Eliza Starts a Rumor(13)
“I don’t even know what this is. You’re so paranoid.”
She took the phone from him to read it more carefully. She looked confused. She put her hand to her head in worry.
“I swear I didn’t write this,” Eliza imagined her saying.
He didn’t seem to believe her. How could he? It was spot-on. He looked like he wanted to believe her as he wiped what Eliza imagined to be a tear from Ashley’s eye. They hugged briefly and ran off.
Eliza sat down at her computer. She was shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was due to exhilaration or fear of getting caught. The whole episode filled her with an excitement she hadn’t felt since shoplifting in middle school, that thrill of stepping out of the Hudson Valley Mall with a strawberry Bonne Bell Lip Smacker tucked into her training bra. Either way she knew that she had no business messing in people’s lives like that. She vowed never to do it again.
CHAPTER 9
Alison Le
Alison Le ducked into Wolf Realty with an extra set of keys to her new home in hand. She had to give a set to someone, and so far, the agent who had rented her the place was the only someone she knew—another reason to shake her head in disbelief over her impulsive move from the city. The key exchange was the last errand on her to-do list. She had no idea what she would do next.
The receptionist seemed to be expecting her.
“Mrs. Wolf asked if you could wait a minute. She wants to see if everything’s OK with the new house.”
“Sure,” Alison replied. She had nothing but time.
“Can I offer you a cup of coffee? And a heavenly muffin from the Café Karma Sutra?”
Alison declined. It sounded like some kind of a cult offering. She berated herself for the hundredth time that day. What did you do? What did you do?
If I were to Karma Sutra, she thought, that could be my mantra. It made her laugh out loud and the receptionist looked at her like she was a bit crazy. Maybe she was right. Temporary insanity, Alison hoped.
She sat down and picked up the local newspaper, but after a few pages, her mind began to wander to the circumstances that had led her to uproot her entire life and move to Hudson Valley. The biggest catalyst, her fifteen-week-old baby boy, stirred in his stroller. She ran the back of her hand gently over his forehead and he settled back into his nap. She still couldn’t decide if she was a good mother or if she’d just lucked out with a good baby. It was easier to believe the latter.
Alison had spent her entire life acting like a consummate bachelor. She never wore a dress, cursed like a sailor, and never dreamed of marriage with all of its obligations and distractions. She was smart and had worked hard in school, but she didn’t spend much time thinking about the racially charged stereotypes about Asian kids that went along with that. She was smart because she was, and she worked hard because she enjoyed it and emulated her single mother, who had worked endless hours to support them.
She attended Wesleyan for undergrad, followed by Harvard Law. After graduation she joined a small firm, intent on being a top criminal defense attorney. At thirty-eight, she was confident she had succeeded. She didn’t worry about the age to marry or her ticking biological clock. The only clock that concerned her was the one that tracked her billable hours. Alison was a planner, but the one thing she had never planned on—an unwanted pregnancy—took her by surprise.
Alison Le had been seeing Marc Sugarman, the bureau chief of the Manhattan district attorney’s office, on and off for nearly two years. It was an entirely covert affair, as they often tried cases against each other. At first the attraction was ignited by their rivalry, but as time went on, it was really just perfunctory. They each filled a need for the other, figuratively and literally, and they were both on the exact same page when it came to relationships. They both agreed that their careers were their great loves; they even pinky-swore to it on the night of their first tequila-fueled encounter. Neither wanted to be nailed down for longer than the duration of their Wednesday night trysts at the downtown Ritz-Carlton.
On the night that Alison decided to fill Marc in on her pregnancy, she arrived early to get up her nerve. Such a thing would usually be eased by a scotch, but of course that didn’t feel right. As if leading a witness, Marc entered and quickly offered her a glass.
“No thanks, I’m not drinking,” she said.
“Why?” he responded, half listening, half disrobing.
“Because I’m pregnant,” she answered.
He stopped dead in his tracks, mumbling, “Oh. That’s unfortunate,” followed by a stronger “How could that have happened?”
She ignored him; she wasn’t about to school him on the efficacy of birth control. He surprisingly stabbed her impermeable heart again, adding, “You know our deal, Alison, no attachments. I assume you’re taking care of it.”
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him but was quite certain this was not it. Her immediate reaction to his words was to build a case against them. She didn’t know if it was on account of her natural tendency to argue the other side or the newly acquired mommy hormones, but at that moment her pregnancy went from a problem to a gift. She felt ashamed that it took Marc’s heartless apathy to shine that light. She placed her hand on her belly and said, “Yes, I will be taking care of it,” taking a beat before adding, “on my own and very well, thank you. I’m going to take a bath, please be gone by the time I get out.”