Concluding her formal remarks, she thanked everyone for their concern and involvement and invited questions. In an instant the audience, which had seemed indifferent and half asleep, became a kelp forest of waving arms and hands. Sarah glanced over at Paris to see if he wanted to step up beside her and choose. But the CEO just smiled and winked. She shrugged, turned back to the forest, and pointed.
“Do you honestly think your acupuncture and Lisa Summer’s imaging of her blood cells stopped her bleeding?”
Of course I do, you idiot!
“I believe strongly that they were two of the factors. As I said, there were other efforts going on at the same time.”
“Have you ever stopped someone’s bleeding with your techniques before?”
Perhaps if you tried your very hardest, ma’am, you could sound even more patronizing.
“Not specifically. But I have assisted on several operations in which only acupuncture anesthesia was used. Each time, the amount of bleeding was impressively minimal.”
“Tell us more about your background. You mentioned working in a holistic healing center. Where was that?”
Glenn, is it time yet?
“Right here in Boston. It was called the Ettinger Institute.”
Annalee! In disbelief, Sarah stared across the audience at the woman in the last row. Annalee Ettinger smiled and waved. It had been seven years since Sarah had seen the girl Peter had brought home from Mali as a child and subsequently adopted. But time was hardly the reason that recognition had come so slowly. When Sarah moved out of their Back Bay condominium, Annalee had been a dear and interesting fifteen-year-old. But she was also painfully shy and markedly overweight. Her transformation was miraculous. Her face, with its wonderfully high cheekbones, seemed almost sculpted.
Sarah’s gaze shifted to her long enough to confirm that the connection had been made. Annalee smiled and nodded.
“Ettinger,” the questioner went on. “Is that the same Ettinger who does those programs on TV for that diet powder?”
“I—I really don’t know,” Sarah said. “Outside of catching Jeopardy! once in a while in the on call room, I almost never have time to watch television. And I haven’t been in touch with Mr. Ettinger in many years.”
“It is,” a woman called out. “It is the same man, I’m taking that stuff of his and I’ve already dropped thirty pounds. It’s fantastic.”
The audience laughed roundly, and Sarah knew that she had lost control of the session. Glenn Paris quickly stepped to the podium.
“Dr. Baldwin, thank you very much,” he said.
He motioned her to her seat and led the audience in applause. Perhaps it was the somewhat controversial nature of her presentation, perhaps the lack of a crisp, definitive closing; whatever the reason, Sarah felt that the audience reaction to her was polite but hardly enthusiastic. If Snyder got the tens of thousands of dollars in prize money and the chance to return tomorrow to defend his championship, and Blankenship got the home entertainment center, she had just won best wishes and a Jeopardy! board game.
Oblivious to the supportive whispers from Blankenship and Snyder, Sarah focused on a spot of floor next to Glenn Paris’s shoes, waiting for the words that would send everyone home. Her performance had been far from stunning, but not a disaster. Best of all, it was over. Now there were questions—seven years’ worth—occupying her thoughts. And the answers to them all were as close as Annalee Ettinger.
Glenn Paris ended the session with the promise to keep the public informed of any developments. Immediately, a number of reporters rushed onto the stage, rudely jostling one another as they jockeyed for position around the speakers. Concerned about the delay, Sarah made eye contact with Annalee, who assured her with a dismissive gesture that she was in no hurry.
Finally the gaggle of questioners began to disperse. Sarah accepted a pat on the back from Paris and was about to leave him when an older woman approached, a leather portfolio tucked beneath one arm. Sarah had noticed her standing at the back of the auditorium throughout the conference. She was quite unimposing—five feet four or so—conservatively dressed in a straight, dark skirt and blazer. Her short, carefully permed hair was an equal mix of brown and gray. And although her face had a pleasant, peaceful quality, her features were nearly lost behind round, oversized tortoiseshell spectacles. In her survey of the crowd, Sarah had cast the woman as a grandmother from the community, too self-conscious to work her way past people and into a seat.
“Dr. Baldwin, Mr. Paris,” she said, “my name is Rosa Suarez.”
Her pronunciation of her name was distinctly Latin.
“Yes, Mrs. Suarez,” Paris said, unable to cull the hint of impatience from his voice. “What can we do for you?”
The woman smiled patiently. “That man from the Centers for Disease Control about whom you spoke—the top-notch epidemiologist you were promised?”
“Yes,” Paris said. “Yes, what about him?”
“Well, I am he.”
CHAPTER 11
THE PARK, A SANDY OASIS WITH A FEW SLATTED BENCHES and some well-worn playground equipment, was located several blocks from the MCB. Sarah signed out to one of the other residents and walked there with the woman who had once very nearly become her stepdaughter. But this Annalee Ettinger—slender, self-assured, and surprisingly worldly—bore little resemblance to the shy, rotund girl Sarah had once tried so hard to befriend. From the first tentative minutes of their conversation, Sarah felt a stronger connection between them than at any time when Peter was part of the equation.
“I wrote you from med school,” Sarah said, as they settled on one of the benches. “Two or three times. You never answered.”
Annalee nodded.
“I know,” she said. “About a year or so after you left, I was looking for something in my father’s desk, and I found one of your letters. It didn’t have an envelope or a return address. I made a copy of it and kept that. But I never confronted my father about it. I was a self-centered little tub back then, and pretty wrapped up in myself and my problems. Perhaps I should have pushed things and tried to get back to you. But whatever your reasons, you had left us. I guess it really didn’t matter enough to me at that time to pursue it.”
Her voice was deep and melodic, her nails perfectly manicured and polished a high-gloss crimson. If as a teen she was often silly, self-absorbed, and immature, she now projected a maturity well beyond her years.
“I’m sorry for leaving the way I did,” Sarah said. “I was so angry. Still, I can’t imagine Peter doing something like keeping my letters from you.”
“He was very hurt and angry when you walked out on us. So was I for that matter—at least until I found that letter.” She slid a pack of Virginia Slims from her purse. Her gold and silver bangles—eight or ten on each wrist—jangled as she tapped one out. “I don’t suppose you smoke.”
“Not for years.”
“Good. Good for you.” She lit up and inhaled deeply through her nose and mouth.
“I tried to explain the reasons I left in one of my letters to you,” Sarah said. “God, I shudder to think what version of the story you must have gotten.”
“My father’s a marvelous man, but he does have his faults. Holding grudges is one of them. Did you know that he got married a year or so after you left? A revenge marriage if ever there was one. She was quite a looker in a WASPy kind of way, and from a big-bucks family that probably came over on the Mayflower. I’m surprised he didn’t send you an invitation.”
“Very funny. Listen, Annalee, things happen the way they’re supposed to happen. I really believe that. Ninety-five percent of what your father was I loved. But the other five percent involved big-league stuff that I just couldn’t see having to live with for the rest of my life. And I didn’t believe there was much chance that those particular things would change. I think it’s terrific that he got married.”
“Well, I don’t believe he shares your opinion, Doc. The marriage only lasted a year.”
“Oh, I see. Did you get along with her?”
“Considering that I was probably the first black woman Carole had ever been near who didn’t work for her, I guess we did okay. I didn’t see her much, really. A short time after you left, Peter shipped me off to boarding school. That was another reason I never got around to trying to find you. I was so messed up. Sending me off to school may have been the right idea, but his timing was lousy. I think when he brought me home with him from Mali, he expected I’d become someone other than what I was turning out to be—a college professor or concert musician or something. Anyhow, being away at Miss Whatzername’s the way I was, it seemed to me like one minute ol’ Carole was there, the next, poof.”
“And when did he close the institute?”
“Not too long after all that. We lived in Boston for a while longer, then his Xanadu thing actually began to happen.”
“Ah, Peter’s dream,” Sarah said. “I knew he’d pull it off someday.”
Xanadu—the first of what would eventually be a chain of upscale residential communities centered about the principles of living a long and healthy life through diet, exercise, seasonal routines, stress management, and holistic medicine. Peter had spoken about his ambitious concept the day they first met, and they had spent countless hours discussing and dissecting it during their years together.
At the time of their breakup, he had begun looking for available land and investors and even had a glass-enclosed architect’s model of the prototype complex prominently displayed in the institute’s conference hall. The design of the homes, he insisted, would be strictly controlled. All construction would be in accordance with the ancient laws of health and harmony subscribed to by the Indian Ayurvedic healers.
“It’s beginning to happen in a pretty big way now,” Annalee said. “But the whole thing was touch and go for a while. At one point, Peter was even talking bankruptcy.”
“Well, what happened?”
“That powder happened, that’s what.”
“Powder?”
“The powder they were talking about at your conference. From what I can tell, it really saved his behind.” She laughed exuberantly. “Hey, that’s great, now that I think about it. That powder saves Peter’s ass and gets rid of mine. What a product.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Xanadu Ayurvedic Herbal Weight Loss System,” she said. “Why, woman, surely you have heard of it.”
“Not until today I haven’t. I was very confused when they started talking about it at the press conference and everyone in the place seemed to know what was going on except me.”
“That’s because everyone in the place except you did know what was going on. Most folks in the country for that matter. Why, Peter’s been on TV so much lately pushing that ol’ system of his, it’s a wonder he hasn’t been nominated for an Emmy. You don’t watch TV?”
“I don’t have time.”
Annalee stubbed out her cigarette and seconds later lit up another.
“Well,” she said, “he does these things called infomercials. They’re set up to look like real programs, half an hour long with guest stars and film clips and all—but what they really are is commercials. They run mostly in the off-hours—you know, late nights and Sunday mornings. And damn, are they beginning to bring in some bucks. Peter’s got charts all over the wall in his office showing the constant rise in sales. Since he started this campaign just a few months ago, it’s been phenomenal. And all of a sudden, the big bad wolf has backed away from the Xanadu door.”
“Does the powder actually work?” Sarah asked. “I’d be fascinated to know what herbs are in it.”
“Hell, yes, it works,” Annalee said. “Peter didn’t invent the mixture, though. This Indian doctor, Dr. Singh, did. He’s not an M.D., he’s an Ayurvedic doctor. I guess you know what that’s all about.”
“Ayurvedic medicine was being taught in India centuries before Hippocrates or Galen were born. There are some pretty solid reasons why it’s survived over all this time.”
“Well, Dr. Singh brought his powder to Peter a few years ago and offered him some sort of a partnership, I think. I’m not sure of the details, but I’m sure they included Peter’s acting as the spokesperson for the company. Dr. Singh seems very bright, but he isn’t exactly the most dynamic, photogenic critter I’ve ever seen. Have you heard of him?”
“No. No, I haven’t.”
“I don’t know much about him either. Anyhow, seeing as I had only tried one or two hundred different diets without much success, Peter asked me if I wanted to be his guinea pig and try the stuff out before he invested in it. The result?” She rose and spun around to give Sarah a look.
“Bravo. And you don’t have trouble staying on your diet?”
“What diet? Why, those of us who are into infomercials know that the Xanadu Ayurvedic Herbal Weight Loss System preaches no dieting, only moderation and avoidance of a few forbidden foods.”
“Let’s hear it for moderation,” Sarah cheered, delighting more every minute in the once-sullen girl.
“Here’s the best part,” Annalee went on. “In the beginning, when I first started the powder, I tried moderation and I lost weight. After a month or two, just because I am who I am, I tried eating like a piglet. And I still lost weight. That’s what really sold Peter. Now isn’t that something?”
Sarah rose and hugged her lovingly.
“It is that,” she said. She held Annalee by the shoulders and moved her back enough to focus on her face. “Annalee, I always thought you were pretty special and that problems or no problems, you had tremendous potential. I want you to know that I underestimated you. You have really become a wonderful, beautiful person.”
“Hey, thanks. You’re pretty special yourself. But you left a word out when you were describing me.”
“Let’s see, wonderful … beautiful”
“And pregnant.” Annalee read the shadow that crossed Sarah’s face. “And happy,” she added quickly. “Very happy. This baby’s being born come hell or high water, and if I have my way, you’re gonna deliver it.”
“Hey, that’s great. Thanks for asking me. I’ll have the chief of the department be our backup. Annalee, I’m really, really excited for you. Are you sure about the pregnancy?”
“Planned Parenthood did the test. Goodness, but those people are some of the best on earth. They guessed maybe four or five months more, but they couldn’t be certain without more tests. My periods have always been screwed up. That’s why I waited so long before even considering I might be pregnant.”
“Well, congratulations. I’ll check you over and maybe even get an ultrasound. Annalee, this is going to be fun.”
“I know it will. I was in the middle of deciding who to go and see when I read about you in the papers. Then I heard about the press conference on TV and I said to my boyfriend, ‘Taylor, the first hands to touch this baby are going to be Sarah Baldwin’s.’ ”
“Taylor, huh. I like the name. So, give me the low-down. What does he look like? What does he do?”
“Let’s see … he’s got a face like Denzel Washington, an ass like Wesley Snipes, and he moves like Michael Jordan.”
“Lord.”
“And he’s a musician—a damn good one. Bass, guitar, horns even.”
“Rock and roll?”
“Hell no. Jazz. I sang with his group for a while. That’s how we met. You see, Dr. Singh’s powder kind of backfired on Peter—on me, too, I think. I was in college at U Mass, doing reasonably well as a psych major, but not enjoying it or my miserable social life very much. Then all of a sudden, the woman beneath the flab emerged, and I guess I sort of got, well, out of control, you might say.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I ended up on the West Coast, running with a fast crowd, singing with this group and that, and trying to make it in films. I had some nibbles from a few producers, but more often than not, they were nibbles on my earlobes and breasts. Finally I met
Taylor. His last name’s West. Right then and there I began to mend my ways. He’s on the road a lot, and we aren’t exactly rolling in dough. So a few months ago, I took Peter’s offer to come home and help him at Xanadu.”
“And what does he think about becoming a grandpa?”
“He … um … he doesn’t know. He’s only now getting to know Taylor. And he still believes I’m going to start school again in January.”
Sarah took time to ponder that news.
“I certainly hope you will get your degree at some point,” she said finally. “But you know, I’m thinking that you ought to tell him. Give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Well, speaking from a purely biological standpoint, Annalee, pretty soon he’s going to start wondering why his fabulous Xanadu Ayurvedic powder has failed in such a specific, low-belly way.”
“You do have a point there.”
“Thanks. It’s good to know I’ve mastered some of the basics over my years in obstetrics. And you know, as long as you’re giving him the benefit of the doubt, I think I’d feel more comfortable if you’d tell him about your seeing me as well. Seven years is long enough for most wounds to heal—even Peter’s. Besides, just like your belly, sooner or later, that’s going to come out, too.”
“If you wish it, it shall be done.”
“I wish it. But you should certainly do what feels right to you. It just seems as though if you’re living with him, and he’s helping to support you—”
“I understand.”
“On the other hand, I don’t think anything would be served by getting on his case about the vanishing letters from me.”
“Ancient history.”
“Exactly. God, I’m blabbering on and on. Do you think I could be nervous about dealing with your father after all this time?”
“Let’s just say that you better be a damn sight more relaxed when you’re delivering our baby.” Annalee laughed again. Her smile made her remarkable face even more appealing.
“I’ll work on it,” Sarah said. “One last thing, though.”
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