"I anticipate some backlash," Gillian said. "And I took that into account. But I couldn't base my decision on possibilities and speculation
s. I had to stop asking myself '
what if?' or I'd never have done it. If I was going to do it, I needed to do it sooner rather than later. We'll be thirty-six in a couple of months."
"Don't remind me."
"I was constantly being reminded that my biological clock is ticking. I could no longer ignore it."
"I understand."
Gillian set down her fork. "Do you, Melina? Can you understand?"
They had always sought each other's approval. Melina valued and trusted Gillian's opinion above all others, and she knew the reverse was true. "Yes," Melina answered slowly, "I understand it. I just don't share it. I've never felt the urge to have a child." Smiling ruefully, she added, "It's good that I didn't, isn't it? My life, my future, is all about my business."
She reached across the table to clasp Gillian's hand. "The maternal instinct may be the only difference between us. I think you got both portions, yours and mine. If it's that strong, you would have been wrong to ignore it. You needed to respond to it or you would never have been happy. So the decision you made was the right one for you."
"Oh, God, I hope so." Even knowing how meaningful this experiment was for Gillian, Melina was surprised by the level of emotion in her twin's voice. "I want a child
very much, but what if
… what if the child doesn't want me?"
"Excuse me?"
"What if my maternal instinct is false and I'm no good at mothering?"
"Not a chance."
"You're just saying that because you know that's what I want to hear, Melina."
"Have you ever known me to mince words? I'm saying it because it's true. You'll be an ideal mother."
"I want to be." Gillian's expression, her tone, conveyed her earnestness. Neither of them was given to spontaneous crying, yet Gillian appeared to be on the verge of tears, which could be attributed to that hormonal surge thing, or was still another indication of the depth of her feeling.
She said, "Of all the decisions I've made in my life so far, this is the most important one. Of all the decisions I'm likely to make in the future, it's the most important one. I don't want to fail at something that is this important to me. I simply can't."
"And you won't," Melina stated definitively.
"I want my baby to be as happy with me as I'll be with him. Or her."
"It'll consider itself the luckiest kid alive. And I wish I could be that certain about everything else as I am of that. You'll be a stunning success at parenting, Gillian. So put the improbability of failure out of your mind. Banish it. Bury it. It ain't gonna happen."
Her twin's firm validation of her decision made Gillian smile with relief. She blinked away her unshed tears. "Okay. My doubts are officially banished and buried."
"Well, thank God we got that out of the way."
Again Melina raised her wineglass. "Here's to you and modern medical science. I hope those microscopic tadpoles are doing their thing!"
They clinked glasses. Gillian said, "The success rate—even when all systems are go, as in my case—is only twenty-five percent. It may take more than one time."
"That's not what Mother told us before our first car date."
They laughed at the memory of their mother's painful shyness when it came to discussing sex and her warnings to her daughters of its potential hazards.
"Remember that lecture? I didn't know there were that many euphemisms for body parts and intercourse!" Melina exclaimed. "But the message that came through loud and clear was that it only took one time to make a baby."
"We'll see. The doctor assured me that these were good swimmers."
"He actually called them swimmers?"
"I swear."
They giggled like teenagers over a dirty joke. Eventually Melina signaled the waiter to remove their plates and ordered coffee. "What about the donor?"
"He's only a number, selected from the sperm donor's
equivalent of a Spiegel's catalogue. Of all the candidates, he best fit my preferences."
"Hair color. Eye color. Body type."
"Those, along with interests, background, and IQ."
"So you just ordered a number out of a catalogue?" Melina asked wryly.
"This is a scientific procedure."
"Biology. Human reproduction boiled down to its most clinical form."
"Exactly."
"But..."
Gillian smiled, knowing she'd been trapped. They couldn't hide a thought from each other for long. "But I'm a human being, and my body isn't a test tube. I can't be as entirely objective as I should." Staring into near space, she said quietly, "With the help of an unnamed person, I hope to
create a new individual. A baby.
A personality. A soul. That's heady stuff. Naturally I wonder about the donor, who he is and what he looks like."
"How could you not? Of course you wonder. But you don't have a clue?"
"Nothing. He's probably a med student who needed some extra spending money."
"And who likes to jack off. But then, they all
like to jack off, don't they?"
Melina winked at the man seated at the next table. He smiled back at her, flattered by her flirtation.
Seeing the exchange, Gillian chided her in a stage whisper. "Behave."
"He doesn't know what I said."
They were different in that way, too. Melina tended to speak her mind, where Gillian was more discreet. Melina said and did things that Gillian thought about but was often too inhibited to say or do. They shared the same impulses, but Melina acted on them: She plunged headfirst off the high diving board. Gillian would stand with her toes curled over the end of it until dared to dive in. Melina admired her twin’s circumspection. Gillian claimed to be envious of Melina's courage.
Leaving the gentleman at the next table to think what he wished, Melina asked Gillian how long it would be before she knew if the artificial insemination had worked.
"I go back in a week for a blood test."
"A whole week! Are you under any restrictions?"
"None. I go about my everyday activities."
"Work?"
"I have an appointment this afternoon."
"Sex?"
"Female."
"Very funny. You know what I meant."
"I know what you meant, and no, there's no restriction. In fact, the doctor told me that if I had a partner who would share the child, he would encourage us to have intercourse soon. That's psychologically beneficial for infertile couples who have resorted to using donor sperm when all else has failed. If they have sex on the date of the A
I
, there's always the outside chance that—"
"The partner's sperm was the one to fertilize the egg." "Exactly."
Melina pressed her temples with her index fingers. "Jeez, this gets—"
"Deep. I know. There are myriad facets to this issue. Endless factors to consider. Ethical and religious questions to probe and hopefully resolve. But I don't regret doing it. Nor am I going to start second-guessing the decision now that I've acted on it. In fact, if I don't conceive this time, I'll definitely try again.
"Until recently, my fantasies of motherhood were nebulous. They took place in the far-distant future. But now that I've actually taken the step necessary to conceive, those fantasies have crystallized. I want a baby, Melina, dirty diapers and all. I want one very much. A son or daughter to care for. Someone who requires my love. Someone who loves me back."
Melina swallowed hard. "Are you trying to make me cry?" Gillian blinked back her own tears. Touching her tummy lightly, she said, "It's going to be a long week."
Melina sniffed, impatient with herself for becoming so sentimental. "What you need is a diversion," she stated. "Something to take your mind off it and make the time go faster."
"Such as?"
"I'm thinking." She tapped her lips with steepled fingers. After a moment, she experienced a burst of brilliant inspiration. But it was immediately followed by exasperation. "Damn!" she exclaimed, slapping the tabletop. "I can't believe I'm about to offer this to you."
"What?"
"Oh, what the hell?" she said, making a sudden decision. She leaned across the table and said excitedly, "Go in my place tonight."
"What? Where?"
"Guess who I'm escorting this evening."
"I don't care."
"Sure you do. Christopher Hart."
"The astronaut?"
"Ah-hah! Your eyes lit up when you said his name."
"If they lit up, and I doubt they did, it's because I'm impressed that my sister's been retained to escort such a VIP
.
Isn't he just back from a space mission?"
"Three months ago. He completed a shuttle mission that salvaged an important military satellite. Crucial to world peace or something like that."
"What's he doing in Dallas?"
"Receiving an award from SMU's alumni association. They're giving him a distinguished something-or-other award at a black-tie banquet at the Adolphus." She smiled wickedly. "Want to meet him?"
"I don't know how to do your job!" Gillian exclaimed. "Any more than you know how to sell commercial real estate."
"Your job is difficult. It involves interest rates and plats and stuff. Mine's a no-brainer. What's to know?"
"Plenty."
"Not so. You pick him up at the start of the evening, you drop him off at the end of it."
Of course, she was grossly simplifying her job description. She had worked as an apprentice for years before her employer retired and sold her the business. Under her management it had expanded.
Essentially, unless a celebrity visiting Dallas arrived with his or her own entourage, she, or one of her three carefully screened and trained employees, was responsible for that individual until he was safely on his way to his next destination. She served as chauffeur, confidante, shopper—whatever the client needed her to be. She sometimes groused about having to work ridiculous hours, but her complaining was so much hot air, because she loved what she did. Her business had thrived because she was good at it.
But she wasn't worried about Gillian taking over for her for one night. Like her, Gillian had never met a stranger in her life, and she wasn't likely to become tongue-tied in the presence of Colonel Christopher Hart. She'd sold real estate to men more important than he. And it would get her away from Jem Hennings for one night, which in Melina's view was a bonus.
"You know where the Adolphus is, right?"
"Forget it, Melina," Gillian said, enunciating each word. "He's staying at The Mansion. You pick him up there and get him downtown by—"
"You're not listening."
"I don't listen to lame excuses. You haven't given me one good reason why you won't go."
"Then how's this? We're no longer children. Adults don't play games like this."
"We could still get away with switching."
"Of course we could, but that's beside the point."
"Why?"
"Because it's crazy."
"Colonel Hart doesn't know me from Adam. What's the harm?"
Gillian continued to ignore her arguments. "I've got my own business to attend to! I'm on the brink of getting a hot new ad agency to sign a contract on a new facility to the tune of three million. I'm meeting with them this afternoon to hammer out the deal points with the seller. In addition to all of the above, Jem's coming over tonight. So, thank you for the thought, but no."
"Christopher Hart is hot, hot, hot," she taunted in a singsong voice.
"You can tell me all about him later."
"Last chance. Going, going..."
"No, Melina."
"Gone."
Frowning, and muttering over what a wet blanket Gillian was, she requested the check and insisted on treating. Outside the fashionable restaurant, parking valets brought their cars around. One of the young men was staring so hard at the two of them, he nearly rear-ended another car.
As they exchanged goodbyes, Melina made one final pitch. "You're going to regret passing up this opportunity." "Thanks anyway."
"Gillian, he's a national hero! You'd be spending the evening with him. This could be the best gift I've given you since introducing you to the Miracle Bra."
"I appreciate the thought."
"Oh, I get it. You're still pouting."
"Pouting?"
"Because I couldn't arrange a meeting between you and Kevin Costner last month. Gillian, I've told you a thousand times that he was on a very tight schedule. There was absolutely no way."
Laughing, Gillian leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "I'm not pouting. I love you, sis."
"Love you."
"Have fun with the astronaut."
She winked, drawling, "You can bet I'll try."