I didn’ t want to know.
BY THE TIME I met Martucci on Monday for our six-thirty a.m. run, I was no clearer on what to do than I’ d been every hour on the hour that I’ d woken up the night before.
Yes, it was a crazy time.
Deedee might be pregnant. I was organizing the biggest promotional event of my career. My libido waged its own campaign for me to get in touch with a certain traffic reporter who should hate me but seemed to be indicating otherwise. I had ten items out of twenty left to do on a list that I felt honor-bound to complete in a matter of months.
And I was training for a 5K run three times a week-every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday-with, of all people, Dominic Martucci.
Was it any wonder I was having trouble sleeping?
Originally, I’ d hoped I wouldn’ t need to do anything as drastic as train in order to cross off #5: Run a 5K. There was a race coming up in May in Manhattan Beach that I planned to sign up for. I’ d recently hopped on the treadmill at the gym, assuming it would be a breeze. After one minute of running-not one mile, one minute-I felt as if I were breathing in bricks instead of air. I was gasping and panting and was so exhausted that I nearly let myself get spewed off the end of the treadmill like a doughnut off the assembly line. I clearly wasn’ t going to make it without putting in effort. Knowing nothing about how to prepare for a run, I asked around the office to see if anyone had any tips. To my dismay, the name Martucci kept coming up. As much as I hated to go crawling to him for advice, I asked him anyway. All he said was, ‘ Sure.’
‘ So are there ways I should go about training& or certain shoes that might help?’
‘ Sure,’ he repeated. ‘ I’ ll train you. But I demand one hundred percent commitment. Three days a week. Show up on time and be ready to work. And’ -he yanked a box of Hot Tamales candies from my hands-’ I suggest you cut down on the crap.’
‘ I don’ t need you to-’
‘ How’ s the running going so far?’ he asked, giving me a disparaging once-over.
Not so well. I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously. ‘ Why would you help me?’
‘ Let’ s say it’ s nice you’ re doing that list for the girl you ran over.’
‘ You know about the list?’
‘ Everybody knows about the list.’
‘ Hmph. So much for Brie keeping a secret,’ I grumbled.
He gave me a friendly swat on the shoulder. ‘ Sorry I missed the day you went braless.’
So there I was-as I had been the week before-at an outdoor track, doing warm-up exercises. Martucci used the interval training method. I’ d walk briskly for five minutes, then run a minute, walk five minutes, run a minute, and so on, until I collapsed in a heap on the dirt, at which point he’ d pick me up and make me do it again.
I finished the first set of intervals, and Martucci walked next to me as I wheezed and puffed. He wore snug jogging shorts and a racing-style tank shirt that showed off his wiry muscles. ‘ Hot date last night, Parker? You’ re more out of it than usual.’
‘ I’ ve got a lot of my mind. A girl I know might be pregnant.’
What was I doing confiding in Martucci? Susan had been out of town for the weekend, so I must have been desperate to talk to someone. Either that or I was losing brain cells with every lap.
He blew out a breath. ‘ Tough break. But running is one of the best things you can do. When you get to the third trimester, you’ ll need to switch to walking. But it’ s important to stay in shape so you can push when the time-’
‘ It’ s not me,’ I snapped. ‘ It really is a girl I know. I met her as part of the Big Sister program a few months ago. Poor kid’ s only fourteen. What’ s she going to do& I mean, if she is pregnant? My friend who’ s a doctor suspects she might not even know herself-she may be in denial of any symptoms. I can’ t decide: Should I tell her mom? Or the Big Sister coordinator?’
‘ Do you like this kid?’
‘ Yes,’ I said, surprising myself with the sureness of my answer. ‘ Quite a bit.’
‘ Then get one of those home pregnancy kits. Make sure she’ s really up the duff before you go telling everybody. If I was this kid, I’ d want the chance to tell them myself.’
‘ I hate to say this, but you’ re right.’
‘ Buy the kind in the blue box-the one with the picture of a rabbit on it. It says pregnant or not pregnant in words instead of having to figure out dots or lines. Makes it less stressful.’
‘ How is it you’ re such an expert on home pregnancy kits?’
‘ You’ re asking that question of an Italian stallion like myself? The women call me ‘ sperm of thunder.’ I don’ t dare stand too close for fear I may impregnate them with just a whiff of my manhood.’
THE NEXT EVENING, I called Deedee to say I was in the neighborhood and would her mom let her go grab a quick slice of pizza? When I picked her up, no sooner had she shut the car door than I said, ‘ There are two choices for where we can go for pizza. There’ s Mario’ s on Culver. Or there’ s my place, where I have one in the freezer that we can microwave. The advantage of going to my apartment’ -I paused-’ is that I have a home pregnancy kit there, too. In case you need one for any reason.’
She stared at me, saying nothing.
I continued, ‘ Kip had a hunch you might be pregnant.’
Still nothing.
‘ Might you be pregnant?’
She sat back in her seat, closed her eyes, and gave a wet sigh. ‘ I don’ t know.’
Sounded like microwaved pizza to me.
At my apartment, I read the instructions for the pregnancy kit as neutrally as if I were reading off the side of the pizza box instead. ‘ You need help?’ I asked as she
