Times Like These Page 11

  Rod took her wine glass from her and set it down on the coffee table, then rolled her onto his chest. He lifted her chin and nudged her with his nose as his hands roamed over her butt.

  ‘Have I told you how amazing you did to get right back into these tight little jeans?’

  She giggled. ‘That’s because you always wanted me to have a bigger ass.’

  He gripped her rear harder. ‘Too right. A fine ass it is.’

  She laughed and kissed him, melting into his big lips. She loved his lips. They were always warm and soft. Even when they were having rough and ready sex, his lips were gentle.

  Kissing him and feeling his desire grow beneath her, she found herself waking up and squirming against him with arousal. He was a dangerously sexual and beautiful man. She had three pregnancies to show for that.

  He pulled her harder against him as she ground her pelvis against his and moaned into his mouth. Then… the unmistakable wailing of TJ over the intercom.

  They stilled. ‘Maybe he’ll go back off,’ Hannah said hopefully.

  Rod kissed her again.

  TJ screamed louder.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ she said, slipping off her husband.

  Twenty-five minutes later, she came back downstairs to find the television on and a second rum and Coke in Rod’s glass.

  ‘Sorry, where were we?’ she said, not feeling like resuming where they were at all.

  He glanced at her with a look of disappointment, as if she had made TJ cry. He’s half of you, too she wanted to say but didn’t bother.

  She picked up her wine – the fuzz of the first two glasses now faded – and sat next to Rod.

  Still looking at the television, he said, ‘I accepted the coaching job in Queens.’

  Hannah coughed through her next mouthful of wine. ‘Come again?’

  ‘The coaching job in Queens. I took it.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that part. I think what I was missing was the part where we discussed you accepting an interview in Queens, going out there, then accepting a job, all without consulting with me.’

  ‘Baby, come on, it’s a good opportunity for me. I told you I was taking an interview. The school has a new principal and he wants to put a lot of money behind the varsity team. If I could…’

  She did now have a vague recollection of his interview. ‘Rod, it’s in Queens. We make our life work because I drop the kids and commute into the city. You start and finish early and work in New Jersey to pick them up. If we both worked in New York, we’d have to… It’s not possible. TJ isn’t even six months old. Imagine the childcare fees. Luke can’t be expected to look after Jackson and TJ, it isn’t fair. Plus, he’d forget them whenever he got a whiff of a girl in cut-off daisies.’

  ‘Baby, I’ve already said yes.’

  Hannah scoffed, her eyes on fire, her hands trembling with rage. ‘Sure you have, Rod, because it’s something you want to do. What about anything I want, huh? Just… just for once… could you not be so fucking selfish?’

  She left her husband, her wine and whatever shit was on the television and she went upstairs to the bathroom, where she put down the toilet lid, sat on top of it and cried.

  There had to be more to life than this.

  11

  Rosalie

  Rosalie’s apartment at Central Park West was her ultimate sanctuary. She had waited years for a suitable property to come up in the area. Fortunately for her, a nasty divorce left the place in a matrimonial settlement to the Russian wife of a business tycoon, who wanted a quick sale to cut all ties. She had, in any event, received a newsworthy settlement and the apartment was merely a snip of that.

  It had not been to Rosalie’s taste when she had first moved in. The walls had been white and plain, with signs that large artwork had been hung on them which had probably been grotesque but acquired due to its obscene expense. The floor had been tiled black. The surfaces chrome, glass, black marble – probably perfect for snorting a line, not that she was one to stereotype.

  The apartment was the project Rosalie was most proud of to date. She had put all her interior design skills to use and created an homage to true style. The theme was vintage luxe, with an emphatic nod to the 1920s. The vast open-plan living area was bright, thanks to the large windows that looked out toward Central Park.

  She was sitting in a high-back chair by the window, with a cafetière of coffee on the brass-legged coffee table in front of her and her laptop resting atop a velvet, dusty-rose-coloured pillow on her lap. She had read about the possibility of laptops having negative effects on a woman’s fertility and whether it was true or not, she couldn’t risk it now.

  Around her, the walls were painted with texture paint, various rich shades of blue and green. The furniture was structured and finished with fine fabrics – ochre and burnished gold were a recurring theme. Her dining table was permanently set with fine china – she mostly ate out in any event. And she had a bar table that she had acquired at auction, which had been used on the set of Leo’s Titanic. That too, was laid out with gold-rimmed champagne glasses and an ice bucket.

  Though the music that filled her home was being streamed, the mix of soundtracks was being played through what appeared to be a vintage radio. Soundtracks were Rosalie’s music of choice – and if they had jazz tracks, the world was smiling in on her. She could escape to a world where Gatsby pined for his first love, where Audrey Hepburn portrayed a glamorous, though a little eccentric, socialite.

  She hummed along to Andy Williams’s ‘Moon River’ as she performed her usual Monday morning routine. She was reviewing the weekly statement her investment manager sent to her.

  Interior design was her, somewhat part-time(ish), job, she supposed – she had a company and clients. Investments were something of a hobby that happened to be the source of wealth that kept her in the lifestyle she was accustomed to. And she was quite good at her hobby.

  She had been investing by way of her trust fund and inheritance from her grandparents since she was eighteen. Fifteen years later, she had learned a few tricks. Though most of her investments were managed on her behalf, she did take on a few projects of her own.

  She had amassed quite a number of silent investments in new or struggling companies – mostly loose acquaintances – in recent years. The first time had been a favour to a friend, the second time a friend of a friend. She liked helping people. She would invest her money to help people get off the ground or out of trouble with their business, then she would take back her money with interest. She didn’t take part in business decisions, she simply gave people the opportunity to do something with their lives, though she was confident her lawyer made sure she couldn’t be screwed over. Her lawyer had described her as an angel of sorts, which she liked just fine as a title. And her hobby kept her in new shoes. What it didn’t do was occupy her for lengthy periods of time and, if anything, it isolated her, rather than giving her a route to human interactions, which she so loved.

  Confident she was making and not losing money and that everything was A-okay, she closed the investment report on her screen and turned back to her primary focus for today. She was calling it Project Swans, after the company that would match her to the perfect daddy for her soon-to-be baby.

  Swans was like a dating agency that matched potential mommies and daddies. Or sometimes, daddies and daddies, or mommies and mommies. It sold itself as the company that could get you what you wanted no matter how busy you were, how long you had been putting your life on hold for other commitments, or how truly catastrophic you were when it came to finding love (paraphrased). The latter was most true of Rosalie. She hadn’t been too busy working on other commitments to make a baby, she’d only been too busy wasting time on all the wrong men.

  What she wanted – no, needed – was a man like her father. Honourable, hard-working, successful whilst being devoted to his family. She had come to realise that such men didn’t grow on trees – or certainly no tree she had come across.

  What had
changed? That was what the girls had asked her after the concert last week. Was it her latest break-up? Was she bored? Andrea had had the audacity to ask the last one.

  It wasn’t any of those things. Nothing had changed, as such, but her days babysitting TJ had shown her how much she wanted her own baby to take care of, to love and be loved by, to dress up and take for days out. Her heart had nearly burst every time that little guy had smiled at her. Imagine if it was her own child smiling at her, hugging her, gurgling and chuckling because she made a funny face. She would never have days waking up and wondering what she should do or who to do it with. She would have her little man or lady to fill her days. Plus, soon she would have the recording label and her life would be bustling with people, adventures, admiration and love.

  And why should she wait to have it all? She could be a mother without a man. Despite what some people thought, she was responsible. She was capable of caring for a mini-Rosalie. And she had more than enough time to look after a child.

  She poured herself a fresh mug of coffee and leaned back in her chair, staring across the lush green of the park.

  She knew how ridiculous it would sound if she ever said it aloud but she was… lonely. She had so many possessions, she had friends and living parents. Yet, she spent a lot of time alone or in department stores with shop assistants who would listen to her tales for so long as she was handing over her credit card.

  The more she thought about it, the more she was sure that she was doing the right thing. She pulled up the Swans website on her laptop and trawled the pages of information about how the programme worked.

  She had already signed a confidentiality agreement. Today was the start of the process. At two p.m. she was going to the agency’s office on Broadway to be interviewed by a lady called Carmen, who would ask about her expectations, what she wanted from her baby’s father, and generally how she felt a baby would fit into her life. If she liked the agency and the agency liked her, she would pay fifteen thousand dollars for them to find her the right baby daddy.

  After her interview, she would take a DNA test. Her results would be compared to the potential fathers on the agency’s programme to check for genetic compatibility, which she presumed to mean a ‘peculiar diseases and anti-incest test’.

  Finally, she would fill in a questionnaire about values and morals, which would also be matched to potential daddies who shared the same values. In her mind, both she and her baby daddy would have to concur with Elle Woods – orange would never be the new pink.

  The agency would then provide her with a list of names that matched her and she would select anyone who piqued her interest enough to meet.

  The website was silent about the conception part of things and how childcare would be divided, which was something she would ask about later today.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘I’m really doing this.’ Then she imagined herself in a café with a little girl dressed in a tweed two-piece, drinking a babyccino, holding her hand and telling her tales of the things she had learned at school, and she smiled so wide it ached her cheeks.

  After finishing her coffee, she showered, slipped into a tailored dress and blazer, draping pearls around her neck. Then she headed out to the salon, where she would have a blow-dry and mani-pedi, because what kind of new mother would she present as in her interview if she wasn’t well kempt herself?

  * * *

  Rosalie bounced her foot as she sat cross-legged in the waiting room of Swans agency. She was sitting on one of two leather sofas in the magnolia-painted room, which was brightened by Jack Vettriano prints and fresh flowers. The lady who had told her to take a seat and was intermittently tapping away on a computer behind the reception desk, kept looking over. Whenever Rosalie caught her looking, she would look away too quickly to be subtle. It was making Rosalie nervous. Was she dressed inappropriately? Had she said something wrong? Was the woman tapping scrutinising notes to pass on about why Rosalie shouldn’t be allowed to make a baby?

  She picked up a copy of last month’s Vogue from the table in front of her and tried to distract herself. She was the only person in the waiting area and she couldn’t decide if that was a good thing – less competition for the best baby daddies – or a bad thing – the agency didn’t work.

  ‘Rosalie?’

  A tall woman, perhaps in her forties, with Ellen DeGeneres-style hair, appeared from behind a door and leaned her head to one side as she smiled at Rosalie, offering her hand to shake.

  ‘Yes,’ Rosalie said, her voice betraying her nervousness as she stood and accepted the hand.

  ‘I’m Melissa. Have you come far to get to us today?’

  Rosalie followed Melissa along a short corridor, making polite small talk until they reached her office.

  There was a desk with chairs either side, hosting nothing but a computer. Behind it were bookshelves which held more treasures – a snow globe, a fancy paperweight, a picture of Melissa and another woman smiling with their arms around each other.

  ‘Let’s sit on the sofas,’ Melissa said, gesturing to the other half of the room, which was set up like a small lounge. ‘Can I get you a tea or coffee? There are cookies and brownies on the tray there.’

  Rosalie took a seat on one sofa whilst Melissa poured them both tea and added a brownie to the saucer before handing it to Rosalie. The informal setting relaxed her and she found herself liking Melissa as she took a seat on a sofa opposite Rosalie.

  ‘Oh boy, that’s a good brownie,’ Rosalie said, covering her mouth with her fingertips as she chewed.

  Melissa smiled. She was warm and friendly. Rosalie felt at ease around her. ‘So, you obviously know about Swans and what we do. Before we start, do you have any general questions about the agency – our ethos, when we started, why we started? There are no right or wrong questions or answers today. I just want us to get to know each other. If you want to slip off your shoes and put your feet up, feel free.’

  Melissa did exactly that and sipped her tea from one corner of the sofa with her legs curled beneath her. Rosalie realised there had been no need to get a blow-dry or new nails, she needed to be herself, just like Melissa.

  Was herself enough? Was herself responsible enough?

  ‘Rosalie, I can see you’re nervous. Most people are when they first come here. I’d be more worried if you weren’t. Having a baby is a huge deal and finding the right partner to do it with is so important.’ Melissa took a bite of brownie and set the rest on her saucer. ‘I co-founded the agency with my partner three years ago, almost to the day, in fact.’

  Melissa pointed to the photograph of the two women that Rosalie had noticed on her bookshelves. ‘That’s my wife, Lauren. We married eighteen months ago but we’ve been together for four years.’

  Rosalie looked at the picture again. ‘She’s beautiful. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you. Lauren and I have two children – a girl and a boy. Three and one. Both terrors and adorable in equal measure.’

  Rosalie chuckled.

  ‘I needn’t state the obvious, I’m sure, but Lauren and I didn’t make babies together the conventional way.’

  Rosalie blushed.

  ‘A friend of ours set us up on a blind date of sorts. It was funny because at the time we had both sworn off relationships but we both felt like our biological clocks were ticking and we both wanted to have children. Our mutual friend knew this and suggested we meet. That night we discussed both wanting children and by the time we went away in our separate cabs, we had decided to co-parent.’

  ‘Wow, just like that,’ was all Rosalie offered.

  Melissa smiled. ‘Yep. We met up a few more times soon after that and really got fixed on the idea. We talked through our options – adopting, donors, surrogacy – and decided that for us surrogacy would be best, that way neither of us could be jealous of the other having carried the baby. Anyway, as it happened, we fell for each other and we were a couple before our first child was born.’

 
‘And that’s why you started the agency?’ Rosalie asked.

  ‘Exactly. We were lucky to fall in love with each other but our main focus when we met was having children. It made us think about how many other people out there were in a similar position for whatever reason. Maybe they focused on a career and suddenly found themselves in their early forties with no partner. Maybe they hadn’t found the right partner, or thought they had and the relationship had broken down. Maybe they just wanted to have a child and co-parent but not be in a relationship. So, we started Swans. We match people who want to have children. If those people fall in love and live happily ever after, great. If they choose to be individuals and stick to a shared parenting schedule, good for them. The ‘how’s, ‘when’s and ‘why’s are up to the couple. Our aim is simply to match you to someone you have parenting compatibility with.’

  The way Melissa explained things made perfect sense. Rosalie understood what the girls had said – what if she met the right guy whilst she was pregnant or had a young child, wouldn’t it be easier to start a relationship without that burden? But who was to say Swans wouldn’t lead to romance too? And if she later found a man who couldn’t handle her having a child, he wasn’t the kind of family man she wanted in any event.

  ‘So, tell me about you, Rosalie. Where are you from? What has made you contact Swans?’

  ‘Where to start… Well, my mom used to be a supermodel. My dad…’

  Rosalie went through her life history from her birth, to schooling, to work, investments, and every failed relationship she had endured.

  At the end of it all, she asked, ‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing? People have said I’m not responsible enough. I think they see me as superficial, you know? That can’t be a good place to start as a parent, can it?’