‘ She doesn’ t know what she’ s going to do. I suspect she’ s still in shock.’
I’ d stopped at my parents on Sunday to help my mom with the gardening. They had a big party coming up-also the reason my dad needed that frozen shrimp. When I first arrived, I’ d handed him my offering of five bags. He’ d accepted them gratefully and then retreated to the living room to fall asleep in front of a golf tournament on TV.
My mom clipped the leaves off the rosebushes as she asked, ‘ Have you ever been pregnant?’ She said it so nonchalantly, it took me a second to grasp what she’ d said.
‘ Um& don’ t you think you might have noticed?’
‘ I’ m not so naive. You could have gotten an abortion.’
‘ Oh. Well, no,’ I answered. ‘ I’ ve never been pregnant.’
She nodded. ‘ Just curious.’
Now wasn’ t that a touching mother-daughter moment! I was glad she wasn’ t curious whether I’ d ever thought I was pregnant, because then I would have had to say, ‘ Sure, plenty of times.’
Not that I made a habit of having unprotected sex or anything. But even with being single 150 percent more often than with a boyfriend, there were still times when the condom broke. Or I forgot the diaphragm on a camping weekend and decided millions of Catholics couldn’ t be wrong about that rhythm method. Or my period was late for no reason at all, but it was late. The last time I peed on a stick, ‘ yes’ or ‘ no’ on the strip was the latest in technology. And it had been ‘ no,’ as always. Yet leading up to the moment when I knew for sure, I had the opportunity to wonder. What if? Sure, I’ ve always hoped to go about things in the traditional order, and mostly I felt relief. But there was a small part of me that would have been happy. Things would be uncertain: Would we get married? Would I be a single mom? But either way I’ d have a baby& somebody to whom I was the most special person in the world. And all I’ d had to do to put my life on an entirely new trajectory was lie back, spread my legs, and let it happen.
‘ Life is ironic, isn’ t it?’ my mom said, handing me a pile of leaves to stuff in a sack. ‘ Your brother and Charlotte have been trying for years to have a baby and can’ t. This girl has sex once, and poof! She’ s going to be a mother.’
I stopped with my leaf stuffing. That was it! ‘ I can’ t believe this didn’ t occur to me before!’ I exclaimed. ‘ They can adopt Deedee’ s baby! Oh, it’ s perfect. They’ re not strangers, which I know is impor-’
‘ Hate to burst your bubble,’ my mom broke in. ‘ But they’ re not interested. Believe me, I’ ve talked to them plenty about it. They want to have their own. In fact, Charlotte’ s doing those hormone shots right now.’
‘ Darn,’ I said, deflated.
‘ They’ re awful, too, those shots. They make you moody and put on weight. She’ s certainly going about it the hard way.’
‘ Especially that part where she has to have sex with Bob,’ I said, and gave an exaggerated shudder. And isn’ t that just like my brother? I thought. Putting his wife through so much misery so he could pass on his lineage.
‘ Sometimes,’ my mom said, setting down her clippers and using the back of a gloved hand to wipe her hair off her forehead, ‘ I have to wonder what God’ s up to.’
WEDNESDAY LATE AFTERNOON I was making a few last ditch calls to drum up interest in the gas giveaway scheduled for the next day. Phyllis called me from Bigwood’ s office. ‘ What would it mean to you if I said I could guarantee TV coverage for you tomorrow?’ she asked in her fifty-pack-a-day voice.
‘ I’ m not sure I follow,’ I said. ‘ You have media contacts?’
(And if so, I thought bitterly, could you not have coughed them up during the afternoon staff meeting? I’ d tried my best to beef up the ‘ maybes’ I’ d gotten from various news crews, but Lizbeth had simply given a tinkly laugh and said, ‘ When they say maybe, it means no. I suppose I’ ll stop by anyway, just in case.’ )
Phyllis cleared her throat. ‘ I can make things happen.’ Suddenly I understood how Woodward and Bernstein must have felt.
I tried not to get too excited, but TV cameras would be quite the coup. It would show Bigwood that I could pull together a successful promotion. And even though it was certain Lizbeth would hog any opportunity to be in front of the camera, I could at least wander by in the background to fulfill #9 on my list: Get on TV.
‘ That would be great,’ I said, wondering why Phyllis was being so mysterious about the whole thing. ‘ What do you need from me?’
‘ A favor. You’ re a writer, and I’ m not much with words. I need help with a letter.’
‘ Sure. I’ ll come up there right now and-’
‘ Not here.’
Ah. That kind of letter. Somebody was searching for a new job. ‘ How soon do you need it?’
‘ I was hoping you could stop by my house after work tonight. I’ m in Culver City-shouldn’ t be too far out of your way.’
‘ Deal.’
‘ You help me out,’ she added before hanging up, ‘ and I’ ll get you all the TV coverage you can stand.’
I REACHED PHYLLIS’ S house a few minutes before six o’ clock and parked on the street. Her car was already there-pulled into her driveway behind a Harley so massive that it more resembled a motor home than a motorcycle. Maybe those Hell’ s Angels rumors were true. I stopped to read the stickers on it to see if it’ d give me any hints, but they were mostly for seemingly ordinary riding clubs. No skulls and crossbones.
Phyllis came up behind me. ‘ Anything on that list of yours about riding a motorcycle?’ she asked.
I turned to give her a wave of greeting and then said, ‘ You know about the list?’
‘ Everybody knows about the list.’
I sighed. ‘ That’ s not on it.’
‘ You ride?’ I shook my head, and she said, ‘ Never?’ as if I’ d admitted I was the world’ s oldest living virgin. ‘ Wait here.’ She disappeared into the garage and came back a minute later with two helmets and a leather jacket,
