Babyland

by Holly Chamberlin

  “By the way,” I said then, “have you ever given an interview?”

  “Who would want to know about how I like my eggs or what brand of detergent I use?”

  “You don’t use detergent. You take your laundry out. And don’t be silly. I mean, have you ever given an interview about your work?”

  Jack considered. “Yes. I think so. There was some small rag and I was just out of college. I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t have a copy of the interview?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Oh. I have a clippings file that dates back to when I was in the Girl Scouts and my troop put on a play at the local senior center. Does that sound pathetic?”

  Jack laughed. “Only slightly. But why the sudden interest in interviews?”

  “There’s going to be a reporter at the show tomorrow night. And I’m working on setting up a full-length interview with the arts editor of an important magazine. I’m not telling you which magazine until I’ve got the interview nailed down, so don’t ask.”

  Jack took a long swallow of his beer. “Fine,” he said. “I’m not looking forward to any publicity, but I’ll do as you command. So, have you ever given an interview?”

  “No,” I said. “Not really. Just silly quotes about an event. Like, the reporter from the society pages says, ‘How do you think the party is going?’ And I answer, ‘It’s just wonderful, everyone is having a marvelous time, the food is just great, and the music has everyone on their feet.’”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “I know. I’m ashamed of myself. But it’s my job. A dirty business but somebody’s got to do it and all. Pour me more wine?”

  Jack did and then said, “So, would you want to be interviewed by some serious publication?”

  I laughed. “Oh, no! Besides, who would want to interview me? I’ve done nothing noteworthy.”

  “In this day and age you don’t have to do anything even remotely noteworthy to make the cover of People.”

  “Well, that’s true. But is People a serious publication? I’m sure it makes serious money but it isn’t exactly the New Yorker.”

  “The New Yorker isn’t exactly the New Yorker anymore,” Jack noted. “Great, the food’s here.”

  Neither of us spoke until we’d eaten enough to take the edge off.

  “I feel human again,” I said. “Almost. And stay away from my fries.”

  Jack withdrew his hand from my plate. “How about I interview you right now?” he said. “Just for fun.”

  “Whatever. As long as I can chew while I talk.”

  “Deal. Okay. Tell me about your expectations.”

  I frowned. “I thought you were going to ask me questions like, what’s my favorite movie?”

  “I’m not pretending to work for a dating service. I’m pretending to work for a serious publication. So, talk to me about expectations.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by expectations,” I replied. “Do you mean the things everyone expects without realizing they’re expecting them? Like enough food to eat and a roof overhead, the things everyone takes for granted but shouldn’t?”

  “Do you really expect a roof over your head?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Not since I’ve had to earn my own living.”

  “I didn’t think so. I don’t think you take much for granted. That opinion is the reporter editorializing, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay,” Jack said then, “what about hopes and dreams?”

  “You’re sure you don’t want to know my favorite color? My favorite flavor of ice cream?”

  “Pink and butter pecan.”

  I felt weak with desire. Jack’s hand on the table was inches from mine. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. “Oh,” I said with a croak. “Oh. I mean, I don’t know. I had fantasies, when I was a little girl.”

  “This reporter,” Jack said, “would like to know about those fantasies.”

  I raised my eyes to his face. Had he moved his chair closer to mine? “They’re pretty silly,” I said.

  “Tell me.”

  “Okay. Well, when I was a little girl I fantasized about living in a big castle on a windswept moor. Or on a cliff overlooking the sea. With a stable of horses.” Jack hadn’t laughed. He was looking at me with ... “It was all stuff from the books I was reading,” I said dismissively. “I’m sure lots of little girls were fantasizing about castles and horses and princes landing on the shore in beautiful ships.”

  “So,” Jack said, and he leaned back, away from me. “Do you think the fantasies were really about romance?”

  How, I wondered, had we gotten to this wonderful, dangerous topic?

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I think they were mostly about escape. Escape from my real world.”

  “Was your real world so terrible?”

  “No.” I laughed. “It wasn’t at all dark and menacing. But that was the problem. My real world was boring. I fantasized about a world that was dark and menacing, in a romantic way of course. So maybe the fantasies were about romance at heart. I’m embarrassed to admit I fantasized about a life of difficulty and distress.”

  “Why should you be embarrassed?” Jack said. “You were just a kid.”

  “I know. But then you grow up and realize that too many little girls are living real nightmares and that they’d give anything to live in a safe and boring world. If they can even imagine a world without mayhem and murder.”

  “This is a side of you I haven’t seen before. Do your thoughts always turn to darkness?”

  “Of course not,” I protested. Did they? “At least, I don’t think so. I guess I’ll have to monitor my thoughts for a while and find out.”

  “What makes Anna tick. Now that would be a fascinating documentary.”

  “Don’t mock me.”

  “I mean it,” Jack said, and I felt my cheeks flush.

  “This wine,” I said brightly, “is making me warm.”

  Jack crossed his arms in a matter-of-fact, professorial way. “So,” he said, “what do you do for drama in your adult life? Where do you find the spooky castles and wild moors and guys on mighty steeds? I’m asking as a reporter, of course.”

  Was Jack’s question really meant in a serious way? Or was he flirting with me? I was too overwhelmed to know.

  “Oh,” I said flippantly, looking at a spot on the wall over his head, “I rent movies like Rebecca and Wuthering Heights and Possession. You know. I’m always so busy I don’t really have time for ...”

  “So, what did you want to be when you grew up?” Jack’s sudden change of nuance put me back on more even ground. Maybe I’d been imagining the erotic charge between us. Did it matter?

  “Nothing in particular,” I said. “I wasn’t sure I had the brains for law or medicine or banking. I stumbled on event planning, really. I like to see people enjoy themselves, and I like to know I had some part in making them happy.”

  “That’s it?” Jack’s tone was kind.

  I shrugged. “That’s it. I’m a pretty simple person, really. Either simple or very dull.”

  “You’re not dull, Anna. But at the risk of pissing you off, let me just say this. You can’t live on the fumes of other people’s lives. In the end you’ll still be left with your own life. You’ll be all alone, just you and yourself. Other people don’t owe you anything; they’re not responsible for filling up those empty spaces inside. You are.”

  “Are you trying,” I said boldly, “to convince yourself of that, or me?”

  Jack grinned. “Both.”

  The waiter appeared, put the check on the table, and glided away.

  “They’re throwing us out,” I said, reaching for my bag.

  “This is on me.” Jack tossed a credit card onto the table.

  The night was almost over. Jack would pay the bill and we’d each go home to our separate apartments.

  “What about the one you marry?” I said boldly.

  “What about the
one you marry?”

  “You were talking about being all alone with your life. So what about your life partner? Aren’t you responsible to each other? Aren’t you supposed to complete each other? Isn’t that what soul mate is all about?”

  Jack looked first at the table, then up to me. “I don’t,” he said finally, “think you’re ‘supposed to’ do anything or ‘supposed to’ be anything in particular for anyone else. Love is a gift; it has no reasons, it just is. You love someone—that’s it, you can’t help it. That’s fact. Love isn’t hard to do. Liking someone all the time, now that can be hard.”

  I thought of the things about Ross that had driven me crazy, like the way he peeled an apple before eating it because he didn’t want apple skin getting caught between his teeth. Would that habit have bothered me less if I’d been in love with Ross?

  Jack went on. “You can get pissed off at her for spending too much money or hate the way he picks his nose when he thinks you’re not looking, but you still love the one you love. Love is big. Still, it’s not big enough to be someone else’s soul. The term is soul mate, meaning companion, best friend for life, buddy. Mate implies two people. Two complementary people.”

  I looked down at the bag in my lap. “Alexandra says much the same things about love.”

  “You know what they say about great minds.”

  I laughed and looked back to him. “That’s lame. Even for you.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m tired, too.”

  We left the bistro and without consultation began to walk in the direction of Jack’s studio.

  Ross, I thought, was not my complement. He was not my soul mate. He was not the great love of my life. But it didn’t matter anymore, did it? Because Ross and I were history, we were the past.

  Jack’s arm brushed mine.

  I didn’t want to be a Miss Havisham. I didn’t want to rot away. I wanted to grasp my present.

  I stopped. Jack stopped, too. We stood face to face. And then I kissed him, right on the mouth, and he kissed me back.

  “Hello,” he said when we pulled away.

  “I want you to come back to my apartment,” I said. “Or I’ll go with you to yours, it doesn’t matter. I want us to be together, Jack, just tonight, just this once. And look, if you don’t want to, okay, fine, just don’t, don’t, don’t tell me you’re too tired or I really think I’ll go medieval on you. I really do. No stupid excuses, just a simple no will do.”

  Jack put his hands on my arms and pulled me closer again. “Of course I want to, Anna. I’ve wanted to for a long time. Believe me. But ... you’ve been through so much lately ... I don’t want you to—”

  “Jack,” I said, “I know what I want and what I can handle. How many times do I have to tell you not to think for other people. You act so mind-numbingly superior sometimes—”

  Jack grinned. “And you still want to have sex with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’d better stop arguing and just do it.”

  “Just do it, Jack.”

  He did.

  91

  Opening Night

  “Looks like the show is quite a success.” Alexandra was smashing in a silk sheath in lime green. “Congratulations, Anna.”

  If turnout was any indicator, the show was a success. The space was jammed with people; some were even waiting outside to squeeze in when others left. Best, it was a varied crowd, well-heeled suburbanites and art school kids—people from Back Bay, the South End, and Somerville.

  “I think you should be congratulating Jack,” I said, “not me. It’s his work that brought people here.”

  “Don’t be so modest. I can’t stand false modesty in a friend. You know you’re the one responsible for this show. Without you, Jack would be off shooting a retirement dinner in Framingham right now.”

  I laughed. “Okay, okay. So I’m partly responsible for the crowd. But let’s not count our chickens before they hatch.”

  “Dear, sensible Anna. Has he made any sales yet?”

  I nodded. “A few. But the night’s young. Anyway, the sales aren’t as important tonight as the exposure.”

  “Never underestimate the importance of sales,” she said. And then she looked at me closely. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” I lied.

  “You look, I don’t know, different. Jack’s still leaving tomorrow?”

  I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

  Alexandra took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Hang in,” she said. “I’ve got to go and join Luke.”

  For a moment I stood alone, listening to the excited talk and exuberant laughter of the crowd. I imagined the good reviews in the next day’s paper. I thought of the interview I’d set up for Jack with an important art magazine out of New York, an interview he’d be doing via phone. Because the next day Jack would be on a plane to San Francisco and his new life. My heart constricted. It seemed wrong that we wouldn’t be sharing his triumph, his time in the sun, his fifteen minutes of fame.

  His first fifteen minutes of fame. Because I was sure that with hard work, inspiration, and a little luck, Jack was going to go far.

  And I wouldn’t be there with him. My plan had failed. In truth it hadn’t been much of a plan. Still, I’d had hopes. I thought of the previous night at Jack’s loft and was flooded again with desire.

  At least, I thought, I have one spectacular night of passion to savor for the rest of my life. The trick would be to prevent an ecstatic memory from decaying into a bitter one. It would be a very difficult trick to pull off.

  “Hi!”

  I whirled to see Tracy smiling up at me.

  “Oh, hi!” I said. “I’m glad you made it.”

  “Actually, Bill and I have been here for about a half hour. It’s such a mob scene it took me forever to find you.”

  “Do you think people are enjoying themselves?” I asked.

  Tracy swatted my arm. “You know they are. So, how long has Alexandra been seeing this new guy? She just introduced Bill and me.”

  “Um,” I said eloquently, “I think she knew him a long time ago. But things just got romantic. I guess.”

  Tracy nodded. “He seems nice. I’m happy for her. I mean, she seems somehow, I don’t know, lighthearted. Well, as lighthearted as Alexandra will ever be.”

  “So, what do you think of Jack’s work?” I asked. “Be honest but not too honest.”

  “I like it, Anna. And Bill’s working up the nerve to spend a thousand dollars on the piece in the far corner, the big one of the ancient glass jar.”

  “Oh,” I said, “he’s not buying something just to be nice, is he?”

  “Bill?” Tracy laughed. “The man who considers the pros and cons of every major purchase for weeks before acting? No. He wants the piece as a gift for me. For us, I suppose.”

  “Ah, I knew I liked Bill,” I said. A financially responsible man who also liked to give his wife gifts? Bill was every woman’s dream. “What’s the occasion?”

  Tracy suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Anna,” she said, “I know this is not the right time to tell you this, I know that you’re busy, but ...”

  “Tracy,” I said, “look around. Everyone’s having a fine time. No one needs me, for the moment at least.”

  “I’m going to try to get pregnant.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I just assumed ... I don’t know what I just assumed, exactly. Maybe that Bill didn’t want to start another family.”

  Tracy smiled ruefully. “He didn’t. He’s sixty years old, Anna. But he loves me enough to do this. I just have to try.”

  “What if—” I began, and then changed course. “There are so many options today for women our age.”

  “I know. So, if I don’t get pregnant the good old-fashioned way, Bill and I will explore other ways of getting pregnant. I’ve already talked to my gynecologist. He’s hopeful we can make this happen.”

  Hopeful but not certain.

  I thought of the expense and the possible he
artbreak. I’d read somewhere that only about forty-four percent of women who wait until they’re forty to try to conceive for the first time will be successful. I’d also read that assisted reproductive technologies like in vitro fertilization just don’t make up for the loss of fertility women experience as they age.

  “There’s always adoption,” I said. I thought of Michaela’s quest for a child and wondered how many of her horror stories of endless red tape and incompetence we could believe.

  “I’m not sure I’m cut out for adoption,” Tracy said matter-of-factly. “I’m not sure that’s what I want. I’ll have to wait and see. I’ll have to see what I learn from this experience. Whatever happens, I know it will change me. I know it will change everything.”

  “Change is exhausting,” I said. “But I think I’m learning to accept it as an inevitable part of life.”

  “What choice do you have?” Tracy said with a dry laugh. “What choice do any of us have? Roll with the punches, bend in the wind; she who adapts, survives. By the way, speaking of someone who easily adapts, where’s Kristen?”

  “The whole family is down with a stomach virus,” I told her. “I can’t imagine how horrible that must be.”

  “She has my sympathy. Look,” Tracy said, “I should get back to Bill. Congratulations, Anna.”

  Tracy moved off and I wondered, If Tracy wanted a child so badly, why hadn’t she gotten married in her twenties; why hadn’t she married a man closer to her own age, one without a family behind him?

  Because maybe she just hadn’t been ready for marriage or for motherhood in her fertile twenties. Or maybe she had been ready but just hadn’t been able to find the right man. There were a million possible reasons for Tracy being in the place she was in. There were a million possible reasons for my being in the place I was in. How do we wind up at any given point along the way? How does life get away from us? Those are questions with no easy answers.

  And it was not the time to be contemplating those questions. Because suddenly I was confronted with my former fiancé, perfectly groomed, masterfully coiffed, gorgeously dressed.