“Very good,” he said. “I think your gentleman caller is going to be just fine. But I think you should do two things.”
“Go ahead,” I said, tucking the phone under my chin and turning back to Adrian.
“First, turn him on his side, so in case he does vomit, he won’t be in danger of aspirating any.”
I nudged Adrian until he was semi-sideways. “Done,” I said.
“The other thing is just to stay with him,” he said. “Check on him every half hour or so. If he turns cool or starts shaking, or if his pulse becomes irregular, I’d dial 911. Otherwise, he should be fine in the morning. He might feel nauseous, or achy,” he cautioned, “but there won’t be any permanent damage done.”
“Great,” I said, cringing inwardly as I imagined what the morning would be like, when Adrian woke up with the mother of all hangovers and found himself beside me.
“You might want to take a washcloth, dip it in cool water, wring it out, and put it on his forehead,” said the doctor. “That is, if you’re feeling merciful.”
I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. “Thank you,” I said. “Really. Thanks a lot.”
“I hope things improve,” he said cheerfully. “But it sounds like you’ve got this situation in hand. Will you call me and let me know how it turns out?”
“Absolutely. Thank you again,” I said.
“Take care of yourself, Cannie,” he said. “Call if you need anything else.”
We hung up, and I considered. Washcloth? I looked in the glove compartment and found only a car lease agreement, a few CD jewel boxes, and two pens. I looked in my own purse: lipstick that Garth had given me, wallet, keys, address book, a panty liner that What to Expect When You’re Expecting told me to carry.
I looked at Adrian. I looked at the panty liner. I figured that what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, so I got out of the car, made my way carefully to the water, dipped the panty liner, walked back up, and laid it tenderly upon his forehead, trying not to giggle while I did it.
Adrian opened his eyes. “You’re so sweet,” he slurred.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty!” I said. “You’re awake! I was getting worried…”
Adrian appeared not to hear me. “I bet you’ll be a terrific mother,” he said, and closed his eyes again.
I smiled, settling myself back in my seat. A terrific mother. It was the first time I’d really thought about it – the actual act of mothering. I’d thought about giving birth, sure, about the logistics of caring for a newborn, too. But I’d never given much consideration to what kind of mother I, Cannie Shapiro, age almost twenty-nine, would be.
I cupped my hands around my belly as Adrian snored softly beside me. A good mother, I thought, bemused. But what kind? Would I be one of those cool mothers that all the kids in the neighborhood liked, the ones who served sweetened fruit punch and cookies instead of skim milk and fruit, who wore jeans and funky shoes and could actually talk to her kids, instead of just lecture them? Would I be funny? Would I be the kind of mom they’d want to be the room mother, or show up on Career Day? Or would I be one of those worried mothers, always hovering by the door, waiting for my child to come home, always running after it, clutching a sweater, a raincoat, a handful of tissues?
You’ll be you, said a voice in my head. My own mother’s voice. I recognized it instantly. I would be me. I had no other choice. And that wouldn’t be so bad. I’d done all right by Nifkin, I reasoned. That was something.
I leaned my head against Adrian’s shoulder, figuring that he wouldn’t mind. And that was when I thought of something else.
I plucked his phone out of my purse, then dug out the napkin with Maxi’s number, and held my breath until I heard her bright, British, “Hello.”
“Hey, Maxi,” I whispered.
“Cannie!” she cried. “Where are you?”
“On the beach,” I said. “I’m not sure exactly where, but…”
“You’re with Adrian?” she asked.
“Yes,” I whispered. “And he’s kind of passed out.”
Maxi started laughing… and in spite of myself, I started laughing, too. “So help me out. What’s the etiquette here? Do I stay? Do I go? Do I, like, leave him a note?”
“Where are you, exactly?” asked Maxi.
I looked around for a sign, for a light, for something. “I remember the last street we were on was Del Rio Way,” I said. “And we’re right on a bluff, maybe twenty-five yards over the water”
“I know where that is,” Maxi said. “At least, I think I do. It’s where he shot the love scene for Estella’s Eyes.”
“Great,” I said, trying to remember whether anyone had passed out during that particular scene. “So what should I do?”
“I’m going to give you directions to my house,” she told me. “I’ll be waiting.”
Maxi’s directions were perfect, and in twenty minutes’ time we were pulling into the driveway of a small, gray-shingled house on the beach. It was the kind of place I might have picked out, given my druthers, and probably several million dollars.
Maxi herself was waiting in the kitchen. She’d swapped her dress and updo for a pair of black leggings, a T-shirt, and pigtails, which would have looked ridiculous on 99.9 percent of the female population, but looked adorable on her. “Is he still passed out?”
“Come see,” I whispered. We walked back to the car where Adrian still lay in the passenger’s seat, his mouth gaping open, his eyes sealed shut, and my panty liner still perched on his forehead.
Maxi burst out laughing. “What is that?”
“It was the best I could do,” I said defensively.
Still giggling, Maxi grabbed a copy of Variety from what I took to be her recycling bin, rolled it up, and poked Adrian in the arm. Nothing. She moved the magazine lower and poked him in the belly. No response.
“Huh,” said Maxi. “Well, I don’t think he’s dying, but maybe we should bring him inside.”
Slowly and carefully, with much grunting and giggling, we maneuvered Adrian out of the car and onto Maxi’s living room couch – a gorgeous white leather construction that I very much hoped Adrian would not defile.
“We should turn him on his side, in case he throws up…” I suggested, and stared at Adrian. “Do you really think he’s okay?” I asked. “He was taking Ecstasy…”
“He’ll probably be fine,” she said dismissively. “But maybe we should stay with him.” She peered at me. “You must be exhausted.”
“You, too,” I said. “I’m sorry about this…”
“Cannie, don’t worry! You’re doing a good deed!”
She looked at Adrian, then at me. “Slumber party?” she asked.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
While Maxi went off, presumably to gather bedding material, I took off Adrian’s shoes, then socks. I slid his belt out of its loops, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled off the panty liner and replaced it with a dishtowel I’d found in the kitchen.
