Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(31)

“I’m definitely bringing you honey. And a rose quartz pendant,” Hannah says.

Brook rolls her eyes at Hannah, and Carly says, “Good for you. What sort of donor did you choose? Tall to match your height? Good job? What sort of information do they give you again?”

A light blush covers my cheeks as I think about Josh in “The Production Room.”

“Well, um, I didn’t use an anonymous donor. I asked my brother’s best friend.” I watch as all their expressions shift from surprise to interest.

“Did you blackmail him?” asks Brook.

“What? No!” I say. “Why would you think that?”

Brook shrugs. “If you aren’t blackmailing him then is he blackmailing you?”

“What?”

“Oh my gosh, Brook, seriously? He’s obviously also her best friend or in love with her. Clearly,” Hannah says.

“No.” I shake my head. “Not really. We were never close.”

“Huh,” Hannah says.

Brook studies me with a frown.

Then Carly says, “He has a fertility fetish.”

“Yes. That’s it!” Brook says.

“What’s a fertility fetish?” I ask.

Carly nibbles on her pink glossy lips and doesn’t answer, so Brook says, “A fertility fetish is what you call those guys who are constantly donating sperm to the sperm banks. They get off on the idea of having, like, three hundred kids. Or those guys who have twenty kids by six different women. Or like that fertility doctor who switched his sperm for the husband’s sperm in all his patients and had like a thousand kids.”

“You’re kidding—”

“That’s a fertility fetish,” she says.

“He doesn’t have that,” I say.

Brook holds out her hands as if to say then what?

“He’s just a nice guy,” I try to explain. “I’ve known him almost my whole life, he knows my family, and he’s a nice guy. He just wanted to help.” Something in my expression must give away the fact that there’s something inside me that doesn’t quite believe this explanation. Josh never did say why he’d changed his mind. Why did he?

“No man is just a nice guy,” Carly says.

Brook nods in agreement. “After twenty years in the legal system, I can vouch for that.”

Carly continues, “Male female relationships are transactional by nature. Men want sex, women want protection, or money, or love. I married my husband because I wanted loads of security, and he married me because I’m beautiful. It was a transaction. Both of us were mature enough to acknowledge that up front.”

I stare at Carly. Sort of dumbstruck. “But then what happens if you’re no longer beautiful, or if he loses all his money?”

She tilts her head gracefully. “That’s what prenups are for.”

Brook starts to laugh. “Being a model was wasted on you, Carly. You should’ve been a lawyer. You’ve got balls of steel.”

I pick up my wine glass and try to take a drink, only to realize that it’s empty.

Hannah smiles at me and scoots closer. “If it means anything, I don’t agree with Carly. I’m really happy for you that you know such a good man. My husband is that way too. He doesn’t have a selfish bone in him. He’d give a stranger the coat off his back. It’s why I fell for him.”

Brook lets out a long sigh.

Carly lifts her cup in a toast and drinks down the last of her wine.

“Next time we meet, you’ll have to tell us if anything’s changed,” Brook says. “My money is on blackmail. Or, hmm, he wants something. You have a contract, right?”

I look at her in surprise, then remember she’s a lawyer. “Right. Yes.”

At least, tomorrow I’ll have one.

“Good.” Then Brook looks down at her watch. “Well, time’s up. I’ve got a ton of work to do tonight.” She stands abruptly.

I stand up too and pull on my coat and scarf. Hannah steps close and sticks her arm through mine. “So, you’ll come back next week, right?”

I give her a smile. “Yeah. I’ll be back.”

With Hannah’s arm looped in mine and Carly and Brook behind us, we leave the bright pink uterus room in the dingy rat-and-cockroach-infested basement of Clive’s Comics.

When we’re back on the sidewalk, Brook shuts and locks the cellar door with a padlock key.

“Do you own Clive’s Comics?” I ask in surprise.

Brook scoffs. “No way. Clive’s my second-cousin, he’s a real douche. But I gave him some free legal advice last year so he owes me. Thus, we get the pink palace for our meet-ups.”

“It’s a lovely place to meet,” Carly says.

Brook shakes her head, “I’m waiting on the penthouse invite, Carly.”

Carly smiles. “Night, ladies. Ta.”

“That means thanks,” whispers Hannah.

Then Carly pulls out of her purse a wig, a hat, and large sunglasses. I gasp. “You’re the wig lady. From the waiting room.”

Carly lifts an eyebrow. “And you’re the bathroom girl.”

I blush. Right…

“Bad wigs and ugly hats. The trials of the semi-famous,” Brook says. “Goodnight everybody.” She lights a cigarette and then starts to walk away.