Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(21)

I text Josh back.

Gemma: Is that the production room?

Josh: Yeah…

I wait. Josh is typing another message.

When it comes through I stare at my phone in surprise.

Josh: It’s not working.

I look around the waiting room, and I’m sort of surprised that no one is staring at me in shock. Did Josh Lewenthal just tell me that he can’t produce a sample?

The news plays on a muted TV near the scheduling desk. All the other couples are either watching it, looking at their phones, or reading a magazine. No one is paying me any attention. I quickly type back.

Gemma: What’s not working?

Josh: It’s a lot of pressure. I need some inspiration. This room sucks.

I blow out a breath.

I mean, I get what he’s saying. It would be hard to get in the mood in a room that looks like a Russian prison cell. The tissue is for you to weep into.

I shift back into my chair and try to think of a solution. Ah, got it.

Gemma: Look up porn on your phone.

I blush and pull at the winter scarf around my neck. I can’t believe I just wrote that.

Josh: I can’t believe you just wrote that.

Ha. I write him back.

Gemma: Well?

Josh: It’s not working. Send me a pic of some skin.

Excuse me? Did he just ask me to send him a dirty picture? Of myself?

Gemma: No way.

Josh: Come on. I need help.

I close my eyes. Fine. If you want something bad enough, you’ll do whatever it takes to get it, even text dirty pics to “The Production Room.”

I stand up and stride to the desk.

“Can I have the key to the bathroom please?”

The same scheduler that was completely disinterested in me last week tosses the key at me.

“Thanks,” I mumble, terrified that she somehow has mind-reading powers and knows exactly what I’m about to do.

I shut the bathroom door behind me. Surprisingly, the bathroom’s really clean. They must’ve actually sent someone over to clean it after Dr. Ingraham called. Huh.

My phone buzzes again.

Josh: They’re knocking on the door, Gemma. The pressure is a bit much here. Skin?

I snort. Then I try to think of the least embarrassing place I can take a picture of that may elicit some sort of reaction.

Ah, got it.

I lift my leg up and set my boot on the toilet. Then I pull up my pants and take a snapshot of my calf. I hit send.

I yank my pantleg down and wait for Josh’s reply.

Josh: Seriously?

I smile. Hey, I tried.

What else, what else?

Well, no one in the history of ever, complained about my breasts, soooo.

I pull off my winter coat, lift up my sweater over my head, dip my camisole low and take a cockeyed cleavage shot of my breasts. As I try to pull my sweater back down I stumble over the trash can and fall back onto the toilet. I hit with a thud and the trash can rattles, making a racket.

I wait a second. My heart beating hard.

There’s a knock on the door.

“You alright in there?”

Oh jeez. It’s the disinterested scheduler.

“Good. Fine. Just…busy.”

Oh lordy. Busy?

I hit send on the photo of my boobs. Then I try to pull myself back together.

My phone vibrates.

Josh: Not a breast man.

Are you kidding me? Not a breast man? I sent him a deep cleavage shot that should have soared him into boner territory.

Gemma: Then what?

I scowl down at the phone.

There’s another knock on the bathroom door.

“Just a minute,” I call. “I’m busy in here!”

I stare at my phone as I wait for Josh to reply.

“Come on…”

I pace back and forth in the small space. Finally, Josh starts to text. Deletes it. Starts to text again, deletes it.

Gemma: Come on. What?

Finally his text comes through.

Josh: Just send a shot of your bare shoulders, or your back.

What? What the weird? Fine.

I pull off my coat and scarf, strip off my sweater, camisole, and bra, and stand with my bare back to the mirror. I look behind me. My hair is down and falls over my shoulders in a straight dark line. My shoulders are narrow, and my back shows the exaggerated curve of my figure. I never noticed or thought about it before, but looking at my smooth skin, the gentle flare of my hips and the curve of my spine, there’s something strangely erotic about a woman’s bare back. I take a shuddering breath. My nipples go hard from the cold air. I look over my shoulder at myself, there’s a strange look in my eyes. I don’t think about it. Instead, I lift up my camera, and snap a shot of my back in the mirror.

It’s a half-blurry shot, my head is turned away, and my back is exposed. You can just barely see the edges of my breast under my lifted arm. It’s almost…erotic.

I stare at the photo for a moment, and then I hit send.

Gemma: Show this to anyone and I will kill you.

Josh doesn’t write back.

I throw on my bra, my cami, my sweater, my coat and my scarf, and then I splash ice cold water on my face. I wait a few minutes for Josh to text back, but he doesn’t.

Another knock comes at the door.

“Hang on,” I call.

I take a deep, steadying breath and open the bathroom door.