“You wouldn’t know what to do, if you had to spend a night all alone with me, lover boy.”
“For starters, I’d hose you down and put a bag over your head.”
“You’d have to. I’d die laughing otherwise.” Already, the two of them were off and running, Teri thought to herself, as she headed for the storeroom, where she kept a spare uniform in the rusty locker that stood in the far corner. Behind the stacked cartons of canned stringed beans and applesauce, she slipped out of her dress and wondered if Teri really believed she was seeing a man. If so, it was only because Teri’s mind naturally gravitated in that direction. In her view, behind every door, under every bed, at the center of every secret day dream lurked a handsome stud in form-fitting jeans.
Hannah knotted the frilly brown apron behind her back and was glad to see, when she returned to the diner, that business had picked up. It was like that sometimes. Nobody for an hour, then all of a sudden the place was hopping. That meant that Teri wouldn’t hound her any more about the afternoon’s activities. She was a good soul and meant no harm, but she didn’t always know when to stop. Like her banter with Bobby.
Before long, Hannah was caught up in the bustle, predictable and oddly reassuring. Two meat loaf specials, heavy on the gravy, for the truckers in the side booth. Fried chicken - “breasts, not drumsticks, please” - for Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley, the elderly retired couple who ordered fried chicken every time and never failed to add the qualifying instructions. Customers called out loudly for a cup of coffee or a refill or a check. Hannah welcomed the activity, which made the time pass faster.
Teri brushed by her, going the other way, laden down with a platter of double-decker burgers and fried onion rings. “I don’t know about you,” she managed to mutter, “but these tootsies of mine are screaming for a week on the beach at Lauderdale. Maybe the three of us can go - you, me and your mystery man.”
It wasn’t until 9:03 by the “Time for a Bud” clock over the door that the first lull set in. The next wave would come in another forty-five minutes or so when the shows at the Cineplex let out. Hannah heard her name being called and scanned the remaining diners, lingering over dirty dishes, to see where it was coming from. Bobby was standing by the cash register, jiggling the telephone receiver in the air.
“For you,” he shouted.
Hannah wiped her hands on her apron and took the receiver from him.
“Is this Hannah Manning?”
“Yes.”
“This is Mrs. Greene from Partners in Parenthood. Am I calling at a bad time?”
“Oh, no. Business has slowed down for a while.”
“Good. Because I wanted to tell you it was terrific meeting you today.”
“It was very nice meeting you, too, Mrs. Greene.”
“Well, I just think you are a very special young lady. The sort of woman we welcome with open arms at Partners in Parenthood.”
Hannah felt a surge of relief wash over her. “I’m so glad. I mean, I didn’t mean to go on and on like that about my parents. I don’t know why—”
“Don’t give it a second thought,” Mrs. Green interrupted. “We were getting to know one another, remember? Anyway, let me come right to the point. As soon as you left, I sat there for a while, all by myself, thinking and going through the files of the couples I’ve been working with. I rely a lot of intuition, you know, and something told me that this one couple might be a perfect match.”
Hannah gulped and asked herself if she had heard correctly. She’d been back from Boston for barely four hours. Part of her, the part that saw all the beaten-down housewives in the supermarket and drove by their drab homes every day, said that the news was too good to be true. Nothing would come of it, because nothing came of anything in Fall River. But here Mrs. Greene was calling to say she actually had a match in mind. Not just a match, a perfect match.
“Are you there, Hannah?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She noticed Teri wiping down a nearby table long after it was clean, just so she wouldn’t have to move out of earshot.
“Is it a difficult to talk where you are?” asked Mrs. Greene.
“Just a little.”
“Then I’ll make this as quick as I can. I’d really like you to meet this couple, Hannah. I can fill you in on them later. For now, let me say that they’ve been very picky about the surrogate mother they’re looking for. But they’re nice, sincere people, who view this relationship very seriously. And I can’t discount that intuition of mine…well, do you think you’d be interested in meeting them?”
“What about the other things we talked about?”
“What other things?”
“Um …” She looked over at Teri, who had now decided to wipe down the red vinyl seats. The snoop! “The other…steps.”
“Oh, you mean the medical tests and all that.”
“Yes.”
“They’ll still have to be done. Unless you’ve changed your mind for some reason or other.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Good! I hoped as much. Because I just hung up from talking with them. The long and the short of it is that they can’t wait to meet you. ‘The sooner, the better,’ they said. How is tomorrow for you?”
“I’m working lunch tomorrow.”
“After work then. You tell me the time.”
“Well, I work a double, actually.”
“I beg pardon.”
“Two shifts. Lunch and dinner. I come in at 11 so I won’t be through till about midnight.”
“My, my. Well at least we know you’ve got stamina!” Letitia Greene laughed gaily. “Why don’t you tell me what day is good for you?”
“Friday’s possible.”
“Two o’clock, say?”
“Two o’clock on Friday is fine.”
“Very well, then. We’ll meet right here in the office on Revere Street. You won’t get lost this time?”
“Oh, no. I remember the way.”
She had barely put the phone back on the cradle, when she sensed Teri standing behind her. She turned to see the older waitress nodding her head knowingly.
“So the guy couldn’t even let twenty four hours go by without making another date?”
Hannah started to correct her, then thought better of it. The best way to keep Teri quiet was to tell her what she wanted to hear. Besides, if things worked out with Partners in Parenthood, she was going to have to get used to telling a few white lies now and then. “You’re right,” she answered, looking away. “He said he can’t live a single day without me.”
“Good for you, doll,” Teri cheered. “It’s about time.”
1:8
For Hannah, Friday was a long time coming. The hours at times seemed to crawl by and she did her job at the Blue Dawn Diner in a trance. Teri, drawing on a wealth of personal experience, naturally ascribed Hannah’s preoccupied state to the nascent love affair and constantly passed on helpful advice about men and how to keep them interested without “giving away the store,” as she put it. Hannah played along with the charade.
She went through three outfits on Friday morning, before settling on a tweed skirt, white blouse and tan cardigan. An Arctic front had blown in during the night, and she would have been more comfortable in pants and a sweater, especially since the heater in the Nova was functioning badly. But the skirt and cardigan were more appropriate - in good taste, but casual, too, so it didn’t look as if she was trying too hard to impress.
She brushed a few strokes of blusher on her cheekbones and darkened her lashes with a hint of mascara, and by 12:15 judged the results in the dresser mirror satisfactory, or at least as satisfactory as they were going to get. That left her an hour for the drive to Boston, with a forty-five minute cushion in case the traffic was heavy or she had trouble locating a parking place.
On the way, Hannah concentrated on the questions she had for Mrs. Greene. How long would an in vitro procedure take? Was it painful? Did it have to be done more than once? Were there any legal documents involved? Piles
of them, probably. And when did the monthly payments begin?
Strangely enough, she had no fears about carrying a child. She had an innate trust that her body would know what to do. Anyway, there would be doctors involved, watching over her so nothing would go wrong. There was just one thing. She wasn’t particularly experienced in sex. As the car threaded in and out of traffic, she wondered how much it mattered.
What if Partners in Parenthood wanted someone more…skilled? She had a moment of panic. Maybe Mrs. Greene would consider her too big a risk, if she knew the truth.
The fears built steadily in her mind, so that by the time she stood outside the door of Partners in Parenthood, she was momentarily paralyzed. For a while, she stared at the brass plaque on which were engraved the initials P.I.P. in fancy script. Unable to bring herself to walk right in, she looked around the landing and tried to marshal her courage. The only other office belonged to a lawyer. The glass in the door was the old-fashioned kind that had chicken wire embedded in it - to prevent breakage or discourage robberies. Gene P. Rosenblatt, attorney at law, read the black letters stenciled on the glass, but the paint was so chipped and flaking that she doubted he was still alive and practicing.
She turned back to the PIP plaque, took a deep breath and opened the door.
Letitia Greene was seated at her rosewood desk, busying herself with several pastel-colored folders. “Just finishing up a few details,” she called out, with a cheerful smile.
“Let me file these papers away. I was about to brew myself a pot of tea. Can I get you a cup? You must be a block of ice.” She stood up and disappeared through a door in the corner, which seemed to open onto a back room. Hannah didn’t recall that from before.
Hannah removed her coat and hung it on a metal coat tree by the main door, then checked out her appearance in the mirror. Her hair was a little wind-blown, but the outfit was suitable. It made her look like a college student.
“Here we are.” Mrs. Greene backed carefully through the door, a cup and saucer in each hand. Hannah sat down in front of the rosewood desk, took the cup that was offered her and rested it delicately on her lap.
“I told the Whitfields 2:30. I figured that would give us a little time to chat, run over a few things before you meet them.”
Hannah started to raise the cup to her lips, but afraid it might spill, promptly put it back on her lap. “I’m guess I’m a little nervous today.”
“No need to be. The Whitfields are really a very nice couple. Been married for twenty years. They’ve tried just about every procedure known to science and, well, nothing. I’m afraid she had bad fibroids.”
Hannah’s blank look prompted an explanation. “You know, tumors on the wall of the uterus. They’re perfectly benign, but the first time they were removed, the wall of the uterus was damaged. She loses her pregnancies after five or six weeks, poor thing. I don’t mean to get quite so technical, but Mrs. Whitfield needs someone to carry her eggs for her, you might say. You’re their last hope.”
Letitia Greene blew on her tea to cool it and gingerly took a sip.
“I think you’ll like them. Their situation is a little delicate, which is why I wanted to speak to you beforehand. The thing to remember, as a potential surrogate, is that you are providing a service to those in need. I don’t know if you’ve talked to any other organizations?”
“Just yours.”
“Well, they’re all quite different. Some look upon surrogacy as a contract. Plain and simple. You are there to provide a child and that’s that. There’s no contact with the family at all. Other organizations are more concerned with the emotional and psychological needs of the surrogate mother. It’s all very tricky to get the right balance. That’s what I’m trying to do - find the balance. I believe that contact with the client family is necessary so that the parents can experience the joys of pregnancy, too. Of course, the danger there is that you, the surrogate mother, can grow attached to the family. After the delivery, you might expect that relationship to continue, when, in reality, it can’t. Everyone must get on with their lives. Go their separate ways. Do you see what I’m driving at?”
“Of course.”
“That’s very easy for you to say now, Hannah, because you haven’t spent months and months carrying someone else’s child.”
“Are you afraid I’d want to keep the baby?”
“Not you, I’m talking generally. There have been cases. Thankfully, none in this agency.”
“That would be a horrible thing to do.”
Mrs. Greene sighed in agreement. “Yes, it would. Horrible and cruel. Especially, in the Whitfields’ case.”
Hannah raised her eyebrows and waited for Mrs. Greene to elaborate.
“They’re talking about an in vitro fertilization and embryo transfer. The eggs would be retrieved from Mrs. Whitfield - she can still ovulate - and they would be combined with her husband’s sperm in the lab. The resulting embryos would be implanted in you. So, you see, the child wouldn’t even be related to you. It would be the Whitfields’ child from the very beginning. You’d just be the incubator. You do understand that?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Greene paused to make sure the point had sunk in. “Good! Well, just listen to me, rattling on and on. They should be here any minute. Perhaps you have some questions you’d like to ask me.”
Hannah placed the tea cup on the edge of the desk and shifted in her chair, not sure where to begin. She couldn’t keep the truth from Mrs. Greene much longer. “I didn’t expect it to be so easy,” she said with a jittery laugh.
“What do you mean by easy, dear?”
“Well, since you called me, you must think I’m qualified to do this?”
“If all the medical tests turn out fine, and we have no reason to presume they won’t.”
“I guess I thought that I’d have to pass an exam or something.”
Mrs. Greene smiled expansively. “Heavens, no. Having a baby is one of the few things these days that doesn’t require any training. If you’re healthy, the body does it for you. I always say there’s a reason God tucks babies inside the mother’s tummy. That way, we can’t get at it and mess it up, like we do so much in this world. We can help it along with technology, but birth still remains a miracle.”
“So it doesn’t matter if I don’t have any…”
“Any what, dear?”
“Experience.” All at once the words came tumbling out of Hannah’s mouth. “The last time, you asked me if I had any relationships. And I said, ‘yes.’ Well, I do. But not those kinds of relationships, if you know what I mean. Not sexual relationships. I probably should have told you right away, Mrs. Greene. I’m still a….”
“Yes, go on…”
“I’m still a virgin.”
Letitia Greene sucked in her breath audibly and a heavy silence filled the office. The tips of the woman’s fingers toyed with the silver necklace she’d also been wearing the last time. The charm that dangled from it swung back and forth like a hypnotist’s watch. Not wanting to see the disappointment in Mrs. Greene’s eyes, Hannah focused on the charm. It was unusual - a square cross, supported at the base by two winged angels on their knees.
“My, my, my,” Mrs. Greene finally clucked. “I’m very glad you told me that, Hannah. Now let me tell you something. “Whether or not you’ve had sex…isn’t important. Sex is an external genitalia issue. Pregnancy and ovulation are internal issues. Don’t confuse the two. The fact that you are sexually inexperienced has no bearing on your ability to carry a child.”
“Then you won’t disqualify me?”
Mrs. Greene looked startled, then let out a peal of laughter. But it was friendly laughter, not mocking, and after a while Hannah allowed herself to join in.
“Mercy me!” the woman said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. “Have you been fretting about that all this time? I would say, quite the contrary, it makes you very desirable. We won’t have to worry about all those nasty sexually transmit
ted diseases, will we? Oh, my dear, sweet child, trust me. This is all going to work out splendidly. Remember! My intuition!”
There was a knock at the door and Letitia Greene sat bolt upright, as if a jolt electricity were coursing through her body. For Hannah’s benefit, she lifted her hands in the air and crossed her fingers.
“The first meeting,” she whispered. “It’s a thrill every time.”
1:9
Hannah noticed the woman first and judged her to be in her mid-40s. Her skirt and blouse were ablaze with bright colors - reds, oranges, deep blues - and a purple loose-weave shawl, threaded with yellow, hugged her shoulders. Gold earrings that looked like nothing so much as miniature wind chimes dangled from her ears. Her hair was jet black. Her lipstick was brick-red and thick, and she had not stinted on the eyeliner, either. In principle, the effect should have been loud and garish, but the woman pulled it off with flair. Hannah found her dramatic.
The man, on the other hand, was older by ten years and dressed more conservatively in a dark pin-striped suit and a burgundy tie that suggested he was a corporate player or a banker. His features were pleasant, but unremarkable, except for the luxuriance of his salt-and-pepper hair, which gave him a distinguished air. Hannah wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he made shampoo commercials in his spare time.
They were unlike anybody she knew in Fall River, that was for sure: well-to-do, stylish, the kind of couple that her aunt, with the disdain the lower-middle-class reserved for those higher up the socio-economic ladder, called the “lah-de-dahs.”
Mrs. Greene jumped to her feet and welcomed them with outstretched hands. “Isn’t this exciting?” she said, then without waiting for an answer, stepped back, gestured proudly toward Hannah and announced, “Jolene and Marshall Whitfield, I’d like you to introduce you to Hannah Manning.”
Hannah stood up and extended a hand. Jolene took it gently in both of her hands, as if it were something easily crushed, an eggshell or the baby chick that had come out of it. “I’m delighted,” she said. “This is almost like a blind date, isn’t it? Marshall, come meet Hannah Manning.”
The Surrogate, The Sudarium Trilogy - Book one Page 4
