“We’ll make sure you’re happy at Pulse.” He laid the folder he’d held during their discussion on the desk and flipped it open. “How would you like to do this story?”
Erika saw photos of babies and her heart stopped.
She bent down to look at the copy. “Making the Perfect Baby: The New World of Genetic Manipulation,” she read and looked at him.
He smiled. “I knew that would get your attention. You always loved the combination of science and human interest. Cover story with your name on the front. That’s the kind of story that could win awards. Rock the world.”
Gazing at the photos of the beautiful sweet faces of the babies, she swallowed over the lump in her throat. Did he know how much she wanted a baby? How could he know? They’d never discussed it.
She took a shallow breath and forced herself to smile. “Very tempting, but I’ve given you my answer.”
He paused just a second, as if she’d surprised him. “Okay. You don’t mind looking over the story and giving me your thoughts, do you? Think about it and I’ll drop by on Wednesday.”
The trendy new cocktail bar, the Randy Martini, was packed with twenty- and thirty-something Manhattanites testing the wild, extensive menu of over a hundred martinis. It took two and a half martinis for Erika’s best friends, Jessica and Paula, to get Erika to confess what had her so distracted. “I want to have a baby and my gynecologist told me I need to do it soon or maybe not at all.”
“That stinks,” Jessica said and patted Erika’s hand.
“Maybe you could get a dog or a cat,” Paula suggested.
Erika shook her head. “I want a baby, not a canine or feline.”
Paula lifted her own martini in salute. “You might change your mind when the kid hits puberty or when you start shelling out the green for college.”
Erika shook her head again. “Even though I’ve been career-oriented, I always knew I wanted to have a child.”
“You could wait until you find Mr. Right and try adopting, although I hear that can take forever,” Jessica said. “Any Mr. Rights on the horizon?”
An image of Gannon slipped into her mind. She immediately stamped it out. “No.”
Jessica made a face. “I guess you could go the insemination route.”
Paula looked horrified. “Get pregnant without being able to blame it on a man for the rest of your life?”
“It could be fun,” Jessica said.
“For whom?” Paula asked. “Erika grows to the size of a beached whale, then gives birth to something that looks like a screaming pink alien.”
“You have no maternal instincts,” Jessica said. “It could be fun for you and me. We could throw her a shower and go to those labor classes with her. We could even go in the delivery room with her.”
“Speak for yourself,” Paula said.
“And we could be aunties,” Jessica said with a smile. “I’m liking this idea. I’ll even go with you to a sperm clinic, Erika.”
“I hadn’t considered anonymous insemination,” Erika said. “I have this fear that they would give me the wrong vial and I’d end up with a crazy man’s sperm.”
“They probably toss the crazy sperm,” Jessica said.
“But how do you know what you’re getting?” Erika mused.
“You don’t,” Paula said. “Unless you do a genetic study or at least get a look at all the guy’s siblings and parents … and aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents.”
Erika thought of the Elliotts. Now that was an awesome gene pool. “It would be great if I could choose.”
“Yeah,” Jessica said as she sipped her drink. “We could start with that blond guy by the bar with the buff bod.”
“And what if he’s dumb as a bag of hair?” Paula asked.
“We can put intelligence on the list, but that guy looks good enough that he could make millions by being a model and then retire in leisure.”
“What list?” Erika asked, feeling a little blurry from the alcohol.
“We’re making a list of sperm-donor requirements. Play along,” Jessica said firmly. She pulled a pen from her purse and shook the dampness out of a cocktail napkin. “We’re doing this for the sake of your future child.”
“I would want intelligence,” Erika said, allowing herself to be drawn into the ridiculous discussion. “Good looks aren’t enough.”
“I agree,” Paula said. “And no terrible diseases or addictions.”
“Excellent points,” Erika said.
“You’ve already got the height factor covered,” Jessica said.
“No shrimps,” Paula interjected. “He doesn’t need to be the height of a pro basketball player, but definitely over six feet, right?”
“Right,” Erika agreed. “And a sense of humor. Is that genetic?”
“Lack of it can be,” Paula said and waved for the waiter. “Three death-by-chocolate martinis.”
“Chocolate?” Erika echoed. “I’m on my third.”
“No meal is complete without chocolate,” Paula said.
“I didn’t think martinis constituted a meal,” Erika said.
“Sure they do,” she said, pointing to her glass. “Celery’s a vegetable, isn’t it? Cream cheese inside the olive counts as protein, and appletini provides the fruit.”
“Back to the list,” Jessica prompted. “Do you have a strong preference for hair or eye color?”
“No back hair,” Paula said.
“I’ll second that,” Erika said, amazed at how much this ridiculous conversation was reducing her stress level. “I prefer dark hair.”
“Eye color?”
“Green, if possible.” Why not go for the whole shebang, she thought.
“Okay,” Jessica said and nodded at the waiter as he delivered their chocolate martinis. “We have our assignment now. Each of us is to keep our eyes open for a father for Erika’s baby. A tall, intelligent man with dark hair and green eyes. Healthy, no addictions. He must have a sense of humor.”
“And what are we supposed to do once we find this specimen?” Paula asked.
“That’s easy,” Jessica said with a scoff. “Ask him to donate some sperm to Erika.”
Erika
