A New Lu

by Laura Castoro

  While Cy and I may have thought our evening was haute cuisine heaven, Baby put a whole other spin on the term “hellish experience.” I will never ever again consume that much butter, salt and cream at one time!

  It was 10:00 a.m. before I could sit upright in bed. Shortly after the agent stomped off and before men in work boots arrived, I browsed the neonatal aisles of my nearby bookstore. Every book and magazine that looked even remotely related to maternity health and nutrition came home with me. For the past two hours, I’ve been holed up in the window seat of my upstairs bedroom, ignoring the arrival of Cy and his cohorts, reading about eating for two. My grocery-shopping list is a healthy three columns long.

  Another perk of Five-O’s forward-thinking enterprise was that every worker, full- or part-time, could buy into the company health insurance plan. My next job may pay twice as much, but chances are generous health benefits won’t be part of the package.

  Which makes my walking out at Five-O even more of a kamikaze act.

  I don’t even look out to see who could be ringing my doorbell. It’s 5:00 p.m. No doubt more of Cy’s co-conspirators who’ve signed out at their day jobs. If he wants to waste their time, let him. I haven’t seen him this excited in years.

  A few minutes later, I hear footsteps on the stairs and then a low knock.

  “Come in!”

  The door opens and Cy comes through. “Sorry to interrupt your—you’re not napping?”

  “I’m reading, almost as good.”

  “So then I won’t bother you.”

  He is halfway out the door before I say, “Wait? Who rang the bell?”

  Cy shrugs. “Some schlemiel. Says he’s a photographer at Five-O. He looks like a hoodlum.”

  I’m out of my cushy window box in a flash. “Curran’s here?”

  “Maybe that’s what he said his name is. Who can tell, the way the young speak these days? He said he’s here to ‘give props to my Boo.’ Do you understand that boy?”

  “Not always. But he’s a good guy, Cy. Send him up.” If Curran came to see me for any reason to do with Five-O, it will require privacy.

  “His pants don’t fit properly.” Cy leans near to whisper. “I saw his shorts. They look clean. But that hair? In your condition, you can’t be too careful.”

  My assurances that Curran uses conventional hygiene, and that dreads are not necessarily “infectious disease centers,” send Cy away muttering under his breath.

  After a couple of minutes I hear Curran taking the stairs two at a time, and then he’s standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a Rastafarian brightly knit baggy cap, a long white T with some sort of pieced-together knit vest, brand new baggy denim cargo pants and Jesus sandals with army socks. His attempt to grow a goatee has sprouted a few reddish hairs that he has twisted into tiny dreads about his mouth. He looks perfectly silly, and perfectly safe.

  “Who’s the old dude?”

  “My neighbor.”

  “Pops needs to chill. He made me wash my hands before I could come up.”

  I’m so glad to see him I give Curran a big hug before saying sternly, “Did you really tell Cy you’d come to give props to your Boo?”

  He grins.

  “Well, save it for young women, like KaZi. She’s your Boo.”

  Curran shakes his head. “Not after she went all Britney, ‘I’m not that innocent’ on me over this Marc poser.”

  I slide back into the window seat and point to the lounge chair that was once Jacob’s. “Tell me.”

  Curran squats on the edge. “The mess got freaky after you did that Gloria ‘Swansong’ on us. Gwendolyn up and took some personal days. That was after this Marc poser asked if she would “ethnic up” her column for the more hip reader. She told him finances were finances, and you can’t ‘ethnic up’ numbers. I didn’t cop to what he asked Crescentmoon. But, damn, sistah’s got a mouth on her! I was like peepin’ notes.”

  I shouldn’t be smiling. I shouldn’t be happy that my actions caused a rift in the ranks. “Anything else?”

  “Most def. Last three days, the shizz is thick. Tai’s so ticked she can’t let up long enough to get over it. Brotha can’t live like that. Damn!”

  “Okay, stop.” My head is spinning. “I admire the linguistic virtuosity of hip-hop but I need standard English now. Okay?”

  “Awright.”

  I frown in warning. “What are you doing here? Nobody at work knows my home address.” Jacob had always said a column like mine needed a certain amount of distance from fans. I use a PO box for all business correspondence.

  Curran grins. “You can put a cell phone number on the Net and come up with an address for just about anybody, you know how to look.”

  Now I feel really unsafe. “Okay, so this visit was your idea?”

  Curran looks embarrassed, trying not to stare at my middle, but his gaze keeps tracking back. “So is it true? You’re going to have a kid?”

  I lean back so he can observe the curve. “Yes.”

  “That’s phat!” It takes me a second to realize he’s not talking about my belly. “You’re way cool, Lu. At your age. Alone. Having a kid and, like, telling people to sit on it if they don’t like it. You’re, like, my hero!”

  His earnest honesty reminds me that I’m now two for six in the happy-for-you department. Cy and Curran, bless them!

  “Do you mind?” He points to his camera. When I shake my head, he whips it out. “I want to keep a photo journal of your progress. This is the most amazing thing!”

  “What? Don’t they make babies back in Omaha?”

  He just clicks away, sliding off onto his knees to the floor to get a closer to me. “This is life. Only better. It’s like Euro life. As you know, Catherine Deneuve had two children out of wedlock.”

  “Too bad we can’t sell tickets. I need a job.”

  He grins and gives me some sort of bent-arm hand signal. “That’s what I’m saying. I got your back, Boo—Lu.”

  I’m grinning, too, though I couldn’t say why. “How so, bro?”

  He lowers the camera. “I squared things with Tai. You can come back to Five-O.”

  Not that I believe him for a minute, but I say, “I’m all ears.”

  “I figure it like this. Tai needs you.”

  “Needs my head on a platter, maybe. You saw her face when I made that remark about her doing the column.”

  “Straight up.” Curran smiles. “Only Tai’s over that. Said that’s when she knew you were telling the truth about being pregnant. ‘Only some crazy—’ Well, you know.”

  “You mean the crazy-pregnant-lady defense?” I think about all the things she might have said and decide I can live with that. “So she’s not angry?”

  He scuttles to my right side. “I didn’t say that. Tai’s got control issues. But Rhonda found out that Tai sold this ‘New Lu’ angle to her higher-ups on the guarantee of her bonuses, so they’d sign off on it.”

  “Wow.” That explains why she was riding me so hard. “Guess my little stunt pulled the rug out from under her.”

  Curran’s head bops behind the lens. “Yup.”

  Now, I feel bad, sort of. “I said at the beginning that it wasn’t something I would do. Now that I’m otherwise occupied, it’s impossible.”

  “Exactly.” He pauses and perches his camera on his knee. “Now, this is how I figure it. Tai can’t go back to the higher-ups so easily and say, my gal Lu done a one-eighty on us, so deal.”

  “I wonder what she will do?”

  “That’s where yours truly comes in. I kinda had a talk with Tai this afternoon. I said, so what, we can’t do the makeover? I thought that was whack. Anytime you see it on TV, it’s so over for the market share. Except, sometimes TV’s ahead of itself. Like with reality shows. Catch my drift?”

  “Not even slightly.”

  “I’ve been at the magazine awhile. So like, what’s a fifty-year-old woman’s worst fear? Being dumped by hubby, right? But shit like that happens every day. Only wit
h you we can go high concept. Sell it as a midlife ‘survivor’ scenario.” He raises his hands as if he’s framing headlines. “She’s fifty…abandoned by her spouse! Left alone she must deal with a real shocker: The Big P!” Curran flushes with his inventiveness. “I call it ‘The Pregnant Pause.’”

  I have to admit, his thought process impresses me. I’m appalled by the idea, but impressed he thought of it. He may have a future in the Big Apple, after all.

  “So you’re suggesting I ‘prime time’ my very personal life? Who do you see as the audience for this tell-all?”

  “Every woman, pro or con. I peep People. You’ve got your late-life pregnancies popping up everywhere. Geena Davis, again. Julianne Moore. Cindy Crawford. Joan Lunden had twins at fifty-two.”

  “She used a surrogate.”

  “But you’re a signed check. The real deal. You can give Tai an exclusive behind-the-scenes, blow-by-blow look at a late-life birth.”

  “And Tai bought into this?”

  Curran nods vigorously. “Tai bought into it. Totally. Well, mostly totally. She’s willing to parley.”

  “Parley? As in I might need to crawl across broken glass to get my job back?”

  Curran shrugs. “The way Tai sees it, you didn’t quit. You just took a few personal days.”

  Me at Tai’s mercy? I won’t do this. Because I don’t need the money? The job? The security of insurance? Okay, pride be damned! Solvency is not to be sneezed at.

  “I’m making no promises.” But my head is already swimming with column inches. “I have to think about everyone involved. This baby isn’t a negotiating ploy. And I don’t know that I want any part of a ‘reality fix’ for people who are long on free time and short on dealing with their own real lives.”

  Curran nods, but I can tell by the fixed expression on his face that he’s dying to ask the question.

  “And I have no intention of divulging the name of the sperm donor. Ever. Are we clear?”

  “That’s cool.” I think my admiration stock just went up another notch. The young love mystery. “Whatever you decide, Lu. I’m there for you.”

  “Thank you.” I am touched by his show of loyalty. “Facing Tai was no small thing.”

  His expression loses its playful quality. “You’re really okay?”

  “This is my life, Curran. I’m okay with it.”

  “Then let’s get some reality on film. Right up through the delivery.” He must read my expression because he adds, “Just think about it, Lu. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Uh-oh. I’ve heard this before. “Think about what? You can’t expect me to pose nude for you?” His expression gives him away. I’m out of my seat in a second. “You’re nuts!”

  “Not now, Lu, not now! In the ninth month. The Demis of the world think it’s about a toned body and peekaboo sex. I want the earthy, gritty truth on film.”

  “The truth would be more like a ‘Saggy Baggy Elephant’ story. Forget it.”

  “Okay, okay.” He rises from the floor. “Don’t go off on me.”

  “What’s going on?” Cy comes barreling through the door, looking like thunder. “He’s bothering you, he’s out of here.” Cy points a finger at Curran. “Now.”

  Curran is half again as tall as Cy but he doesn’t have the presence. He lifts his hands in mock defense. “Chill, dude. I just came to tell Lu she still has her job.”

  “Is this so?” Cy looks at me, and I nod.

  Cy’s expression alters to the pleasant one I know best. “Well then, sit down, young fellow. I was just about to order dinner. You like calamari?”

  “Oh, no.” I take Cy’s arm and steer him back into the hall. “You’ve done quite enough for one day. Thanks. Be a dear and go home.”

  Cy cocks his head toward my bedroom. “You are putting that one out, too?”

  “Eventually. We have work to do.”

  Cy cups my chin. “You will be careful?”

  “He’s a lamb, Cy. I know his girlfriend.”

  Cy shrugs. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Now what?” Curran is standing with his camera ready. A flash from it hits me squarely in the eyeballs.

  “You’re going to drive me to the supermarket, because you’ve blinded me. Then I’m going to break my rule about not cooking for uninvited guests and make us dinner.”

  By six-thirty we’ve eaten plates of scrambled eggs and potatoes, fresh tomato slices and glasses of orange juice. Curran has burned up more film than any human being should.

  “That’s it for tonight, Curran,” I say when the dishes are in the washer. “In the morning I’ll make an appointment with Tai. We’ll see if she even bothers to say no.”

  “Meanwhile, I’m here for you, Lu. Anything you need.” Curran looks around. “Aren’t you worried, living alone at a time like this?”

  “Of course not. This has been my home for years.”

  “Still, wouldn’t it be cool if I could get the full story on film, morning to night? I could move in with you, if you want. Paying rent, of course.”

  What’s with everybody wanting to share my roof? Have rental properties jumped in price again?

  I hand him his camera bag. “Good night, Curran.”

  As tired as I am, and unsure of my next step, I’m elated by possibility. This isn’t like me, to think about stepping out from behind the screen of my column. I don’t mind calling a fool a fool in print. But put myself out there? Well, I’m beginning to understand the whole image-conscious phenomenon. I’ve seen that secretly taped footage of fashion victims before their closets and tastes have been turned around. If Curran’s camera is going to be a daily companion in my life, I need a facial and a hair appointment.

  “And more clothes!”

  The strange flutter low down catches me completely by surprise. At first I think it must be gas. I did try to eat bland. Acid in the OJ?

  There it is again!

  It’s impossible to adequately describe the emotion when you feel your child move inside you for the first time. It’s like being touched by an angel, from the inside.

  22

  The power of achievement can’t be overstated. I’ve walked three miles today in under an hour. I feel so righteous I could crow. It doesn’t matter that sweat that began in my armpits now pools about my waist. It doesn’t matter that my T-shirt is plastered to my back and my leggings are wet in questionable places. It doesn’t even matter that Andrea jogged circles around me the entire time, while she related details of her latest conquest. He owns a real-estate brokerage with offices in Bergen and Essex Counties. Dr. Yummy has been on rotation so she thought she should do the same.

  Funny how you don’t realize the world is made of pairs until your own equation changes. I don’t mean romantic duets, but the basic-necessity kind.

  Now that I’m sharing space, I see couples everywhere. There’s Andrea and her self-involvement, chattering on and on while circling me like a happy blue jay. Curran and his flash camera. He flits in and out of my path like a deranged lightning bug. He’s so dedicated about capturing my new life on film I’m beginning to worry that I’ll meet him in my hallway during a middle-of-the-night hike to pee.

  Oh, there in the park is a gentleman and his schnauzer, watching the do-si-do between a pigeon and a crust of bread. Farther on, two children walk to school. They must be brother and sister. Friends wouldn’t punch each other quite so hard. The world’s all coupled up. Bee and buttercup. Cab and driver. Even that street person pushing the grocery cart is not alone, even if she is talking to one only she can see.

  I’m so pleased with my world that I’m even ready for my talk with Tai. One week to the day since Curran came to see me. Sweet Tum and I are going to see her at 11:00 a.m.

  After that first flutter I could no longer think of my child in general baby terms. Sweet Tum came to me, and stuck.

  I must admit it is a bit daunting to walk into Five-O after my High Noon exit. I can always gauge my anxiety level by how many times I change my
mind about what to wear. Don’t let anyone fool you, even a cerebral, tough cookie like Madeline Albright cares more on some days than others about what goes on her bod.

  Babs is all smiles and sweet concern as she tells me to go right ahead, Tai is expecting me. Then she giggles. “You had us fooled, Lu. You seemed so steady.”

  I shrug. “Broke a leg leaping off my pedestal.”

  “Good for you!” Babs means it. How little we know the people we know.

  Crescentmoon waylays me in the hall with a basket tied in green organza ribbons.

  “It’s all organic aromatherapy,” she says as she presses the enormous gift into my hands. “Honey balms and herbal creams, nothing to irritate the expectant she person.”

  She person? That’s a little too politically correct for me. But I relish the idea of quality body care.

  Now I’m standing before Tai’s door. Nothing to do but face the music.

  Tai is standing behind her desk. I suspect she believes chairs are for the weak of mind and body. My sleeveless linen sheath is not technically maternity wear. But, if you know where to look, it isn’t difficult to figure something is going on beneath its straight-line drop from shoulder to knee. She’s eyeing me so closely I feel like Horton must have while sitting on the Who’s egg.

  Tai wears a casual Diane Von Furstenberg sweat-wear creation, a skimpy tennis dress that I swear is an abbreviated version of a little black cocktail number hanging in every woman’s closet. I’m no longer disdainful. If I had legs like that, I’d show them off, too. They won’t stay that flawless forever.

  She offers me, the slack of mind and waistline, a chair. “So, then. Let’s get to it.”

  She comes from behind her desk and picks up a trophy, the one from a London-based marathon that anchors her otherwise uncluttered desk. As she hefts the weight in her palm, is she thinking what I’m thinking, that it would make a wicked weapon?

  “I don’t give employees a second chance. If someone can’t perform under pressure, I find someone who can. Why chance disappointment a second time?”