah. It is a bit of a mess,' she says. 'And yet… it feels right.'

Then she informs me she has scheduled her first prenatal visit for the following Thursday at two o'clock.

'That's exciting,' I say, nearly meaning it.

'Will you come with me?' she asks hesitantly. 'The nurse told me that they check for the fetal heart sounds with a Doppler ultrasound. I'd like to share the moment with someone… With you.'

'Sure… I'll come,' I say, feeling touched that she wants me there. And I want to be there with her, but I still have reservations. First, fall is our busiest season, and I can just see myself stuck in a waiting room for hours. Second, and most important, it seems to set a bad precedent. Will Jess then expect me to go to every appointment thereafter? And what about the nitty-gritty moments of childbirth? I imagine her asking me to cut the umbilical cord or photograph the emerging blood crown.

I marvel at the irony of me-a woman who does not want a baby-being asked to be an egg donor and a surrogate parent all in one month's time.

Later that afternoon, I get a call from a big-time agent, known in the business by her first name only: Coral. I don't know if Coral is her given name or a nickname of some kind, but what I do know is that she has one of the biggest egos in the business-and rightfully so, I guess. She has some hugely famous clients, and virtually everything Coral represents becomes a bestseller. As a result, all editors salivate at the mere idea of a meeting with her, and you know you're somebody if she's calling you.

About a year ago, Coral phoned me for the first time regarding a manuscript called No Nude Beaches. I felt as if I had really arrived as she rambled on and on about how much I was going to love this edgy but sentimental coming-of-age story about three women traveling through Europe together after their college graduation. Coral was right-I did love it-but unfortunately so did everyone else, and I ended up losing it in an agonizing five-round auction when Elgin capped the advance I could offer at five hundred thousand. It was a heartbreaking blow, especially when the book skyrocketed to number three on the Times list-which is virtually unheard-of for a first-time novelist. I remember passing the book in the window display at the Union Square Barnes amp; Noble one evening on the way to dinner. I was so distraught, I couldn't even point it out to Ben, but he must have seen it, too, because he said, 'Don't sweat it. Coral will call you again.'

So of course I think of Ben when Rosemary buzzes me and says excitedly, 'Claudia, Coral is on the phone!'

My heart races as I pick up the phone and say hello.

'Claudia, darling,' Coral says. 'Congratulations on the Dickerson novel. It's brill- iant!'

'Thank you, Coral. I really appreciate that. We're really pleased with how it's doing… So how are you?' I say, feeling pretty certain that Coral is not just calling to make small talk. She must have something for me.

'I'm well, dear… Listen. I'd love to catch up over lunch… And I might just have something for you to read. Something that would be perfect for you and your list.'

'Lunch sounds great,' I say, feeling thrilled but wishing that Coral would just messenger-or e-mail me-the manuscript, as most other agents do. Then again, maybe she's going to offer me an exclusive and she wants to give it a proper one-on-one showcase. I tell myself to play it cool as I say, 'As for the project, thank you for thinking of me, Coral. I'd be delighted to take a look.'

'Fabulous,' she says. 'Let's meet next Thursday at Eleven Madison Park… at, say, one o'clock? One- thirty?'

I glance at my calendar, see 'Jess's Appointment' written in capital letters, and think, Fuck. Baby conflict.

'Hmm,' I say. 'Looks like I have something that day, Coral. I can do any other day next week.'

'Sorry, dear. I'm booked solid for the next few weeks,' she says, sounding miffed.

I think, Nobody puts Coral in a corner, and roll my eyes. I start to fold, but don't. Instead I bristle at her tactics. I am way too busy-and senior-for such games. I hear myself say, 'Well, I'm sorry, Coral. But Thursday's a no-go for me.'

I cross my fingers that she will throw out another date, or even better, simply offer to send the manuscript. But she only says, 'A pity. Maybe next time.'

I hang up and tell myself that if Coral calling you makes you somebody, then dissing her really makes you somebody. Then I tell myself nothing is as important as friendship. Or babies. Or friends having babies. But I can't help feeling a hint of resentment that my career is already being impacted by a baby that's not even mine.

The next morning Jess comes into my room just as I'm waking up and says, 'Claudia. I'm bleeding.' Her voice is calm, but her face is pinched and pale.

'Where?' I ask, picturing a cutting mishap in the kitchen.