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“No!” Sarah covered her mouth again to hold her laughter in.
“Oh yes. The casket was closed, and they did not open it after that to see what had happened to him. But he would have said, ‘You should have left it open, and I would have gone flying! That’s showmanship.’?” As Sarah fought to stop giggling, Quentin reached across the car and poked her gently in the ribs. “All this can be yours now that you know you have allergies, too. You’re just joining the club. Did they tell you in the emergency room that you need venom therapy?”
“Something sinister like that was mentioned, yes.”
“It’s not bad,” he said. “They just give you a shot with a tiny bit of bee venom every few weeks, and increase the dose a little each time. Before long, you’re not allergic to bees anymore. That is, not fatally allergic. That is, if you don’t have an adverse reaction—”
“That is, spare me,” she said. “I saw your adrenaline shot with your asthma inhaler in my bag. So I’m covered for now. I’ll just stay out of Central Park.”
She stole another look at him, so handsome and relaxed, friendly green eyes taking everything in. She asked him, “Do you ever think about upping the profile of the foundation? Coming out of the asthma and allergy closet, so to speak? You could do a lot of good. Celebrities are always raising awareness by admitting that they have medical conditions.”
“I’ve been admitting it from the start,” he said. “All I got for my trouble was rumors about a co**ine addiction. And a multimillion-dollar recording contract.” He chuckled. “I’m not ruling it out, but I’m not too sure how it would go over at this point. You’re the PR expert. Picture this.” He struck a pose as if speaking into a camera. “Hi, I’m Quentin Cox of the Cheatin’ Hearts. You may know me for hit songs like ‘I Want a Leia’ and ‘Honky-tonk Hell.’ What you may not know is that shellfish gives me hives.” He laughed again. “Maybe after the sixth album.”
“Maybe after the Nationally Televised Holiday Concert Event,” she suggested. “Your profile will be much higher. I’ll even get you on a late-night talk show.” She reached over and patted his thigh encouragingly.
He put his warm hand over her hand.
They continued to chat. She wondered whether he had a hard time concentrating on the conversation, as she did. Her whole body centered on her hand touching his hand.
Finally the taxi dropped them off in front of Wendy and Daniel’s restored high-rise. As they waited for the doorman to call upstairs, she exclaimed, “Oh, man, I forgot all about their cat. Are you allergic to cats?”
“No!” he said, pointing at her and beaming.
“Congratulations. How about turtles?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
In the ride up the elevator, she thought to warn him, “Wendy looked okay when I left, but she claims she gained three hundred pounds in her last week of pregnancy. Expect the worst, Jabba the Hutt.” And by the time she knocked on the door of the loft, it had occurred to Sarah that she should have been warning Quentin about lots of things, a whole drive’s worth, but now she heard footsteps.
Daniel flung open the door and embraced her. Sarah was vaguely concerned about what Quentin might think, but Daniel’s muscles were tense. He needed this hug. She hugged him and rubbed his back.
Eventually, when he let her go, she examined him. He was handsome as ever, but he had dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t shaved, and Daniel never skipped shaving. She thought his dark hair might even be a little mussed, but her eyes could have been playing tricks on her. Finally she laughed. “You look tired.”
“You look—” Daniel began in the sexy British accent he slipped into when he was stressed. He shook his head at Quentin. “You didn’t see the before photo, but this is some makeover.”
“Shut up,” Sarah said, whacking his arm.
A baby’s high wail sounded closer and closer, and Wendy appeared in the doorway. “Make it stop!” she exclaimed.
Sarah took the baby. The others introduced themselves and baby Asher and herded her out of the foyer to sit on the couch in the living room, but she hardly noticed, lost in the baby who shared her birthday.
She made some attempts at amusing faces, because this was what she’d seen other people do with babies. Asher had his eyes squeezed shut to wail and couldn’t see her. Wendy and Daniel were talking to Sarah, telling her about Asher. She couldn’t hear anything they were saying over the wail.
Finally she said loudly, “At first I intended to tell you that he’s adorable and tiny, but the screaming is really what you notice.”
“He’s hungry,” Quentin said.
“Don’t even go there, cowboy,” Wendy said. “I just fed him. That’s pretty much all we do around here.”
“You look great,” Sarah told Wendy to draw her off Quentin. It was true. She looked puffy, for Wendy, but far from Jabba-sized.
“Tell me another,” Wendy said disdainfully. “This is Daniel’s shirt. I’m still in maternity pants. And if the grocery store has a rule against bedroom slippers, I’m in trouble.”
Sarah sympathetically examined Wendy’s swollen feet, then gasped in fear. “Where’s the baby?” She looked around frantically. Quentin was holding Asher and jiggling him in his arms. “Give me that!” she said. She took Asher back carefully. When he started wailing again, Sarah wondered whether Quentin was actually good at this.
“The baby’s hungry,” Quentin repeated.
“Stuff it,” Wendy said.
“Have you had help?” Sarah shouted. She didn’t want to yell and upset Asher further, but she wouldn’t be heard otherwise.
“I was sorry to see Daniel’s mother go,” Wendy said. “How sick is that?”
Sarah could barely hear Wendy over the screaming. She asked, “Isn’t this what pacifiers are for?”
“The Lactation League says you’re not supposed to use a pacifier or a bottle for the first month, because it results in nipple confusion.” Wendy relished the term. “The baby prefers the pacifier and the bottle and won’t go back to the breast. Personally, I think it is a front for a misogynist group making up terms like nipple confusion to thwart me.”
Sarah could tell that Quentin was about to have one of his laughing spells. He was holding his breath and turning red. He cast a wary glance at Daniel.
“And they want you to express the milk,” Wendy said. “Express it, like it’s going to flow gently out. There is no gentle flow here. If I spun around in circles, I’d look like a lawn sprinkler.”
Quentin snorted. He was about to lose it. Even cool Daniel looked taken aback. Sarah stifled a laugh of her own. This was part of what made their marriage work. After two years, Daniel still wasn’t used to Wendy.
Wendy went on, “And if your boobs hurt from this—shocking!—the Lactation League suggests that you slice up some cucumber and put it on your tits, or should I say teats? Can you believe this? As far as I’m concerned, there is only one thing a cucumber is good for—”
Sarah and Daniel were both shaking their heads gravely. Don’t make that joke.
Wendy finished, “—and that’s salad.”
Quentin exploded. He removed himself into the hallway, but his musical laugh rang out through the house.
Daniel, lips pressed together grimly, put his arm around Wendy, hugged her close, and put his hand over her mouth.
She looked up at him with pitiful blue eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled through his fingers.
“Really?” he asked.
“No.”
Quentin’s laughter only intensified as he reentered the room and witnessed this. Wiping his eyes, he said, “I don’t do this for just anybody, but I’m going to help y’all out. Give me the baby.”
Sarah shot Wendy a look of disbelief as Wendy motioned for her to give Quentin the baby.
“I don’t have a lot to lose at this point,” Wendy explained. “Child-rearing lessons from a childless bachelor? Sounds fine.”
Quentin took Asher. “When you’re trying to feed the baby,” he said, “you probably hold him across you, like this.”
Sarah protested again. “I can’t believe you’re going to take advice on breast-feeding from this—”
Wendy slapped Sarah’s knee and growled at her, “What the hell do you know, Pink? Go on, cowboy.”
“When there was nothing to do at the hospital, sometimes I hung out in the neonatal unit,” Quentin told Sarah self-righteously. She started forward and suppressed a scream of alarm as he gestured easily to the three of them with the arm holding Asher. “But there’s going to be trouble if it gets out that the lead singer of the Cheatin’ Hearts came to your house and held your baby up to his man-boob.”
Sarah laughed. Daniel laughed. Wendy laughed uproariously, because this was her brand of humor.
“Try holding the baby like a football—okay, you’ve never played football. This doesn’t mean anything to you. Hold the baby like you’d hold your purse if you were downtown, tucked under your arm, like this.” He laid Asher down with Wendy again. Then he turned to Daniel and said, “Let’s go make some snacks.”
Daniel stared at him, uncomprehending. “What?”
Wendy patted Daniel’s knee. “Go with him, lovah, and you can have a man-chat while I nurse.”
“No, I really make snacks,” Quentin said at the same time Sarah said, “No, he really makes snacks.”
“Oh,” Daniel said, standing up slowly. “I thought it was some Southern term for takeout on speed dial.” He followed Quentin into the kitchen.
Wendy unbuttoned her shirt and held Asher as Quentin had suggested. Asher latched on, and the wailing stopped instantly. Sarah’s ears rang in the silence.
“I think the baby was hungry,” Wendy said. She caught Sarah staring. “I scoff at your cleavage. You and that Erin chick don’t have anything on me.”
In her amazement at Wendy, Asher, and Quentin, Sarah had forgotten all about Erin. She should never forget Erin, she scolded herself.
Wendy gazed down at Asher. “It’s bizarre, isn’t it?”
“Let’s just say I’m glad you’re going first.”
“This is so great,” Wendy said. “Quiet. Contentment. You don’t understand what I’ve been through. Well, yes you do. Picture that screaming nonstop for seventy-two hours. I would feed him and feed him and feed him and take him off and he’d be screaming again in fifteen minutes. Poor baby! It’s so much easier on him now. I can feel it working better. What’s up with your boyfriend the lactation consultant?”
“Hell if I know. He also plays bridge and speaks Hindi.”
“Nice piece of ass, too.”
Sarah grinned. “We shouldn’t curse around the baby.”
“Oh yeah, the baby,” Wendy said. She looked down at Asher again and smiled serenely. “Sometimes when I hold him, the most wonderful, peaceful feeling comes over me, like in a made-for-TV movie on the Lifetime channel. But then . . . I don’t know. I feel like I’m a milk machine and there’s nothing left of what I used to be.”
Wendy seemed the same to Sarah. “Tell me about the breast-feeding. Do you feel orgasmic, like we read in the Lactation League book?”
“Not so much orgasmic. More nauseated.”
“Really,” Sarah said, disappointed. “Well, it’s only day four.”
“It’s day four,” Wendy agreed, much calmer now that the baby was calm. “Enough about me and my life-altering event. What about you? Have you had word from the unsinkable Mr. Fawn?”
Sarah flared her nostrils in distaste. “He’s supposed to drop off some papers at my apartment.”
“Aw, I think it’s so sweet the dickhead wants you back. He called here yesterday to find out whether you were coming to town to see the baby. And oh yeah, by the way, to wish me joy. This new cowboy is infinitely more fun. He’s so cheerful.”
“Like Ernie on Sesame Street.”
“No, not like that at all.” Wendy stroked Asher’s hair absently, motherly. “I got a call from Archie just now. Stargazer’s very pleased to hear you got the Cheatin’ Hearts’ album out of them. You’re off the hook for the Nine Lives fiasco, as long as you don’t screw anything else up.”
“There’s the rub.”
“I also got a call from one of my contacts at Manhattan Music. He said your cowboy propositioned an old lady down in Payroll, then stood on a desk and serenaded a girl in Foreign Rights.”
Sarah swallowed. “Oh, I hadn’t heard that. We did lose track of him for a while.”
“Was he—” Wendy touched her nose: co**ine.
Sarah shook her head. “No, he’s just like that. Get this. The Cheatin’ Hearts were telling the truth about him all along. He’s really not a drug addict.”
Wendy looked at her skeptically.
“That’s what I thought at first.” Sarah nodded. “We have no further comment.” This was Sarah and Wendy’s code phrase for I have to keep my act’s secrets, but I will dish everything when we turn fifty.
Wendy’s eyes widened. “Then what’s stopping you? You get some, do you understand me? Get some for me—indeed, for sexless new mothers everywhere!” The passion was intact, but the loud voice and wild gestures she normally would have used were toned down out of deference to Asher. Even their boss, Archie, hadn’t been able to make Wendy stop shouting in the office. This was to be the first of the baby’s many amazing feats.
