Later that afternoon, I get a call from a big-time agent, known in the business by her first name only: Coral. I don’t know if Coral is her given name or a nickname of some kind, but what I do know is that she has one of the biggest egos in the business and rightfully so, I guess. She has some hugely famous clients, and virtually everything Coral represents becomes a bestseller. As a result, all editors salivate at the mere idea of a meeting with her, and you know you’re somebody if she’s calling you.
About a year ago, Coral phoned me for the first time regarding a manuscript called No Nude Beaches . I felt as if I had really arrived as she rambled on and on about how much I was going to love this edgy but sentimental coming-of-age story about three women traveling through Europe together after their college graduation. Coral was right, I did love it, but unfortunately so did everyone else, and I ended up losing it in an agonizing five-round auction when Elgin capped the advance I could offer at five hundred thousand. It was a heartbreaking blow, especially when the book skyrocketed to number three on the Times list—which is virtually unheard-of for a first-time novelist. I remember passing the book in the window display at the Union Square Barnes & Noble one evening on the way to dinner. I was so distraught, I couldn’t even point it out to Ben, but he must have seen it, too, because he said, “Don’t sweat it. Coral will call you again.”
So of course I think of Ben when Rosemary buzzes me and says excitedly, “Claudia, Coral is on the phone!”
My heart races as I pick up the phone and say hello.
“Claudia, darling,” Coral says. “Congratulations on the Dickerson novel. It’s brilliant!”
“Thank you, Coral. I really appreciate that. We’re really pleased with how it’s doing So how are you?” I say, feeling pretty certain that Coral is not just calling to make small talk. She must have something for me.
“I’m well, dear Listen. I’d love to catch up over lunch And I might just have something for you to read. Something that would be perfect for you and your list.”
“Lunch sounds great,” I say, feeling thrilled but wishing that Coral would just messenger, or e-mail me the manuscript, as most other agents do. Then again, maybe she’s going to offer me an exclusive and she wants to give it a proper one-on-one showcase. I tell myself to play it cool as I say, “As for the project, thank you for thinking of me, Coral. I’d be delighted to take a look.”
“Fabulous,” she says. “Let’s meet next Thursday at Eleven Madison Park at, say, one o’clock? One-thirty?”
I glance at my calendar, see “Jess’s Appointment” written in capital letters, and think, Fuck. Baby conflict .
“Hmm,” I say. “Looks like I have something that day, Coral. I can do any other day next week.”
“Sorry, dear. I’m booked solid for the next few weeks,” she says, sounding miffed.
I think, Nobody puts Coral in a corner , and roll my eyes. I start to fold, but don’t. Instead I bristle at her tactics. I am way too busy and senior for such games. I hear myself say, “Well, I’m sorry, Coral. But Thursday’s a no-go for me.”
I cross my fingers that she will throw out another date, or even better, simply offer to send the manuscript. But she only says, “A pity. Maybe next time.”
I hang up and tell myself that if Coral calling you makes you somebody, then dissing her really makes you somebody. Then I tell myself nothing is as important as friendship. Or babies. Or friends having babies. But I can’t help feeling a hint of resentment that my career is already being impacted by a baby that’s not even mine.
The next morning Jess comes into my room just as I’m waking up and says, “Claudia. I’m bleeding.” Her voice is calm, but her face is pinched and pale.
“Where?” I ask, picturing a cutting mishap in the kitchen.
“I got my period,” Jess whispers. “I’m not pregnant anymore.”
The word miscarriage flashes in my mind, but I shake my head and say, “Spotting is common early on.” I sound as if I’m quoting a medical textbook so I add anecdotal evidence, “Maura spotted with all three of her pregnancies.”
“Is gushing common?” Jess asks, her voice trembling. “Claudia. I’m definitely no longer pregnant.”
I look at my best friend, feeling afraid to speak, afraid that I’ll say the wrong thing. I’ve heard that one-half of all women have a miscarriage at some point in their lives, but this is my first experience with it. I tell her how sorry I am. I reassure her that she will get through this. That we will get through this. I tell her what I always tell Daphne when her period comes, that she will be a mother someday. It will happen someday. I believe this.
But meanwhile, as I hear myself talking, there is a very small part of me that feels shamefully relieved by the turn of events. I am relieved not to have to go through the ordeal with Jess. I am relieved to have more time with her before she becomes a mother. But most of all, I am relieved for my best friend. I know she is grieving a loss now, but I hope that she will someday look back and think that this happened for a reason. That this was for the best. I want her to have a baby with a man much greater than Trey. A man she deserves. A man more like Ben.
* * *