Ghosts of Manhattan: A Novel(49)

“Nick, I know that. You know that I know that. I think I’d like to have a baby. There’s a risk that our relationship isn’t strong enough for this, but I’m running out of time.”

“You’re not out of time but we both have to want this. If we have a baby, it isn’t just our relationship that we’re risking anymore. Going in half expecting to fail isn’t good enough.”

“I don’t expect to fail.”

“Then what’s going on with you?” I nearly shout this and my aggression confuses her.

“What are you talking about?”

I look away, trying not to say it, but I feel it coming on like a heave of vomit that I can’t swallow. “Oliver.” There, I’ve said it and part of me wants it back. I don’t feel the relief that usually comes after throwing up. Julia stares evenly and seems not surprised but not guilty. “Not so much Oliver specifically. Just the prospect of someone. Julia, as long as I’ve known you, I’ve never felt even a hint of you glancing in another direction or trying to get a glance back. It’s not an energy you put off. Until now. Now it seems like something you’re open to.”

“Nick, nothing is going on between me and Oliver.”

“What does nothing mean? You never had sex?” I feel safe I know the answer to this.

“Of course not.”

“Never flirted? Never felt anything?” I want to feel convinced now, to drive out the demons.

“No.”

I think she’s admitting to me as much as she’s admitted to herself, which may be less than everything. “Julia, something is different. Worse. It used to be second nature that we’re an unconditional team. Now I feel you’re looking in another direction.”

“I’m not happy. You know that. But you’re my husband and I love you.”

I realize it’s not that I don’t want to have a baby but that I’m afraid to. Julia deserves to be a mother. “I’m not saying no to a baby. Let’s figure out the right thing.”

Julia looks away, frustrated and silent. This sounds like the same commitment to dialogue that has ushered by the years, but I mean for it to be more now.

“This isn’t just talk. Go to the doctor and see where we are medically. Let’s get all the information first.”

“Okay. I’ll get in to a fertility doctor next week. Sooner if I can.” She seems suspicious this is just a delay tactic but is still claiming whatever ground has been made. Possibly she’s already been to the doctor and has a loaded deck. At any rate, it seems clear she feels the current form of our relationship is worth putting at risk. The outcomes of a baby with us together and a baby with us apart are both better than more of the same. She’s not going to settle for no action anymore.

I walk into the living room to check the text message. I open the flip phone and it’s Rebecca’s number.

where are you?

This is amazingly appealing but not the best timing. All of this will be hard enough without temptation. The phone buzzes again while I’m holding it open and it startles me.

where’s the fence?

I close the phone. Crap.





18 | RISK


January 25, 2006

FREDDIE’S IN A PANIC AND TRYING TO FOCUS HIMSELF by memorizing his first few lines. We’re waiting outside the conference room for Dale Brown to admit us so Freddie can deliver his report.

I hear Freddie muttering to himself, “Gentlemen, thank you for coming. This report is a summary review of, a comprehensive analysis of, crap. Gentlemen, thank you . . .” He’s dressed slightly better than normal. Everything’s been pressed but the clothes have the wear and the style of being at least fifteen years old and show the ill-fitting pushes and pulls from the changes in his body over that time so that it looks like he does his shopping at the Salvation Army. His ugly tie is pulled tight and straight around his neck in a knot that looks impossible to undo. He tried hard this morning and I feel sorry for him. He did the best with what he knows.

“Freddie, take it easy. You’re going to work yourself into a lather.”

“I just need to get the introduction down. I’m not a very good public speaker.”

“It’s going to be only a few guys. You know the information cold, just take people through it. You’ll do fine.”

“I know, I know.” He sits down and closes his eyes and seems to be focusing on his breathing.

In a moment the conference room door opens and Preston Palmer steps out into our waiting room. He’s the assistant to the president and I don’t know him but have heard plenty. When he’s not around Dale Brown, he assumes the full authority of the office of the president to throw his weight around and act like a jackass. When he is around Dale Brown, he acts like a manservant. “Okay. Let’s go, guys.” He gives me a curious glance, then gives Freddie a condescending stare.

We follow Preston back into the conference room. Dale Brown is at the head of an empty table. His appearance is the other end of the spectrum from Freddie. His suit looks expensive and fits perfectly, and I see the stitching around the border of the lapel that is a sign of handmade work. His silk tie is in a fat Windsor knot and his hair looks like it was cut just this morning. He’s handsome and young for his position, maybe only ten years older than I am. I imagine he’s had some sharp elbows during his career.