by Amy Brent
Everything slowed down. My heart thundered in my ears. I felt the crowd around me draw a breath. I held my own. The electric blue eyes and the green felt table was the backdrop to my winning streak. After this, my life would never be the same.
I put the final card down. The dealer played his hand. Everything around me shattered. The crowd exhaled disappointment. The dealer won this hand and drew my money away from me. The whole pile of chips. I watched it move away from me in a blur. I looked up at Mr. Blue Eyes. He stood up without looking at me and sauntered away. I looked back at the chips, counting the white space between every heartbeat.
That woman had been right, I should have cashed my chips when I was ahead. And I had been right, too. My life would never be the same.
I had a hundred left in my pocket. A crumpled note that seemed forlorn and weary after the gold I'd had at my fingertips. I sat down at the bar and ordered vodka. A lot of it. I was going to drown my sorrows. If I ended up drowning myself in the process, so be it.
Somewhere Sharon arrived and grabbed me by the arm.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Camille?" Her tone was pitying, not angry. I let her pull me to my feet. The room spun. There were three bartenders when the whole night there had only been one. I felt like vomiting. This was what being a failure felt like. It tasted bitter in my throat.
"You could have used the last money to get a cab instead of drinking yourself into a stupor. I'm glad you called me instead of plastering yourself to a pavement."
I'd called her? I let Sharon steer me out of the door, through the parking lot, toward her car.
"You lost everything, didn't you?"
I couldn't hold it anymore and threw up on the tarmac right next to her car. I heaved and retched until there was nothing left.
"God, it's all on your dress. You couldn't have bent over first?"
I thought I had. A tissue appeared in front of me and I wiped my mouth. Sharon opened her car door.
"You owe me for the smell of puke that's going to linger for the next three months."
I owed her but there was no money. Didn't she know that? I put my head on my knees, smelling the coconut body butter I'd put on after showering to come out, mixed with the sweet-sour tinge of vomit. My head spun as fast as the wheels did as Sharon drove back to the dorm.
She parked and helped me out of the front seat like a child, steering me into the building. Inside I pulled my own clothes off. It felt like sandpaper on my skin. I needed to get out of it. The bed was softer than I remembered it. The room danced around me and threatened to make me throw up again but darkness closed in and I let it take over. This was much better than vomiting and spinning. Sharon said something but I was too busy concentrating on the darkness coming at me to save me.
When I opened my eyes light pierced my eyes and I complained, closing them again. My head throbbed. I rolled over, my head lolling off the bed. The cold air in the room tingled over my skin and I sat up. Too fast. The world spun around me.
God, how much did I drink? I pressed the palm against my head, trying to calm the fluttering pain. It didn't help. I was naked and hungover over and...
The events of the night before rushed toward me and hit me in the face like a physical punch. My stomach turned and I scrambled to the bathroom, making it all the way to the toilet. It tasted like old alcohol and despair. I hugged the toilet for half an hour before sitting back. Fifty grand. That was how much I'd lost.
No, I'd lost a lot more. I'd started off with fifty grand. I'd doubled it and doubled it again and one more time before I'd lost it. I pulled myself up over the basin and splashed water on my face. Reality was a cold hearted bitch.
What was I going to do? My mom had given me everything she had to finish my degree, to take care of myself while I was away from home. She'd been a hairdresser all her life with nothing more than a diploma. She'd given me that money so that I could make more of myself than she'd been able to.
I'd meant to make the money more. My car was on the verge of breaking down so I had to keep taking the bus. I needed new clothes. I wanted new clothes. I'd wanted to make the money more.
Instead, I'd lost it all. I was studying finances. I should have understood the concept of probability. I should have known better.
Should have, would have, could have. Those never helped anyone. They sure as shit wouldn't help me.
I needed to make a plan to get money. I couldn't tell Mama. If she found out what I'd done she would never forgive me. She wouldn't be angry. She would be disappointed. The worst thing in the world was to disappoint Mama.
I showered in the dorm showers and got dressed. I took two Aspirin, a glass of tomato juice from my little fridge, and felt just as shit as before. This was going to be the darkest day of my life.
A newspaper was in on a table in the communal area and I tucked it under my arm. I went downstairs and waited for the bus. I needed to start looking for a job to earn back that money if I wanted to pay my way through school at all. The movement in the bus made me wonder if I was going to throw up again. Would it wash out of the suede jacket of the woman next to me?
I opened the newspaper, hoping it would distract me from my rolling stomach. My head pounded. The letters danced in front of my eyes. The chances were slim but at this point, all a girl like me could do was hope.
I browsed through the classifieds. All the jobs that had money worth working for needed the education I was still in the process of getting. All the other jobs - waitressing, cleaning, tutoring - didn't pay nearly enough to make it worth my time or my degree. I closed my eyes and opened then again. Bad idea with the bus swaying from side to side.
I paged through the rest of the newspaper. On the page with the Homosexual and Adult Services ads, something caught my eye. Buried between the Immorals was an ad for a Surrogate Mother. Someone needed a belly to breed a baby in. The payment? Fifty thousand dollars.
Exactly what I needed.
How long would I have to stay away from my mom for, nine months? I only saw her every six months as it was to save on traveling costs. If I skipped once I could have the baby and be done when I finally went back home. Mama would never have to know.
I looked at the ad again. A surrogate mother. The truth was, I’d done worse.
Mark
I had both hands on the steering wheel to ground myself. Marina sat next to me, fussing with her shirt. I glanced at her. Her blond hair fell in a curtain and I couldn't see her face.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
She turned her head and I knew I would see her face now if I looked. I didn't look. I knew what her face would look like. Lately, she'd been looking at me with this unbelieving expression.
"We talked about this, Mark. We can't just turn around and go home now. The interview is set up. Do you want to leave her hanging?"
I shook my head. My knuckles were turning white. God forbid I should leave someone else hanging. Marina was getting what she wanted. This woman we were going to meet, the one that was supposed to carry my baby, was getting what she wanted. What about me? Was I going to get what I wanted?
Marina had always wanted a child. It was one of the things on her to-do list when we got married. It hadn't bothered me then that she had this list, that she had a timeline. It should have. I should have asked her if I could see the list and checked if I was on par with her.
The house had been fine when we'd bought it but she'd needed an interior decorator to redo the whole thing. Why hadn't we just bought somewhere else if she was unhappy? When I'd asked her she'd told me it wasn't her fault I didn't care what other people thought of us. I didn't understand why it mattered when we were happy. Maybe that was what she meant.
When I had the opportunity for a raise but it would take me away from her, she'd urged me to do it. We would just grow sick of each other if we spent the rest of our lives in each other's personal space. I thought that was the point of marriage. She was happy being the housewife while I slaved at the
office. Maybe it helped that my PA was too old to be attractive. Maybe Marina knew that I would always come home to her no matter how many reasons she gave me not to.
"You have to take Seventh," Marina said. She fussed with her blouse again.
"You look fine."
"I look old."
I frowned and looked at her. I was forty. She was four years younger. We'd been married for nine years. I was sure she'd married me for my money but I'd never asked. It would have been rude. The doctor had said it wasn't due to her age she couldn't fall pregnant. She blamed me for waiting too long.
I wasn't sure if she understood that I wasn't ready to be a father. The same way I hadn't been ready to be a husband when she'd put forward an ultimatum. We'd been dating for three years at that point. Marriage or breakup. That was it for me.
I hadn't wanted to lose her. Too often I wondered how my life would have been if I'd chosen myself over her instead.
I'd grown used to being a husband. Maybe I would grow used to being a father, too.
We parked in front of the St. Joseph Hospital and got out of the car. I tugged on my tie. Marina's heels clacked on the tarmac and then on the linoleum as we walked into the building. The air inside the hospital was cool. It smelled clinical. Doctor Kamal was in his office when he arrived and he smiled, his teeth white against his coffee colored skin.
"She's ready for you," he said in his American accent that sounded out of place against his Indian appearance. He gestured toward the room where we were going to conduct the interview and Marina walked first, all business. We were talking about the body that would host her baby - our baby - after all.
She was a slight thing, with big brown eyes and even bigger hair and a caramel colored skin. Her lips were a pinkish red and stretched as she smiled. She looked young, healthy, fit. The right kind of body for a baby. Not like Marina's who was patched up with makeup to hide the wrinkles, who had had two plastic surgeries on her breasts to make her body seem as young as she wanted to feel.
"Camille Tyson?" Marina asked. The girl nodded. "We're the Owens. I'm Marina, and this is my husband, Mark."
I held out a hand and Camille took it. Her skin was soft and warm. She wore jeans so tight it looked painted on and a loose shirt that had settled around her breasts, outlining her body. Hourglass figure. Narrow waist. Upright. None of that mattered.
We sat down on opposite sides of the coffee table that was littered with maternity magazines. One was open. Camille had been reading.
"Do you understand what we're expecting of you?" Marina asked. She spoke to Camille like she was a child. Camille nodded.
"Carry the baby to term."
"Our baby," Marina emphasized. Camille nodded. She didn't look like the kind of person that could do with a baby of her own right now. I knew exactly how she felt.
"All your expenses will be paid for the duration of the pregnancy," I said. Marina glanced at me. We hadn't discussed this but I'd decided it for myself. Marina did her best to spend as much as she could of it, but in the end, it was still my money. An expression flicked over Camille's face when I said it but it was too quick for me to read.
"How long do you need to think about this?" Marina took out her handheld and poised the stylus. "We are in a bit of a hurry, you can imagine."
She was in a hurry. I wished she would stop saying we and us like this was something I'd been dreaming of feverishly.
"I don't need to think about this." Camille looked from Marina to me and back. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown. The kind that reminded me of varnished wood, dark, rich.
"You're sure?"
She nodded. "I'm ready to go when you are."
Marina looked at me and there was pure happiness in her eyes. I couldn't remember when last she'd looked at me like that. Her eyes seemed a brighter green than usual and for a second I thought that maybe, just maybe, this would be a turning point for us. Maybe this would be the impossible miracle to save us rather than the spiral of despair I'd come to see it as.
We got up, said our goodbyes and waited in the interview room until Camille left.
"She's very tan," Marina said when we were alone.
"Does that matter? Our baby will have our genes. It's not necessary to discriminate."
"She's young, too."
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe it will work, then."
The quip was unnecessary and I regretted it the moment I said it, but it was too late to take it back. I would man up and mean it. I wasn't going to grovel. Marina's face was an expressionless blank and when Doctor Kamal cleared his throat in the door we both plastered our perfect smiles on and walked into his office.
"I have more interviews set up for you," he said.
"That's not necessary." I was the one that spoke up. Marina had opened her mouth to say something, maybe she wanted to see more girls. I was happy with Camille. "We want Camille."
See, I could do we and us when Marina didn't want it, too. She glared at me but I ignored her.
"She's ready to start, so all that's left is to set a date."
Doctor Kamal nodded. He glanced at Marina but she was pouting like a child. She would sulk before the rest of the day and if I didn't do something special for her we would fight. We could go out for dinner later, blow a grand. She would forget. If I threw money at her everything was right with the world. I wondered when I'd stopped seeing that as a problem. Maybe when that had gotten easier than trying to argue with her.
"I'll have to do a couple of tests, do some checkups on all of you, and then we can start harvesting."
He made it sound terrible, like were crops and we were ready for picking. That was how it would work, though. My side would be easy - a cup and a porn magazine. Marina's would be more invasive. I was glad she was the woman.
"I'll phone you and let you know a date. I have to congratulate you on this, though, Mr. and Mrs. Owen. The next step is parenthood."
He smiled. We smiled. None of us meant it. I wondered if he knew how worried I was. Maybe he just knew how hard life with Marina would be for the next couple of days. Maybe he was just using a business smile and he didn't care about me and my personal life at all.
Either way, this was happening. Smile and wave.
Camille
I had an appointment with the doctor. Three weeks and it hadn't really sunk in. I was sure it would only happen when the baby was inside of me. I was doing this for Mama. She deserved this from me, even if she didn't know about it.
St. Joseph hospital was big and intimidating. It was a labyrinth of sick people and science and I didn't feel like I belonged. I was scheduled for a checkup with the Doctor Kamal that the Owens were using for the surrogacy. He was nice enough but it made me nervous. I'd only ever gone to female gynecologists.
When I finally found his office Mark Owen leaned against the wall. His eyes were closed and he looked tired. Gray had started creeping up his brown sideburns and when he opened his eyes he looked like he'd been far away.
"Sorry," I said, not knowing what I was apologizing for. He shook his head and smiled. It looked like the smile had fought through a lot of unhappiness before it surfaced.
"Don't be. I was just waiting to talk to Doctor Kamal, I don't have an appointment. Are you here for your checkup?"
I nodded. I was aware of what I'd chosen to wear. Cutoff jeans, a shirt that showed my stomach. I would have dressed differently if I'd known he would be here.
"Can I ask you a question?"
When people started their sentence with that I always tried to brace myself. Usually, it meant they were going to get personal. I nodded. I was curious now that he'd posed the question.
"Do you feel forced into this? Because if you do you need only to give the word and you'll be released from the contract. It's early enough. The moment you're pregnant..."
I knew what he was asking me. I had the feeling he wasn't asking me because he thought I felt stuck, though. I had been on board with this from the start. Of course, I had been forced
into this situation through my own stupidity but that was beside the point.
"I'm perfectly happy to continue," I said. His eyes searched my face for a moment like he wanted to be sure I wasn't lying, and then he nodded.
"Good. I'm glad." We stood side by side in silence for a while. He looked at me again. "Are you still studying?"
I nodded. "Finance. I just started Third Year. One more year to go."
He nodded. There was silence again. I cleared my throat.
"What do you do?"
"I own a string of investment businesses. It's passive income, really. I worked hard when I was younger but now it's really just about managing it."
I nodded. "That sounds like the way to go." I'd noticed his suit and her clothes at the interview. Her earrings had had gems in them. I'd been sure they were the real deal. She'd had a ring on her finger with a diamond so big I would be nervous to walk around in public with it. I hadn't seen their car but I was sure it was a fancy one. These people had a lot of money. I wondered what it would be like to live a life where money was never an object.
"It's better than having to work my fingers to the bone every day," Mark agreed.
"You and Marina can spend a lot of time together, then."
He sighed. "When the baby arrives I expect she'll be too busy for that."
That didn't sound very cheerful. I carefully pushed forward. I never knew when to stop.
"You'll have time together as new parents, that's always fun."
He looked at me and his eyes were sad even though his face was kind and businesslike. His poker face, I thought.
"She's really the one who wants the baby. I'm not sure I'm ready to be a father and I'm sure she'll end up hiring a nanny, anyway. I can't imagine she'll give up her precious time to plod around with a child."
That didn't make a lot of sense. "You're not happy about having a baby?"
He shook his head. "It's not that I won't love the child, but I don't know how to adjust our lifestyle and I believe it's wrong to let a stranger raise him or her. Marina loves the idea of being a mother. I'm not sure if the practicality of it will appeal to it. And I don't know if I have what it takes to be a father in the true sense of the word. I know what it's like to have someone around that helped with the reproduction process - as my father did - but I want to be able to be there morally, emotionally."
